He stood near the glass doors to the balcony with his arms folded across his chest. His profile showed a grimace as I walked toward him. I gently touched his sleeve, saddened when I saw his expression as he turned toward me.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
Tristan leaned down and kissed me softly on the lips. "Work. I'm sorry, but we're going to have to cut our trip short. I wish I didn't have to get back, but you know how it is."
I couldn't hide my disappointment and turned away to look out through the doors at the Grand Canal. "Oh. Okay."
"I'm sorry, Nina. I promise to make it up to you."
Nodding, I looked up at him and forced a smile onto my face. "I know. Such is the life of a bigwig."
My joke made him laugh, and at least for a moment he appeared happy, even if there was a hint of sadness in his words. "Bigwig, huh? Well, this bigwig would take a smaller wig and being able to stay here with you."
I stood on my toes and wrapped my arms around his neck. Those deep brown eyes stared down into mine, almost as if he were begging forgiveness.
"You do know women often don't like men with smaller...wigs," I teased with a giggle.
His smile in return was genuine and warmed my heart. "Well, thank God I've been blessed in the wig department."
Sliding my hand down his torso, I ran my palm over the front of his pants before I turned to head into the bath. "Blessed indeed."
I didn't get far before he pulled me back against him and said in a deep voice, "I won't be able to get any work done if you keep making me think about last night."
His reference to what we'd done behind that pillar in the Piazza San Marco made an ache form between my legs. Finally, I'd seen the man behind the expensive suits and hardly any words—that passionate heart that no one but me saw. I would have given anything for the world to go away and have him all to myself for the rest of time.
Blushing at the memory of the rawest, most erotic moment of my life, I covered his hands with mine and leaned my head back against his shoulder. "You're going to make me so completely crazy about you that I become your love slave, Tristan Stone."
He nuzzled my neck, sending chills down my spine. In a husky voice, he whispered, "You've figured out my diabolical plan."
Turning in his arms, I smiled up at him. "I knew you had an ulterior motive."
"I have to get some work done before we leave, Nina. We need to be ready in little more than an hour."
Even the mere mention of work changed his mood from playful to serious, almost worried. His beautiful face became marred by a deep frown. I wanted to ask what the problem was, but I let it be. For all I knew, it could be the flight we had to take. So I toddled off to take a nice hot bath before having to spend eight hours on a plane, satisfied that even with the abbreviated holiday, it still had been the most incredible few days of my life.
Tristan vanished almost the minute we arrived home, so I headed straight to my room, ready to throw myself into my next assignment with the Miami Richmont hotel. I opened the door to the room that had become my home and instantly knew something had changed. Nothing I'd left on the desk while we were in Venice was there, including my laptop. Frantic, I ran down the hall yelling Tristan's name. Didn't he have security that handled things like this?
Rogers heard my screams and in his usual fashion seemed to appear out of nowhere as I reached the kitchen. Fully convinced my belongings had been stolen, I blurted out, "We've been robbed! My laptop and a bunch of other stuff is gone, Rogers! Did you see anyone?"
"Miss, we haven't been robbed. I think you'll find all your personal belongings have been moved to the master's room, as per his orders. If you'd like, I can escort you there where your things are safe and sound."
I stood stunned at the butler's words. Unsure of what to say, I mumbled a quick thank you and quickly made my way to Tristan's side of the house to find everything as Rogers had claimed. My laptop sat in the exact same position on his desk as it had in my room. Every stitch of clothing I owned, even down to my underwear, had been moved and placed in the enormous walk-in closet just beside his clothes. My hand instinctively reached out to touch his suits and dress shirts hanging perfectly on their hangers, loving the feel of their crisp softness against my fingertips as I ran my hand all the way toward the furthest point of the closet. I checked the bathroom and there were brand new, unopened bottles of everything I used—shampoo, conditioner, facial scrub, moisturizer, and even a tube of my favorite toothpaste.