A.N: Wow, I didn't quite expect the awesome response. Thank you
so much for all the lovely reviews. I stole a line (I hope I got it right!)
from the movie 'A Walk To Remember'. If you have a brilliant memory (or love
Shane West, or love the movie, or all three), you'll know which one it is.
I just had to; it fit perfectly. Hope y'all enjoy this. : -)
* * * * *
Perfect
by inmyeyes
02: Swept Away
The doorbell rang for the fifth time and finally, Rory accepted that whoever it was at her door wouldn't just go away like she hoped they would.
Sighing, she hit 'save' and got up to answer the door. Pulling her glasses off and securing her hair with a clip, she padded her way through the apartment, desperate to get back to her writing. Mentally, she was running through what she had written so far and planning her next words. This interruption could not have come at a worst time.
She had been writing pretty much non-stop for the last three days. In the course of her career, and even prior to it, she had discovered that she worked best at night. So, for the last few days, she would write through the night until dawn slowly brightened the sky and the sounds of the world awakening jerked her out of her concentration. She would then draw her curtains, bathing her room in darkness and get some respite from her churning thoughts. In the mid-afternoon, she would finally wake, have a late lunch. Then the routine would start all over again.
The days since she had begun writing her novel had been particularly hard on her. She was still working out the little kinks in the plot and fleshing out her characters; her mind was always working. When she wasn't actually writing, she'd be furiously scribbling in her notebook, hoping to get everything in her head down on paper.
It was exhausting… but it was a good kind of exhaustion.
Paris' irate face greeted her when she swung the door open. "What took you so long?" Without waiting for an answer, she brushed past Rory and stalked into the apartment, seating herself on the couch.
Wearily, Rory closed her front door. "Hi Paris, how are you? I'm fine. Really good, actually. I'd be better if you didn't catch me at a bad time."
At her friend's babbling, Paris finally took a good look at Rory. Her hair was sloppily tied up, she was wearing pajamas and the dark circles under her eyes told of the few hours of sleep that she had gotten.
"What the hell happened to you?"
Rory sunk onto her favourite armchair and leaned her head back. "Inspiration happened."
Rory missed the way Paris' eyes lit up. "That's great!" When there was no echoing response from Rory, her smile vanished. "Isn't it?"
"It is," Rory replied. But there was absolutely no enthusiasm in her voice.
"You don't sound too pleased."
No answer.
"Rory? What's wrong? What inspired you?"
"You don't want to know," was the mumbled answer.
"Oh yes, I do," Paris asserted. "I sat through your whining when you had that block, so I deserve to know what eliminated it."
"Remember high school?"
Paris snorted. "Unfortunately."
"Remember Tristan?"
"Tristan?" Paris' forehead scrunched up in confusion. "You don't mean Tristan DuGrey?"
Rory closed her eyes and an image of him popped into her mind. Her eyes immediately snapped open and she sat up. She echoed Paris' earlier answer, "Unfortunately."
The pieces of the puzzle finally fit and the result was surprising. "Tristan? Tristan made you start writing again?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes."
"Unbelievable."
"Tell me about it," Rory muttered under her breath.
"How did this happen?" Paris demanded.
"He was at my grandfather's party."
The explanation wasn't enough. "And?"
"And," Rory lifted her shoulders, hoping to seem nonchalant about it all. "We kinda talked."
Paris arched her brow, knowing that Rory was only giving her the bare essentials. "You talked?"
Rory groaned, covering her face with her hands. "Nothing happened, Paris! Get your mind out of the gutter."
"Maybe if you told me exactly what happened, I wouldn't have to come to my own conclusions," she pointed out, crossing her arms in a show of defiance.
"He didn't remember me."
Paris caught the underlying despondency in Rory's voice. "Did you expect him to?"
"No. Yes." She shook her head. "I don't know."
"It's been a long time since high school. And-"
"I know, Paris," Rory sighed. "I know. But…there's just something about him."
"That's what all women say," was Paris' dry remark.
Rory's tone was equally dry. "Thanks so much."
Paris scrutinized her friend… and a somewhat unwelcome conclusion came to her. "You like him."
Rory bristled at the accusatory tone. "I don't."
She snorted. "Like hell you don't."
"He's just fascinating."
The phrase jogged something in her memory. She searched her mind, trying to place it until she finally recalled a conversation from long ago. "Oh my God, you liked him then too."
"What are you talking about?"
"Back in high school." Paris' eyes were as wide as saucers. "You liked him."
"I did not." Rory repeated, "I just think he's fascinating. That's all."
The agitated look in Rory's eyes made her back off… for the moment. "So, how far along are you?"
"Middle of chapter three." Rory shot her a pointed look. "Someone interrupted me."
"You are too wound up. You need a break. Let's go out for dinner," suggested Paris.
"I really want to get back to writing."
"Have you eaten at all today?" The guilty look that crossed Rory's face was all the answer she needed.
"Fine," she gave in, getting up and stretching her aching muscles. "I feel like Italian today."
* * * * *
Rory Gilmore.
Essentially, all he knew about her was her name. And that she was exquisitely beautiful. So, he had asked around, wanting to find out all he could about the woman whose smile made his breath catch.
He was surprised when he found out that she had been in Chilton and that, since they were the same age, they had been in the same class. Why couldn't he remember her? Granted, his teenage years were spent flitting from one girl to another, never lingering long in a 'relationship', but he was sure that he would have noticed a girl like Rory Gilmore.
Somewhat desperate, he had resorted to flipping through his old yearbooks, hoping for a glimpse of Rory Gilmore as a teenager. There were a few photographs of her: she had been on the staff of the Franklin and had apparently been good friends with the trio of Paris, Louise and Madeline. But, for the life of him, he didn't have any concrete memory of her.
Looking at the old pictures, he had some vague remembrances of sharing a few classes with her. But otherwise, it was all a blank.
It hit him finally one afternoon when he was encased in his large airy office, half-listening to his secretary recite his schedule to him.
"Mary."
"Excuse me, Mr. DuGrey?"
He smiled apologetically. "Can we continue this later, Sharon? There's something I need to do."
The blonde woman gave him a puzzled look but nodded her acquiescence.
When the door clicked shut behind her and he was all alone, he walked over to the glass windows lining one side of his office and looked out, his thoughts firmly on Rory.
His mind was filled with hazy visions of him cornering a brunette girl against the lockers, calling her 'Mary'. She had been unresponsive –more like hostile, he mused- to his advances and spurred him at every chance. Then some other girl had caught his interest and Rory Gilmore was erased from his mind as he chased after a more willing female. After that, he didn't give her a second glance.
He was a class one jerk in high school, he now realized, with nothing on his mind except for girls and sex. If he hadn't been blessed with natural intellect, he doubted that he would have graduated with the amount of time he spent doing… other things.
The past aside, he recognized that he was interested in Rory. Very interested. The question was: what was he going to do about it?
* * * * *
"So, tell me about Tristan," Paris urged, taking a bite of her pasta.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that? You've known him longer than I have."
Paris shrugged. "It's not as though we've been bosom buddies since childhood. If you remember correctly, we ran in opposite social circles in Chilton: he was popular, I was not."
"We didn't have a deep, meaningful conversation, Paris. It was more like…" She took a drink of water, trying to search for the appropriate description.
"Flirting," Paris completed the sentence. "It was more like flirting."
"I don't flirt!" Rory protested. "I don't even know how."
Paris laughed. "Oh, you know how. Believe me, I've seen you in action."
Rory crossed her arms and gave her a challenging look. "Okay, give me one instance in which I was flirting."
"Columbia. Freshman year. When we first met Jess." Paris' smile was triumphant. "You were flirting with him. It was subtle, but it was flirtation. And he ate up your every word."
Rory nearly choked on her slice of pizza. Her eyes widened in incredulity. "I was being friendly."
Paris sighed. "Look, Rory. It's not like it's a bad thing. You're not some expert flirt… but subconsciously you do it. And guys come running."
Rory hmphed. "Well, someone should have given me the memo. I never knew."
Paris waved her hand dismissively. "Can we get back to the subject of Tristan, please?"
"All I know is that he's been in Britain for the past few years, working in the branch of his family's company. And he likes BLT sandwiches."
"And from all that, he somehow got the wheels turning in your head?"
"He's-"
Paris nodded, rolling her eyes. "Yes, yes. You've already said that he's fascinating. And let me guess… he's still as handsome as ever, isn't he?"
Rory made a noncommittal sound, focusing instead on chewing.
"He's still the same roué that he was in high school, isn't he?"
"I love that word: roué."
"Don't try to distract me with vocabulary."
A gleam came into Rory's eyes. "Why are you so interested in Tristan anyway? Do you still harbour a crush on him?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Paris admonished. "I have better things to do than pine over him. I just haven't heard anything about him in so long." Quickly, she went on, "I have an idea."
"I swear, Paris… you and your ideas are gonna be the death of me," Rory groaned.
"Remember me telling you that you need romance? Well, this is your chance."
A confused look settled over her face. "This is my chance? What exactly do you mean, Paris?"
"Look, I'm willing to bet that some things haven't changed. Tristan DuGrey is probably still the Casanova he was back in high school. He's probably become a master at seduction. And he sparked off your writing."
Rory shook her head at the expectant look at Paris was giving her. "I'm still not getting the picture."
"I'm just saying that it might be useful for you to…" she gestured wildly, "you know…" At Rory's blank look, she elaborated, "Go out with him. Date him. Let him seduce you."
Her jaw dropped in shock. "Please tell me you're kidding."
"Think of it as research."
"Let him seduce me? Are you out of your mind, Paris? I mean, really… you've had some crazy ideas in the past, but this is the cincher."
"Think of how it could benefit your writing."
"You are insane. You've officially usurped my mother's throne."
"I think it's a good idea."
Rory still couldn't wrap her mind around the idea, unable to believe that her friend- her rational, logical friend- had actually suggested it. "Assuming I go through with his hare-brained idea of yours, how exactly would I go about letting him seduce me?"
"You just need to be in some of the places he goes to-"
"You mean, I have to throw myself at him?"
"-and like I said, you'll do your subtle flirting… and voila. Mission accomplished."
Rory shook her head. "You missed your calling to be a matchmaker."
"Just think about it."
* * * * *
As she walked back to her apartment, Paris' suggestion floated through her mind. It was a completely preposterous idea and she couldn't believe she was considering it.
Well, she wasn't considering it per se… but she was letting her mind wander to places it shouldn't. Places which involved lips and hands and warm skin and touching and a whole lot of tingles… oh boy, she really had to stop.
Okay, she said to herself, I'm attracted to him. So what?
For a few minutes, she concentrated on weaving her way through the crowded streets and emptied her mind of any inappropriate thoughts about a certain blonde man. But her restraint didn't last very long. Cursing her fertile and overactive imagination, she quickened her steps, wanting to be back in her apartment as fast as she could.
She needed to write.
* * * * *
Tapping her fingers against her jean-clad thigh, Rory willed the queue to move. She peered over the shoulder of the petite woman in front of her, and inwardly groaned when she saw that the man at the head of the line was arguing with the barista.
She wouldn't be standing in line at the Starbucks around the corner from her apartment if her coffee maker hadn't broken down. She had tried to revive the poor, loyal thing that had worked marvelously for years but it had died a swift death. Eager for some caffeine, she actually left the sanctuary of her apartment, even though she knew that lunch hour would mean long lines.
As the queue moved an inch forward, she pulled out her trusted notebook from her tote bag, making use of the time to jot down some ideas.
"Hello, Rory Gilmore." The smooth voice tickled her nape and as awareness rushed through her body, her eyes widened. Snapping her book close, she spun around, her eyes meeting clear blue ones.
Clutching her notebook to her chest, she smiled in greeting. "Hello, Tristan DuGrey." This time, he was dressed casually -black slacks and a rumpled light blue shirt with his sleeves rolled up- but that crazy effect he had on her senses remained.
"Fancy meeting you here."
"Yeah." She didn't miss the appreciative sparkle in his eyes. Self-consciously, she brushed back a wayward strand of hair.
"I found out something interesting."
"Oh really?"
Tristan raised his brow. "It seems like you forgot to mention that you went to Chilton."
"Minor detail," she said casually. "It was a big school. We didn't know each other then anyway."
"Well, I'd like to rectify the situation."
She was too busy admiring the strong line of his jaw to pay full attention to his words. "Excuse me?"
"Will you be free on Saturday evening?" he asked.
When his lips curled into that devastating smile, she found it difficult to concentrate. "A date?"
"Yes."
Paris' voice echoed in her head: Go out with him. Date him. Let him seduce you. "With you?"
His smile widened. "Yes."
Unbelievable, she thought. It's like he listened in on that conversation. "You're asking me out?"
"Yes."
She returned his smile. "Yes."
"Great. And for now," he nudged her forward, "I can buy you coffee."
A flush crept up her cheek when she realized that in her absorption with him, the queue had moved and she was the next to order. "Are you sure you wanna buy me coffee? I'm warning you now: I'm not a one-cup kind of woman."
"I think I can handle that. I'm a big coffee-drinker myself."
That, and buying her three Tall vanilla lattes, put him firmly in her good graces.
* * * * *
"So he bought you coffee and you spent an hour talking to him."
Rory smiled as she remembered that afternoon. "Yeah, it was nice."
Lorelai sighed. "I'm jealous. You're going out with Gorgeous Man."
Holding the phone between her shoulder and ear and trying to put on lipgloss at the same time was a taxing affair. "Mom, I told you: his name is Tristan."
"He'll forever be Gorgeous Man to me," came Lorelai's dramatic answer. "So where is he taking you?"
"I don't know." She checked her reflection in the mirror. "He said to dress up."
"Dress up? Must be a fancy place. What are you wearing?"
"The off-shoulder deep red dress."
"Ooh," Lorelai cooed. "You're pulling out all stops, aren't you?"
"Mom!"
"Sweetheart, you're wearing the dress; the one dress that's guaranteed to turn any man into a pile of goo. It's the equivalent of Cinderella's ball gown, the gorgeous black dress that Julia Roberts wore in Pretty Woman for her date with Richard Gere, the-"
Rory sat down on the edge of her bed and sighed. "I know."
"Good choice," Lorelai quipped.
"Mom!"
"Hey, we're talking about Gorgeous Man here. He's worth it."
The chime of the doorbell cut their conversation short.
"I've got to go. That's probably him." Slipping her feet into her heels, she slowly made her way to the front door.
"Have fun, honey. Call me when you get home, no matter how late. I wanna hear about everything. Ev-ery-thing."
Rory laughed. "Okay Mom, I will. Bye."
Throwing the phone onto the couch, she ran a hand down the front of her dress and took a deep breath.
"This is it," she mumbled. Then she opened the door.
* * * * *
"Don't you trust me to keep my eyes closed?"
Tristan wound the silk scarf over her eyes and tightened it until he was sure that her eyes were covered. "Nope, I want you to be completely surprised."
Once she was settled in her seat, he turned the ignition and the Cadillac sprung to life.
"So I guess I shouldn't bother asking where we're going."
"My lips are sealed."
Rory continued pestering him all the way to wherever it was they were going, but he refused to give her even a hint.
"We're here?" she asked when the car finally came to a halt after a 15-minute drive. She heard a car door slam and then a whoosh of cool air hit her as the door on her side opened.
His hand reached for hers as he helped her out of the car. "Not quite." As he undid the knot that secured her blindfold, he whispered, "Tell me Rory, how do you feel about flying?"
* * * * *
The sky was awash with a palette of blues and oranges and yellows; Rory had never seen anything so beautiful in her life.
Her mind was still reeling from the exhilaration of being up in the air.
Slanting a glance at the man next to her, she admired his beautiful profile and the intense concentration on his face.
Out of all the things, she never thought that Tristan would have a pilot's license and that they were flying to New York. He still kept mum about exactly what they would be doing in New York… but if his other surprises were anything as spectacular as this one, she'd have no complaints.
Oh, she was definitely looking forward to the rest of the night.
* * * * *
Nothing was quite as enchanting as watching Rory getting caught up in the action on the stage. Tearing his eyes away from her enraptured expression, he turned his attention back to the stage just in time to see the end of the duet and the lingering kiss between Christine and Raoul.
Beside him, Rory sighed and brushed away a stray tear.
* * * * *
"I thought that we were done with all the blindfolding stuff," Rory complained good-naturedly. After the end of the musical, Tristan had insisted on a blindfold again, wanting their next location to be a surprise. She wasn't quite sure where they were now, but from the chirping of the birds and the feel of the brisk night air against her skin, she knew that they were outdoors.
"Okay, okay… hold your horses, I'm done."
Once he pulled off the scarf, she slowly opened her eyes, wanting to savour the moment. She bit back a gasp when she saw the scene set before her.
They were in a quiet and secluded area of Central Park: there was a blanket spread on the grass with an elaborate array of food arranged on it. Candles bathed the area in a romantic glow and there was a bouquet of tulips lying near the edge of the blanket.
Turning to him, she couldn't help but smile. "Are you trying to seduce me?"
He laughed, and the rich warm sound vibrated through her body. "Why?" He leaned forward to whisper, "Are you seducible?"
Rory was thankful that the lighting was dim because she was well-aware of the blush that stained her cheeks.
He saved her from answering by tugging on her hand. "C'mon, let's sit down. I'm hungry."
* * * * *
Empty containers were littered around them and the bottle of white wine was already half-empty. Dinner had been relaxed and peaceful, filled with easy conversation and laughter.
Sitting side by side, with a blanket thrown over both their legs, the two of them sat in comfortable silence and let the stillness of the night envelop them.
"You know," Rory began, breaking the silence, "I didn't expect this."
Tristan turned his head and gave her a questioning look.
She let her gaze stay on him for a moment too long before speaking again. "To be swept off my feet." She let out a light laugh. "I certainly expected to be charmed… but this, this is above and beyond being charmed."
He didn't know what to say to that. "That's a good thing, right?"
"How could it be a bad thing?" There was a pause. Then she asked, "Do you do this all the time?"
"Date?"
She shook her head. "Fly a woman to New York, go to the theater, have a moonlit picnic," she clarified. "Is this an everyday thing for you?"
"Do you think it is?" he asked, his voice quiet as he studied her expression.
Her tone matched his. "I don't know. That's why I'm asking."
His eyes were intense when he looked at her. "It's not everyday that I meet a woman like you."
She let his words pass, uncertain if there was any truth in what he said or if they passed his lips without thought.
"Rory?" He sounded uncertain. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No," she shook her head. "I was just… thinking. About tonight."
He relaxed slightly. "What about tonight?"
"It's been amazing. Unforgettable. Thank you."
"It was my pleasure."
Something thrummed in the air and Rory sucked in a breath, trying to calm herself. It was now that moment in a romance novel when the hero and heroine would be caught in an intimate situation and the sexual tension between them was like a tight string, waiting to snap. Then one of them- usually the man- would throw all caution to the wind and do what both of them wanted: he would kiss her.
And damnit, she wanted him to kiss her. All night long, there had been little touches and those looks that lingered a second too long… and it had driven her crazy. She had been half-tempted to end the torture and kiss him but her iron will held her back. Plus, some anachronistic part inside of her wanted to be romanced by him.
Her instincts didn't fail her: slowly, Tristan's hand came up to lightly brush against her cheek and the caress sent her stomach into flutters. Her mind chose that exact moment to replay one of her more vivid fantasies and the images that assaulted her doubled the anticipation.
The kiss started out tentatively; a slow, tantalizing brush of lips that gained in pressure as moments passed. It wasn't enough- at least, not for her. Her hand moved up his chest, resting at his heart and feeling the patter of his heartbeat, before snaking around his neck and pulling him deeper into the kiss. That was all the encouragement he needed: his own hand delved into her mass of wavy hair, holding her captive against him as the kiss deepened into a tangle of lips and tongue and dizzying emotion.
His kisses were electric and drugging and she could hardly think of anything else but getting closer to him. She didn't know how but soon, she was lying on her back, his warm lean body over hers. His lips had moved on from her mouth, raining kisses on her eyelids, her cheeks, her neck, shoulders… and every inch of bare skin he could find. And when his mouth finally found hers again, it was she who pulled him closer until their bodies were flush against each other.
The contact was savoured for a few moments before Tristan moved away, using his arms to support himself. Groaning, he gave her a last kiss before pulling away completely.
"We should stop."
Looking at him with his mussed hair, eyes still glazed with desire and kiss-swollen lips, the word 'no' almost passed her lips. In the next moment, common sense returned to her and she acknowledged that he was right.
Smiling sheepishly, she let him help her up into a sitting position. "Yeah, we should."
She was raking her fingers through her hair, hoping to bring to it some semblance of tidiness, when she caught him looking at her intently. Her fingers paused and feeling the dryness of her lips, her tongue slid out to wet them.
The action wrenched a groan from Tristan and in the next moment, she was back in his arms.
They should have stopped, but they didn't.
* * * * *
A.N: Okay, I actually have no idea if the whole flying a private plane thing is possible/allowed so if it isn't, please just go with it. Heh. And this whole last section? The result of reading waay too many romance novels. ; -) The word count is a little screwy for some reason: the chapter is really only half as long as ff.net says it is. Weird. Oh well.
Perfect
by inmyeyes
02: Swept Away
The doorbell rang for the fifth time and finally, Rory accepted that whoever it was at her door wouldn't just go away like she hoped they would.
Sighing, she hit 'save' and got up to answer the door. Pulling her glasses off and securing her hair with a clip, she padded her way through the apartment, desperate to get back to her writing. Mentally, she was running through what she had written so far and planning her next words. This interruption could not have come at a worst time.
She had been writing pretty much non-stop for the last three days. In the course of her career, and even prior to it, she had discovered that she worked best at night. So, for the last few days, she would write through the night until dawn slowly brightened the sky and the sounds of the world awakening jerked her out of her concentration. She would then draw her curtains, bathing her room in darkness and get some respite from her churning thoughts. In the mid-afternoon, she would finally wake, have a late lunch. Then the routine would start all over again.
The days since she had begun writing her novel had been particularly hard on her. She was still working out the little kinks in the plot and fleshing out her characters; her mind was always working. When she wasn't actually writing, she'd be furiously scribbling in her notebook, hoping to get everything in her head down on paper.
It was exhausting… but it was a good kind of exhaustion.
Paris' irate face greeted her when she swung the door open. "What took you so long?" Without waiting for an answer, she brushed past Rory and stalked into the apartment, seating herself on the couch.
Wearily, Rory closed her front door. "Hi Paris, how are you? I'm fine. Really good, actually. I'd be better if you didn't catch me at a bad time."
At her friend's babbling, Paris finally took a good look at Rory. Her hair was sloppily tied up, she was wearing pajamas and the dark circles under her eyes told of the few hours of sleep that she had gotten.
"What the hell happened to you?"
Rory sunk onto her favourite armchair and leaned her head back. "Inspiration happened."
Rory missed the way Paris' eyes lit up. "That's great!" When there was no echoing response from Rory, her smile vanished. "Isn't it?"
"It is," Rory replied. But there was absolutely no enthusiasm in her voice.
"You don't sound too pleased."
No answer.
"Rory? What's wrong? What inspired you?"
"You don't want to know," was the mumbled answer.
"Oh yes, I do," Paris asserted. "I sat through your whining when you had that block, so I deserve to know what eliminated it."
"Remember high school?"
Paris snorted. "Unfortunately."
"Remember Tristan?"
"Tristan?" Paris' forehead scrunched up in confusion. "You don't mean Tristan DuGrey?"
Rory closed her eyes and an image of him popped into her mind. Her eyes immediately snapped open and she sat up. She echoed Paris' earlier answer, "Unfortunately."
The pieces of the puzzle finally fit and the result was surprising. "Tristan? Tristan made you start writing again?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes."
"Unbelievable."
"Tell me about it," Rory muttered under her breath.
"How did this happen?" Paris demanded.
"He was at my grandfather's party."
The explanation wasn't enough. "And?"
"And," Rory lifted her shoulders, hoping to seem nonchalant about it all. "We kinda talked."
Paris arched her brow, knowing that Rory was only giving her the bare essentials. "You talked?"
Rory groaned, covering her face with her hands. "Nothing happened, Paris! Get your mind out of the gutter."
"Maybe if you told me exactly what happened, I wouldn't have to come to my own conclusions," she pointed out, crossing her arms in a show of defiance.
"He didn't remember me."
Paris caught the underlying despondency in Rory's voice. "Did you expect him to?"
"No. Yes." She shook her head. "I don't know."
"It's been a long time since high school. And-"
"I know, Paris," Rory sighed. "I know. But…there's just something about him."
"That's what all women say," was Paris' dry remark.
Rory's tone was equally dry. "Thanks so much."
Paris scrutinized her friend… and a somewhat unwelcome conclusion came to her. "You like him."
Rory bristled at the accusatory tone. "I don't."
She snorted. "Like hell you don't."
"He's just fascinating."
The phrase jogged something in her memory. She searched her mind, trying to place it until she finally recalled a conversation from long ago. "Oh my God, you liked him then too."
"What are you talking about?"
"Back in high school." Paris' eyes were as wide as saucers. "You liked him."
"I did not." Rory repeated, "I just think he's fascinating. That's all."
The agitated look in Rory's eyes made her back off… for the moment. "So, how far along are you?"
"Middle of chapter three." Rory shot her a pointed look. "Someone interrupted me."
"You are too wound up. You need a break. Let's go out for dinner," suggested Paris.
"I really want to get back to writing."
"Have you eaten at all today?" The guilty look that crossed Rory's face was all the answer she needed.
"Fine," she gave in, getting up and stretching her aching muscles. "I feel like Italian today."
Rory Gilmore.
Essentially, all he knew about her was her name. And that she was exquisitely beautiful. So, he had asked around, wanting to find out all he could about the woman whose smile made his breath catch.
He was surprised when he found out that she had been in Chilton and that, since they were the same age, they had been in the same class. Why couldn't he remember her? Granted, his teenage years were spent flitting from one girl to another, never lingering long in a 'relationship', but he was sure that he would have noticed a girl like Rory Gilmore.
Somewhat desperate, he had resorted to flipping through his old yearbooks, hoping for a glimpse of Rory Gilmore as a teenager. There were a few photographs of her: she had been on the staff of the Franklin and had apparently been good friends with the trio of Paris, Louise and Madeline. But, for the life of him, he didn't have any concrete memory of her.
Looking at the old pictures, he had some vague remembrances of sharing a few classes with her. But otherwise, it was all a blank.
It hit him finally one afternoon when he was encased in his large airy office, half-listening to his secretary recite his schedule to him.
"Mary."
"Excuse me, Mr. DuGrey?"
He smiled apologetically. "Can we continue this later, Sharon? There's something I need to do."
The blonde woman gave him a puzzled look but nodded her acquiescence.
When the door clicked shut behind her and he was all alone, he walked over to the glass windows lining one side of his office and looked out, his thoughts firmly on Rory.
His mind was filled with hazy visions of him cornering a brunette girl against the lockers, calling her 'Mary'. She had been unresponsive –more like hostile, he mused- to his advances and spurred him at every chance. Then some other girl had caught his interest and Rory Gilmore was erased from his mind as he chased after a more willing female. After that, he didn't give her a second glance.
He was a class one jerk in high school, he now realized, with nothing on his mind except for girls and sex. If he hadn't been blessed with natural intellect, he doubted that he would have graduated with the amount of time he spent doing… other things.
The past aside, he recognized that he was interested in Rory. Very interested. The question was: what was he going to do about it?
* * * * *
"So, tell me about Tristan," Paris urged, taking a bite of her pasta.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that? You've known him longer than I have."
Paris shrugged. "It's not as though we've been bosom buddies since childhood. If you remember correctly, we ran in opposite social circles in Chilton: he was popular, I was not."
"We didn't have a deep, meaningful conversation, Paris. It was more like…" She took a drink of water, trying to search for the appropriate description.
"Flirting," Paris completed the sentence. "It was more like flirting."
"I don't flirt!" Rory protested. "I don't even know how."
Paris laughed. "Oh, you know how. Believe me, I've seen you in action."
Rory crossed her arms and gave her a challenging look. "Okay, give me one instance in which I was flirting."
"Columbia. Freshman year. When we first met Jess." Paris' smile was triumphant. "You were flirting with him. It was subtle, but it was flirtation. And he ate up your every word."
Rory nearly choked on her slice of pizza. Her eyes widened in incredulity. "I was being friendly."
Paris sighed. "Look, Rory. It's not like it's a bad thing. You're not some expert flirt… but subconsciously you do it. And guys come running."
Rory hmphed. "Well, someone should have given me the memo. I never knew."
Paris waved her hand dismissively. "Can we get back to the subject of Tristan, please?"
"All I know is that he's been in Britain for the past few years, working in the branch of his family's company. And he likes BLT sandwiches."
"And from all that, he somehow got the wheels turning in your head?"
"He's-"
Paris nodded, rolling her eyes. "Yes, yes. You've already said that he's fascinating. And let me guess… he's still as handsome as ever, isn't he?"
Rory made a noncommittal sound, focusing instead on chewing.
"He's still the same roué that he was in high school, isn't he?"
"I love that word: roué."
"Don't try to distract me with vocabulary."
A gleam came into Rory's eyes. "Why are you so interested in Tristan anyway? Do you still harbour a crush on him?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Paris admonished. "I have better things to do than pine over him. I just haven't heard anything about him in so long." Quickly, she went on, "I have an idea."
"I swear, Paris… you and your ideas are gonna be the death of me," Rory groaned.
"Remember me telling you that you need romance? Well, this is your chance."
A confused look settled over her face. "This is my chance? What exactly do you mean, Paris?"
"Look, I'm willing to bet that some things haven't changed. Tristan DuGrey is probably still the Casanova he was back in high school. He's probably become a master at seduction. And he sparked off your writing."
Rory shook her head at the expectant look at Paris was giving her. "I'm still not getting the picture."
"I'm just saying that it might be useful for you to…" she gestured wildly, "you know…" At Rory's blank look, she elaborated, "Go out with him. Date him. Let him seduce you."
Her jaw dropped in shock. "Please tell me you're kidding."
"Think of it as research."
"Let him seduce me? Are you out of your mind, Paris? I mean, really… you've had some crazy ideas in the past, but this is the cincher."
"Think of how it could benefit your writing."
"You are insane. You've officially usurped my mother's throne."
"I think it's a good idea."
Rory still couldn't wrap her mind around the idea, unable to believe that her friend- her rational, logical friend- had actually suggested it. "Assuming I go through with his hare-brained idea of yours, how exactly would I go about letting him seduce me?"
"You just need to be in some of the places he goes to-"
"You mean, I have to throw myself at him?"
"-and like I said, you'll do your subtle flirting… and voila. Mission accomplished."
Rory shook her head. "You missed your calling to be a matchmaker."
"Just think about it."
As she walked back to her apartment, Paris' suggestion floated through her mind. It was a completely preposterous idea and she couldn't believe she was considering it.
Well, she wasn't considering it per se… but she was letting her mind wander to places it shouldn't. Places which involved lips and hands and warm skin and touching and a whole lot of tingles… oh boy, she really had to stop.
Okay, she said to herself, I'm attracted to him. So what?
For a few minutes, she concentrated on weaving her way through the crowded streets and emptied her mind of any inappropriate thoughts about a certain blonde man. But her restraint didn't last very long. Cursing her fertile and overactive imagination, she quickened her steps, wanting to be back in her apartment as fast as she could.
She needed to write.
Tapping her fingers against her jean-clad thigh, Rory willed the queue to move. She peered over the shoulder of the petite woman in front of her, and inwardly groaned when she saw that the man at the head of the line was arguing with the barista.
She wouldn't be standing in line at the Starbucks around the corner from her apartment if her coffee maker hadn't broken down. She had tried to revive the poor, loyal thing that had worked marvelously for years but it had died a swift death. Eager for some caffeine, she actually left the sanctuary of her apartment, even though she knew that lunch hour would mean long lines.
As the queue moved an inch forward, she pulled out her trusted notebook from her tote bag, making use of the time to jot down some ideas.
"Hello, Rory Gilmore." The smooth voice tickled her nape and as awareness rushed through her body, her eyes widened. Snapping her book close, she spun around, her eyes meeting clear blue ones.
Clutching her notebook to her chest, she smiled in greeting. "Hello, Tristan DuGrey." This time, he was dressed casually -black slacks and a rumpled light blue shirt with his sleeves rolled up- but that crazy effect he had on her senses remained.
"Fancy meeting you here."
"Yeah." She didn't miss the appreciative sparkle in his eyes. Self-consciously, she brushed back a wayward strand of hair.
"I found out something interesting."
"Oh really?"
Tristan raised his brow. "It seems like you forgot to mention that you went to Chilton."
"Minor detail," she said casually. "It was a big school. We didn't know each other then anyway."
"Well, I'd like to rectify the situation."
She was too busy admiring the strong line of his jaw to pay full attention to his words. "Excuse me?"
"Will you be free on Saturday evening?" he asked.
When his lips curled into that devastating smile, she found it difficult to concentrate. "A date?"
"Yes."
Paris' voice echoed in her head: Go out with him. Date him. Let him seduce you. "With you?"
His smile widened. "Yes."
Unbelievable, she thought. It's like he listened in on that conversation. "You're asking me out?"
"Yes."
She returned his smile. "Yes."
"Great. And for now," he nudged her forward, "I can buy you coffee."
A flush crept up her cheek when she realized that in her absorption with him, the queue had moved and she was the next to order. "Are you sure you wanna buy me coffee? I'm warning you now: I'm not a one-cup kind of woman."
"I think I can handle that. I'm a big coffee-drinker myself."
That, and buying her three Tall vanilla lattes, put him firmly in her good graces.
"So he bought you coffee and you spent an hour talking to him."
Rory smiled as she remembered that afternoon. "Yeah, it was nice."
Lorelai sighed. "I'm jealous. You're going out with Gorgeous Man."
Holding the phone between her shoulder and ear and trying to put on lipgloss at the same time was a taxing affair. "Mom, I told you: his name is Tristan."
"He'll forever be Gorgeous Man to me," came Lorelai's dramatic answer. "So where is he taking you?"
"I don't know." She checked her reflection in the mirror. "He said to dress up."
"Dress up? Must be a fancy place. What are you wearing?"
"The off-shoulder deep red dress."
"Ooh," Lorelai cooed. "You're pulling out all stops, aren't you?"
"Mom!"
"Sweetheart, you're wearing the dress; the one dress that's guaranteed to turn any man into a pile of goo. It's the equivalent of Cinderella's ball gown, the gorgeous black dress that Julia Roberts wore in Pretty Woman for her date with Richard Gere, the-"
Rory sat down on the edge of her bed and sighed. "I know."
"Good choice," Lorelai quipped.
"Mom!"
"Hey, we're talking about Gorgeous Man here. He's worth it."
The chime of the doorbell cut their conversation short.
"I've got to go. That's probably him." Slipping her feet into her heels, she slowly made her way to the front door.
"Have fun, honey. Call me when you get home, no matter how late. I wanna hear about everything. Ev-ery-thing."
Rory laughed. "Okay Mom, I will. Bye."
Throwing the phone onto the couch, she ran a hand down the front of her dress and took a deep breath.
"This is it," she mumbled. Then she opened the door.
"Don't you trust me to keep my eyes closed?"
Tristan wound the silk scarf over her eyes and tightened it until he was sure that her eyes were covered. "Nope, I want you to be completely surprised."
Once she was settled in her seat, he turned the ignition and the Cadillac sprung to life.
"So I guess I shouldn't bother asking where we're going."
"My lips are sealed."
Rory continued pestering him all the way to wherever it was they were going, but he refused to give her even a hint.
"We're here?" she asked when the car finally came to a halt after a 15-minute drive. She heard a car door slam and then a whoosh of cool air hit her as the door on her side opened.
His hand reached for hers as he helped her out of the car. "Not quite." As he undid the knot that secured her blindfold, he whispered, "Tell me Rory, how do you feel about flying?"
The sky was awash with a palette of blues and oranges and yellows; Rory had never seen anything so beautiful in her life.
Her mind was still reeling from the exhilaration of being up in the air.
Slanting a glance at the man next to her, she admired his beautiful profile and the intense concentration on his face.
Out of all the things, she never thought that Tristan would have a pilot's license and that they were flying to New York. He still kept mum about exactly what they would be doing in New York… but if his other surprises were anything as spectacular as this one, she'd have no complaints.
Oh, she was definitely looking forward to the rest of the night.
Nothing was quite as enchanting as watching Rory getting caught up in the action on the stage. Tearing his eyes away from her enraptured expression, he turned his attention back to the stage just in time to see the end of the duet and the lingering kiss between Christine and Raoul.
Beside him, Rory sighed and brushed away a stray tear.
"I thought that we were done with all the blindfolding stuff," Rory complained good-naturedly. After the end of the musical, Tristan had insisted on a blindfold again, wanting their next location to be a surprise. She wasn't quite sure where they were now, but from the chirping of the birds and the feel of the brisk night air against her skin, she knew that they were outdoors.
"Okay, okay… hold your horses, I'm done."
Once he pulled off the scarf, she slowly opened her eyes, wanting to savour the moment. She bit back a gasp when she saw the scene set before her.
They were in a quiet and secluded area of Central Park: there was a blanket spread on the grass with an elaborate array of food arranged on it. Candles bathed the area in a romantic glow and there was a bouquet of tulips lying near the edge of the blanket.
Turning to him, she couldn't help but smile. "Are you trying to seduce me?"
He laughed, and the rich warm sound vibrated through her body. "Why?" He leaned forward to whisper, "Are you seducible?"
Rory was thankful that the lighting was dim because she was well-aware of the blush that stained her cheeks.
He saved her from answering by tugging on her hand. "C'mon, let's sit down. I'm hungry."
Empty containers were littered around them and the bottle of white wine was already half-empty. Dinner had been relaxed and peaceful, filled with easy conversation and laughter.
Sitting side by side, with a blanket thrown over both their legs, the two of them sat in comfortable silence and let the stillness of the night envelop them.
"You know," Rory began, breaking the silence, "I didn't expect this."
Tristan turned his head and gave her a questioning look.
She let her gaze stay on him for a moment too long before speaking again. "To be swept off my feet." She let out a light laugh. "I certainly expected to be charmed… but this, this is above and beyond being charmed."
He didn't know what to say to that. "That's a good thing, right?"
"How could it be a bad thing?" There was a pause. Then she asked, "Do you do this all the time?"
"Date?"
She shook her head. "Fly a woman to New York, go to the theater, have a moonlit picnic," she clarified. "Is this an everyday thing for you?"
"Do you think it is?" he asked, his voice quiet as he studied her expression.
Her tone matched his. "I don't know. That's why I'm asking."
His eyes were intense when he looked at her. "It's not everyday that I meet a woman like you."
She let his words pass, uncertain if there was any truth in what he said or if they passed his lips without thought.
"Rory?" He sounded uncertain. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No," she shook her head. "I was just… thinking. About tonight."
He relaxed slightly. "What about tonight?"
"It's been amazing. Unforgettable. Thank you."
"It was my pleasure."
Something thrummed in the air and Rory sucked in a breath, trying to calm herself. It was now that moment in a romance novel when the hero and heroine would be caught in an intimate situation and the sexual tension between them was like a tight string, waiting to snap. Then one of them- usually the man- would throw all caution to the wind and do what both of them wanted: he would kiss her.
And damnit, she wanted him to kiss her. All night long, there had been little touches and those looks that lingered a second too long… and it had driven her crazy. She had been half-tempted to end the torture and kiss him but her iron will held her back. Plus, some anachronistic part inside of her wanted to be romanced by him.
Her instincts didn't fail her: slowly, Tristan's hand came up to lightly brush against her cheek and the caress sent her stomach into flutters. Her mind chose that exact moment to replay one of her more vivid fantasies and the images that assaulted her doubled the anticipation.
The kiss started out tentatively; a slow, tantalizing brush of lips that gained in pressure as moments passed. It wasn't enough- at least, not for her. Her hand moved up his chest, resting at his heart and feeling the patter of his heartbeat, before snaking around his neck and pulling him deeper into the kiss. That was all the encouragement he needed: his own hand delved into her mass of wavy hair, holding her captive against him as the kiss deepened into a tangle of lips and tongue and dizzying emotion.
His kisses were electric and drugging and she could hardly think of anything else but getting closer to him. She didn't know how but soon, she was lying on her back, his warm lean body over hers. His lips had moved on from her mouth, raining kisses on her eyelids, her cheeks, her neck, shoulders… and every inch of bare skin he could find. And when his mouth finally found hers again, it was she who pulled him closer until their bodies were flush against each other.
The contact was savoured for a few moments before Tristan moved away, using his arms to support himself. Groaning, he gave her a last kiss before pulling away completely.
"We should stop."
Looking at him with his mussed hair, eyes still glazed with desire and kiss-swollen lips, the word 'no' almost passed her lips. In the next moment, common sense returned to her and she acknowledged that he was right.
Smiling sheepishly, she let him help her up into a sitting position. "Yeah, we should."
She was raking her fingers through her hair, hoping to bring to it some semblance of tidiness, when she caught him looking at her intently. Her fingers paused and feeling the dryness of her lips, her tongue slid out to wet them.
The action wrenched a groan from Tristan and in the next moment, she was back in his arms.
They should have stopped, but they didn't.
A.N: Okay, I actually have no idea if the whole flying a private plane thing is possible/allowed so if it isn't, please just go with it. Heh. And this whole last section? The result of reading waay too many romance novels. ; -) The word count is a little screwy for some reason: the chapter is really only half as long as ff.net says it is. Weird. Oh well.