Just Deserts - Brenda Jackson [34]
Tristan nodded. He hoped everything would be resolved by then, too.
Standing beside Danielle outside the door of Simon Craven’s home, Tristan had to appreciate the beauty of the three-story structure. Majestically rising from a premium spot of land close to the Bay, the house actually left you breathless just from looking at it.
Craven, a very successful, highly paid fullback for the 49ers, had agreed to meet with them to discuss their interest in his family’s business. Instead of meeting with them at the hotel, he had invited them to his home.
“Um, maybe I’m in the wrong business,” Danielle said, interrupting Tristan’s thoughts.
He smiled at her. He knew she’d earned a nice salary as a model, yet had willingly walked away. “I’m fairly certain there’re a number of guys who would just love to tackle you, whether it’s out on the field or in the bedroom. Sorry, but I won’t be giving them the chance, sweetheart.”
At the moment Tristan didn’t care one iota if he sounded possessive. Spending three days in a hotel room, eating, sleeping and making love with the same woman was bound to make you feel that way. Not that he was complaining, but they had only two days left in San Francisco and had yet to do any sightseeing. They’d had other, more pressing matters on their minds, a state of desperation they had needed to take care of. No question about it. Having an exclusive lover definitely had its merits.
His attention swung to the massive front door when it opened to a middle-aged woman in a maid’s uniform. She smiled when she saw them. “May I help you?” she asked after giving them a cursory once-over.
“I’m Danielle Timmons and this is my business partner, Tristan Adams. We’re here to see Mr. Craven.” Danielle returned the woman’s smile. “I think he’s expecting us.”
“He is. I was asked to escort the two of you to the living room,” she said, stepping aside for them to enter the massive foyer.
Danielle’s gaze immediately went to the paintings on the wall, while Tristan’s mind still whirled from how Danielle had introduced herself. Danielle Timmons. He knew she’d change her name back to her maiden name, but he wasn’t aware until now that it was official. She was no longer a Foster—not that she ever legally was.
They followed the woman, and when they stepped into the living room, he couldn’t help but appreciate the sheer elegance and luxury of Simon Craven’s home. It was definitely a male domain, with furniture that showcased the buyer’s exquisite taste.
“Mr. Craven will be with you in a minute,” the maid said. “Please have a seat.”
Danielle sat on the sofa and Tristan joined her. “Nice place, isn’t it?” she asked him while glancing around the room. “And I love his taste in art.”
Tristan had to admit he did, too. But what really captured his attention was the photo on the fireplace mantel of Craven on the back of a Harley. The bike was a beauty. Tristan did a quick trip down memory lane to the year before his grandmother Adams died. It was the Christmas she had surprised him with a motorcycle. He had turned seventeen the year before, and it was the last holiday the two of them spent together.
He could distinctively recall how the Timmons family had stuck by him and helped him make all the necessary funeral arrangements. His mother, Zora Adams’s only child, had shown up a week after the funeral to inquire if anything had been left to her. When she discovered her only inheritance was the family Bible, she’d tossed it aside angrily and left town again. The last time Tristan had seen his mother was three years ago. She’d shown up, down on her luck, and asked for money.
Tristan turned when he heard footsteps on the hardwood floor and glanced up to see Simon Craven enter the room. He noted the man’s gaze swept past him directly to Danielle and stopped. Simon opened his mouth to speak, then seemed rendered speechless. Tristan wasn’t surprised. Danielle had that sort of effect on men. And especially today wearing