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18

Tristan

“ D o you think this is what your doctor had in mind, when he recommended light exercise?” Lena asked, her short, blunt nails tracing lazy circles on his chest.

Tristan barely swallowed back a groan. She was sprawled half on top of him, one leg draped over his, her bare foot stroking absent patterns against his lower calf.

Such a simple touch, but God, he loved the way she touched him.

In the last week, she’d mapped his body with her hands, her lips, her teeth. And he, in turn, had done the same, learning her, savoring her, exploring her.

He’d been careful not to strain himself—he still hadn’t taken her hard against the wall, the way he really wanted to. Instead, he’d added it to the list of things he wanted to do with her later. It was a list that was growing dangerously long. And not only with sexual positions. There were other things on it, too. He was discovering there was no limit to the number of things he wanted to do with Lena.

He hadn’t, however, shared this with her. They rarely spoke about the future and, if the subject ever came up, Lena dodged it like the proverbial bullet. Changed the subject. Looked away. As if she didn’t believe there could be a future for them beyond these four walls, beyond his recovery.

And that thought? It twisted something inside him. That, after everything they’d been through, she still seemed to have so little faith in them.

Though he was feeling stronger every day, Tristan was almost tempted to delay his inevitable return to the real world. But he had a job to get back to. And so did Lena. She’d put everything on hold to be with him, but they couldn’t hide here, playing house together, no matter how tempting the thought might be.

But that also didn’t mean they had to stop seeing each other.

It just meant they had to find new ways of doing it.

He realized he hadn’t answered her question. “I think the doctor will be very impressed with my recovery when I see him tomorrow,” he said, sliding his hands down her back.

She arched into him like a cat, a soft little noise slipping from her throat.

It was yet another discovery. Another thing that belonged only to him.

Lena huffed out a quiet laugh, her lips brushing his collarbone. “Hopefully, you’re not going to share exactly how this recovery came about.”

Tristan smirked, his fingers sliding lower to grasp her beautiful ass. “That depends.”

She tilted her head, her hazel eyes suddenly suspicious. “On what?”

“On whether he asks the right questions.”

She snorted, but the sound was cut off as he flipped her onto her back in one smooth movement, settling over her. Her breath hitched. Her pupils dilated.

“I think,” he murmured, bringing his lips down to meet hers, “we should probably keep some things private.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, slow and teasing, dragging out the anticipation.

“Mmmm…” Lena’s mouth opened and his tongue slipped inside. He wanted to keep the kiss light and fun, as it’d begun, but the heat of her mouth dissolved any self-control he may have had.

God, he wanted her.

He now knew he was never going to get enough of her. In fact?—

A cell phone buzzed on the bedside table. It took him a long moment to realize it was his. Lena reached it before he could. “Here.”

His mother’s name flashed on the screen.

“Tristan. So glad you’re not at work.” He felt a sharp moment of guilt when he realized he hadn’t told his parents that he was on medical leave. He hadn’t wanted to worry them, but he also … he hadn’t wanted to share this time with anyone other than Lena.

“Is everything okay, Maman ? Are you and Father back in town?” She sounded calm, but then, she always sounded calm. His mother was zenness personified.

“Not yet,” his mother replied smoothly. “We’re still in Geneva. We should be back next week. But that’s not why I’m calling.”

Tristan sighed, running a hand down his face. He could feel Lena beside him, still warm, still pressed against him, still so damn distracting.

He forced himself to focus as his mother paused. It wasn’t hesitation, exactly—his mother wasn’t the type to hesitate—but something measured. “I need you in Basel two weeks from now.”

Basel? Hell, no. “Maman, you know I don’t do events.“

“It’s your father’s sixtieth birthday, Tristan. He’s going to be showing a new watch, and I would like us there to support him.”

He was tempted to remind his mother that Amaury was his adoptive father, not his biological father, but thankfully, the petty thought never made it past his lips. For better or worse, Amaury was the only father Tristan had ever known, since his biological father—an early member of the PGHM—had died in an avalanche before he was even born. And Amaury had been as good a father to Tristan as he was capable of being. Tristan knew this.

“I don’t do events, Maman, ” he repeated.

“You don’t do events,” his mother said, her tone as smooth as silk—and just as unyielding. “I seem to recall you saying the same thing last year. Which was fine. I didn’t force you to come then. But this time, I need you to be there, Tristan.”

Tristan exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers to his temple. His mother rarely asked him for anything.

Lena shifted beside him, propping herself up on one elbow, watching him. She’d pulled up the sheet, so he could no longer see the beautiful curve of her breasts. But he could still feel her warmth against him.

“ Maman ,” Tristan said, keeping his voice measured. “Please don’t ask this of me.” The weight of expectation, of polished suits and crystal glasses and conversations about limited-edition Swiss craftsmanship, pressed down on him like a suffocating force.

“This isn’t about the watches, Tristan. It’s about your father. He wants you there.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. He could feel Lena beside him, studying with quiet curiosity.

He knew that was meant to guilt him. And damn it, it was working.

His mother waited him out. It was her silence that let him know she wouldn’t be backing down. Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he muttered. “Send me the details, Maman . I’ll do my best to square it with my work calendar, but I can’t promise anything.”

His mother, however, sounded thoroughly satisfied. “Good. I’ll reserve a room for you. Enjoy your evening, mon coeur .”

Tristan let his phone drop onto the nightstand and exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m not a big fan of family events,” he explained.

“Sounds like your mother really wants you at this one,” Lena said lightly.

“My mother would do anything for my father.”

“I think that’s wonderful,” she said. There was a wistful look in her eye. “I wish I could call my mom and talk to her.”

“When did your mom pass away?” Tristan asked cautiously. He didn’t want to open old wounds, but he sensed this was important for understanding her.

“Six years ago.” She gave a small wince. “In fact, that’s something I wanted to explain to you. The night I stood you up?—“

“You don’t have to explain anything,” he interrupted.

Lena raised her chin defiantly. “I want to. I was already dressed to go out, when I suddenly realized it was the anniversary of my mother’s passing. It was the first time I’d forgotten and it … it shocked me.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“You don’t have to apologize. She must have been a great mom.”

“The best. My father’s not a bad parent, but he wasn’t always there, particularly when I was growing up. My mom … she more than made up for his absences.” Her tone grew lighter. “For what it’s worth, I think you should go.”

The question left his lips before he could think better of it. “Come with me, then.”

“Where?”

“To Basel.”

A flicker of something unreadable passed over her face. But the more he thought of it, the more right it seemed.

Her gaze sharpened. “What is it you’re inviting me to, exactly, Tristan? To have wild sex in your hotel room, or to meet your parents?”

Both. Definitely both.

“Come with me, Lena. Please.”

“Come on, Tristan. This—” She gestured vaguely at the bed, at the two of them still wrapped in sheets, tangled in each other. “This has been great. But we don’t know where—” She cut herself off, biting her lip.

Tristan’s stomach tightened.

“ I know,” he said. “I know where this is going. It’s going as far as you let us go.”

“The last weeks have been wonderful, Tristan, but they haven’t been … real . You’ll be back at work soon, and everything that separates us is still there.”

“It doesn’t have to separate us. Your father knows about us already. In fact, he seems to be less hostile to the idea of us together than you are.” He searched her face, his pulse hammering. “Many of my colleagues have wives and families, Lena. It can be done.”

Her face opened in shock. “Wives ?”

Tristan smiled. “Too soon?”

“We should try dating first,” she said.

He pounced on her words. “Let’s do that. Come to Basel with me, Lena. It’ll be a date.”

Her throat bobbed, and he knew she felt it, too. That whatever this was—whatever had been building between them, tightening around them like a net—it wasn’t just a fling. It wasn’t just something that could be confined to four walls, to stolen weeks of recovery.

Lena blinked. “Tristan?—”

“I’m not asking you to do it for my parents. I’m asking you to do it for me. For us.”

Her breath hitched.

Then, very quietly, she said, “Okay.”

Tristan exhaled slowly, his fingers slipping into her hair. It felt like the first crack in the walls she kept so tightly built around herself.

“Okay.”