Red Hot Obsessions (99 page)

“All good, I hope.”

She let go. “Of course all good. Tristan would never say anything bad about a woman. And if he ever does, let me know so I can wash his mouth with soap.”

I laughed, looking at Tristan who whispered, “She’s serious, too.”

“I don’t doubt it. Do you need any help?” I asked.

“You just make yourself at home. I believe Tristan has some business first. We’ll have dinner and then I’ll work my magic.”

I assumed she was referring to the makeover but had no time to ask. She rushed over to the stove where another pot was boiling and about to spill over.

“Willmaaa!” Someone yelled from the back yard.

“Are we watching
The Flintstones
?” I asked Tristan.

“It’s a
thing
my parents have. An inside joke no one knows about. He calls her Wilma and she calls him Fred when it’s just the family around. Otherwise it’s Maggie and John.”

I felt honored to be privy to such an intimate exchange; but then again, he didn’t know I was here.

“I thought I’d heard you on the monitor! Is this the lovely Allie?” He embraced me before hugging each of his sons. Perhaps he had known I was here after all. His bear arms caged me in and held me there for a longer moment than I’d expected. Something deep welled inside my chest, and I imagined myself lingering in his arms as if he were my father. I missed Daddy.

When he pulled away, an odd feeling passed between me and Tristan and his father, but I couldn’t quite place it. It was as if with his expert eyes, Mr. Cross looked deep into my soul and at that moment decided I was part of the family. Shivers ran down my arms at the thought.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Cross,” I said.

“Don’t let this boy boss you around too much, and listen to your instinct. There’s nothing better than a woman’s instinct.”

“Agreed,” Mrs. Cross said, stirring at the stove with one hand and reaching for something on the counter. Mr. Cross passed her a lid for the boiling pot without having to be asked.

I caught my mom’s gaze because she knew firsthand the importance of a woman’s instinct. She’d repeated the same thing over and over again as I grew up:
Listen to your instinct. It’s the most honest warning you’ll ever have.

“Let’s get our work out of the way before dinner. Mom?” Tristan kissed his mother on the cheek.

“Thirty minutes. Outside,” she answered, as if she knew what he wanted to ask without asking.

This family had a way of communicating without communicating, and it made me feel all nice and warm inside. I wondered how many weekends they’d spent working together like this, learning each other’s moves and gestures and signals. I understood why Tristan missed living at home.

“Thank you.”

And with that Tristan took my hand and led me to a kitchen cupboard. Expecting he’d pull out condiments or pass something to his mother, it surprised me when he opened the pantry leading to a staircase downstairs.

I gasped and followed without a question. Julian was right behind me and locked the door. Had he been near the entire time, watching me? As soon as we were down, the staircase dimmed like in a movie theater, and Tristan pressed a few green buttons on a keypad. The whole room illuminated.

Photos, maps, and sketches decorated one wall. A sequence of shots of the auburn-haired woman, Kendra, had been pinned in a row. The progression twisted my stomach. In the first one she looked like any other girl, as in the photograph Tristan had shown me on his phone, but the second and third displayed a different woman. Eyes hollow, face dappled with sun spots, cheeks sagging not from age but from despair. The empty look in her eyes in the last one held no hope. I felt a lump in my throat before looking away. Getting emotionally attached was the last thing I’d wanted.

Just below was a photo of the guy I remembered running into in the park about a month or so ago.

“Martinez?” I asked.

“Yes,” Tristan replied.

I memorized his face, trying to remember the bushy eyebrows, cigarette-stained fingers, and thick Spanish accent.

A desk with three computers was set up in the corner. Another station stacked with various sized and colored folders was assembled to the left.

“Have you tagged her yet?” Julian asked.

Was that another code word for ‘shagged’?

“I wanted to do it here.” Tristan answered before looking at my puzzled face. “We’re going to implant a tracking device in your neck, just underneath your hairline.”

“Wouldn’t a button on a dress work just as well?”

The brothers looked to one another, and Julian finally spoke. “We find buttons and jewelry have a way of getting lost. And, what if they strip you naked?”

“Strip?”

“Has my brother not explained the whole job?” Julian put on a pair of latex gloves and picked up a metal syringe.
Was that thing made for elephants?

“He has—” I started.

“Not the tracking device.” Tristan interrupted. “It’s for your safety, Allie. Nervous?” he asked.

“A little. Can’t say it doesn’t creep me out that you’ll know where I’m at the whole time.”

“We can remove it as soon as the job is done. Until then we’ll do anything we can to keep you safe.” Tristan led me toward a cushioned bench closer to the wall.

“Don’t be nervous. Julian’s a pro. He’s been on this case since the beginning. Lie down on your front.” He pointed to the seat. “Hair up.”

Tristan sat at the end closer to my head. He held my hand, even if he didn’t have to, but I was glad he did. He always made me feel at ease. A cold dab of alcohol was smoothed on the back of my neck before a sharp pinch. The pressure was uncomfortable but not too painful. It reminded me of the feeling when you have something stuck between your molars and can’t get it out. You know it doesn’t belong there, but neither floss nor a toothpick will do the job. After a few seconds, Julian took the thick needle out and disposed of the tip. He removed his gloves and picked up his phone.

A string of beeps sounded.

“It’s working. The bruise will go down in a couple of days,” he said. “Allie, thank you for doing this. If Tristan trusts you, so do I.”

“I promise we’ll find her.”

“I know we will.” Julian was holding something back, but covered it up well. “And then we’ll party like there’s no tomorrow.”

Somehow that didn’t convince me. I had a feeling Kendra needed a lot more help than just being rescued; at least that was the impression I got from the pictures posted up on the wall. Some names I read, other than hers, sounded familiar. I’d recalled the most-wanted posters at the force. The people we’d be dealing with were pros, but so were we.

“When was the last time you practiced jiu-jitsu?” Julian asked.

“I work out every day. I can guarantee I’m quite capable of defending myself.”

The older brother walked around the bench in a circle. His arms crossed at his front. If he wanted to intimidate me, it wasn’t working. He’d have to do much better than that. Tristan moved away to the side and watched me with intent. Was this part of a test? As Julian came behind me, something shifted in the air, and as if on command my instinct woke up all on its own. I ducked from under his arm as Julian tried to grab me, and then reached back before he stood tall and wrapped my arm around his neck. Using the bench to brace, I pulled his entire weight over my shoulder and down to the mat.

He yelped in pain, but I felt no mercy. I knew I hadn’t hurt him. I would have if I’d wanted to. Now he would have a bruise or two to heal as well. I stood up and tapped my bare foot on Julian’s chest. “If you want another kiss from me, you’ll have to do much better than that.” I winked at my victim, lying down on the floor.

A grin stretched across Tristan’s face before he burst out in a deep laugh. “I told you she’s good.”

“Ouch!” Julian moaned.

“Don’t be a baby. I didn’t do any damage.”

And before I realized what was happening, he swooshed his arm to the side and knocked my other foot from underneath me. I flew onto my behind and then rolled back over my head and into a crouch I liked to call
Kung-Fu Panda
, all thanks to the after-hours I’d spent with Sensei Paul. I made a mental note to send him a gift basket. If it weren’t for his continued support and encouragement, I could have failed just like the other eighty percent of the kids who wanted a black belt so badly. No, I don’t think I would have. I think they just didn’t want it bad enough.

Tristan stopped laughing. “Holy shit! That was fucking amazing!”

I extended my hand to help Julian up.

“Yeah, she’ll do.” Julian slowly sat up, and I let my muscles relax.

“‘She’ll do’?” I lowered my gaze. “I let you jab me with a needle which looks more like a cattle probe, you get an ass-whopping, and I only get a ‘she’ll do’?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. But the men you’ll be dealing with are stronger than me. They have drugs you never dreamed of. One whiff and karate or fancy-shmancy whatever that was will not help. I have to do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that. I’m well aware of the dangers, Julian, but I can hold my own.” I walked over and placed my hand on his shoulder, squeezing. “We’ll get her back.”

Tristan strolled to the board displaying Kendra’s photos. He drew his finger over each picture, saying, “I have to do everything in my power to keep you safe.” I wasn’t sure whether he meant me or Kendra.

“Good, let’s go eat. I’m starving.” Julian’s demeanor changed. “Come on, Green. I hope you like barbecued ribs and chicken.”

Men were always hungry. Especially beefed up ones like the Cross brothers.

I followed Julian to the opposite end of where we’d entered. He pressed a button on the wall and it slid open, the way it would have for Batman.

Tristan finally pulled his attention away from the board and came to my side. We walked through the normal part of the basement, the part with a pool table and a home theater half the size of a real one except with much more comfortable seating. A popcorn machine was set up in a corner. The decorations were sleek and out of this world. In front of the staircase, a red phone booth stood by the railing, the old type you’d find in England.

“Does this work?” I asked.

“Yes,” Julian replied, his tone a tad colder than I’d expected.

On our way up Tristan whispered, “He means well. He’s much better at this job than I am.”

I doubted that. And as much as they both tried to disguise the rivalry between them and pretend past ghosts had disappeared, I knew better. Even if their goal of rescuing Kendra was the same, I suspected their reasons for doing it were different.

CHAPTER 12

We ate at a patio table suitable for a king. My mom sat on my one side and Emma on the other. Another déjà vu moment passed as I wondered whether my mom had experienced the same “what if” moment as I had.

Little Miss Talkative beside me had her mouth full of ribs. The box she’d received from Tristan had been placed in front of her at the table. The men sat across from us, devouring their ribs with their fingers. Each one had a glass of scotch beside him. I had the pleasure of drinking what Mrs. Cross called a Ruirita. She’d asked if I liked tequila, because it was the drink’s main ingredient. Tristan laughed, and I rolled my eyes before taking a sip of the orange-infused cocktail. It was now officially my favorite drink.

I’d been told the beautifully landscaped property stretched beyond the hedges and line of trees. Mr. Cross took care of the plants, shrubs, and grass, while Mrs. Cross tended to her flowers and a vegetable garden, now winterized. She still grew some late crops in her green house, and that’s what we were eating today.

I was beginning to understand why they called each other Fred and Wilma. Even with all the technology at their disposal, there was something primitive in the way they took care of the property. But that was only my guess.

Beyond the green, freshly mowed grass, the Atlantic’s gentle waves broke against the shore.

The scene reminded me of when I was young and everyone ate with their fingers at the county fair. That was before Daddy had been killed. The happy times. My life always seemed to be split in two: the before-killing happy times, and the after-killing not so happy ones.

“You okay?” Tristan mouthed from across the table.

I pushed the old memories to the back of my mind and smiled at him. The sounds of slurping mouths, uhms and ahs echoed. Everyone had their fingers covered in sauce.

It was as if we were one big happy family.

Tristan gave a devilish grin, and when I felt something on my leg I nearly jumped up. Thank God the table wasn’t glass-top. He moved his foot up between my thighs while happily munching on his ribs. I wanted to shove it to the side, but if I moved I’d give myself away. Plus, my fingers were smudged with dripping sauce. Reaching under the table would be a disaster waiting to happen, staining my new pants I’d gotten from Tristan.

And I couldn’t deny that the way he smoothed up and down my thigh, pressing his big toe in and moving further every time, felt arousing. My panties dampened just thinking about his flesh against my nakedness. But if he reached the little triangle he was aiming for (and it wasn’t that little because I felt the swelling between my legs after a few strokes), he’d fall off his chair. And two could play this game. I removed my sandals and lifted my foot. Lucky for me, Tristan sported plaid shorts, and I didn’t waste time sneaking my foot up toward a hardened bulge. When I massaged the pads of my toes against it, his eyes widened, but I didn’t pull back. The strength of his excitement strained against his shorts.

“Why do you have a funny look on your face, Tristan?” Emma had finished chewing off her rib and was in the middle of licking her fingers clean. That only meant her mouth wasn’t occupied enough. “And you’re as stiff as if you were sitting on a stick. I heard you say something like that to Julian before.”

I almost spat out the rib I’d put in my mouth, along with all the maple chipotle sauce. He was stiff all right! And I’m sure Emma just twisted something else that had passed between the brothers in a private conversation.

“That’s a stick up your....”

“Julian! We have company,” Mrs. Cross scolded her son.

Julian’s face changed from a man’s to a boy’s as he lowered his head. It was the same expression Tristan had when I’d watched him sleep that first morning: innocence.

“I’m sorry. But if you’re gonna copy something, then do it right, Emma,” Julian said instead.

Tristan’s sultry stare remained on me. I knew exactly what he wanted. I’d seen it before. The face of a man who’d explode if he didn’t release his load. And the pressure under my foot was definitely increasing. Memories of the previous night tingled all over my body as I recalled Tristan’s thickness against my inner thighs, then inside me, and the tip of his cap gliding through the moisture of my swollen folds, teasing me over and over again as my back arched, begging for more.

“Well, if you weren’t always trying to get rid of me, perhaps I wouldn’t have to eavesdrop and I’d hear it right,” Emma replied. The spunky kid wouldn’t let anyone pee in her cornflakes, and I wished I could adopt her.

Mr. Cross chuckled.

I shook off my naughty thoughts, feeling guilty for straying from this beautiful dinner. In my hand, a bare bone glistened clean. Apparently I’d been chewing on it, licking it clean while I’d thought about Tristan and his boner.

How embarrassing!
My cheeks heated.

Tristan must have found it amusing. The sparkle in his eyes beamed at me with a mix of want and something else I couldn’t quite place.

I pulled my foot away, saying, “I’d like to use the washroom, if that’s all right.” I pushed my chair back.

“I’ll show you the way.” Tristan’s chair scraped against the stone.

“I can do it.” Emma got up, but Julian jumped in before she grabbed me.

“Why don’t you show me your new toy from Tristan, Emma? I’d hate to think he did better than me.” And with that move he pulled out another box from his pocket. The captivated Emma opened her mouth wide and fixed her gaze on the gift while Julian winked at his brother.

The man was as smart as they got, and I feared Tristan’s parents knew what we were up to. If they did, though, they didn’t let it show.

“This way.” Tristan pushed open the patio door with his elbow.

I followed him past the kitchen to the main hall and up the staircase, not questioning why he’d led me to the washroom on the second floor when I was sure there was one downstairs. He pushed the door open and we both washed our hands without saying a word. As soon as he was done, the lock clicked and Tristan’s mouth was on mine and his hands down my pants.

Without thinking I yanked his shorts off his hips. He sprang up like a healthy branch and I wrapped my hand around his thickness. The yearning inside my mouth increased as he played with my tongue, one of his hands firmly gripping my full breast, the other my crotch. Tristan lifted my shirt over my head and released a hungry snarl.

“There’s nothing better than black lingerie,” he said, trailing his mouth down my neck and to my shoulder. His hands felt so good on me.

“They’ll notice we’re gone.” I leaned back against the bathroom counter.

“We won’t be long. I promise.”

And I believed him because I would have sworn he couldn’t get any wider and harder in my hand. My thumb slicked along the moistened tip. This was a perfect timing for dessert. I crouched on my knees, looking up at Tristan from below, then to his manhood, drinking the full length of him. His hands were on my shoulders, and when my mouth touched his hot cap, his fingers dug into my flesh.

“Oh, God.” He closed his eyes.

My tongue trailed under the top rim before I took him fully into my mouth. His veins pulsed against the inside of my mouth, and I felt the thickest one under my lower lip as I treaded upward. I stroked him in a slow rhythmic motion. His hips moved back and forth, as I took him deep into my mouth, tightening my lips around his smooth cock. When a man had manscaped his crotch so nicely, it was a sin not to devour him.

I let him out of my mouth but kept the momentum with my hand, pumping him from the base, and Tristan didn’t miss a beat. I kissed his soft sack, fondling the contracting skin in my palm before going back to his shaft. The taste of pre-cum mixed inside me. I felt my own need dampening my panties.

“Fuck,” his voice was ragged. Tristan heaved louder in between moans and groans. His thighs tensed and his ass flexed as I smoothed my hand over the taut muscle. I felt his trembling ridge under my tongue.

Gosh, how much I loved his taste! I couldn’t get enough of Tristan in my mouth. He thickened each time I took him in, stroking up and down along the slickness left behind, pressing my lips firmly against his skin until he pulsed inside my mouth. I caught every drop of the stream as it jetted out, then slid along my tongue to the back of my throat, warming me from the inside.

And after one last pulse he eased his grip on my head.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said in a low throaty tone with his eyes still closed.

I stood up and rinsed my mouth in the sink. If there was one thing I didn’t want, it was Emma saying I had some cream on my lips.

“We should go downstairs. They’ll be wondering what’s taking us so long,” I teased. Even if in truth it couldn’t have taken more than three minutes for Tristan to find his release.

“Don’t worry. My parents know you’re in good hands,” he smirked. “And Emma will keep busy for a few more minutes.” He pulled me into him for a lingering kiss tracing the seam of my lips with his tongue. The tenderness knocked my knees out from underneath me. If it weren’t for the support of his arms, I would have fallen. His pants were still down, and it seemed Tristan didn’t feel the need to cover up. My hands lowered instinctively to his growing erection.

“So, what are you proposing?” I asked against his mouth.

“Get these jeans off your ass and sit up.”

Before I could comply, my pants were already down on the floor, and Tristan lifted me to the counter. His hands drew along my skin, up to my breasts. He cupped them and molded them harder with each squeeze before lifting the fabric over my head. The pinch of my nipples between his fingers rolled through me and I closed my eyes. Tristan’s cool tongue through my lacy bra tortured me. He swirled around the hardened pebble before lowering the fabric. The tender bites and releases roused a series of tickles that slid down to between my legs. Spreading me wider with his hips, he snuck in his hand to my panties and drew his thumb back and forth over my moistened swelling. My hips began to dance to the movement of his fingers, and just as I wished he’d touch me deeper, Tristan slid under the rim of my panties inside me. In that one moment I forgot where I was and moaned louder than I intended, impaling myself deep onto his finger.

Stroking me from the inside, he stirred everything all at once.

My hands slid up his arms to his head, pressing him to my body without thinking, and I heard my pants increase. The sound of our breathing echoed in the bathroom. The small room contracted around us with hot air. I couldn’t get enough of Tristan on my body. The way he explored me and nourished me, I wanted to be his and only his.

When his mouth left my breast and he headed south, I grabbed the side of the counter. Dropping to his knees, Tristan parted my thighs, moved the laced fabric further to the side, and dove into my folds. Everything inside me shut down as his hot lips touched my skin. I grabbed his head, steadying the hungry rhythm. I braced my hands on the top of his head, centering him right on that spot, trying to slow him down, but Tristan wouldn’t have it any other way than to make me come fast and hard. His tongue now flicked my clit like it had been neglected for days, while his fingers slid inside me, stretching and pushing until I felt the slap of his wrist against my flesh, squishing out all my fluids. The suction of his mouth deprived my skin of any oxygen. That one spot on my body; the most sensitive one became the center of my world.

“I’m gonna come,” I heaved, feeling the sweat drip down my cleavage as every sensor I had concentrated on the tiny spot which was about to burst, and I wanted to scream when it did but Tristan’s hand clamped over my mouth. The rapture tore through me with a wave of pleasure almost unreal. My limbs tightened, letting the antagonizing jitters pass through; then they fell limp, and Tristan finally pulled his mouth away from my slobbered skin.

He regarded me from below, and then stood up, his cock firm again. “I want to fuck you, but we should go downstairs.”

The world still spun around me and it took over a minute to find a word, any word.

“Okay.”

But my insides already began begging for more. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted Tristan on me and inside me. Would I ever get enough of this man?

“Go on first, tell them I’m on a call. I need a couple of minutes for this guy to stand down. We can continue tonight.” He lowered his gaze.

The promise lingered in the air as I imagined the different ways we could finish our prelude – and I so hoped it was just a prelude to an anthem which would finish with fireworks. Thinking about tonight, I giggled as if I were a girl who’d heard the word ‘cock’ for the first time.

Tristan dressed me, all the while stealing kisses as if we were two teenagers sneaking around in his parents’ house – which in a sense we were. My hands were all over him, roaming like I wanted to discover his body every minute of every day. He was everything to me, and not enough. When we finally pulled apart, I washed my hands, rinsed my mouth again for good measure, and rushed downstairs.

Of course at the bottom of the staircase Emma stood, looking up at me. “Why didn’t you use the downstairs powder room?” She took my hand as soon as I reached the bottom stair and before I could answer, she pulled me toward the basement stairs—the ones that were not concealed.

Mrs. Cross was waiting for us in a salon. She wore a blue apron, and a comb was stuck in her hair. Mannequin heads were lined up on a counter, each one sporting a different style.

“It will take a while, dear. Has Tristan told you what we’re doing?” she asked.

“No.”

“Good, I love surprises,” she almost squeaked, and so did Emma, who wore plastic gloves, mixing something in a bowl.

“Please let me do your whole hair!” Emma begged, standing at my side with her black mixture ready.

“If your mom says it’s okay, then that’s fine.”

“Hold on. Let me see that.” Tristan’s voice rushed across the basement toward us. He looked into Emma’s bowl as if he held a degree in coloring, then checked the tube she’d squeezed the paste from. Was there anything Tristan Cross couldn’t do? He placed the glass of scotch on a table to the side and set my drink there too.