"So there's no one above you at your company?"
"Stone Worldwide has a board of directors, which I must deal with, but other than that, no."
God, that sounded lonely. "What about in your personal life? You have to speak to people then."
"I have Rogers to speak to everyone in my personal life. He handles the cook and all the household help, except for Jensen, my driver."
"So you only speak to your butler, your driver, and a few people at work? Why?"
"I speak to you," he said, sidestepping my question and making me feel his life was even lonelier than I'd first thought.
"Yeah, about that. Why would someone who prefers to speak to so few people not only take the time to speak to me but hire me himself instead of making me go through your human resources department?"
"I liked you. I wanted to be around you. I hadn't planned on..."
He abruptly stopped talking and looked away again. What hadn't he planned on?
I reached out and touched his hand as it sat on his thigh. "Don't stop. I like hearing about us then."
"I hadn't planned on meeting anyone that night at the art gallery."
Tristan seemed so reluctant to talk about anything concerning how we met. I'd asked him a few times in the hospital and he'd glossed over our meeting as if it were commonplace, but something in the way he spoke now told me it was very important to him.
"Tell me about what I was like there."
He shrugged and seemed to be at a loss for words.
"Please. I'd love to know about that time in my life. I'd planned on trying to find a gallery position when I was in college, so that I did is pretty important."
He looked at me and shook his head. "I don't know a lot about that part of your life. I only saw you once in your job at the gallery."
"What was I like?"
"Beautiful."
"That's it? Beautiful?"
"That's all I saw. And those little cocktail franks."
"Little cocktail franks?" I couldn't help but giggle. He had the oddest way of describing things. Beautiful and cocktail weenies. "You sure do know how to tell a story. Remind me to begin writing a journal so if one of us loses our memory again at least we have something to look back on," I teased, hoping to see one of his gentle smiles again.
For a second, I worried I had offended him because his expression hardened ever so slightly, but then he gave me one of those smiles that I was sure could melt the iciest heart and quietly said, "I remember the important things."
"Like?" I wanted to know those important things. I wanted to hear him talk about every single thing that meant something to him.
"Like the first time I kissed you. The first time you begged me not to tease you and how much I wanted to be inside you at that moment. What you look like when you sleep, all curled up next to me. How jealous you get. The feel of your hair against my fingers when I wrap it around them while we lay in bed talking."
As he spoke, I watched that beautiful mouth say words that nearly took my breath away. He said so little that when he finally spoke freely, it was like a dam breaking. He never took his eyes off my face, watching for my reaction, I suspected, even as his expression remained calm.
This was the reality of us. He remembered everything and so much of that revolved around me, while I remembered nothing but wanted so much to experience those moments that were so deeply etched in his mind.
My eyes drifted down over his muscular torso, and I saw the outline of his co**ck through his pajama pants. I couldn't deny I too was excited by his words. I was pretty sure all it would take was one kiss and I'd be more than willing, but I didn't want to make the move on him and he seemed content with just talking.
"I wish I remembered those things, Tristan," I said apologetically.
He leaned in and I waited for him to kiss me. His face was so close to mine I could feel his warm breath on my cheek. Instead, he took a tendril of hair and wrapped it around his middle finger. "There are always new memories, Nina."
I closed my eyes and willed myself not to react to the sound of his husky voice right next to my ear, but it was a lost cause. An involuntary whimper escaped from my mouth as I waited for him to touch me again. God, I wanted him to do something so we could get started on those new memories right then and there!
"Yes, there are," I croaked out as he sat there still as a statue, his breathing the only sound I heard.
He released my hair from around his finger and repeated the action, twirling the strand from the bottom up to next to my ear. When he stopped, he gently tugged on it, sending a twinge over my scalp and making me flinch.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked, but I had the distinct impression he didn't care if it had hurt.
In truth, it hadn't. The tiny bit of pain he'd caused by pulling my hair was intermingled with the pleasure he was creating in me just by being so close that I almost wished he'd do it again.
"No. Is this how you used to play with my hair?"
He shook his head, sighing heavily near my neck, and his warm breath flowed over my skin. "No," he whispered. "I'd play as you rested your head on my chest while we lay in bed. This bed."
This bed. As in the one I wished he would lay me down on and make love to me on at that very moment.
"Oh." That was all I could muster as a response because if I'd said anymore I'd have sounded like some drunken prom date looking to give it up easier than the town tramp. He was driving me mad with desire, but until he made the move, I planned to do my damnedest to keep it together.
"It's getting late and you have a big day tomorrow."
I sat stunned as he leaned back away from me and smiled. "Take the letters. Maybe they'll help you remember something."
"Yeah. Maybe. Thanks," I muttered as I stood on shaky legs to go back to my room. After all that, he didn't even try to make love to me. I couldn't tell if I was exhausted because of the emotions I'd experienced that day or because of the rollercoaster he'd taken my body on just waiting for him to make a move.
I opened the door and behind me from his place on the bed he said, "Nina, I'm glad you came over."
Turning around, I saw he was rock hard. His co**ck was nearly peaking out of his pants. Why was he playing with me like this?
"Yeah, it was nice. Thanks." I pressed a smile onto my lips and hoped he didn't see how frustrated he'd made me. "Have a good night, Tristan."
I slid my gaze over his body one last time and made my way back to my room. As I climbed into bed, I couldn't say for sure, but I didn't think I'd ever been so turned on merely by talking in my life.
If this was what life with Tristan Stone was like, it was no wonder I'd fallen in love with him before. I was halfway there already.
Chapter Four
Nina
At nine sharp, I stood in Tristan's office on his side of the house ready to get to work, even if I wasn't entirely sure I could do the job. Being a curator was far more than I ever remembered doing, but if what everyone was telling me was the truth, I'd done this job before and pretty well, so all I had to do was remember that and I'd be fine. I had the education and the experience. That was what I told myself about a hundred times over as I'd made my way to see Tristan.
I wore a green cashmere sweater that felt like heaven against my skin, a black pencil skirt, and a pair of black pumps that made my legs look damn good, if I did say so myself. While I may not have been able to remember anything since college, I was sure I'd never worn anything so luxurious in my life as what I was in as I stood there in front of him.
Tristan sat behind his enormous cherry wood desk looking breathtaking in a dark grey suit, black dress shirt, and a stunning red and black tie. After what had happened the night before, I wasn't sure I could work side-by-side with him, and looking like that only made it more difficult.
Why couldn't he work at home in sweatpants and a T-shirt? Who am I kidding? He'd probably still look stunning.
He looked up from his laptop and smiled. "Good morning, Nina. Come sit next to me."
I approached him on wobbly legs and sat down in a chair he slid next to his. As if it wasn't bad enough that I was unsure about my ability to do the job of curator, now I had to deal with him sitting as close to me as he had the night before.
This was going to be a long day.
"Ready to work?" he asked, his deep brown eyes staring into mine.
"Yes, sir," I joked, hoping to ease my jitters with some workplace humor.
He arched one dark eyebrow. "Sir? You don't have to be so formal, Nina. Remember, we're more than just employer and employee."
His deep voice spoke the words that should have put me at ease, but there was a sensual undertone to it that made me need to squeeze my thighs together to ease a desperate, sweet ache that had formed between them the moment I saw him sitting behind that desk.
"Okay. I was just trying to calm my jitters. I'm a little nervous about this," I confessed.
Smiling, he shook his head. "There's no need to be nervous. You're a natural at this. Trust me."
Trust me. He'd said that day after day since I'd met him in the hospital, and I still wasn't sure I could. In truth, it wasn't a could thing. It was an I-was-afraid-to thing. I'd never had much success with men, as far as I remembered, and the memory of what others had done to me was always uppermost in my mind when my heart felt even the tiniest tug in Tristan's direction.