Hey ya'll! Sorry, took a long break for finals. I was running out of inspiration, sadly, I don't know what to do with this fic now. I should try to finish it, but I hope it'll be as good as I had planned before. New challenges arise. What is exactly Jess planning? Can Tristan and Rory get it together? And of course....fabulous Maggie returns, more provocative and seductive than ever. Here's a fling into high society, .....good luck Tristan, you'll need it.
So, read and enjoy!
Luce
Disclaimer: first. Ch.
Soft Slow Falling....Snow...
Outside, it had started sleeting. Icy frozen water slapped down on the windshield, blurring it as the silver car flew over the cold, black roads. His face was frozen in stone, his features neutral and expressionless; beside him, the cool alabaster goddess leaned back like a cat, her long, slim arms delicately handling the gears, fingers tapping the wheel.
Her face was set in stone for once.
"Stop being a baby. I'm not fuckin' abducting you, you know; the merger happened. DuGrey and Sheffield have closed the Ryder-Capitol merger along with a few other propositions. We're celebrating this weekend for two days up at the Sheffield mansion in Martha's Vineyard; your father demanded someone go and get you. I was the only one who knew where the fuck you were."
"How in the hell you knew is beyond me and I don't even want to know." he replied, tight lipped.
She grinned carelessly and sensuously.
"I have my resources," she said with a sly smile. "Ready for that weekend of fun?"
The husky, sexy laughter filled her throat and bubbled over; he listened to the clear tones with fear.
"You must be out of your damn mind if you think I'm going anywhere with you."
The foot on the accelerator pressed harder. Swerving around a curve, the car slightly skidded; his eyes shot wide open. Her face was hardened.
"Maggie, slow the fuck down!" he yelled, suddenly grabbing the dashboard.
She whipped around a corner, running a yellow light, her foot dancing with the gas pedal.
"Where's your sense of adventure??!!" she screamed back in response, half laughing, half furious. The crazy delicious laughter spilled into the air vents and intoxicated him. A stop sign was missed. The wheels screamed.
His face was white.
"Hey Tristan, you know, I was in love with you!" she suddenly laughed, turning to face him; her eyes gleamed green under the pale luminescence of the winter light. She was laughing but they were so sad, sad, terrible eyes, a sad, terrible mouth.
"Maggie don't," was all he could breathe through a tightened throat.
A pout dissolved her face; glaring at the road, she swung into the driveway and skidded to a stop in front of the house. Tristan didn't move, and slowly began to breathe again. As soon as his senses were regained, he jumped from the car, slamming the door behind him.
"Hey Tristan," called out the sweet, deceitful voice.
"I'm not going!" he yelled back, snapping his head to face her. "Hear that?!"
"You don't have a choice," she giggled, brushing past him. The faint scent of her perfume intoxicated him; dizzy, he stared at the retreating back.
"God," he groaned hoarsely, frozen in place. "Oh God."
Throughout the house filtered the sounds of departure, the faintly caught instructions, the fragments of sentences and sounds that floated up towards his half open door. He'd spent the last hour downstairs in the pool hiding from her and swimming laps. Cautiously, he opened his own door, expecting to see her there like a nightmare. The coast was clear.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he closed it carefully and headed for his shower.
Mistake.
Opening the door , he was shocked as he was suddenly hit by steam; a fragrance that he recognized too well drifted through the room, and his impulse was to run. His legs wouldn't work. The water ran, and he froze as he recognized the outlines of the form inside the steamy glass walls; it was a pink blur that shattered everything. He watched numbly as one delicate hand reached for the towel, and a figure stepped out of his shower.
Her blonde hair was in damp, blond-gold clumps that clung to her neck and shoulders like brilliant, shining strands of silk; her skin was sensuously bare, clothed only in a short towel. Wet, bronzed skin emerged in graceful lines from the soft terry article as she slid towards him with the grace of a feline.
"I seem to be in the wrong shower," she murmured as she approached him slowly. His eyes drank her in, his body tensing and becoming taut, already begging to respond to the sheer need she created inside him, the hollowness.
She slowly slid around him, her bare fingertips landing like butterflies here, now there, then disappearing; her mouth was enticingly close, her damp, fragrant blonde hair brushed against his neck. Her eyes pierced him, jade green.
"Get out," he hissed, but she was already leaving; her light laughter haunted him, the look of power he'd recognized on her face.
"One more thing," the sultry voice said, the blond head popping back in around the door frame. He turned to see her naughty, half innocent look as her mouth formed the fateful words.
"I was right, wasn't I? I won Tristan, I knew I would. You disgust her. Rory darling doesn't need fucked up you."
He shivered with rage, with sadness, with desperation; his eyes were steel cold and blue. She slunk a little closer.
"You and me again, Tristan. In the bathrooms. On the elevators. In other people's beds. In the shower. In the back of that person's limo. In the Jacuzzis, the kitchen counter, in that garden, on the beach in Blackpool, in London, on the Essex estate, on the balcony, and in my parent's room. God it was good, Tristan...." she whispered in his ear, standing too close, a sly smile playing on her face.
"Stop it," he whispered, powerless to stop the memories flooding back.
"Yeah, we were shameless, but it was always amazing. You have some skills that sweet Rory would never employ. Answer me honestly; do you ever think about that summer? About what we did? About that time we were at the Polo match at Havingham and do you remember the dining room table?"
Her tone was pleading and sweet, and subtly flowing with a electrifying current. He was pale.
"Yes," he hissed tensely, roughly grabbing her arm.
She smiled a smile that stretched slowly and gorgeously, her eyes glittering.
"I thought you might," she whispered, the tip of her tongue running over the rim of her teeth. He swallowed hard.
"Damn you," he spat, flinging her out of his way and striding out of the room. His eyes were slightly glazed, his breathing unsteady, as he slammed the door behind him. She didn't miss a detail. Leaning on the doorway, she grinned maliciously. It wouldn't be long.
"He has to go the whole weekend!" Rory wailed, crashing onto her bed.
"Oh honey, look, maybe you two needed a break. Everything's happening at once, it's just so insane; a little time off could be what you need. Did he tell you where he was going?"
"Martha's Vineyard." was Rory's muffled answer from under the covers.
"Of course. Rich people mecca," muttered Lorelai. "Mom and Dad have a house there."
"I wanted to tell him that I understood, that it was ok, that I still wanted him in every imaginable way possible-"
"Hey! I'm a mother! Don't allow me to hear that!" interrupted Lorelai in disgust.
"Sorry, but it's true! But he's gone and I don't know if he knows! What if Maggie..."
"That's enough," barked Lorelai. "I officially command you not to say that name in this house. Quit it. If it bothers you that much, than it shows you don't have a lot of faith in him. Why don't you just trust him? Monday you'll see him, he'll come over after school and you two can talk it all out and then make out relentlessly like rutting animals until I've decided you've gone far enough and then I'll walk in on you and order pizza and we'll watch the Wizard of Oz and everything will be alright."
"To you, everything that ends with Wizard of Oz is alright." sighed Rory. "Kinda like the sound of that relentless rutting though."
"What has gotten into you!" exclaimed Lorelai.
"Brief incident the night of the fight."
"I won't ask."
"Good. I'd be embarrassed to tell you." grinned Rory.
"Hey! Now you have to tell me! Hey! Come back here and tell me right now! I won't allow you not to tell me!" ranted Lorelai, following Rory up the stairs as the girl fled to her room. "If I ever find out you did what I would have done I will kill you and-"
"Leave the body out on the road for the crows to peck, yeah yeah yeah, heard it before."
"I'm not joking."
"Good night, must study," laughed Rory, shutting the door in her mother's face.
"Trifling trick-ass girl!" yelled Lorelai through the door.
"Maybe if you cook me a cake from scratch!" yelled back Rory.
Lorelai snorted in amusement.
"Yeah, that'll be the day," she muttered sarcastically, tromping down the stairs.
Light jazz mutedly came from the speakers; the inside of the black limo glistened and gleamed with gold-trimmed cherry wood and custom leather. The seats were wide and spacious, a bar in the back; Tristan stretched his long body over the leather, sighing silently. He stuffed a pillow under his head, made himself a martini (dry on the rocks) and leaned back. Outside, he watched through tinted windows as tiny flakes of snow fell lightly past him, thickly whipping back in the wind. It was snowing again. The weather had taken the turn for the worse; for some odd reason, he could not help but believe it was because of her. She was a curse; and she brought all curses with her. Her green eyes dictated the weather, dictated other people, dictated him. His martini suddenly tasted very bad.
Putting down the drink and sinking back into the pillows, he closed his eyes and remembered every detail of that night, every tiny indentation in her lips. Rory. He let the name roll silently over his tongue, tasting it, drinking it, letting it flood his mouth and slide down his throat melted sweet. Rory. Blue eyes glistening in blue darkness; her mouth, her neck, her fingers against the glass. Her legs around his waist, her hair sliding down the side of his face as she bent her head, letting it hide them both like a curtain. He felt a pang of loneliness.
I want you to be wrong, he screamed silently to an invisible pair of green eyes; I need you to be wrong! You're wrong!
His fingers unsteadily traveled the keys; breathless, he listened to it ring, waiting with his heart in his throat.
"Hello?" responded the girlish voice on the line.
"Rory?" he managed, tripping on the words when they fell out of his mouth.
"Tristan?" she breathed, happy delirium in her voice. "Where are you? What's going on?"
His mouth stretched into a wide smile, his breath came back to him, he grinned joyfully; running a had through his hair, he tilted his head back with the mad urge to laugh out loud.
"God, Rory, it's so good to hear your voice. I'm in a limo by myself on the way to Martha's Vineyard, it's snowing outside and I miss you so bad I might die."
Rory tucked her feet under her on the couch, curling up under a blanket; a pink blush caressed her cheeks, her rosy lips smiling endlessly, her fingers toying with the phone cord.
"You'd better not. We've got unfinished business."
Oh yeah, I know. There's no little Tristan Jr. running around yet." he laughed, leaning his cheek against the cool window.
"What makes you think that there'd be one if you lived?!" she giggled. "What I meant by unfinished business is that assignment from Medina and you apologizing to Luke."
"Mm...yeah," he murmured, briefly remembering. "I'll more than make it up to him. How's Jess?"
"Still sore, but alive. A little embarrassed about the whole thing, but he's got this look on his face that I'm afraid means business. When I asked him what it was all about, he grinned and said you knew. Care to clue me in?"
"Oh God, they're a match made in heave," he chuckled to himself.
"Who? I demand you tell me!" commanded Rory.
"You'll find out. God, why didn't I think of this." Tristan grinned, soliciting more whining and begging.
"Tristan!" she scolded, and then gave up.
"You're pouting, aren't you." he said.
Silence.
"Mary oh Mary, don't be mad," he wheedled like a little child, tempting a sigh from her.
"I'm not pouting. I wish I was there." Rory responded despondently.
"I wish you were here too," he answered, his heart soaring at her words. "What would you do if you were?" he asked gently, waiting, wishing.
Her reply stunned him, shook him senseless.
"Kiss you," she replied softly, her words a mere hint of a whisper, so shy and beautiful in their innocence. He caught them and believed for a second he'd imagined them, until he heard the silence that followed.
"Rory?" he breathed into the phone, unbelieving. "Would you?"
Her silence was enough affirmation.
His body relaxed, flooded with peace; outside the snow fell thickly, beautiful and pristine, pure like her want. He opened the sunroof, uncaring, letting it fall on his hair and eyelashes, caught on his lips. She was his, and he was hers entirely. No teenage melodrama. No detours, no mistrust, no hesitations; no assumptions and no jealously. They were both sinking into it alone, each on their end of the line, their voices connected by thin electricity; he felt her inside his mouth when she spoke. There were no words big enough, full enough, wide enough....beautiful enough.........
"I love you," he whispered, and the words resonated inside him.
"I love you too," she replied, her words sure and steady, like the falling snow. Little tiny cold kisses on his hands and face, little flakes falling through the sunroof...........
The line went static and died.
He set his phone down, his hand falling away from his ear; tilting his head back, he began to laugh, a sound that welled up from between his ribs, where his heart fluttered, to his throat, spilling out over his lips, laughter, boyish, rich, joyful, resonant laughter bubbling and flowing! over him, drowning in it, and the snow fell and fell and fell..............
Behind him in the road he left a thin, pale shadow that trembled and shivered, it's green eyes dulling and gone, it's opaque form finally disappearing, blocked by the snow. Maggie was dead.
Lights glistened ferociously, twinkling brazenly over gorgeous mansion. Outside, shining, glistening expensive cars pulled up and glimmering, affluent figures stepped outside; chauffeurs drove the vehicles to the back. Tense, excited jazz poured out from inside the huge house, it's windows and columns and turrets glistening in the cool winter night with golden, beautiful light. Tristan breathed deeply as he strode up the steps, losing himself in the whirling mass of people that advanced and receded like conflicting tides. He watched as lavender and beads and glitter flowed past him like a treasure tide; feathers, dark satin, Armani and Gucci suits galore swirled in between them. Women advanced and retreated like sensuous butterflies in a rythmic dance, mixing and socializing in groups, then continuing. People who had never met shared laughter and jokes; champagne flowed freely from bubbly glasses, light as the mood that night. Dignified men in dignified smiles condescendingly nodded to each other and envied each other's escorts, discussing polite business deals. Once in a while, a sporadic laugh brushed through the air like a breeze, causing giggle chimes to tinkle. The room flowed, swirled in a gentle constant motion, and the glitter of diamonds and precious gems reflected into chandeliers like prisms and beautiful, priceless rainbows.
Giving his coat to some attendee, he stepped into the mad whirl and politely made his way to where he saw his parents standing. The room was huge, with gilded ceilings and wide, curving staircases that descended into marble floors. Ferns and various exotic plants decorated the vast expanse along with a few exquisitely priced settees and other pieces of furniture; paintings hung the walls. A live jazz band played from a corner, the smooth, melodious strains of the easy beat permeating the fragrant air.
"I'm here," he said politely, standing up straight. His father nodded, his mother smiled sweetly.
"Just mingle dear. Lots of pretty girls. Car's out back if you feel like going home early, here's the key to our house on the Cove. Don't drink too much," she winked, and he winced at her carelessness.
"Sure," he replied quietly, melting away into the scene. She was beside him in a second, her head tilted back as she laughed, exposing the exquisitely graceful nape of her neck; her green eyes glittered and glistened, pulling him in teasingly.
"One dance, c'mon. Let's go." she giggled, pulling him towards the polished wood floor.
One dance. Could it hurt?
The strains of the low, sweet melody flowed through the room electrically; the easy beat melted sensuously over the walls, driving into his bones. There was a half-fast, half lazy rush to the tango, rhythm mix that sent her legs tensely striding, then curving, then delicately and precisely stepping and spinning. He guided her perfectly, his body trained years in the polite social art. But she always took it a step further. Her legs sensually slunk, strode, glided, her toes tapped rhythm, her slim, delicate arms were poised perfectly as the soft material of her dress fluttered around her like torn butterfly wings. She was so incredibly sexual, so beautiful and marvelous, so lithe and svelte; she floated over the dance floor as he spun her in hard, fast sequence. Securely tightening his arm on her back, he dipped her as she flung one long, glistening leg out. Every eye in the room was on them.
They rose, they fell, they floated, they were precise and sharp in each movement. His hands guided her hips, her slim fingers spread along the base her his neck, her eyes glimmered. He was lost in the moment for a second. The sexy beat accelerated as the girl prowled, the thin staccato of her stiletto heels speeding on the floor, everyone was breathless...then the music finished and the soft torn butterfly wings softly drifted and landed closed as his heart beat hard under her hand.
Everyone clapped admiringly, then drifted off as the two of them were left standing there, his face too close to hers. She slid one knee between his legs, her hands adjusting his shirt collar, her breath on his neck. A slow smile spread on her face. He was paralyzed, grasping for air that didn't exist at his altitude.
And then she was gone, blending into the throng, her glimmering green dress that thinly strained against her curves and floated opaquely around her knees and thighs beckoning like a green beacon.
Breathing deeply, he berated himself. What the fuck were you thinking! Dancing with her......the bittersweet taste of temptation curled in the crevices of his mouth. He remembered the tight flow of her slender muscles under his fingers, the soft sheen of her skin.
Downing two glasses of champagne, he picked a plain, dull girl and entertained her the rest of the evening. But she watched him always, glass in hand, from under her eyelashes, that smile on her face; that smile that he knew would be his greatest weakness.
On the deserted road, a dark black car sped across the now cleared roads easily.
"Why are we doing this again?" Rory asked nervously as she stared out the windows.
"Eh, I just thought we needed a vacation," grinned Lorelai.
"Mom!"
"Rory! If mom and dad were kind enough to offer us the use of their summer house in Martha's Vineyard, we should take advantage of it and abuse it. What happens once we get there is none of my business."
Rory groaned silently, but she was too flooded with thoughts and images to question it.
"At least this time we have a map. What if.."
"No what if's!" commanded Lorelai. "I order you to enjoy this."
"I know I will," came a voice from the back, it's tone brimming with sarcastic yet secretive nuances.
"I don't even wanna know, Jess," commented Lorelai, pushing the accelerator.
A dark head popped up from the backseat as Jess yawned and flung the Nintendo into a backpack, stretching.
"I didn't think you did. I bet Rory does...."
"Jess!" she bawled, throwing a bag of unopened chips at his head. He ducked easily and grinned.
"This is gonna be a good weekend...." he laughed, grabbing a book from her knapsack.
"Did I say you could borrow that?" she spat, lunging at it.
"Half the writing in it's mine."
"So! Just because you scribble in it doesn't give you rights! It's my book!"
"Yes princess. I apologize." said Jess, rolling his eyes and beginning to read.
"Alright, you asked for it," glared Rory, diving in the back, legs in the air, wrestling with him as she tried to snatch at the book.
"Hey!" yelled Lorelai. "Don't distract the driver!"
"Jess! You're distracting my mom! Give me the book!" laughed Rory, diving for it again.
"Hey, mine aren't the legs waving in her face."
"God I wish I'd never met you."
"Liar." smirked Jess, dodging her easy snatch and smacking her suspended backside with the book.
Rolling into the back completely and grabbing her book in a furious wrestling match, Rory giggled and screamed as she stuffed it behind her back and tried to keep him away.
"See, this is why I only had one kid! Hey, Sally and Harry! You listening? Tom and Jerry? Otis and Milo? Sylvester and Tweety? Calm it down!"
The car slowly pulled into a halt.
All three passengers looked out the window, slackjawed in awe as they stared up at the huge stone mansion.
"Yeah!" whooped Jess, throwing the door open and rushing outside, all forgotten. Even Rory dropped the book and dashed out of the car, looking up at the house. Across the bay, she noticed the lighted house that glistened and glittered, pulsating with the barely drifting sounds of music that floated over the water.
He's there right now, she thought absently, and then realized strangely that she'd just had a premonition. She turned to see her mom and Jess unlocking the door and stepping inside.
Grabbing her bag, she slammed the car door shut and ran inside, looking out over the glimmering bay one more time. She noticed a lone silver car drive up the road they had come along; it looked strangely familiar.
She waited for one more minute watching the way the lights from the house sparkled over the water, over the pristine snow. She turned around and was about to enter when she noticed something else.
A dark car that had been waiting in the shadows drove up the same road, it's lights turned off. It drove slowly, carefully following the same path as the car before it, turning into the same branch of road that led into another private driveway on the other side of the woods separating their estates. Uneasily, Rory watched it go, a strange feeling jarring and scraping in the marrow of her bones. She looked at the road; it was empty.
Shaking it off queasily, she went inside the house and closed the door.
Sighing, Tristan turned off the ignition in his silver Porsche. He was in his driveway.
Looking up at the cold, dark house, he shivered a little. It was so huge...so lonely......c'mon Tristan, he chided himself silently. You're not a little boy anymore. You're not scared of the dark.
Slamming his car door, he entered the security codes and walked into the house. He turned on the single hall light, casting eerie shadows over the foyer; shuddering a little, he ran up the stairs and into the room that was so unfamiliar, yet his.
Outside, a dark car with it's lights turned off slowly and quietly pulled up behind his and stopped.
Yeah!!.........Tristan won't be so alone tonight.....but more company than expected. Drastic turn of events (knife), betrayal and passion (or not?) long, golden legs.....fury.....Jess in the right place at the right time, and the tension hits the splitting point. Rory's got a choice........to believe....or to flee...
So read on and find out. If you feel it's deserving, I'd really appreciate a review, or a note...or a line..., whatever u have the time for. All opinions and suggestions welcome.
The saga continues.
Luce