And how she’d been in control the whole time.
The memory still stung, so he slapped it away like an annoying fly and pushed it aside. He’d tried, dammit. Tried to deal with her snippiness toward him even though he’d held out the olive branch many times. He hated the way she left a group conversation when he showed up. Hated how she ignored him when she came to dinner on Sundays, focusing her attention on Morgan and Cal, Dalton and Brady, and only offered him polite nods. He hated the way his gut lurched when he looked at her daughter, proof of her betrayal. But most of all, Tristan hated the way his dick hardened every time he caught her signature scent of orange blossoms, or heard her throaty voice say his name, or watched her ripe curves move toward him clad in those sexy designer suits and high heels.
She’d only gotten more beautiful with age. She walked with the power of a woman who knew how to get what she wanted. Her strawberry-colored hair now hung halfway down her back, still curly and wild as ever, like silk trapped in fire. Her face had always been a bit too round, her mouth and eyes a bit too wide, and she’d always despised the scattering of freckles across her nose and dotted generously over her white skin. Tristan used to kiss and lick them in an erotic game of connect the dots. She’d never been petite or small-boned—no, her body was all Eve, lush and curvy and ripe like the apple that had tempted her. In New York, he’d rarely met a woman over size 6. Their makeup was always flawless and they regularly visited blow-out salons to kill any curls, and they were all vegetarians who believed in saving the earth. They never looked at him with adoration and always paid their own check, and would instruct the bartender exactly how to make their Skinnygirl martini cocktail.
But he’d come back because he missed her. Wanted her. Was ready to commit for life.
The joke had been on him.
Yet she still haunted him, and it was driving him insane. He’d do anything to move on and move past these leftover emotions from their shared history. Somehow, he’d turned into the lovesick teen with a crush, and the humiliation of it burned through him.
Something had to be done.
The thought took hold, though it was rife with booby traps. She may treat him like shit, but he’d memorized every inch of skin on her body, every expression on her beautiful face. He knew she crinkled her brow when she lied, and tapped her index finger against her bottom lip when she was deep in thought, and shivered uncontrollably when he bit the place where her neck met shoulder.
She still wanted him.
Oh, she hated it as much as he did. It would’ve been so much easier between them to keep a business-type relationship or even a distant, casual friendship. The only reason they bantered and argued and tried to avoid each other was simple.
They wanted to drag each other to bed.
The memory of her naked and vulnerable drifted to his brain, then melted all thinking-cells. He’d been with other women, of course, but no one had given him what Sydney had. The way she’d reached for him with eagerness, her body melting and surrendering to any delicious thing he wanted to do to her, and the adoration in her sea-green eyes that pumped him up with adrenaline and power. No one had come close.
He wondered if any woman ever could.
Tristan rubbed his eyes, picked up his mug, and headed back to his office. They couldn’t keep doing this. Eventually something was going to break. And the more he thought about dealing with all this built-up angst and frustration in bed, the better his new plan looked. Perhaps the only way to move forward was to revisit the past and close the book properly.
All clichés led to one road.
Seduce Sydney.
chapter two
Mama, it’s almost my birthday! Can we get an ice cream cake?”
Sydney laughed, grabbing her daughter and pulling her onto her lap. “Of course, you know that’s my favorite. What do you want to do, sweetheart? Have you decided?”
Her daughter tilted her face and scrunched up her nose. “Can we go to Chuck E. Cheese’s?”
Sydney couldn’t help wincing. It may be a kid’s paradise, but it was a mother’s nightmare. The loud, flashing games; the overexcited children hunting for prize tickets they’d only win enough of to get a spider ring; and the large mouse character who danced in a purple sweater. She always left with a headache.
Maybe she could sneak in a flask filled with wine.
“Sure. Just get me a list and we’ll send out some invitations.”
“Okay. And I want to see Uncle Cal and Morgan and Dalton and Tristan and Uncle Brady. Can they come to my party? ’Cause they’re my family.”
Her chest tightened but she managed a breath. The guilt was manageable this time. Practice did make perfect. “Yes, honey. But we’ll have a cake for you at Uncle Cal’s house, too, and Morgan said she’s making your favorite dish.”