[Invitation to Eden 24.0] How to Tempt a Tycoon (21 page)

“Yeah, I know.” He shifts from one foot to the other. “You know what the fucked up thing is?”

I shake my head.

“I came to the island to tell you I was done waiting, that I’d moved on.” He looks away, running a hand through his thick hair.

“Wait.” I stare up at him, baffled. “You’re in a relationship?”

His eyes are dull, as if he hasn’t slept in days. “Her name’s Shay. It’s over now.”

“What? Why?” Even as the questions pop out of my mouth, relief flows through me, which is totally unfair and irrational.

“Seeing you? Being in Eden and waiting for you...thinking you might come back to me even though you didn’t?” His hands form fists and he looks like he wants to punch something. Hard. “Fuck, Tess. You are so much a part of me I can’t fucking let you go. Not even when I want to. Not even when everything you do and say tells me waiting is futile.”

He takes a deep breath and flinches like the mere act of pulling air into his lungs hurts. “I realized it’s not fair to her if I’m always waiting for you.”

“Chase,” I take hold of his forearms and squeeze. “I want you to be happy. God. If I could go back in time, I would do things so differently.”

“Would you? How?”

“For starters, I would never have seduced you.”

A muscle twitches in his cheek. “You regret it?”

“No. Of course not. But this?” I motion between the two of us. “This isn’t good for either of us. This is a never ending source of pain and I honestly have no idea how to fix it.”

“I know.”

“That’s why I didn’t come back. I’m not good for you.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Is it?”

“You’re my fucking soul mate, Tess. We both feel it. We both know it. You can continue to avoid me and deny it.” He cringes as if someone just punched him in the gut. “The reason I called it off with Shay is because I know...I fucking know our time is coming.”

I knock my forehead against his chest. Even now, even after spending the most amazing holiday with Christophe and being exposed to a whole new way to love, even now I can’t give Chase what he wants, which is one of two things. Either telling him it’s over—for good....and meaning it. Or, telling him I’m ready to try again.

It kills me that I can’t say either of those things.

As if reading my mind, he tilts my chin up. “It’s okay, Tess. I understand. As fucked up as it is, I promise you, I understand.” He strokes my jaw. “I just keep on holding out that one day we’ll figure this out and find a way.” He shuts his eyes, pain flashing across his face. “Is that stupid?”

I should say, yes. I should tell him that I’m never going to change and that we’ll never be happy together. That would be the humane thing to do. But there are two problems with telling him this, the first is that I have never been a good liar, so lying to Chase—the man who’s always been able to see through me—is out of the question. The second problem is the fact that it would, indeed, be a lie and I’d only be saying it to help him move on.

Which I totally want for him...and yet...

The fucked up truth is, I don’t want Chase to move on.

It’s so wholly unfair of me and I hate myself for it, but the reality of loving Chase Walker is complicated and impossible, yet un-fucking-deniable.

Chase eases back from me, his features doing a crazy dance across his cheek bones as I’m pretty sure the same complicated emotions I’m feeling are reeling around inside of him. “I’ve got to go, Tess.”

“Okay.”

“If you need me—”

“I know.” I laugh bleakly. “I don’t deserve it. But I know. Thank you.”

He kisses my forehead, a brotherly action that undoes a knot that’s formed in my throat, making it hard to breathe and prompting tears to spring into my eyes.

He takes a step back, his lips pressed in a grim line. “It’s going to be okay. I know it will be. When the time’s right, we’ll make it work.”

I nod, not because I believe him but because it’s like hearing Christophe all over again. I don’t know what my connection is with either of these men, if we’re all tied together in some cosmic knot, I don’t know why it’s so strong or how to break it or even if I should. All I know is that the connection is there and while my bond with Christophe feels buoyant and easy, the one with Chase feels complicated and difficult making it harder to let go.

We don’t say goodbye. We simply walk in opposite directions, nothing resolved, nothing settled.

I make my way to the gate that will take me to New York. The emotions and sensations that Christophe awakened mixed with the heartache and pain that Chase embodies makes me feel completely at odds. What purpose do these men serve in my life? Will I find comfort and peace again in Christophe’s arms? Is he a man I could spend my life with? Or is Chase? Did I meet Christophe in order to teach me how to love Chase? Or is the other way around?

Maybe both of them are simply important chapters of my nomadic life, teaching me that life is about how much and how deeply you love and while it hurts like hell to lose love, the pain is a necessary reminder of what it is to be alive.

Fuck. I must be
very
alive because right now the pain is monumental. Instead of trying to tamp it down, drown it, or numb it, I sit at the gate, waiting for my flight to be called and I revel in it, welcoming the crush of my ribs against my enlarged heart, savoring the steel cord wrapped around my windpipe, making each breath next to impossible.

Huge salty tears course down my cheeks and I find myself half laughing and half sobbing as I recall the crazy events on the island. At some point, I vaguely notice that the family sitting beside me gets up and moves away.

Lunatic alert!

Although they have moved several rows to my right, their young daughter, who must be about five years old, continues to stare at me. There is something eerily familiar about her and I find myself staring back while breath shudders in and out of my lungs.

The girl digs around for something inside her mother’s purse and then, when her mother isn’t looking, she sneaks over to me and, standing shyly in front of me, she brings her hidden hands from behind her back and presents me with an apple, like a young magician in training.

“Don’t be sad,” she says softly. “It’ll be okay.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, tentatively taking the apple because I can’t figure out how to decline it gracefully and besides, it is the sweetest gesture imaginable.

She grins, turns and scampers away, though she pauses to glance over her shoulder and give me a five-year-old finger wave before joining her parents again.

I bite into the apple and chew thoughtfully. It’s crisp and juicy, just the way I like it and I bring my attention from the tightness in my chest to the explosion of flavors in my mouth. As I chew, I consider my life. I know I told Christophe that he might be part of my future and I know I told Chase that I wish I could undo the past, but the truth is, I’m not sure about either of those things.

I love my life. The pain, the heartache, the love, the relationships...I love all of it. Right now, I wouldn’t have it any other way. A perfect life isn’t about being happy all the time, it’s about balance. It’s about feeling equal parts happiness and sadness. Pain and bliss. I left Christophe feeling buoyant and hopeful only to encounter Chase, who immediately resurrected years of sadness and angst.

If a good life is a balanced life, then I’ve got a fucking good life!

I wipe my damp cheeks and take another bite of apple just as my flight is called for New York a city that is ripe with possibilities. Of course, right now I feel so raw I can’t imagine spending time with anyone and I probably won’t. But, who the hell knows? Maybe I’ll run into Christophe. Maybe we’ll go for dinner and make love all night long. Maybe I’ll meet someone new.

But that’s tomorrow. I’ll figure tomorrow out...tomorrow.

Right now I’m just going to get on this airplane, eat my apple and enjoy being who I am. Tessa Savage.

God, I love my life.

~The End~

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HOW TO TEMPT A TYCOON
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Party of Three

I
wake up to the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Stretching languidly, I roll over to find I am not alone in the bed. There is a body there, a naked body. A familiar naked body. How do I know it’s familiar? Well, when you’ve been married to someone and have shared a bed, a shower, the couch, the bedroom floor, and pretty much every other hard surface in the house with them, you recognize them. Plus seeing my name tattooed on the person’s arm is pretty indicative.

I touch the tattoo, touch the familiar warmth of his skin before drawing my hand away.

What the fuck?

I sit up. The sheet falls away and I realize that Chase is not the only one naked.

No.

No, no, no!

What am I doing here? Naked? With my ex-husband?

This cannot be good. I do not remember making this decision. This is NOT a decision that I would make. Chase and I are through. I do not want to do this, relive this pain, revisit the agony that he represents in my life. I don’t.

Not at all.

Nope.

I’d be stupid to sleep with him, to let myself get involved with him. It’d be like reopening a barely scabbed over wound with a fork.

Slipping out of bed, I scramble around on the floor, looking for clothes—anything—to put on to cover my nakedness. The only thing I can find is Chase’s t-shirt.

“Hey, babe. What are you doing?”

Fuck!

Chase has rolled over to my side of the bed and is propped on his elbow, watching me with a sleepy smile plastered on his face.

“Look away.”

“Why?”

“I’m naked.”

“No shit.”

“Chase.” I cover my front with his t-shirt which brings the material close enough to my face that I can smell him. It’s a scent I will always associate with sex and pain.

“Honestly, Tess. It’s not like it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be seeing it anymore.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

“What did I say?”

“What’s wrong, babe...don’t you remember last night?”

My heart hammers the inside of my ribcage. “Tell me we didn’t.”

His answer is a mischievous grin.

“Oh my God!” I cover my face with Chase’s shirt.

“Tess.”

“How could I?”

“Hey. Tess?”

“What?”

“We didn’t make love last night,” he says quietly.

“We didn’t?” I slowly drop my hands.

“No.”

“What happened?”

“I found you sleeping in the hammock outside. I brought you in.”

“You undressed me?”

“No. You did. Then you crawled under the sheets and promptly fell right back to sleep.” His grin is crooked. “Do you have any idea how fucking hard it was for me to lie beside you, listening to you make those little sounds you make, like you’re having dirty dreams, your naked body writhing beside me?”

He groans and pushes himself to a sitting position. “Pretty much my own personal version of hell.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. God, those words come out of my mouth way too often when I’m around Chase.

All playfulness is gone from his face. He flips the covers off so he can stand facing me for a mere second before turning to rifle through the duffel on the luggage rack beside the bed.

Yep. My ex-husband is standing right before me completely nude.

Gloriously, fucking nude.

If not for physically forcing myself to close my mouth, I would be salivating all over his t-shirt. The man is unbelievably, scorching fucking hot. Tall, lithe, built...damn! He’s one of those dudes who has muscle definition in places where mortals like me do not even have muscles. Like along the sides of his hip bones. He’s so unconsciously masculine it makes him even more desirable because he doesn’t notice, nor care about how he looks.

He doesn’t even own a comb.

Who the fuck needs a comb when you’ve got these?
He shows me his fingers, spread, ready to rake through his hair. I hear his voice and picture him so clearly in my head it’s as if he just said it this second, not ten years ago.

“What did you say?”

“Huh?” I give my head a shake.

Chase gives me funny look before turning back to his duffel. “I think you asked me about a comb,” he says over his shoulder.

“Did I?” I ask, skirting the bed to the other side and climbing back in, waiting for Chase to leave so I can dress without him watching.

He pulls on a pair of running shorts and sits on the edge of the bed. “You okay?”

I rub my throbbing temples. “Yeah, I just wish I could remember yesterday.”

He studies me as if he can’t quite figure me out, as if he wants to say something, fill me in, but then decides not to because he wants me to figure it out for myself.

“I’m going for a run. Do you want to come?”

I don’t even answer because the man should know me better than that.

He laughs. “Just checking. People change.”