Here we are at Chapter Four, in which Tristan and Belle get to know each other a little better. Thanks so much for reading :)

Tempted

Chapter Four

He pushed open the door and walked in. It was quiet and he instinctively quieted his movements and actions. Libraries were hallowed places: Aggie and Elsie had taught him that when they used to bring him to the local library back home, and this library was especially sacred, because it was Belle's.

He walked further in on almost noiseless feet, taking in the rows upon rows of bookshelves, the orderly circulation desk, the bank of computers against one wall, the newspaper stand, the microfiche reader, the small video library in the corner, the cosy chairs dotted around the place for reading in, the desks for people to study at, and the few pictures and knick-knacks that made the place homely and welcoming. It was a nice place, and he could see Belle in everything.

He couldn't see the woman herself, but then he heard a voice and, recognising it at once as hers, he followed it.

Coming around a corner, he came upon a scene that made him stop and stare. Belle was sitting in an armchair in one of the library's corners, a book in her hand. There were several children gathered at her feet, sitting on rugs and beanbags, and they were all staring up at Belle as she read to them. All the kids' parents were standing around listening too, and Gold joined them, just savouring Belle's soft, accented, beautifully musical voice. Her voice was better than any song he could ever write.

She finished up her story and smiled around at all the children.

'Now, why don't you ask your mums and dads to help you pick new books to read?' she suggested.

'Thank you, Miss Belle!' the kids chorused.

'You're very welcome,' she returned.

Each child came to her then and got a gentle hug and smile from her, and Gold thought he'd never seen anything so sweet. She should have been a mother: she was so natural with children.

As the kids went off to look for something to read, Belle exchanged pleasantries with the parents. She chatted with one man for a long moment: a tall, rugged bloke, with light brown hair and a beard. They seemed on friendly terms, and then they hugged, Belle smiling. Something in Gold's gut twisted.

Ariel had led him to believe she wasn't seeing anyone, but maybe she didn't know about this guy. Well, of course there would be other men interested in Belle: she was a beautiful woman and he wouldn't be the only man to see that. And, of course she'd want someone her own age: not some kid. He didn't know what he'd been thinking. Rolling his eyes at himself, he turned to leave.

'Tristan?'

He turned back at her call. The tall guy was gone.

'Hey,' she greeted, surprised, but happy to see him. She hadn't seen him since the party last week, but she'd thought of him, a lot.

'Hey. Sorry, you're busy: I was gonna just leave you to it.' He gestured vaguely towards the door.

She spoke before she could try to stop herself. 'I close at one: you could come back just before?'

He nodded, accepting her invitation, and grateful to get it. 'I'll come back.'

She nodded and smiled, glad.

0

Belle looked up and smiled as Tristan came in.

'Hey,' she greeted. 'Sorry about earlier: Saturday mornings are always busy.'

He shook his head. 'It's fine: I should've realised. Do you do that every week: read them a story?'

'You were here for that?'

'Just the end,' he said. 'The kids looked like they enjoyed it.'

She smiled. 'I like seeing their little faces light up at a story.'

Yes, she should definitely have been a mother; maybe she still could be.

'So, what brought you by?' she asked, knowing he had some purpose in coming.

'I wanted to bring you this,' he said, pulling the CD from the inside pocket of his jacket. 'It won't be out yet for a bit, but I promised you a copy of our album, so…' He offered her the CD case.

She took the box and turned it over in her hands, looking at the dark, moody artwork, and the picture of him and the boys in leather on the cover. She smiled up at him.

'Thank you, Tristan: you're very kind.'

She couldn't have been given many gifts, he thought, judging by the way she reacted to such a small token, but he was happy he could make her happy.

'You're welcome,' he said. 'So, what do you do after you close up?'

'Usually have lunch and run errands: not very exciting,' she said self-deprecatingly.

'Well, it sounds more exciting than what I had planned for today.'

'And what's that?'

'Not a lot, to be honest,' he said, grinning. 'The boys are off getting up to I-don't-even-want-to-know-what, and we have no gig tonight, so I'm sort of at a loose end.'

Belle looked up at him. He was alone for the afternoon and so was she: why couldn't they spend it together? Part of her knew it was a bad idea, but the part of her that was so very drawn to him made her think screw it. She was smart enough to know that nothing could come of her mad infatuation, and, as long as she didn't tell him of it, why couldn't she see him: why couldn't she have memories to feed her fantasies when it would hurt no one?

'You could have lunch with me?' she suggested, and the words sounded unsure as she spoke them, because surely he thought he could find a better way to spend his afternoon than with a woman who was practically grown up when he was born.

But his smile was soft as he looked at her. 'I'd like that, Belle.'

Inside, he was grinning, feeling like he could make some progress with her at last.

She smiled, a little surprised, and awed that she couldn't find any trace of insincerity in his eyes.

'Ok, then,' she murmured, her heart doing a crazy somersault.

He waited while she tidied up, turning off computers and lights, and making sure everything was secure. Then he held open the door for her and stood beside her as she locked up.

'Can I ask you something?' she asked, as they walked together.

'Of course.' He'd tell her anything.

'Where did you learn that chivalry? It's rare enough in men my age, so to find it in someone your age is a bit of a surprise.'

He looked down at her and smiled. 'I was raised by two women, Aggie and Elsie, who taught me to be a gentleman,' he said: 'they always told me women should be treated like queens.' He smiled again, remembering Aggie and Elsie's talks with him fondly.

Belle smiled at the open, affectionate look on his face.

'They sound like very special women,' she commented.

He nodded. 'They are.'

'Are they your mothers?'

'I always called them my aunts, but, yeah, they're the closest things I had to a mother. I never knew mine, and my father…well, he wasn't one.' He scowled at the thought of Malcolm Gold: no doubt he was propping up some bar somewhere.

'I'm sorry.'

He smiled at her. 'Thanks. Are you close with your parents?'

'I was. My mother died when I was in my teens, and I lost Dad a little over a year ago.'

'I'm sorry.'

She tilted her head in acknowledgement. 'Thank you. So, what else did your mothers teach you?' she asked, looking up at him.

He smiled. 'They taught me how to play the piano and the guitar: I learned all I know about music from them.'

'Well, from what I've heard, they taught you very well,' she remarked.

He smiled his thanks. 'Did your parents teach you anything in particular?'

'I learned to love books from my mother,' she said, smiling. 'Oh, here we are,' she said, as they arrived at the restaurant she'd suggested.

'After you,' he said, holding the door open for her.

'Thank you,' she murmured, smiling warmly.

'Ah, Ms French: welcome back.'

Belle smiled at the maitre d'. 'Hello, Lumiere: can we have a table for two, please?'

'Certainly, Miss: please come this way.'

Gold looked around in surprise. This place was a lot more upmarket than the last place they'd had lunch at, but he realised that this must be Belle's world: the restaurant went with the air of refinement she exuded, and with the fine clothes and jewellery she wore.

He stepped up to push in her chair for her and took his seat opposite her.

'So, this is your world,' he observed, waving his hand to take everything in.

Belle looked at him and realised that he hadn't known about her money.

'Yes,' she said quietly.

He nodded. 'Ok.'

She was surprised that that was all he had to say. 'Ok?' she asked.

He smiled. 'My world is a dark club with a stage and the smell of alcohol and the sound of loud music: yours is an expensive restaurant and a cosy library. You came into my world and now I'm in yours, and we're friends: it can be that simple.'

He needed her to know that he meant that: they could come from different worlds and still have something, even if all they ever had was friendship. He needed her to understand that he wouldn't take anything from her that she didn't want to give, which was why he'd talked only of them being friends. He wouldn't say no to more, but if she only wanted his friendship, he'd give it gladly.

She smiled. Yes, it could be that simple. They could be Belle and Tristan no matter which of their worlds they were in: they could still be themselves and be friends. And friends was good: it gave her a name to define this thing, as well as a boundary not to cross, and an excuse to keep seeing him for as long as he was willing. It was good to have this understanding, and anything else she could keep to herself.

'Then next time you pick where we eat,' she said.

He grinned. 'You've got yourself a deal.'

0

Lunch was nice. It was nice to do this with someone instead of alone, as she usually did. And it was nice to have his attention focused on her: that made her sit up a bit straighter. He'd never know the confidence he was giving her, just by sitting and talking with her, and listening to her. She didn't think Greg had ever done that: just talked with her and listened like she was the only person in the room. Even when they were dating, he did all the talking. He liked hearing the sound of his own voice.

Tristan wanted to hear her talk, though, so she did, and she had things to say, which surprised her. She found herself able to be open with him in a way she could never be with a man before. She thought he was so easy to talk to because he didn't judge: he just took her at her word, accepted her, everything about her. And she could do that for him too: she could listen and just take what he said and did as meant and true, because there were no lies with him, no deceit: she could see that so clearly in his eyes, and her heart opened and warmed a little more to him.

'Eh, Belle, do you know that it's four o'clock?' he asked, fishing out his phone to check for messages.

'Is it?'

'Yeah. I'm sorry: I've kept you from your errands.'

She shook her head. 'They're not important. To be honest, they just give me something to do, keep me out of the house.'

He studied her. She was lonely, he realised, and he wondered what kind of man would let a woman like her feel lonely.

He leaned over the table a little. 'Next week, I'll take you for the best pasta you've ever had,' he promised.

'Alright,' she agreed, smiling.

He grinned. 'Good.'

They finished their third (fourth?) tea (her) and coffee (him), and Belle signalled for the check.

'We need to make an arrangement,' she said: 'when I choose the restaurant, I pay, and when you choose, you pay.'

She looked like she wouldn't be argued with, so he didn't even try.

'Deal,' he said, smiling.

She smiled and accepted the check, quickly noting the amount and making payment.

'This was really nice, Tristan,' she said: 'thank you.'

'Thank you for asking me. So, I'll pick you up at one next Saturday?'

'Yes,' she said at once: 'I look forward to it.'

And they both spent the week thinking of each other, smiling every time they thought of seeing each other again soon.

0

He took her to a little Italian restaurant she'd never been to, where they did indeed serve the best pasta she'd ever tasted in her life.

'This is wonderful,' she proclaimed, scooping up another mouthful.

He smiled. 'Told you.'

'I like it here,' she said, looking around at the little tables, the dresser against the wall piled with old crockery, the red checked tablecloths and napkins, and the Italian flag and old pictures on the wall: 'the food is better than what we had last week, and less expensive.' She smiled. She hadn't felt so relaxed in such a long time.

He studied her and thought he saw a difference in her. She still had that air of refinement and elegance about her, but she looked even more beautiful to him now. There was a new softness about her face and eyes that he liked. She looked less weary, less worn down, more carefree.

It was being around him that did it: she was happier, felt less fragile, more confident. Even when all of this ended, which she knew it must, he would leave her stronger, and she would thank him forever for that.

She smiled. 'I'd like you to pick where we eat from now on: would you do that?'

'If you'd like,' he said, smiling.

'But we need to amend our other deal, to say that we take turns paying.'

He laughed softly. 'Alright, Belle: whatever you want.'

She smiled. 'Thank you for indulging me.'

'Well, thank you for your company.'

'I've been listening to the album,' she told him then: 'it's the best music I've heard in an age.' She'd been playing it in the evenings at home, enjoying hearing his voice filling her otherwise quiet house.

He saw her earnestness and it made him smile.

'You know, to look at you, I would never have guessed that you'd like my music.'

She smiled. 'Don't fit the profile?'

He smiled. 'It's just that you're such a refined lady: no one would imagine you'd like rock music.'

'I'm not really a music person in general, except that I know what I like, and yours just…speaks to me. Your lyrics and your music just caught my attention.'

'Well, I'm glad you like it.'

'Ariel and Eric tell me that you've got gigs lined up all around the country.'

He nodded. 'Yeah: things are really getting off the ground.' He looked happy and she smiled.

'I'm very happy for you: you deserve it.'

'Thank you. We're going to be pretty busy for the next few months. I probably won't be around much for a while.' Which meant that lunches with her would be few and far between, and he wished that he could take her on the road with him.

She nodded, getting what he was saying. 'I understand: your music is far more important than spending time with me.'

He didn't like how she put herself down so quickly and shook his head.

'You're important to me too, Belle,' he assured her. 'We can have lunch when I'm in town, and there's no reason we can't talk on the phone.'

Belle smiled. Well, it was nice of him to offer, and maybe they would for a while, and maybe he would stop by if he had time, though she knew he was going places and would eventually find other ways to occupy his time. There would be parties and beautiful women, and she would see him on television or read about him in magazines, and there would be many more albums, and maybe she'd go and see him in a big stadium and remember how he was her friend for a while. Because she didn't fool herself into thinking that this would last: their friendship would end sooner rather than later, and it was right that it should, because he had the world at his feet and she was happy for him and didn't want to hold him back, but she'd hold onto this for as long as he was willing to spend time with her, because it was more than any man had ever given her.

'I'd really like that, Tristan,' she murmured.

He grinned.

0

They managed a few more lunch dates before he and the boys went on the road. Things were really taking off now and Belle was happy for him and the boys, and even though he was out of town and busy, he made time to call her, which surprised and pleased her. Things were very tense with Greg at the moment as they negotiated final terms for their divorce, so Tristan's calls always brightened her day.

He made time to call every day when they were on the road. Just hearing her soft voice soothed him when the boys were being idiots and everything was pissing him off. Oh, he loved the gigs, loved singing in front of larger and larger crowds, but being in close quarters with the boys got to him a bit, and the travelling was tiring. They had a hectic schedule and it was great, and the opportunities coming their way were amazing, but it was pretty much non-stop. He liked to write in the downtime, but there wasn't much of that at the moment, and songwriting was the thing that usually soothed him. But now he could call Belle and that helped a lot.

'What are you doing?' he asked one evening they had a break between shows and an evening free. Most evenings they weren't performing, they were travelling or there was an appearance or promotion to do, but not this evening, thankfully.

'I'm watching one of my favourite movies,' she told him: 'Sense and Sensibility.'

'That's Alan Rickman, right?'

'Yes,' she said: 'you've seen it?'

'Elsie loves Alan Rickman,' he told her.

She smiled. 'He's a fine actor, and he's wonderful in this. How are you?'

'Tired, but we have the night off, so I can get some sleep.'

'Where are you tonight?'

'Chicago.'

'And next?'

'Seattle, I think. There are so many cities I'm losing track.'

She made a sympathetic humming noise. 'I've been hearing "Lost Boy" on the radio a lot.' That was their first single.

'Yeah?'

'Mhm, and it's number one on iTunes.'

He smiled. 'Have you been keeping track?'

'Sorry, you probably know all that already,' she said. She had been keeping track. She did it when Ariel's new stuff came out too, but she'd known Ariel longer.

'I like that you're keeping track,' he said quietly: 'I really like that you like my music, Belle.'

'Well, a lot of people do,' she said. It was true: there was a lot of buzz about Desperate Souls,. The album had just come out last week and it was getting rave reviews.

'But those people are not my friends,' he told her: 'you are, and it means a lot.'

She smiled. She couldn't see him, but she knew he meant that.

'Well, I'm glad things are going well,' she said. 'Get some rest, ok?'

He smiled. 'I will. Good night, Belle.'

'Sweet dreams, Tristan.'

They always were now that they featured her. God, he was really falling for her. It wasn't like it had been with Milah. He was young then, stupid, blind. He hadn't seen the signs that should have been obvious and he'd hated her for what she'd done, but now he thanked her for doing him a favour and he wished her well. He hoped she was happy with Jones, hoped he could be happy with Belle.

He sighed. He knew he needed to take it slow with her, get her to trust him, and maybe then she'd be open to more, but it was hard to hold back: even the thought of kissing that soft mouth made him burn. Then to go further, to think about touching and tasting and feeling, made him shiver, and, fuck, he was hard now. That had been happening a lot lately when he thought of Belle, and he was too weak to not do anything about it.

He went and turned on the shower. Quickly stripping, he stepped under the hot spray and took himself in hand, imagining that the hand was hers, soft and delicate, perfectly manicured. He closed his eyes and pictured her, the way he'd seen her bite her lip, which was so fucking sexy he wanted to moan every time he saw her do it, and those gorgeous blue eyes staring into his, trying to read him. God, he'd tell her anything she wanted to know. And now he imagined her voice: sometimes sweet, sometimes husky, and always musical. He'd never had a thing for Australian accents before, but he did now: oh, God, he did now.

'Belle,' he groaned: 'oh, God, Belle.' He pumped faster, panting, imagining that she was welcoming him, reaching for him, saying 'Tristan, please' in a low, needy voice, biting her lip, moaning–

'Fuck!' he shouted, spilling himself against the shower tile. He leaned back against the other wall, panting and gasping for breath.

He closed his eyes. Maybe this was wrong: maybe he shouldn't, but no one had to know. He could be her friend and still have this: that would be enough.

If only he could fool himself into believing that.