Grounded (Up in the Air #3)(54)

He held out his hand to shake and I did automatically. James sucked in a gasp when Tristan raised my hand to his mouth, and he was wrenching my hand out of the other man’s grasp before I could react.

“Watch yourself, Tristan,” James said through gritted teeth.

Tristan just grinned that sinister grin with those troublesome dimples. “Relax, Cavendish, I know she’s yours. I was just saying hi.”

“Yeah, well, if you say ‘hi’ again I’m going to break your nose.”

“I’d love to see you try, but I’d really hate to make you ruin your manicure.”

I turned to James, giving him a stern look, and completely ignoring the other man. I rubbed his chest until he looked at me. I didn’t say a word, just watched him, willing him to calm, to keep from escalating a small confrontation into something out of hand.

After a long moment he relaxed a fraction, pulling me until I was plastered against his side.

It was a while before I looked back at Tristan. He was a strange one, I thought, as he studied us intently, his brow furrowed. “Someone told me you’d fallen over the deep end, but I just didn’t believe it. I stand corrected. You’ve got it bad, my friend.”

“What are you getting a tattoo of?” I asked Tristan, trying to find a neutral topic for the hostile men. I looked at him as I asked the question.

“I’m getting a small five to commemorate five years clean and sober,” he said without hesitation, as though he’d practiced it.

I blinked. “Congratulations,” I told him, meaning it. Addiction was a horrible, powerful thing. I’d seen people ruined by it.

“Thank you. I did some bad things when I was using, things I can’t make up for, but having five years of sobriety under my belt still feels pretty damn good.”

Frankie smacked herself in the forehead. It was an attention getter. We all looked at her. “You can say that without adding a disclaimer about all of your sins,” she chided him. “You have every right to be proud of yourself.”

He shrugged, frowning harshly. He was a tough looking guy, but somehow that frown made him look vulnerable rather than mean. “I don’t see it that way. Even with all of the touchy-feely rehab bullshit, I still know that it was me doing all those things, not the alcohol or the drugs, and there are some things a person can’t just forgive themselves for, especially when the one I hurt the most can’t forgive me, either.”

Frankie cursed, pointing at him. I could tell just from the last two minutes that these two had a tough love kind of relationship, but a close one. “I’m calling your therapist just because you said that. You’re supposed to be past that by now, and the fact that you aren’t says you need to start seeing her more.”

Tristan ignored her, turning to address me. He had that kind of intense regard that it was difficult not to return. He reminded me of a certain billionaire I knew…

He waved a hand between James and me. It was a strangely elegant gesture for such a huge man. “I used to have what you guys have. I found a sub once that suited me so perfectly…”

I felt a little shocked at his words, referring to our lifestyle so casually and including himself in that life with a few words. I remembered that James had described Frankie as a Domme as well. I wondered if they had their own club… Did they meet up once a week for coffee? The whole thing seemed surreal.

“All of this other shit I do is just a cheap imitation of that,” he continued. “She was so exquisite.”

“What happened?” I asked him.

He bit his lush bottom lip. I thought that everything the man did came off sinful. “What else?” he asked bitterly. “I f**ked it up. I pushed her so hard that I drove her away. If I’m honest, I pushed her away on purpose. Things were getting too intimate, and I couldn’t have that. I was the same as every other addict. Being self-destructive used to be a way of life for me.”

He looked at James. “How’s Danika? She been doing alright?”

James sighed, and I studied him as he answered. “She’s good, as far as I can tell. She’s great at her job. I’m actually putting her in charge of all of my galleries, not just the west coast ones. Beth in New York will have a fit being under her, but I’ve decided that I need to work less and live more, so my best managers are being promoted in a hurry. You should call her, Tristan. I know you worry about her, so just call her, see for yourself how she’s doing.”

Tristan let out a frustrated breath. “You think I haven’t tried calling her? I keep tabs on her. That’s it. I need to know she’s okay, but the woman will have nothing to do with me.”

“Have you tried calling her lately?”

“You know Danika. She won’t change her mind.”

“If you contacted her with something other than a casual f**k on your mind, and used that annoying persistence of yours, I wouldn’t be surprised if she gave you another shot,” James said, his tone idle.

Tristan’s eyes sharpened on him with that laser focus that reminded me so much of James. “Why do you think that? Has she said something to you?”

James shrugged and grimaced, the arm around my shoulder jostling me with the movement. “She’s just…I don’t know, missing something. She’s too reserved, too controlled, too damned disinterested about every part of her life except for work. And she works too much. I know from personal experience that if you make good money and still get the urge to spend the majority of your life working, it’s because something important is missing there.”