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Esme
I stareout of the floor-to-ceiling windows in the bedroom of Tristan’s penthouse apartment in Paris, the Eiffel Tower and Seine visible in the distance, the morning sky painted a cacophony of purples and blues.
It’s been one week since Tristan showed up in New York.
One week since he made a heartfelt plea for me to forgive him, that his career was pointless if he no longer had me in his life.
One week since Creed pushed me into another man’s arms, insisting we can never be together.
I know we can’t. Not unless he’s willing to walk away from his legacy. But it’s more than that now. There’s also AJ and Rory to consider. And Adam. He may not have come right out and said it, but I know Adam’s ghost is still influencing most of his decisions.
I want to hate him for what he did. Hate him for reminding me what true passion felt like. Giving me a taste of heaven.
Then yank me back to reality.
And the reality is that Creed will never choose me.
It’s ironic to think it was Adam who forced me to break Creed’s heart all those years ago.
And it’s Adam who caused Creed to break mine last week.
An arm wraps around me, and Tristan pulls me against him, peppering kisses along my shoulder blades.
When I returned to my hotel room that morning, I had every intention of telling Tristan it would never work. Not when my heart belonged to someone else.
But as I stared at him, at this amazing man who was willing to give up the career he loved to be with me, I couldn’t manage to find the words I needed.
Not when it brought into sharp focus the fact that Tristan was willing to do the one thing Creed wasn’t.
I was too numb to fight it, so I agreed to give him another chance.
I convinced myself it would be okay. Thought if we came to Paris, I’d be reminded why I fell for him in the first place.
Instead, all I can think of is Creed, especially when Tristan circles his hips, his erection noticeable, even through his pajama pants.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he croons in a raspy voice.
“Morning.” My response comes out somewhat clipped.
“How did you sleep?”
“Fine,” I tell him, although it’s as far from the truth as possible.
All night, I tossed and turned after having that same nightmare yet again.
In fact, they’ve gotten worse.
Now, when I look into the front seat, Creed’s with Adam. I know it’s just a dream, a result of something in my subconscious, but it feels so real.
To the point where I nearly pick up the phone and call Creed to make sure he’s okay.
But I don’t.
“God, I’ve missed this,” Tristan says, hand exploring my body, his touch becoming increasingly sensual. “Missed waking up next to you.”
He kisses a line from my shoulder blades to my neck, nibbling gently.
I want to tell him to bite me. Mark me. Anything to make me feelsomethingagain. Anything other than this intense longing for Creed.
