S H A D E S

~ Ailish ~

Rolling in the bed, I rubbed a hand across my eyes. The sheets were cool and Tristan was gone. The partial open door and sounds of rushing water emanating from the bathroom gave me a clue as to where I could find him.

Wearing a shirt I'd slipped on last night, I stood in the doorway, watching him by the sink. The casual strokes of his razor across his face, the hiss of foam and water spiralling down the drain. The way the towel hung around his hips, skimming muscular calves. Were it not for the darkening streaks marring the sun-kissed skin I would have easily forgotten the events from last night.

My eyes lifted over the curve of his shoulder, met his in the mirror.  

Abashed, I pulled away from the doorframe, straightened. "Oh. Sorry."

Smiling, he tapped his razor against the bowl, cleaning off the blades and shut off the taps. "Don't be." Wiping at the stray lines of foam on his face with a towel, he turned around. "Sleep well?"

"Um. Yes." I smoothed a hand over my hair, pulled out the elastic band. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"I slept great." Walking towards me, Tristan scooped a hand around my waist, pressed his lips to my brow. "Woke up early for a swim. I would have asked you to join me but you looked like you needed the rest."

"Are we going to talk?" I asked, following him into the bedroom.

"About?" With his back to me, Tristan slipped into a pair of sweat pants.

"I don't think I need to highlight the key points, do I?"

He paused, drawing a t-shirt over his head. "You weren't supposed to see any of that."

I waited for more. But when more didn't come, and Tristan left the room, I decided enough was enough and it was time to get some actual answers, for a change.

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, a little voice warned against it.

You signed a contract, remember? No discussing personal matters. The past is off limits. 

Well, I thought mutinously, sue me. Tristan was already in the kitchen by the time I caught up with him, a loaf of brioche in one hand and a small pitcher of cream in the other.

"I famished," he said. "How about I whip up some French toast?"

"Tristan." His eyes snapped to me, silver bullets.

"Watch it," he said. "I know you're angry with me, and I know you're confused, but don't forget, Laura. There are rules and consequences for breaking them." Setting down the cream and bread on the counter, he bent into the fridge in search of eggs. When he straightened, I slipped my arms around his waist, pressed my cheek to his back—carefully, of course, and held on. He was tense, but gradually I felt the slackening of his muscles, the soft humming of his released breath. He stroked a hand over my arm braced around his belly and tipped his head back, golden strands tickling my brow.

"I didn't want you to see me that way," he said, his tone weary and thick. "I'm sorry if I scared you."

I rubbed my hands along the sides of his torso, sighed. "I was pissed at first," I admitted, smiling at the sound of his soft laugh.

"I know." He turned around, slipping his arms around me. "You had a look in your eyes when you first walked in that said only one word. Castration."

"The thought crossed my mind." He laughed again, kissed the tip of my nose. "Seeing you here with another woman—a gorgeous woman, absolutely lent itself to a few incendiary thoughts."

"I didn't think you'd stay, when I told you to leave. I'm glad you did. I'm glad you're here." His hands cupped my face, thumbs stroking over the apples of my cheek, a look in his eyes so endearing my heart kicked in response.