Keeping His Promise (Year of the Billionaire Part 3) (7 page)

"I hope I'm better looking than those girls. They look mean as hell."

"Ah, but to a baboon dude, they're lovely. Look at the ass on that one!" He pointed to a mother with an infant clinging to her back. Her rear end was swollen, red and angry looking.

"Yikes! That looks positively painful."

"Speaking of painful…how is your lovely pink ass today?" He pulled me back against him and looped his arms around my waist.

I blushed at the reminder of what he had done to me the night before. Mostly I was blushing at how wantonly I had reacted to what he had done to me. He caught my embarrassment.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, darling. You were wonderful. Abandoned to me in your sweet lust. I loved fucking your ass and I want to do it again and again."

Although he had whispered it into my ear, I still glanced around wondering if anyone else had heard. His breath tickled my ear and his words sent messages
all the way through my body. Tristan had that way of making everything tingle within me.

He kissed my neck, oblivious to anything going on around us. I couldn't help but sigh and tilt my head to give him better access to my skin. His touch ignited my skin and made me want to melt into him
. And while I couldn't characterize my new feelings for him as pity, there was definitely an element in me that wanted to mother him, if only just a little. I liked knowing his vulnerabilities, even if I found the source of them heartbreaking.

He held me close against him as we watched the carefree animals chasing each other wildly around the little island. Even though they looked fearsome, I could see that it was all in fun for them. They screeched and hollered at one another, tearing around the tree trunks that served as their jungle gym. I pressed my bottom back against him and wiggled it playfully against his groin. He rewarded me with a growling grunty ape noise that made me giggle.

We took a leisurely walk back to the parking lot. It was mid afternoon and time to start wending our way back to the city. Tristan left the top up this time because the afternoon had turned cool as the sun slanted lower in the sky.

It was the first time we had spent time together doing something completely ordinary. We weren't in a private plane, or on a yacht, or in a five star restaurant. Our lunch had pulled pork sandwiches washed down with a micro brew from the "Bison Bistro" at the zoo. We shared some cotton candy as we walked around the little lake by the bear exhibit. It was an afternoon that made me feel as if maybe there was a chance for something a little like a normal life with Tristan.

We passed a roadside stand selling mums, pumpkins and gourds to decorate yards for the season. Tristan pulled over and bought a big pot with three different colors of flower plants, a bunch of Indian corn and several decorative gourds.

"Are you planning to dress up our room at the Drake?"

"Uh, no. I have one last stop before we head into the city. If it's okay with you, I'd like to put this stuff on my mother's grave."

"Of course it's okay." I felt honored that he felt
comfortable taking me there.

"I don't get to Chicago often, but when I do I like to at least pay my respects." He gestured toward the backseat and the fall flora. "She loved this kind of stuff. We always had cornstalks in the yard and lots of pumpkins."

We pulled into a cemetery. The sign at the entrance said "Woodlawn Memorial Park". It was actually quite a pretty place with gentle hills still covered with green lawns and a nice scattering of mature trees.

"I don't even remember the funeral. I know I went. Years later, I asked my father and he told me that I had been to the service." He pulled over to the side of the drive and we got out. Tristan gathered the autumn flowers and handed me the paper bag that held the corn and the gourds. "I
really don't like the idea of being buried. I'm going to go with cremation myself."

I followed a pace behind. "I agree," I said. "It seems like a waste of space and money."

"That's not my reason at all. It used to terrify me that my mother was buried in a box here. Part of me had visions of her waking up, alone and six feet underground."

"Yikes, what a scary thought!"

"I think it's a pretty common childish notion. Now that I'm older, though, it comforts me a little to come here. It's my way of knowing that I didn't imagine her." He stopped by a simple headstone with an angel standing watch at the top. "Maryann Katherine King" was inscribed on one side with her dates of birth and death and the other side was blank. "It's a double plot. Someday my father will have the other half. He'll never remarry. Whatever I might say about him, I know that he loved my mother fiercely. She may be the only person he ever did love."

He put the pot of flowers at the foot of the headstone. "You arrange that stuff. I'm inept at that sort of thing." I took the fall corn and the colorful collection of gourds and put them as artfully as I could around and against the terracotta p
lanter. As I arranged them, Tristan watched me from a nearby bench. The sun was dipping below the tallest trees and cast a soft ochre light amongst the long shadows.

When I was satisfied with the display I wandered around a bit on the paths that wound through the park. The avenues of the dead lined up in silent rows. I thought of Elsa and her snowy grave, unmarked somewhere in Italy. I wondered if Tristan thought of her, too, as he sat quietly on his bench under the oaks.

I didn't walk far away and when I saw him rise, I took that as my signal to go back. He smiled at me and held out his hand to walk me back to the car.

"Thanks for doing that." I didn't know if he meant the gourds or giving him time alone so I just said, "You're welcome," and left it at that.

We drove back into Chicago as sunset approached. The light behind us to the west cast the buildings rising from the lake's shore in gaudy shades of pink and orange. As the colors faded, the buildings began to light from within and the skyline sparkled against the inky violet dusk.

Back in our room, Tristan opened a bottle of wine from the bar and we toasted the rising half moon that came up over the lake. "To Maryann King," he said as his glass clinked into mine. "She would have loved you, Raina."

What about you, Tristan? Can you love? Can you love
me
?
I understood more about him, but as I had feared, it did nothing to erase the nagging questions I wasn't asking. I simply said, "To your mother," and left it at that.

We decided to have dinner at the hotel
. The car was parked, the wind had picked up and we had traveled enough that day. The seafood restaurant in the hotel was quite good and the atmosphere very much the same old school elegance of the rest of the building. We talked mostly about the day and my own childhood.  I described what it was like growing up in my parents' Park Slope home.

"I had my own version of a wonderful childhood," I told him. "
But mine is only now just ending. I think my parents would have kept me at home forever if they could."

"I noticed that Marjorie seemed a wee bit upset when you told her about the apartment that goes with your new job."

"It had to happen someday. I can't live in my parents' house forever." Tristan nodded in agreement. "They've been great. I know how much they sacrificed for me--for all three of us. I'm the only one who got a four-year degree and even though I got some scholarship money and a couple of loans, they still paid more for me to go to school than either of my sisters."

"Your sisters didn't go to college?"

"Olivia dropped out after two years. She spent the next two years getting ready to marry Ben. Ben's done very well and Olivia has played the supportive junior league wife to his successful small-town attorney. They have two children. A perfect set of one boy and one girl. Of course, the boy is the first born. Olivia wouldn't have it any other way."

"Do I detect disapproval? Even disdain?"

"A little," I admitted. "Olivia is smart and she's beautiful. I love Ben and the kids. It just seems like such a . . . calculated existence. She had a plan and she executed it with surgical precision. There's nothing spontaneous or unpredictable about my oldest sister's life."

"You, on the other hand, do spontaneous quite well."

"Trust me, that's a newly acquired trait."

"What about your other sister. Amy?"

"Amy is the sweetest person in the entire universe. She wasn't the academic type and neither was her husband Phil. She worked for several years as a warehouse clerk for a heating and air conditioning company right out of high school. She met Phil there. He had come to make his fortune in New York. When his father died he left Phil his hardware store in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma. He asked Amy to marry him and the two of them run the store now. Phil also has a pretty lucrative handyman service going."

"Children?"

"They haven't had any luck conceiving."

"I think it would be very hard to want a child and not be able to have one."

"It
is
hard on them. They've been married for four years and . . . nothing. They've kind of stopped talking about it."

"What about adoption?"

"I don't know how they feel about it."

"If I wanted a child and couldn't have one, I would adopt. For sure."

"I asked you once before if you wanted to have children. Do you remember?"

"Yes, I do. I dodged the question."

"You dodged it and shut down."

"I know." He cleared his throat. "I've always wanted to have children. But my motivation may be a false one. I've always wanted to give a kid a better father than I had. Even if my mother had lived, I'd still feel deprived. I guess part of me wants to prove I can do better."

"That's not a great reason to become a parent."

"Oh, hell, that's not the only reason. It's just part of it. Believe it or not, I really like little kids. I'm drawn toward innocence.
There's so little of it in my world." He looked at me when he said that and put his hand over mine on the tablecloth.

"You still insist on calling me innocent after what we've done together?"

"I told you before, innocence is more than a lack of experience and it doesn't mean naiveté. Innocence is a way of seeing the truth of the world and reacting to the world in truthfulness."

I laughed at that. "You need to spend more time around children. My nephew and niece are natural liars. 'Not me' is the perpetrator of all naughtiness in Olivia's house. Who broke this vase? 'Not me.' Who ate the last cookie? 'Not me'."

Tristan chuckled. "Right now, I would like to perpetrate some naughtiness with you, my queen. Shall we move our little party upstairs?" He helped me to my feet. On the way out he asked me to wait a minute. He spoke to the maître d for a moment and then we pushed the button for the ancient elevator.

I was more than ready to get back to the room. I wanted to feel Tristan's warm skin against mine again. There was never
enough of him. Each sensuous adventure was a journey of unbelievable discovery about myself and my capacity for passion. He had opened doors that I never wanted to close. They were portals into depths I didn't know I possessed until his touch unlocked them for me.

Seven

"Are you ready for something a little different?"

"Unless you've packed
some bizarre toys in your bag I can't imagine what we can do that would be as different as what we've already done."

"I am truly
amazed that you underestimate me." He whipped open his robe and swung his hips so that his cock swayed like a pendulum between his thighs. Even flaccid, it was an impressive sight. "You see this magic wand of mine? You haven't even begun to test the limits of my carnal creativity."

I giggled. It seemed he intended to lighten the mood. It was
one of the things I enjoyed most about being Tristan's lover. He could be passionate, dominant, tender, and even, at times, silly. Silly was good. We'd had a day that covered a lot of ground. He deserved to take the night off and just play. It was another measure of how he had transformed the way I thought about sex. With Tristan, I had permission to be anything, do anything with my body.

The doorbell startled me.

"Are we expecting company?" I had a sudden flashback to his comments in France about 'girls liking to play with other girls'. Surely I had made my position clear on that. There was a moment of panic before he opened the door. It was not a hired 'girl'. It was a waiter with a rolling table. There was an ice bucket and a couple domed dishes.

"In the bedroom, please," he told the waiter. Judging by the smile on his face when he left, the guy got a generous tip. "Now you in the bedroom, too."

"Good god, after that dinner you expect me to eat more? What kind of glutton do you think I am?"

"You, my sweet, fuckable one, are a glutton of the very best kind." He guided me over to the bed, slipped my robe off and seated me on the edge of the mattress. The bedside table had complimentary sleep masks and he pulled one out. "It'll be a lot more fun if you can't see."

"Are we having fun with food tonight?" I eyed the table next to the bed.