"Do you like it?"
I looked around at the bedroom, which was no less than four times the size of mine and decorated impeccably, and couldn't help but laugh. "I can't imagine anyone not liking it."
His voice turned serious. "I don't care if anyone else likes it. I want to know if you like it, Nina."
I was startled by his tone. What did it matter if I liked a room in his house? "It's very nice."
This was the thing that confused me about Tristan. He never seemed to act the way other people would. He'd taken me for a drive twice, and neither time we'd done much talking, as if sitting next to someone and not saying anything was normal. Now he'd showed me his house and seemed oddly concerned that I like it. Why?
I wanted to ask, but I doubted I'd get a straight answer anyway. That definitely wasn't his way.
He led me back to see the indoor pool, and I fell in love. Even if we only stayed whatever we were at that moment, I hoped I'd get to swim in that pool. It had been designed to look like an enormous Roman bath with a sixty foot pool and sauna. The back wall of the room was an exquisite mosaic tile design that portrayed Neptune riding in his undersea chariot led by a team of sea horses. Artistically, the varied shades of blue and white in the intricate mosaic were stunning. The other three walls of the pool area were filled with floor to ceiling windows along with four sets of double doors that I was sure flooded the area with gorgeous sunlight in the afternoons.
I looked down at the imported Italian tile on the pool's deck and then back up at him. "It's gorgeous, Tristan. Your house is beautiful."
The smile I received in return for my compliment was warm and sweet. "I'm glad you like it. Are you hungry?"
"No."
"Why don't we have a drink then?"
That was an idea I liked. Spending time around him made me nervous and uneasy, so hopefully a drink would calm my nerves. "I'd love a drink. Thanks."
He flashed another warm smile and took my hand to lead me to a large sitting room. Compared to the open and airy feeling of the pool area, this room had a darker vibe. Dark cherry wood moldings and ten foot tall built-in bookcases gave the room a heavier feel. As he poured us drinks, I looked around and noticed examples of fine artwork lined the walls. He had impeccable taste. Art hundreds of years old sat beside contemporary pieces perfectly matched.
So why the test at the penthouse the night before?
This was who Tristan Stone was. Contradictions on top of unanswered questions. And the more I knew about him, the more I wanted to know the answers.
He extended his hand to offer me a seat on the extra deep sofa and handed me my drink. I took a sip from my glass and felt the warmth from the liquor course through my body. Surprised by its almost instant effect, I looked at him and murmured, "Oh. What is this?"
"Scotch."
For the first time since I'd met him in that alley way, his body relaxed as he sat next to me. Maybe it was the double Lagavulin he had in his hand or maybe it was that we were finally getting to know one another. Whatever it was, he wore relaxed well.
By the time my glass was half empty, my drink had definitely relaxed me, and my curiosity got the better of me, along with my inhibitions. I looked at him sitting there in his white dress shirt and dark suit and without thinking, I asked, "Why are you always in a suit and tie?"
His eyes grew slightly wider for just a moment, and then he was that relaxed man again. "You don't like me like this?" he asked in a teasing tone.
"Oh no, I didn't mean that," I answered, afraid that I'd offended him. "I like you very much like that."
Now his smile wasn't that warm grin I'd seen just a few minutes earlier but a mischievous, almost devilish one. He took a sip of his drink and slid his tongue across his lower lip, making it glisten.
"Maybe you're right. It wouldn't hurt for me not to wear a tie," he said as he began to unknot it. Slipping it from around his neck, he let it slide out of his hand onto the table in front of us. "And no tie means I don't need the top button done either."
He opened his shirt and with just one button undone he looked like an entirely different man. His dress shirt sat crisply and the collar framed his strong neck perfectly. I had to fight the urge to lean over and press my lips to the part that had been covered by the shirt and tie and slide my tongue up over his Adam's Apple. What would his skin taste like, I wondered? Would it taste like the soap he used or the cologne he wore or would it have a hint of salt as a man's skin often did?