lips all but touching. “We should have done this sooner.”
Cupping her nape, he brought her near again, and before she could wonder whether this was good, bad or simply necessary, she submitted fully, her mouth opening to welcome more of his caress, her mind shutting down to everything other than the crazy, magical sensation she’d always known this man’s embrace would bring.
Her hand inched up from his bicep, over his shoulder. Uncompromising masculine power. What would the sculpted rock of his body feel like beneath his shirt? What would she give to have him naked now as she’d seen him that morning?
But she wouldn’t run from him this time. This time she wanted him close, as close as two human beings could get.
Yet, as the kiss deepened and Tristan’s heat and hardness moved in more, Ella saw a flash of Cade Barkley and the emotion changed.
Even a man in control of his world could have an Achilles heel. Clearly Tristan’s was his family. He’d been knocked off balance tonight. She didn’t want this intimacy to go further simply because he needed to expend some pent-up energy and frustration. She didn’t want to surrender this part of herself to serve a purpose that had more to do with Tristan’s imminent need to dominate his environment and so much less to do with romance.
Breathless, she dragged herself away and mur-mured, “I’m sorry.”
She couldn’t meet his gaze. As desperately as she wanted to, she didn’t want to read whatever she might see shimmering in those hypnotic eyes.
His voice was low and rough. “No. I’m the one who should apologize. Like I said, it’s been a long day.” He pushed to his feet. “We can talk more tomorrow.”
As he left the room, Ella’s tummy fluttered.
Tristan might have apologized, but he didn’t say he wouldn’t do it again. And the hunger his kiss had awakened inside of her made her wish he would.
Chapter Five
The following evening, Tristan smiled to himself when heads turned as he escorted his date into the pres-tigious hotel’s grand ballroom.
He slid a glance at Ella’s profile, radiant in the subdued candelabra light. She wore her golden hair down in long, loose ringlets. The style complemented the serene quality of her bone structure—small straight nose, classic rosebud mouth, a complexion that confirmed good health.
Last night when they’d kissed—softly at first, then with growing passion—he’d lost himself in a moment that had felt so incredibly right. Although he’d pulled back when she’d asked, truth was, now that he’d had a taste, he couldn’t wait to have her in his arms again.
After her positive response to his kiss, he was certain Ella would pay attention to the proposition he had in mind. Sexual compatibility in a marriage was, of course, a necessity. The off-the-scale sizzle factor they seemed to share was a most welcome bonus.
They wove through the glitter and pomp of the highbrow crowd and reached their table. Tristan pulled out her chair, noticing six places at the round table were filled, but two, aside from their own, were still vacant. He took in the nearest place card, Herb Patter-son, the man he’d wanted to speak with tonight. When introductions were made around the table, Tristan was told Herb wouldn’t be attending.
Ella leaned close to whisper for his ears only, “That’s bad luck.”
Tristan pulled his chair in more. Perhaps, but he wasn’t upset because now he could focus his undivided attention upon the gorgeous woman seated beside him. Remembering that kiss, it was difficult not to sit a little closer, or find some excuse to touch her smooth, tanned skin, or to tell her about the proposition he had in mind—a civilized, sensible arrangement that should suit them both.
Following small talk around the table, which Ella handled superbly, entrée was served.
Above the lilting dinner music, Mrs. Anderson asked, “So, Ella, what do you do for a living? Do you model?”
Ella stopped buttering her bread roll to blink over at Mrs. Anderson. “Me? Model?” She looked as if she might laugh.
“Ella’s my housekeeper,” Tristan piped up.
Mrs. Anderson coughed on a mouthful of soup. “I beg your pardon? Did you say housekeeper?”
Tristan rested his hand on the back of Ella’s chair. “Her desserts are heaven on earth.”
While Ella’s smile said she was a little embarrassed by the attention, Tristan felt nothing but proud. From the expressions on the other men’s faces, they wished their help’s looks and charm compared. Housekeeper turned perfect special-occasion-partner. If things panned out, she’d become much more than that.
Ella and Mrs. Butler, who’d married a successful dot-com entrepreneur, struck up a conversation that lasted through mains. By dessert Ella was sharing recipes with the other women, who vowed to pass the secrets on to their own cooks and housekeepers. Betty Lipid suggested Ella put together her own celebrity cookbook.
Ella sipped her dessert wine. “I’m hardly a celebrity.”
Betty raised a brow. “But our Tristan is.” She directed her next words to him. “And might I say, you’re looking uncommonly well. All that good living?” She grinned. “Food, I mean.”
Tristan didn’t take offence. Let Betty Lipid and the others think what they would. In fact, soon he hoped their speculation over himself and Ella being more than employee and employer wouldn’t merely be gossip. The more he considered it, the more a proposal of marriage seemed to fit. She was attractive, poised, at-tentive, demure—he’d bet a bankroll Ella would make a great mother. He’d always envisioned himself with a big family of boys. He wanted to be the kind of dad his father had never been.
He took in Ella’s unsuspecting profile and his smile faded.
Her conversation with Mr. Scarpini last night was another reason this idea was a good one. Unless Scarpini was as stupid as he was cowardly, he would quit hassling Ella once he discovered her bystander-employer would soon become her protective husband.
Ella pushed away her mousse and held her stomach. “Delicious, but I can’t eat another bite.”
Tristan set his napkin on the table. “I’m done, too.”
When he stood and took her hand, a look of terror filled her eyes. “What are you doing?”
“They’re playing our song.”
He tugged and she reluctantly got to her feet. “We don’t have a song.”
“We do now.”
A step behind, she followed him out onto the dance floor. When he wound his arm around her, she stiffened, but as they began to move, her rigidity dissolved bit by bit. Positioned against each other like this, his body pressed lightly against her supple curves, he knew she was thinking about their kiss. So was he. He couldn’t wait to sample those honeyed lips a second, then a third time.
But he could wait…at least until he got her home.
“Have you spoken to your brother?”
