Chapter 34

thirty-four

The tender idlesup to the marina, and right away I see Mark. The breeze plasters his suit against his lean frame, toys with his hair. Behind him, the Manhattan forest of glass and steel looms large.

Next to me, Isolde folds her hands in her lap. She’s been nearly silent all day, speaking only to reply in elegant, little snippets. Not brisk enough to be rude, of course not, but reserved enough to deter small talk with the staff.

Or conversation with me.

We haven’t spoken since my balcony, not even when I came into her room last night to wake her from her nightmares and she jolted awake before I could touch her. She’d waved me back into my room, where I’d lain in my bed, staring at the ceiling almost until dawn, wishing I were a different kind of man. One who could shuttle between the beds of a bride and a groom without needing the promises of a future and honesty and love.

The tender docks, one of the crew members hopping up to lash the boat to the dock, and I step out of it and turn to help Isolde out as well. She’s wearing a white bodysuit and white trousers today, her hair in a low ponytail, and her lips a shell pink. She looks radiant, a vision, as she takes my hand and allows me to help her to the dock.

Warmth ripples through me at the touch, and I fight the urge to shiver. It’s the first time we’ve touched since two nights ago when I made an Isolde-shaped dent in her mattress.

She pulls her hand free the moment she has her balance on the dock, and I have to force myself to let go.

We ended this. I’m in love with her, but we ended this.

It’s for the best.

Even if it feels like bleeding right into the bay, one hot drop of blood at a time.

I look up to see that Mark isn’t alone. Sedge is behind him, pale eyed and inscrutable, and Goran is behind them both, grinning and friendly.

And then Mark looks at me and our eyes meet, and it’s like being shot clean through the chest.

Three weeks. It’s only been three weeks, and he’d become like a myth in my mind, hazy and godlike. But in the flesh, here, he’s something more than godlike. That high forehead and once-broken nose and full mouth—brutal beauty.

His lips tilt in a smile, a smile for me, and I drag in a breath through my lungs.

I have to be steady. I have to be so steady around him. At least until the marriage, he can’t know the truth about me and Isolde, and it will be very hard to keep it that way if he’s already making me want to kneel to him here on this dock.

You were careful with Isolde, I remind myself. So careful.

Your secret is safe.

Mark is extending his hand to his affianced now, and Isolde takes it with a grace that speaks of manners, of living in a world where such gallantry is normal. And as she takes his hand and their eyes meet, sapphire and turquoise, I can practically see the electricity arc between them. The tension rippling through both their bodies.

It’s not hostility—although I can’t say it’s affection either. Whatever it is, it’s physical, and I think of what Isolde told me on the boat, about Mark being her first.

I can still feel the imprint of his fingers inside me.

The jealousy is going to eat me alive.

I realize I’m scrubbing a hand over my chest as I watch Mark kiss Isolde’s hand, like I can rub away the wretched envy. I knew it would be torture to be in love with them both, but fuck, fuck, this is worse than I could have imagined.

“Welcome home, my queen,” Mark murmurs over Isolde’s hand, and then lifts his head to meet her eyes again. Whatever passes between them then, unspoken, has Mark’s mouth flickering in a smile.

He looks like he’s just been presented with his favorite thing: a challenge.

We all start heading toward the end of the dock, toward the waiting vehicles. Mark, Isolde, and I will stay in Mark’s Manhattan penthouse while the others stay nearby in a hotel. My mind is fretting over the potential torment of being trapped in a home with the two of them when Sedge comes up alongside me.

I look over at the assistant, slender and neatly dressed in a button-down shirt and periwinkle shorts, his chin-length hair tucked almost shyly behind his ears.

“A word of advice, Tristan,” he says, and despite his appearance, his voice isn’t shy at all. It’s edged with something I don’t understand. “Maybe make sure there aren’t cameras on the inside of the yacht before you use it for any old thing you like.”

And with that Sedge strides off, his meaning detonating behind him.

He knows.

And if he knows?.?.?.

It won’t be long until Mark knows too. If he doesn’t already.

And just at that moment, Mark looks over his shoulder at me, his hand on the small of Isolde’s back.

“Come along, Tristan,” he says calmly. “There’s much to discuss.”

To be continued?.?.?.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading Salt Kiss!

Things are about to heat up for Tristan, Isolde, and that devilish Mark, and their story continues in Honey Cut, coming June 2024. (I knowwwww, I’m sorry. I’m the worst!)

In the meantime, would you like to read a free bonus scenewhere Mark and Tristan get kinky at Lyonesse? There is plenty of angst and butt stuff…and even a cowboy hat (worn by a real cowboy)!

* * *

And have you read the free Lyonesse prequel, Salt in the Wound?

The first time I meet the devil, he knows my name.

The second time I meet him, the truth becomes clear: Mark Trevena is to be my husband.

No matter that we don’t know each other.? No matter that he’s older than me; shameless and sinful; the owner of a secret club where the powerful come to play.? My father has spoken, and I’ll be the devil’s bride the minute I graduate from college.

Except my future husband has one condition for this arranged marriage: we have to pretend it’s real.

He’ll teach me, he says.? How to pretend to be his in pain and pleasure both.? How to pretend to arch and writhe under his touch.? But his lessons are teaching me something else entirely…

…that Mark Trevena wants me in a way that’s not pretend at all.

And no matter how I might fight it, the devil will have his due.

Get Salt in the Wound for free here!