Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Trystan set the book face down on his lap and picked his device up from the side table. He stared at the screen then his face lit up with a grin as he swiped to answer.
“Dazza, mate! How the fuck have you been?”
“Tryst, nice to see you’re still alive, you wanker.” The voice coming from the speaker had a broad Australian accent. “I thought we’d lost you to the wilds of South Africa. I heard the weather has been fucking dire in your part of the world.”
“Yeah, we’ve had some major storms, been cut off, spotty Wi-Fi, y’know the deal.” Interestingly, Trystan’s accent thickened while he spoke to his friend. He looked up from the screen and noticed Iris’s attentive expression and his grin widened. “Hey, Daz, you wanna meet my girl?”
Iris’s eyes widened and she frantically shook her head and mouthed no. She was wearing one of his hoodies, which was miles too big for her, and her hair was a mess as usual. She self-consciously patted at her curls and shook her head again, more adamantly this time.
“Girl? What fucking girl, Tryst? You went up there alone and you’ve been cut off. Have you lost your marbles out there in the isolated wild, mate?” There was genuine concern in the man’s voice.
“Iris, say hi to Dazza,” Trystan said, his grin huge and beautiful, and Iris narrowed her eyes at him, promising him swift retribution, before plastering a smile onto her own lips just moments before he swung the phone around to face her. She stared into the startled face of an attractive brown haired man about Trystan’s age, his jaw covered in light brown scruff, his blue eyes wide in surprise.
“Oh hey, so you’re an actual woman.”
Iris burst into laughter at the trivial observation.
“Hi, yes, my name’s Iris. I’m happy to meet you.”
“Yeah, I’m Darryl… how the fuck are you there? When I spoke to that wanker last he was all alone, with a storm bearing down on him.”
“I showed up in the middle of that storm. I’ve been stuck here with his grumpy arse since then.”
“Hey,” Trystan exclaimed in mock outrage, and she threw him a happy smile.
“But how? Why?” Darryl looked confused and justifiably suspicious. Iris couldn’t blame him. If her emotionally fragile, vulnerable—not to mention world famous—friend suddenly introduced her to an utter stranger who seemed to have appeared out of thin air under questionable circumstances, she’d be wary as well.
“I’ll let Trystan explain,” she said softly. “I really am happy to meet you. Trystan talks about you a lot. And I have to confess, I kind of harbor a secret love for Night of the Killer Wētās.”
He still looked wary but said, “Aah, so you’re one of that lot.”
She laughed at his disgruntled response and handed the phone back to Trystan. She closed her laptop, swung her legs from Trystan’s lap, and got up. He caught her hand as she passed him and brought it to his lips to plant a tender kiss on her knuckles.
She reciprocated by ruffling his hair affectionately and leaving the room.
But not before she heard, “What the fuck, Trystan? Who is she? You can’t simply let—”
She winced and shut the door behind her, knowing her presence here would take a lot of explaining from both Trystan and Hunter Quinn. And even then, Darryl Constanza would probably still doubt that she and Trystan shared anything real.
Iris sighed as she put her laptop on the kitchen table and stared out at the immense yellowwood tree in the backyard. Not that she could blame the man for his suspicion and doubt, when Iris herself harbored similar doubts about this thing between her and Trystan.
She found herself falling deeper and deeper for him every day, but how could it possibly be real? She hesitated to call it love. Just days ago, he’d been imprisoning her in her room. Now she was entertaining notions of love. It was laughable, it was incongruous… but oh God, it felt so real.
They were in each other’s company twenty-four hours a day. And such propinquity could well be responsible for amplifying every emotion. It was hard to trust your feelings in a situation like this.
And yet when she looked at him, Iris wanted to believe that what they had could work, that what they had could survive the skepticism of family and friends. And worse still, the close scrutiny of the public and press. Iris didn’t think she could handle the publicity of being seen on Trystan Abbott’s arm. She was an innately private person, and she didn’t respond well to being the center of attention.
But that was part and parcel of who and what he was.
His strong arms wrapped around her waist and his warm, hard body slotted against her back. She hadn’t heard him come in, but she welcomed his embrace, leaning back against him while he bent down to notch his jaw in the nook between her shoulder and neck.