Exit Strategy (13 page)

“Thank you for coming, Keisha,” he says, then steps forward and stops. “May I?” He holds his arms out, as if asking my permission.

I answer by walking into his arms and holding him so tightly I swear I can feel ribs where I used to feel only hard muscle. How can such a beautiful man become so harried in a couple of weeks? He holds me close, molding me to him in that oh-so-familiar way that makes me want to cry, but I don’t.

As soon as I feel him respond, he lets go, as if embarrassed by his body’s reaction. He takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen.

“Someone’s been waiting to see you before she retires to her quarters for the evening.”

I smile up at him, and as we enter the kitchen, I see Mrs. Naven standing next to something on the Viking range that smells heavenly. She’s beaming at me. I release Tristan’s hand and run to give her a big hug.

“Ms. Beale, it’s so good to see you,” she says. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

“I’m not—”

“I may need to do some groveling first,” Tristan says. “We’ll let you know how it goes.”

Mrs. Naven says, “I made an herb-roasted baby rack of lamb with spring succotash and wilted spinach for your entrée. To start, there’s a garden salad and a hot broccoli and sweet potato salad. Go on into the dining room, you two. The table is already set, the salad and rolls are there, and I’ve opened a bottle of red wine to breathe. I’ll bring the hot food right in.”

She shoos us out of the kitchen, and Tristan puts his hand on the small of my back to usher me into the dining room. Our places are set at one corner of the long dining table. He holds the chair for me before taking his seat.

“Wine?”

“Yes, please.”

He pours me a glass, and I grab it and take an inelegantly long drink.

Tristan quirks an eyebrow. “Consuming a little liquid courage?”

I nod.

“I daresay that should probably be me.”

“No,” I say. “And don’t you dare do anything that even resembles groveling.”

“Well, I might have been exaggerating,” he says.

“If he doesn’t want a boycott on his hands he’d better do something,” Mrs. Naven says as she sets the hot broccoli salad on the table.

“You don’t want a boycott. I’ve seen one put into practice in the last couple of weeks, and it wasn’t pretty.”

Tristan looks concerned. “Is your staff unhappy?”

“Not anymore,” I say, even though I hadn’t been referring to my staff at KSR, just my impish fairies. “I’m on hiatus from day-to-day management. Jada and Jorge are pinch-hitting for me until we get through this season of songwriting in preparation for four new artist debuts this summer. Not to mention we’re preparing tours for the acts whose albums are doing well. They’re all going on tour with A-list bands.”

Tristan smiles. “I knew this idea of yours would be a success when you handed me my ass after our first meeting.”

“That was sooo stupid,” I say. “If you hadn’t had a change of heart, we’d still be struggling to get KSR into the black.”

“I hope we’ve both learned from our mistakes,” he says, and I have a feeling he isn’t referring to our rocky start.

Mrs. Naven comes in and puts down our food.

“Everything looks delicious,” I say with a smile.

“Thanks, Ms. Beale” she says. Then to Tristan, she asks, “Shall I serve?”

“No, I think we can manage,” he says, not taking his eyes off me. I don’t take mine off him either, and at some point Mrs. Naven quietly leaves the room. Tristan carves us pieces of lamb, and I’m grateful when he loads his plate with generous portions and tucks into his meal with gusto.

I hold my tongue and don’t ask questions because I’m so happy to see him eating. I begin with some small talk, and the rest of the meal is filled with light conversation.

After dinner, we sort through his movies. I’m fascinated, yet again, that he has such an extensive collection, most of which he hasn’t seen. We debate until we finally settle on
The Incredible Hulk
, the version with Edward Norton and Liv Tyler. We sit side by side in his authentic movie theater seating. While the previews are running, I can’t take it anymore. I have to ask my questions, because as charming as he’s being, I’m only a few seconds from losing my shit—I want to jump his bones so bad.

“Tristan?”

He pauses the movie and gives me his undivided attention. “Yes?”

“What is this?”

“We’re watching a movie,” he says.             

“I mean, why are you... romancing me like this, all of a sudden?”

“Doesn’t every woman hope for romance in her life?”

“You’re answering my question with a question.”

“Only because it was the most appropriate way to answer.”

“I thought you said there was some grave matter concerning my personal safety you needed to speak with me about.”

“There is, and I was going to get to that... later.”

“How about now? You lured me over here, and considering what happened at KSR the other night, I believed you enough to come, against my better judgment.”

Tristan uses his remote to bring the lights back up and turns to me with a serious expression. “Nathan told me what happened.” He takes my hand and cradles it to his chest. “I’m so glad Jorge was there with you, and so glad you didn’t fire him when I told you to.” He closes his eyes briefly. “If anything had happened to you, I’m not sure I would ever have been able to forgive myself.”

I touch his cheek. “But I’m okay now. Really. The guy didn’t get me. The police think it isn’t likely to happen again now that the perpetrator knows my buff male cousin hangs around KSR.”

“No, you don’t understand, Keisha.”  He swallows. “This morning, I received a threatening letter from someone who intends to target my friends and family, anyone I care about, to get back at me for some real or perceived transgression I’ve committed against them.”

“But we weren’t... aren’t together like that anymore.”

“Whoever is doing this doesn’t know that. But don’t worry. Carlos Velasquez, my security chief, has hired a unit of former military personnel to staff a security detail for you, my father, and my brother.”

“So people will be following me around all the time, waiting to see if this person’s going to make an attempt on my life?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes, but they’ll be so covert you won’t see them most of the time.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “And you need to know... they mentioned you specifically in the note.”

I’m certain all the blood drains out of my face. I feel numb. “Oh shit,” I say and cover my face. “Somebody’s trying to kill me, and I’m not even your plus-one, PR girlfriend anymore.”

Tristan pries my hands away. “Keisha?” he says softly, but I keep my eyes closed. “Keisha, look at me.”

I open my eyes. He searches my face like he’s trying to memorize it all over again. Then he says, “Understand this. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. Do you believe me?”

“Yes.” I say. I’m exhausted all of a sudden. Tristan kisses me on my temple and holds me so close I don’t think we’re going to watch our movie. But then he does a surprising thing. He dims the lights again and presses play.

Sometime during the scene where Bruce Banner is running from the mercenaries who are after him in Brazil, Tristan flips the arms up on our separate chairs and curls his now-lanky body around me. He’s giving me intimacy rather than offering me sex, and I’m not altogether sure he realizes that’s what he’s doing. I sink back into him and rest my head against his chest while he rests his chin on top of my head. We watch the entire movie cuddled together like this.

~*~

“Tell me again why you can’t stay?” he says as we stand in front of the elevator.

“Because it’s just not a good idea. And I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Actually, you do,” he says. “Mrs. Naven found some things in the laundry after you left. Problem solved.” He takes both my hands and backs up into the sitting room.

“Tristan, we still have some things to sort out. Tonight was great, but I still don’t think I’m cut out to be your submissive.”

“Just
my
submissive?”

I drop my head. “No. Anyone’s.”

“You’re afraid you’ll have panic attacks again, aren’t you?”

I feel like I’m about to be swallowed up by the sincere blue eyes tracking and pinning mine so effectively I can’t look away. “Yes. And I’m no use to you if I can’t endure the scenes, particularly the occasional disciplinary consequences.”

“What if there was a way you could?” His finger traces a gentle path down my cheek.

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. If there was a way we could work around the panic attacks, would you come back? For good?”

“You mean until you perfect your exit strategy? That’s what you venture capitalists call it, don’t you?”

“Ah, someone’s been paying attention at our semiannual business meetings?”

“I have a rather exacting mentor who insists on being heard.”

“Asshole,” he says and pulls me close.

I place my hands on his chest in an effort to sustain some emotional equilibrium, but he doesn’t let me go. “I’m the one who’ll be ass-out when you lose confidence in your investment and decide it’s time to diversify your portfolio again.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon, Keisha.” He draws me closer, palming my hips, and I get his point. Pun intended. “I can’t seem to get enough of you.”

I slip out of his arms and put some space between us. “Chemistry has never been an issue for us, Tristan. I know your lifestyle is important to you, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep up.”

The truth is, I’m hopelessly in love with a man who hasn’t given me any indication that he will ever want a real relationship. Nothing has changed on that front. He still just wants just a Dominant/submissive relationship, which might enjoy a longevity his other arrangements haven’t had, but it
will
eventually end.

Can I really do this? I certainly don’t think I’ll become any less in love with him over time. Reentering a sexual relationship with Tristan now would be exceedingly counterproductive to the reasons I left in the first place, but I am hard-pressed to make myself walk away again.

Tristan moves so close behind me that I can feel the warmth of his skin, his breath wafting over my ear as he speaks. “We’ll take things slow—again.”

He runs a finger along my arm, and gooseflesh sprouts like ivy in its wake. I feel a pull toward him that can only be described as magnetic—my body eager to be reunited to his. Even though it could conceivably be more painful for me this time around, I’m not sure if leaving him again is within the realm of possibility. I can’t rationalize staying, but leaving becomes increasingly more difficult with each second I remain in his presence.

I turn to face him. “Slow isn’t necessarily going to keep the attacks at bay.” Or guard my heart if he decides he’s done with me.

“We’ll figure out a way to do that together.” He takes me into his arms again. “These three weeks have been ... just please stay.”

I look into his eyes, and all I want to do at that moment is kiss him senseless. He may not have given me a declaration of love, but somehow I know this is as close as I’m going to get with a man like Tristan White. For now.

As an answer, I stand on my tiptoes, throw my arms around his neck, and kiss him with everything in me.

~*~

Tristan and I take the sensational, circuitous route upstairs as we stop several times to kiss like we’ve been deprived of sex for over a year. We stop at a bend in the stairs, on the landing, and against the wall in the long hallway until we finally make it to his bedroom door. He turns the knob with one hand and pushes the door open, all without letting me go or breaking the kiss.

Then he hoists me up around the waist, kicks the door shut, and carries me to the bed where we make quick work of disrobing each other before diving in.

“I need to be inside you ... now,” he says with the urgency of a horny teenager.

“I want you inside me now.” I open myself up and pull him down into me, fascinated yet again by how good he is at aligning our bodies. Since the first time, he’s only gotten better at it.

I surrender myself to the familiar, sensual way he slides into me. I know after just a half-dozen strokes I’m not going to be able to hold out long, because I’m wound tighter than a spring as I babble incoherently.

“Oh ... you... it’s just... oh... . Oh God... so... good.”

My Fairy Hoochie Mama and my Triple-G purr like kittens that’ve been given the most el primo cream they’ve ever had as Tristan works his magic on us. He smoothes my hair back from my face and whispers repeatedly against my lips, “I know, baby ... I know.” Then he intensifies the swerve, and I fall completely apart, screaming his name and a litany of harsh expletives. My duo of fairies replicate themselves and create a chorus line, kicking their tiny little legs up high and singing Broadway show tunes.