Kristie Cook - Promise

He quickly showed me the master bath and I imagined the potential in there, too, with the big Jacuzzi tub and a shower the size of my bedroom. Back downstairs, he led me into the most amazing, dream kitchen. The décor was a little cold for my style—mostly concrete, stainless steel and glass. There were tons of cabinets and immense counter space, though, including an island in the middle and a bar at the western end.

"Tristan, you've been holding out on me!" I slid my hands along the smooth countertops and gazed at the six-burner stove. "This looks like so much more fun than Mom's tiny kitchen. We wouldn't be bumping into each other all the time."

He grinned. "I thought you might like it."

We cooked together, while listening to music and drinking wine. He usually played the role of prep-chef and I did the main cooking. While his slices and dices were precise, I was good at mixing, stirring and adding ingredients to give it the right flavor. We traded roles tonight and the linguine with clam sauce and a side salad tasted delicious.

After cleaning up, he poured us some more wine and played with his little toy to change the music while I took a closer look at the houses—they were actually architectural models, complete with landscaping. Each was in a different style and in a different setting. I leaned over to study the intricate details he'd added to each one.

"I showed you mine. Will you show me yours?" Tristan said from behind me. I whirled in shock. He laughed at my expression. "You've seen my creations, now. When do I get to see yours?"

Oh, my book . I circumvented the question by taking my glass from him, draining the wine and rerouting the conversation to the models.

"These are truly incredible. They must have taken you forever."

He shrugged. "I've done these since I moved here last summer. I'm still trying to figure out my dream home, I guess. I can't decide which one I like best."

"Why don't you just build all three, then you don't have to choose?" I giggled, thinking it may not be so unrealistic for him.

He laughed. "I've seriously thought about that. But…well, I'm waiting to get some input from the person I'll be sharing them with some day."

He smiled seductively. Butterflies fluttered again and my head went fuzzy. I never drank more than one glass of wine with Mom, so it didn't take much. And, of course, Tristan had that effect on me all by himself, especially like now, when he walked up to me, put his hands on my shoulders and gazed into my eyes, the gold in his sparkling brightly. He leaned over and kissed my jaw, his hands gliding down my back.

"So what do you think?" he murmured.

I couldn't answer immediately, his touch electrically stimulating my body, then finally, I giggled. "I think I'm in no frame of mind to be thinking."

I put my arms around his neck and had to concentrate to keep his face in focus. I smiled, closed my eyes ( that feels better ) and tilted my face up for a kiss. He didn't deliver. I opened my eyes reluctantly and he stared at me with a funny expression. I thought it was concern, but didn't know why.

"What's the matter?" I asked, but it came out more like, "Wass da madder."

"Alexis, are you drunk?"

I giggled. "No, I don't think so. I have a really good buzz, though."

I sagged against him, still holding onto his neck. I kissed his chest through his shirt.

"Yeah…I think you're drunk. I better take you home."

"No! I don' wunna go home." I pulled myself up against him and kissed his neck and then put effort into speaking correctly. "I want to stay here with you. Be with you…maybe in that nice big bed upstairs?"

"Yeah, uh, I don't think so. I'm taking you home."

"Tristan, please?" I breathed. I pressed my body against his, pulling his head down closer and nuzzling my face against his neck. Then I stood on my toes and slid my lips along his jaw and, just as I reached his mouth, I lost my balance and would have fallen over if he hadn't been holding me.

"Nope. Let's go," he said firmly, extricating himself from my arms, while still holding me upright.

"Please?" I pouted, trying to look at him through my eyelashes. I probably looked like a fool. He shook his head. "Why?"

"Because I won't take advantage of you like this."

"You wouldn't be taking advantage of me. I promise." I smiled, trying to be seductive.

"As tempting as that sounds, ma lykita , I will not do anything with you that I may regret."

The smile fell off my face and unexpected tears pooled in my eyes. Okay, self, wine makes me emotional…and stupid. "You would regret it? You'd regret being with me?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you must be drunk if you think I'd regret being with you."

"But that's what you just said."

He sighed, but his expression looked amused. "What I meant is I'm not going to do something that I'd always have to wonder if you really wanted it or if it was the wine. Okay?"

I sighed. "No, it's not okay."

"I think you'll get over it. Come on, I'm taking you home." He took my hand and pulled gently.

I reluctantly followed him downstairs and naturally headed to the motorcycle.

"Oh, no. I don't think you're in any shape for that," he said, pulling me over to the cars.

"Oooh, can we take the Ferrari? Let's be obnoxious!"

He laughed. "No, that's for going fast… very fast. You're not in any condition for that either and I'm not about to take the chance you'll puke all over it."

"I'm not that drunk, silly." I giggled again as he held the Mercedes door open for me. "Can we put the top down? I love driving topless."

He raised an eyebrow and that brought me to tears with laughter as he lowered the car's roof and pulled out of the garage. The cool December air blew on my face and sobered me quite a bit by the time we drove the two miles to my house. I shivered as we pulled in front of the cottage.

"Sorry," I said, as we headed inside. "I don't think I should mix you and wine. It's too much for my system."

He gave me a squeeze. "I thought it was just you who intoxicates me ."

The following week flew by as we managed the Christmas rush at the bookstore. Owen had gone home for the holidays, so Mom needed the extra help. Because we'd kept the store open until six on Christmas Eve, Mom and I didn't have much time to bake birthday cakes—the first part of our tradition. So we went over to Tristan's house to take advantage of his kitchen and all three of us made one at the same time.

While the cakes baked in the oven, we exchanged gifts, leaving Christmas Day for a birthday celebration. My stomach tightened with apprehension. Mom was easy and I knew she would love the CD I compiled for her. It was something she'd be able to play in the store and she was excited when she opened it. She gave me an emerald green blouse I'd seen her wear once and had told her how gorgeous it was on her. I didn't fill it out like she did, but I loved it…and so did Tristan when I modeled it.

It was his present I worried about. He wanted to read my unfinished book, but I wasn't nearly ready for anyone to read it, especially him. So I wrote him a poem about my love for him and had it framed with a small picture of me. The poem came directly from my heart, so it was, admittedly, pretty sappy. I didn't know if he'd like it or laugh at it. I sat on the couch next to him with my knees to my chest, tugging and twisting my hair as he opened and then read it. I held my breath the entire time.

He looked up at me and his eyes sparkled and…glistened. He bent over and kissed me on the cheek, murmuring, "It's perfect. Thank you."

I sighed hugely with relief and let myself relax.

"Your turn." He handed me a flat box. My hands trembled as I opened it.

I sucked in my breath. "Tristan, it's exquisite," I breathed. I couldn't take my eyes off it. "But I can't accept this. You cheated!"