Page 27 of Better When Shared (Kristin Lance Anthologies #2)

Tristan

I slipped through the lobby crowd, dodging a cluster of guests at reception and a flustered bellhop hauling designer luggage, as I zeroed in on Caleb. My younger brother stood by a marble column between a lovely woman with dark, glossy hair and a tall, handsome man with a big smile. The man’s face was familiar, but I couldn’t place where I knew him from. Maybe we’d met a long time ago.

They were whispering something, but as I approached, Caleb straightened, a guarded expression flickering across his face. He looked better, which was a relief after the way he’d left his job with Bancroft. Whatever he might think, I only wanted to see my brother happy.

I cleared my throat.

“You’re late. The meeting was scheduled for three, and your clients were here on time.”

Watching his face fall, I immediately wished I’d said something friendlier, and glanced at the couple standing beside him, floundering for something to say.

“I see you brought your... companions.”

Caleb’s posture stiffened, and I knew immediately that I’d chosen the wrong word.

“These are my partners, Tristan. Julian and Nisha Brooks-Sharma. This is my brother, Tristan Bancroft, CEO of the Bancroft Group and professional killjoy.”

My lips twitched into a half-smile because he wasn’t wrong. I wondered if Caleb’s more relaxed posture had anything to do with finding Julian and Nisha.

Before I could say more, a tall, lean man with wavy dark hair and tan skin, wearing a t-shirt and—were those my crochet shorts? They couldn’t be. How would he have gotten his hands on them? A stunning woman with curly hair and silky brown skin walked beside him, a serene smile on her lips. She was wearing a halter top that also looked familiar and a flowing boho skirt. My pulse spiked, my eyes focusing on the clothing.

It couldn’t be. I knew at once they were Caleb’s clients. I’d seen Gemma greet them in the lobby earlier. But they’d been wearing completely different clothing.

“Why in the bloody fuck,”

I muttered under my breath, as my anxiety spiked to intolerable levels.

“did you think to bring those hippies to my hotel?”

Caleb stifled a laugh.

“Those hippies are my largest clients—Marco and Juniper Torres. They own the Bindery Hotel chain. The one that’s blown up over the past year.”

I knew who they were. I was obsessively thorough with my research. But Caleb didn’t need to know I’d already thoroughly stalked his clients.

“The boutique brand that outperformed the Ritz in customer satisfaction last quarter? Those are the owners?”

“The very same.”

Marco’s eyes found us, and he barreled forward, engulfing Caleb in a bear hug.

“Caleb! This place is fucking magnificent! All that Georgian symmetry, those Bath stone facades—my God, the preservation work is immaculate!”

Juniper flitted over, planting kisses on both Caleb’s cheeks, then on a startled Julian and delighted Nisha.

“We just got back from a little exploring. Can’t wait to see the property you’ve been raving about.”

She shimmied, as if the excitement was too much for her body to contain, and the fringe of her halter whipped against her perfect skin, which was a lovely shade of brown.

My chest tightened as I examined their clothing, trying to keep my expression cool and detached when all I wanted to do was march them into my office and question them like the police.

“Have you met my brother, Tristan?”

Caleb said, glancing at me.

Marco offered a grin that tightened something in my gut.

“Not officially. I’m Marco.”

His shorts—my shorts—hugged every curve of his muscular thighs.

“And this is my wife, Juniper.”

I forced my professional mask into place.

“Mr. and Mrs. Torres. We’re delighted to host you as you explore the area.”

Juniper bounced on the balls of her feet.

“When can we see the property? The one in the Cotswolds you told us about, Caleb? We’re thinking a rural location would be the perfect setting for a romantic Bindery retreat. Or perhaps we could find something along the sea? All the cliffs and moody skies. Very gothic.”

My heart thudded to a stop as I tried to keep up with the conversation without revealing that these two had somehow stumbled upon my secret.

“You’re buying property here?”

“Caleb suggested it.”

Marco winked.

“He’s the one who took our funky idea and made it into something the Instagram crowd can’t get enough of. Now we have four hotels, and we’re working on a fifth!”

I tuned out their excited chatter as they kept talking about Caleb’s genius and his flourishing romance, focusing on unravelling the tight knot in my stomach.

Everything logical in me screamed to let the odd appearance of my handcrafted knitwear slide… but I needed to know where they’d gotten it.

“Where did you get that top?”

The words tumbled out, too accusatory for the casual conversation I’d interrupted.

Juniper didn’t seem to notice, smiling boldly as her fingers traced the flower-like knots I’d spent hours perfecting.

“The craftsmanship on these pieces is exquisite, don’t you think? We found them in this tiny pop-up shop back there—”

“Pop-up shop?”

I interrupted, voice sharp.

“The one with the handmade bath salts? Like a craft fair. Gemma was running it,”

Marco said.

I froze. Gemma was selling my private work? How? Why?

“What?”

I rasped, fury and dread mingling in my chest to form something toxic.

Caleb cleared his throat.

“I’m sure cousin Gemma has a reason for—”

“Those were not for sale,”

I growled, heat surging.

Juniper frowned.

“But there were such beautiful pieces, all laid out perfectly! Honestly, do you know who the artist is? We’d love to stock them at the gift shop in our new Palm Springs location. The Coachella crowd will go nuts for them.”

Sweat prickled on the back of my neck. This was too much, and I needed to get out of here and find Gemma and demand an explanation. How many other people were going to walk by sporting clothing I’d made? Something private and secret. I opened and closed my mouth, trying to find the right words, but only a choked sound came out.

“Mr. Bancroft, were you trying to tell us something? Are you choking?”

Juniper’s gentle hand on my back and her concerned tone nearly tipped me into panic. Physical touch wasn’t common in my life.

I glanced at her, my eyes zeroing in on the way my crochet top curved around her full breasts, supporting and holding them while giving a subtle glimpse of the skin beneath. Unbidden, images of unravelling her, of pressing the yarn structure out of the way and dragging my tongue over…

I swallowed, pushing those thoughts away. She was a married woman, for fuck’s sake.

“The clothing you’re wearing belongs to me.”

“Really?”

Juniper said, looking down at herself.

“I’m not sure this top would fit you.”

I let out a brittle laugh.

“No, I mean I made them. But it’s an… er… personal project.”

Caleb barked laughter.

“You crochet? Since when do you crochet?”

“It’s therapeutic,”

I snapped, summoning my best corporate death stare even as my pulse fluttered from anger. Or from something wilder: attraction.

“Technically, that piece is a mix of crochet and macrame. My therapist suggested it for stress management. I didn’t expect these two idiots to think my collection was a boutique.”

Crap—too much information. And I shouldn’t have called them idiots.

Caleb’s eyebrows shot skyward.

Marco looked genuinely puzzled.

“If you hadn’t laid it out so—”

“Enough!”

my voice boomed across the lobby, my anxiety making it far too loud. Everyone flinched.

“Those aren’t even men’s shorts.”

He glanced down.

“What do you mean? The fit is amazing. The tension is perfect, and I love these macrame tassels.”

He wiggled; the tassels danced across his muscled thighs. Heat flared in my cheeks as I forced myself to look away.

“They’re women’s shorts. Designed for a petite female form. Not meant to be stretched over a man’s... endowments.”

And fuck, Marco Torres had one of the most impressive endowments I’d seen. Not that I paid much attention to men’s cocks.

“Why didn’t Gemma say anything when we paid her, then?”

Juniper asked, folding her hands over her middle in a way that pushed her breasts up and stretched the soft yarn of her top, revealing more skin. I forced my gaze away.

Marco bit his pillowy bottom lip, looking skyward.

“She looked a little confused, now that I’m thinking about it.”

“Confused?” I choked.

“We’ll give them back,”

Marco offered, reaching for the waistband of his shorts.

“No!”

four voices—mine, Caleb’s, Julian’s, and Nisha’s—shouted in unison.

“Keep them,”

I insisted, fighting a baffling stir of something hot and shameful in my chest.

“I have absolutely no interest in a pair of shorts that have been that intimate with your balls.”

Marco and Juniper dissolved into delighted giggles, Juniper’s eyes sparkling with mischief that almost seemed flirtatious. They said their goodbyes, thanked me, apologized again, and turned toward the elevators. Caleb was still smiling, and they drifted inside. The doors slid shut on the echo of their laughter.

How could two people who were executives in the same industry be so different from me? They seemed happy and carefree. It made me wonder how their hotels were as successful as the ones I ran. Was it dumb luck, or was it Caleb’s doing?

Shaking off that thought, I reached into my pocket and thrust a key card envelope at Caleb.

“Your room.”

I spun on my heel, desperate to banish the memory of Marco and Juniper in my yarn—and the electric ache in my veins. I was not turned on. Not even a little. But I couldn’t stop thinking about those tassels grazing Juniper’s back...

How had Gemma gotten hold of my stash? And why? The questions churned in my head long after I fled the lobby.