Chapter Three
“Come on, sunshine. We’re almost there. Just a half-mile more.” Tristan patted Joy’s knee, coaxing her to hang on, like he was afraid she’d toss another round of cookies, but her gut was hollow.
His roving hand wasn’t doing anything to help straighten her wandering thoughts as it inched up and down her thigh—not in a sexual way. At least it didn’t seem that way to Joy.
“How’ya doing? You okay? Talk to me.” He alternated between staring out the dark windshield and glancing at her.
She mustered enough strength to whisper, “I’m fine.” With hope, the reek of vomit was only noticeable to her spinning head.
He removed his palm from her leg, switching hands on the steering wheel to hit the button that rolled down the front windows. “Better?”
The blast of cool wet wind was the perfect quick fix. “I think so.”
“I hate to wreck this beautiful leather interior, but it’ll be a whole helluva lot easier to sop up the rain than, you know, barf. Blame it on me for giving you all those cocktails.”
“No. It’s my own fault. I shoulda gone home after I dropped the tray. But seeing everyone have a good time, I wanted to have fun too. Have a few drinks. Dance. Hook up with some hot guy. You know?” The words tumbled out as if they were coming from someone else’s lips. “When I say hook up I don’t mean just knocking boots. A bootie call. Getting laid. Or whatever the kids call it these days.” Joy flicked her blurry eyes in his direction, anticipating the worst reaction. “I just wanted to meet someone decent—”
“Sorry to ruin your night.” A strained smile carved his profile aglow in the headlights from an oncoming vehicle.
“If you let me finish, I was gonna say meet someone decent…like you.” Her vision may be cloudy but she’d already seen enough to be attracted to this stranger’s physical assets. Blue eyes. Straight nose. High forehead. Chestnut-brown wavy hair with a shimmer of gold that matched the rugged whiskers framing kissable lips. What woman could resist this hunk’s all-American good looks and effortless charm? Certainly not Joy. Never in a gazillion years did this divorcee expect to make an instantaneous mental connection with any man, never mind the first one to come along. Could her mother and Bruno have been right? Could this pot finally have found her lid? More like flipped her lid to think he’d want anything to do with a woman with so much baggage.
Tristan’s lack of a response had her wishing she’d kept her stupid mouth shut.
“Did I say something wrong?” She could always blame it on the booze if she did.
He cleared his throat. “Uhh, no. Not at all.”
After a few turns, he pulled into the driveway of a single story Cape Cod cottage that looked like the others on the block, except his had the most extreme exterior makeover. She’d noticed this place on her walk with Rex but didn’t pay much attention to it as she focused her thought-power on how to acquire her old boarded up shack.
“Here we are.” Tristan killed the engine. “Home, sweet, home.”
Home? Joy gagged at the sight of the house next door, with its missing shingles and crooked red shutters. Under the dim streetlights, it looked less like a forlorn shanty and more like the long-lost memory where she’d spent the best years of her childhood. The moment he opened the passenger door she leaped out and dry heaved on the grass, spitting up nothing but bile.
“You oughta lay down before you fall down.” He guided her up three porch steps and set her on the wicker chair while he unlocked the front door.
After a few mind-clearing blinks, she mustered the nerve to say, “I don’t remember this place looking so pretty.”
“It used to be a mess like that one.” He jutted his chin toward Joy’s old house.
A mess was an understatement. More like a dump.
“My buddy bought a bunch of foreclosures so we can fix ’em up and sell ’em. Actually, I’m in charge of fixing ’em. He handles sales.”
Tristan held the door and nudged her in first when a Yorkie greeted them, yapping as it skidded across the glossy hardwood floor. It jumped up on Joy’s leg, barely reaching her knee. The fleeting thought of leaving Rex in her parents’ care longer than necessary filled her with guilt, but she pushed the ache aside. Even though she’s not in the market for a man, she was enjoying Tristan’s company, a little too much. I may never have another opportunity to meet a guy as nice as this one. My lid. Finally.
“Get down, Cookie.” With greased lightning reflexes, he snatched the pup before it slipped outside. “I hope this wild thing didn’t scare you. She only attacks if she wants to meet you, otherwise she’d be hiding under my bed.”
“It’s okay. I love dogs.”
A slow sated smile curled his lips, reaching those heavenly eyes, as if Joy passed some unspoken initiation. “That’s good to know, ’cause not everybody does.” He adjusted the wall switch, dimming the track lighting that illuminated the entryway into the living room. “Bathroom’s the first door on the right.”
With his hand on the small of her back, he guided her in the right direction then switched on the blinding light inside. Sparkling silver and slick black decor assaulted her pupils, forcing her to squint. Wow. He must have some maid.
“I’ll get you something to change into.” He disappeared down the dark end of the hallway, taking the fur-baby with him.
Joy shut the door. A glimpse in the mirror over the sink made her cringe. Runny mascara created dark rings under her deep-set eyes. She dragged her middle fingers under the bottom lashes to wipe away the makeup but made it worse.
Tristan returned with a pile of clothes and a bottle of spring water, setting it on the granite counter before pulling a few towels from the linen closet.
“How about some aspirin?” He plucked a little tube from the medicine cabinet and dropped two pills in her palm. “Think you can handle a shower?”
Joy wobbled as she swallowed the medication with a swig of water.
“We better make it a bath. Just to be safe.”
“I can wash up in the sink.”
“Trust me, you’ll feel a million times better in here.” He bent to turn the spigot, and Joy’s jaw dropped at the sight of his perfect tush in well-worn blue jeans. When he glanced over his shoulder and caught her staring, his sensational smile bloomed. “Why dont’cha have a seat while it fills.”
He pointed to the bamboo bench, and she collapsed onto it.
Steam clouded the room, making it difficult to breathe until he opened the window. From a plastic jug, he poured in a thick stream of pink bubble bath solution. The concentrated cotton candy scent made her sick again but the urge to puke passed once the smell faded with the cool breeze.
“You take a lot of bubble baths, huh?”
He turned off the water with a chuckle. “It’s for Niblet—I mean, my daughter Nicole, not me.” From a drawer under the sink, he pulled out a new toothbrush and a small tube of toothpaste.
Joy caught the informational tidbit but lacked the conversational skills to ask for details during her momentary lapse of reason.
“Shut the door, but don’t lock it. I wanna make sure you don’t drown.” He backed out with a wink. “Take your time. Shout if you need anything.”
Alone at last, Joy peeled off her puke-crusted yoga pants and tank top. Kicked off her panties and socks. Then unclasped her push-up bra. To avoid contaminating his beautiful bathroom, she balled up the polluted items and stuck them in the corner beside the little stainless steel trashcan.
Slipping into the hot water was an unexpected pleasure. Her ex-husband had insisted they install a Jacuzzi tub even though Joy believed it was a frivolous expense when a standard bathtub-shower combo would do the same job. Because Victor thought he could afford it didn’t mean they needed every modern convenience money could buy. She wasn’t the sort of girl to indulge in a bath anyway, not with two little boys on the move.
God, she missed her kids.
It stabbed her heart to know they didn’t feel the same. She’d been gone five days and Victor hadn’t called once to put the boys on the phone. Joy didn’t dare call them. Not after he’d said don’t call us, we’ll call you. That was his way of driving the knife deeper.
Plus his new pregnant fiancée was moving her stuff in this weekend. Joy didn’t need to embarrass herself with an emotionally charged dialogue with the boys who would no doubt repeat what she said to their father, if they bothered to pick up the phone at all.
It was a good thing she was still numb from the whiskey to feel anything beyond a quick squirt of tears that got lost in the bathwater.
She splashed her face to calm her nerves then settled back for a deep soak that soothed more than any massage showerhead ever could. A quick slosh around her bits and pieces with a sudsy washcloth and she was ready to get out but opted for a few more quiet moments, using the luxury of Tristan’s gracious hospitality to contemplate her current living arrangements.
Behind heavy eyelids she envisioned the day her two rambunctious boys moved in with her, praying it would be a dream rather than the nightmare she anticipated. The pressure to find a suitable place to live was stressful. Her sons needed space. A playroom. And preferably a backyard like they’re accustomed to with Victor. No way would a single-bedroom attic apartment cut it.
The roaring wind rustled the trees outside the open window, luring her from the tranquil drip-dropping of the water faucet, inviting her to sneak a peek.
There it was—the dilapidated house next door. Near, yet so far out of reach, she was crazy to get attached to the idea of having it. But it was the perfect place to raise her boys, if she could find a way.
Crisp air sent a shockwave of goosebumps over her wet skin so she sank beneath the water for warmth.
I need that house. But how would she get it? She could never afford to buy it if it were on the market. Even renting it would be out of her price range. Perhaps if she made the case to Victor he’d help with the finances. She hated to beg but was willing to do it for the boys’ sake.
“How’ya making out in there?” Tristan knocked and the door opened an inch. “Just making sure you’re alive.”
“I’m fine.” Joy slid deeper to avoid his eyes over the edge.
“You can run more hot water if you want.”
“That’s okay. I’m getting out now.”
When the door clicked shut, she struggled to her feet. Dried with the plush black towel. And dressed in a pair of cozy men’s marble gray sweat pants and matching pull-over sweatshirt. Despite her height, the length was huge on her. Nothing like Victor’s mini-man clothes. He used to complain how tall she was in heels so she’d gotten into the habit of wearing flats everywhere they went. Tonight she felt like a petite flower, dancing with Tristan as he towered over her five-eight frame. A total turn-on she never experienced.
Barefoot, with wet hair wrapped in a towel, she stepped out of the bathroom expecting Tristan to be waiting on the couch but discovered Cookie snoozing there instead. So she tiptoed in search of him.
A pale stone fireplace separated the living room and dining room. Warm ivory trim accented rich mahogany walls. Dark wood blinds hung in place of curtains. Everything was sooo…masculine. No frills. And more importantly, no sign of a woman’s touch—beyond being totally spotless—as far as Joy could see. Well-versed in every home-design magazine offered in the racks at the supermarket checkout, she decided his place was modern rustic.
“In here.” His words echoed off the blank walls.
She followed his voice, finding him in the dim kitchen with his head in the stainless steel refrigerator. Even bent over in baggy sweatpants, he looked as good from the backside as he did from the front.
Tristan pulled out an armful of items and set them on the slick black counter that matched the bathroom decor. “Have a seat.”
Joy slid onto a barstool. Watched him wash and dry apples then slice them into thin wedges, arranging them on a white marble platter. He diced cheese and sprinkled them next to a fan of crackers. Ran some red grapes under the waterspout and patted them dry with a paper towel. “This is quite the bachelor pad.”
Without turning his head from the task, he flicked his eyes at her. “Ya like it?”
“I do. It’s cozy yet cool.”
“That’s the look I was going for.” He pushed the dish closer so she could pluck a plump grape off the vine.
“You did all this yourself?”
“Yep. It was a disaster. We had to gut it before it was livable.”
“Looks like it could be in a decorating magazine.”
His smiling eyes lit up his whole face. “You’re sweet, ya know that?”
Joy’s cheeks burned from his compliment and she lost her voice. She was having a hard time keeping her wits with this particular breed of Casanova. Whatever his good-guy game was, she was falling for it, helpless, willing, and without a net.
Maybe it was the booze in her blood boosting her confidence but she was feeling flirty for the first time in ages. Batting her lashes, she tossed the tail end of the towel over her shoulder as coy as a hair-flip.
He twisted the cap off two bottles of spring water and poured them into tall glasses with ice before sitting at the counter across from her. “Feelin’ any better?”
Still not a hundred percent sober but not nearly as drunk as she was two hours ago, she nodded as a new kind of eruption began in her belly that had nothing to do with too much alcohol. “I don’t usually indulge in anything more than a few glasses of merlot.”
“So, you were puttin’ me on when you said you like your men like your drinks?”
Recalling the overt remark, she crushed her eyelids and bit her bottom lip. “Yeah, kinda. I only said that so you’d think I was fun.”
“Fun?” He laughed. “Ralphing in the parking lot is hardly what I’d consider a good time.”
“Sorry.” She could’ve shriveled up and died.
“It’s not a bad thing. It happens to the best of us. I just figured a big girl like you could handle your liquor.”
Big girl? Joy cringed. Although she was tall, she hadn’t considered herself big in years, not since she lost the baby weight.
“Wait. That came out wrong.” Tristan must have read the horror in her face because he added, “I meant to say big girl as in you’re an adult. You work in a bar after all. I’m actually relieved you’re not a big drinker.” With the plate in one hand and their glasses in the other, he led Joy to the living room where he set everything on the coffee table before shooing the pup off the couch. “Take a hike, Cookie. Go to bed.”
Joy concealed a yawn; bed sounded like a good idea. At least his cushions were firm. She might actually get a good night’s rest for a change. “I’m surprised I’m still awake.” Joy pulled the towel off her head, letting it drape around her neck, then finger-combed the tangles from her long waves.
“Me, too. For a moment I thought I’d be running you to the ER for alcohol poisoning. You must have gotten it out of your system. Keep drinking water. And put a little food in your stomach.”
With the frosty glass clasped between her hands, Joy shivered as she sipped and rubbed her bare toes to create some friction for warmth.
“Are ya cold?” Tristan snatched one end of the damp towel from her shoulders, pulling her closer until it slid off, then balled it up and tossed it on the floor.
Anticipating the curiosity of his kiss, Joy braced for his lips to brush against hers, torn between relieved and disappointed when it didn’t happen. “A little chilly. I haven’t adjusted to the climate in New York yet. One day it’s fifty degrees, the next it’s thirty.”
He spread a chenille blanket over her lap and she tucked her ankles underneath then tugged the hem up to her chin, catching a whiff of lavender fabric softener. “That’s March for ya. Comes in like a lion like they say.” Using a little remote control, he turned on the fireplace. “Gas. So much easier than wood, although definitely not the same. How’s that? Better?”
The heat wave reached her cheeks.
“Perfect.” It was impossible to conceal a sated smile and control her loose lips, unhinged by her fuzzy head. If she didn’t know better she’d swear he was seducing her between the bubble bath, the tasty nibbles, and the hypnotic fire. If only he’d kiss her to put her theory to rest. “All we need is a little Marvin Gaye, and this would be the best first date ever.” The joke came out awkward and she wished she could take back the words.
His friendly smile narrowed to a thoughtful tense line. As sweet as this Casanova might seem, a definite glimmer of mischief shone in those dazzling eyes. “Is that so?”
“I didn’t mean this is a date. I know it’s not a date. I, um…This is…You are, uhhh, a really nice guy. I’m not used to a man being so good to me.”
He lifted a brow. “What kind of man are you used to? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Oh, here we go. On instinct, her thumb rubbed the naked ring finger on her left hand; she’d sold the plain gold band in a Florida pawnshop for pocket money to get to Long Island. Not wanting to ruin the good vibration with negative energy, she decided not to mention her ex-husband. Instead she shrugged, stalling long enough to mentally rummage through her excessive baggage, debating what to say without revealing too much.
“I just mean I’m not used to guys being handy with a kitchen knife. Or a hammer.” Her eyes swept the room, glimpsing Tristan’s massive frame as he sat beside her, close enough to feel the heat of his thigh against hers, but not so close he would sense her waning willpower. “How long did it take you to do all this?”
“Two months. I wanted everything to be toddler-ready before Niblet comes to stay with me.”
Joy was tempted to talk about her own offspring but bit her tongue instead.
“Her room’s not done yet. I figured I’d let her pick out the paint.” He reached to grab a framed postcard-sized photograph from the end table on his side of the couch and handed it to Joy.
“She’s adorable.” Big denim blue eyes matched her daddy’s, with white-blonde hair Joy figured must come from the mother. “She’ll be here soon, huh?”
He nodded, putting the picture back in its place. “Not soon enough. She’s coming down from Star Harbor to spend the summer with me. This place is just a temporary fix for me to recuperate from my divorce. I’m on leave from the police force for a few months—I can either ride it out and retire early, or pull the paperwork and go back to work in September.” With a grunt, Tristan got up and picked through the pockets of his denim jacket on the coat tree. He returned with a folded envelope, smacking it against his palm. “This is the news I’ve been waiting for. I meant to open it sooner but I’ve been dreading it. Mind if I read it now?”
“Go ahead,” Joy whispered, adding a silent prayer that this kindhearted man got what he wished for.
He ran his index finger under the flap and sighed before sliding out the paper. Scanning the words, he shook his head and hummed a few times. Then let out cheeks full of air before dropping it on the coffee table.
“Everything okay?”
He half-shrugged, half-nodded. “Nothing I didn’t know before. I was hoping things changed. Nicole’s still coming in June.” He smiled. “But my ex-wife gets her all winter so I won’t see my kid for Christmas unless I’m in Star Harbor to drop by.” Listening to the blow-by-blow of his devastating divorce and child custody details seemed to level the playing field.
“How old is she?”
“Just turned three in January.”
“She’s still young. You could always get away with doing Christmas in July.”
Tristan squinted one eye, scrunching half his handsome face. “Say what?”
“Just celebrate Christmas in July instead of December. Would she really know the difference?”
“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”
Joy gave him a playful backhanded slap to the biceps, realizing it was the size of a firm russet potato. “You can totally pull it off. All you have to do is decorate and wrap some gifts.”
“You really think it would work?” He bit a wedge of apple.
She shrugged and plucked a grape from the vine. “If spending Christmas with her is important to you, I think it’s worth giving it a try. Don’t you?”
“Maybe. I guess.”
After hearing his daddy-dilemma, Joy was compelled to share her own mommy-misfortune. Thankfully she thought twice before opening her mouth, but before she could clam up completely a skeleton bone tumbled out of the closet. “My ex-husband—”
Tristan’s body snapped to attention. “What about him?”
“He told our boys there’s no Santa.”
“’Cause of religious reasons?”
“Nope. Just because he thought it would build their character not believing in lies.”
“Seriously?” He frowned.
Joy nodded, guilty for her part in ruining the holiday. “And for whatever reason, I went along with it.” She shook her head in disbelief that she agreed to the selfish scheme. “I let it happen. They’re only seven and five. They’ve never celebrated a real traditional Christmas like I had growing up. A few times, when I realized what a mistake it was, I tried telling them about Santa Claus. But their father had done such a number on them, brainwashing them at such a young age, their whole childhood is shot. Not just because of Santa. But the whole idea of magic. That anything is possible.” She could’ve laughed at the revelation, almost forgetting all about it herself.
“No Easter bunny either?”
“Nope.”
“Tooth fairy?”
“None of that stuff. He thought it was a waste of time. Lies used to keep kids in line. I guess after being married to a man who didn’t believe in magic and emotions and all that feel-good stuff, I started to believe maybe he was right.”
Tristan simply stared, his jaw slack. “Geez—what kinda dad would do that? Your ex sounds like a real piece of work.”
Glancing at the flickering flames, she feared the waterworks would come if she looked into his eyes. “Yeah…he is.” Joy gulped the ice water as if it could drown her shame with the temporary effectiveness of booze.
“Lemme get you a refill.” He padded to the kitchen and returned with another bottle of spring water. “Would you help me?”
Confused, Joy asked, “With what? Opening the bottle?”
Tristan gave her a puzzled glance. “No. With what you said about Christmas in July.”
“I’m sure you can handle it. Just put up a tree. Hang stockings over the fireplace. Wrap some toys. If you don’t mind the neighborhood thinking you’re crazy, string some lights on the house.”
“I’m so busy with work. Plus I’m not good with stuff like that.”
“What are you talking about?” She waved her hand around the room. “Look at this place. You have a knack for decorating—you could be a woman.”
“Really?” His wolfish smile revealed pearly, straight teeth. “A woman? How so?”
Joy leaned back. “Not a woman like you wear ladies’ underwear or anything. Especially with a beard like that. I just mean, you know, you have a flair.”
“A flair?” The corners of his outer lashes crinkled as he chuckled. “What the hell’s a flair?”
She exhaled before turning as blue as his eyes. “A talent for decorating.”
“I have other talents too.” His voice dropped a sultry octave.
Her heart drummed while her pulse pounded in her ears. Nose-to-nose, the sweet apple on his warm breath had her toes curling. “I bet,” she whispered, licking her lips.
“Wanna see?”
Here it comes. “Oh, yesss.” She closed her eyes expecting a kiss, but instead he leaped off the couch. Her lids snapped open in time to see him snatch a photo album from the bookshelf before plopping back down beside her, thumbing through snapshots of houses in various stages of construction. “You built all these?”
He nodded. “What can I say? I also have a flair with tools.”
Joy marveled at the structures as much as the brawny man in the images. Whether high on a ladder. Swinging a hammer. Heavy lifting. Reading blueprints. It was clear Tristan enjoyed his work. “You certainly do.”
“But not so much with the finishing touches, unless it’s a job for someone else. That’s why I don’t have any pictures on the walls. Or an area rug. Or any of that extra stuff.” With each word his heavy breath was as unsteady as her own. He leaned closer, electric energy filling the gap between them. “This place could use a woman’s touch. Especially if I’m gonna turn it into Santa’s off-season workshop. Whaddaya say?” His finger stroked beneath her chin, tilting her face toward his.
You can barely help yourself, how can you help him? Swallowing the urge make a promise she might not be able to keep, she sighed instead. “I would if I could. But I can’t.” Even though she inched back to her end of the couch, his hands held her shoulders firmly in place while his hungry gaze roved from her eyes to her mouth.
Tristan’s furry cheek brushed hers as he whispered in her ear. “Please.”
His tender tone would have shattered her heart if it hadn’t already been broken. And his beard was surprisingly soft; she imagined it trailing across every inch of her body. “I don’t know,” she gasped on the last bit of self-restraint.
Just do it. Maybe he really is your lid. The silly sentiment had her second guessing her reliable conscience. Although there was no denying it was in the back of her mind since the day she saw him, it made no sense to start something she wasn’t prepared to finish. But there was no fighting fate, especially when Cupid’s arrow aimed straight between her thighs.
Carnal nature had her mounting his lap like a stallion. Mouths crushed together. Tongues swirled in bliss. Hands all over groped for more.
Who knows who ignited this inferno, but God his kiss felt good. Just what the doctor ordered to cure Joy’s crumpled confidence and resuscitate her flatlined libido. Helping him fake Christmas was the least she could do to repay him for confirming she was still a desirable hot-blooded woman.
So she muttered an indecipherable “Yes” to his relentless question and would deal with the repercussions later.