Mr. Beautiful (Up in the Air #4)(41)

How could I say no to that?  There was an entreaty in his voice that I could not deny.

I tried one last time, for Danika.  "Tristan, why can't you just let this go?"

But I knew.  Even after six long years, years of bitter separation, an endless, silent, hostile standoff all laying heavy across each of those years, Tristan was a man obsessed.

"Listen," he started haltingly.  "Even if she never—even if I, ugh, there are some things I need to change.  I . . . I'm not who I was.  I'm not the junkie that broke her heart and ruined her life.  I know I'm not.  But I need her to know that.  Her eyes break my heart every time I look at them.  If nothing else, I need to look in those eyes and see that she understands that I've changed."

I nodded.  "Closure," I tried.

He sliced an impatient hand through the air.  "No, not f**king closure.  Closure is bullshit.  A f**king myth.  What I'm looking for is peace.  Anything approaching absolution."

"You only love like this once," Tristan explained to me. "I don't know about women, but I don't think men were made to survive this twice. That's okay, though.  It's worth it. Even if it all blows up in your face, it's worth it. Don't take one single second of it for granted."

Poor bastard. I felt for him, now more than ever. "I'm so sorry, my friend. So sorry you and Danika had to take different paths."

His eyes went wild. "No." He shook his head. "No. No.  We're not on different paths. She's my path."

How could I tell him no, when I knew exactly how he felt?  I just didn't have it in me.  I could be a very hard man, but not to those I cared about, not to those I loved.

"Swear you'll never hurt her again.  Not in any way.  Promise me."  I had to say it, even knowing how he'd react.  Such was the nature of my torn loyalties.

His eyes went wild, his shoulders bunching up, as though it took every muscle in his body to keep his gut reaction toned down to something appropriate for this quiet restaurant.  The room was suddenly too small for him.

"You think you need to tell me that?  You think it's your place?"  An impotent rage dripped from his words.  He was angrier at himself than he was with me, because we both knew why I had to ask.

He'd broken her once, and though I had faith in him now, in who he'd become, I had to hear the words.

I didn't flinch from his rage, meeting his wild stare with my calm one.  "She's my friend.  I care about her, and you're asking me to help you get close to her again.  It's not a comfortable position that you're putting me in, and I just need to hear you say the words."

He took a few deep breaths, looking away, his rage deflating out of him, and I could see the reason flowing back in.  "I swear.  I won't hurt her.  I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for the times that I have."

I nodded, satisfied with that.

"C'mon, James," he said, smiling now, a broken smile, managing his anger like the grownup he'd become.  "I keep hearing all of these matchmaking stories about you.  Why are you so hesitant to use that talent for my benefit?"

I grinned.  "I'm new at it.  Not yet qualified to interfere in your mess of a love life.  I need to work up to a task like that."

"That's a terrible attitude.  Where's the arrogant prick I've come to know and love, who thinks he can run the world?"

I ignored that, sighing deeply, my mind on my future wife.  "Bianca isn't going to like this.  She's grown fiercely protective of Danika."

Bianca reacted about how I thought she would, though I did my best to put her in a good frame of mind before I told her.

I came home early from work, wandering through the house until I found her playing in the closet, her back to me.

I stood in the doorway, silently watching her for quite a while.

She had her wedding dress out, a veil on her head, more hair accessories laid out on the closet's large table, as though she was deciding which to wear.

She was dressed in some lacy white underthings that I assumed were meant either for under her wedding dress or after the wedding.

I loved her in lace.  Pale lace, a perfect foil to her flawless alabaster skin.  Antique lace was my favorite, the stiff kind, that upgraded her skin just a bit, but this was up there, too.  Just then she wore soft, stretchy lace, all of it starkly white.  Every bit of it screamed bride.

My blood coursed through my veins, my c**k swelling and throbbing in time to the erratic rhythm of my heart.

My eyes moved over the lace topped stockings that ran up her thighs as she bent down.

I moved a few steps closer to her to see what she was doing.  She was fastening some delicate white heels on her feet.

Her long hair cascaded over her shoulder as she played dress up with her wedding finery.

God, had I ever looked upon a more lovely sight?

She looked both pure and sinful all at once.  It was the most heady combination.

I wanted to ravish her more than I wanted to breathe, but I held back, savoring the vision of her first.  Inhaling the feast before I partook.

My c**k pulsed persistently as I started quietly unbuttoning my shirt.  I reached for my belt next, and the sound of it dropping to the floor finally penetrated.