What was she doing?

Claire hastily pulled away from Tristan and tugged on the hem of her pale blue Michael Kors sweater. “Thank you.”

“But you like it?” Tristan pressed.

Claire nodded, struggling to gain back both her composure and her facade. “It’s fantastic.”

She shouldn’t have thrown her arms around Tristan just because he’d bought her a present. But no one—no one—had ever bought her a present such as this. A new car. A special car. A pink car.

“Here are the keys.” Tristan held them out in the palm of his hand.

Claire tucked them into the pocket of her silver gray skirt. She tossed back her hair, but couldn’t meet his gaze.

“You really like it?” he asked. “Because if you don’t I can—”

His words were interrupted as Javier pulled up in his imported convertible and honked the horn of the tiny car.

“Bela,” he called, jumping out without opening the door.

Claire and Tristan turned in his direction, and Claire could only wonder at what Tristan was thinking. Javier, if anything, did not look like a pool boy.

Crisp white tennis sweater slung across broad shoulders, pale yellow tennis shorts and a tan to rival Devin’s, Javier looked very much like a boy toy— Janis Freeman’s boy toy. But despite his gigolo appearance, he had helped Esperanza and Claire learn to communicate. They were by no means Chatty Cathy dolls, but at least now they could talk—a little.

Claire felt Tristan tense as Javier leaned down and kissed her on each cheek in turn. “You are happy for the lesson today, yes?”

“Sure,” she replied with a smile, though all of a sudden she didn’t feel very happy. In fact, she felt a little sad, as if she had lost something that she didn’t realize she’d had.

“Lesson?” Tristan asked.

Claire faced her husband feeling guiltier by the second. It wasn’t her fault that Tristan didn’t know about Javier. After all, it had been Tristan who had been ignoring her for the last few weeks, but Claire couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit deceitful.

“Yes, well, you see, Javier has been coming over and teaching us—me and Espie—Portuguese.”

“I see.”

But Claire didn’t understand how he could see anything with his eyes all scooched up like that.

“Well, he’s not teaching Espie Portuguese,” Claire hastily corrected. “Only me. He’s teaching her English.”

A muscle twitched in Tristan’s firm jaw.

“It was Cherry’s idea,” she rambled on, while Tristan looked as if he was about to blow his temper. “He’s Janis Freeman’s pool…man and well, he speaks Portuguese. Janis was nice enough to loan him to us a couple of days a week so that we—Espie and I, that is—could learn to talk to one another.” She took a deep fortifying breath, trying to dispel the dizzy feeling in her head.

“I see,” Tristan repeated, looking Javier up and down with a scrutiny that could only be described as rude.

“You are ready now?” Javier asked, shifting from one docksider covered foot to the other.

Claire looked to Tristan.

He nodded. “Go right ahead. I think I’ll go to the office.”

“I thought you were going to take the day off,” Claire protested.

“Things change.” Tristan shrugged, his eyes never leaving Javier. “Enjoy your…lesson,” he said, then turned toward the garage.

Claire watched him walk away, baffled by what had just taken place. Why, if she didn’t know any better, she would have thought that Tristan was jealous. And over her. But that was impossible.

Wasn’t it?

Claire felt bad, guilty, horrible, so incredibly low by the time Javier left that she was nearly wringing her hands in shame. She couldn’t say that they had a good session. Though Esperanza’s English was coming along nicely, Claire couldn’t concentrate enough on the foreign language to learn even one new word.

Add to that, the excitement over the new car and her focus was shot.

But more than anything she wanted to take a drive in the zippy little convertible. Take a drive with her husband.

It was after six, but who knew when Tristan would come home? He worked such crazy hours.

But she wanted to see him. Wanted to share this special gift with him, wanted to apologize.

Mind made up, she palmed her keys and slid inside the sweet pink car.

She was certain she garnered more than her fair share of attention as she sped down the highway headed toward the McFarland offices. Could be the shocking color of the Mercedes, but more likely it was the fact that she was all alone in the car and smiling like an idiot. She didn’t care, because she knew. Tristan had to care for her—even if only just a little bit—in order to buy her such a fabulous present.

She zipped into the parking lot, then fairly skipped toward the McFarland lobby. She buzzed through the lobby, breezed past the front counter, and brushed past his secretary’s unoccupied desk to knock on his office door.

“Come in.” His voice was muffled and distant and Claire was glad that she had made the decision to come to him. It sounded like he’d been working extremely hard all afternoon. It was only right that he test out the car with her.

“Hi.” Her confidence suddenly fled as she stepped into the room. What if he didn’t want to go with her? She wouldn’t take no for an answer. She just wouldn’t.

Tristan whirled his chair around to face her. Had he been sitting there staring out the window?

“Claire.” He stood and came around the desk. “What are you doing here?”

“I—” She stopped, then straightened her shoulders. “I came to pick you up from work.”

He angled his head and stared at her for a second. Although she couldn’t read his expression, she had to fight the urge to shift from one foot to the other as she had on the rare occasions when she had been called in front of the principal in school. That’s how she felt: uncomfortable, trepidatious, and terribly unsure of herself.

“You came to pick me up?”

Claire nodded. “And to apologize for this afternoon. I—” But he held up one hand to stop her words.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“But I do. You did something so special for me and I—” She stopped again.

“Apology accepted.”

Claire smiled to match Tristan’s own. “You are making this very easy on me.”

“I have my reasons.”

Was he flirting with her? “And what might those be?”

His lone dimple deepened. “See, I’ve never driven a pink car before.”

He was flirting with her. Claire dangled the keys. “What makes you think you get to now?” And with a quick jingle, she raced him to the parking lot.

“Tell me again why you have a boathouse in the heart of Texas?”

The sun was starting to set, splashing pink and gold across the Texas sky. Claire shifted from one foot to the other wondering how long this magical evening could last.

Tristan rattled the lock, wiggled the key again, then pushed open the heavy wooden door. “Well, back in the day, there was a lake on the property. Something happened, I don’t know what, and now the lake is gone.”

“But the boathouse is still here.”

He motioned for her to step inside. Claire inched forward, not sure what to expect from an abandoned boathouse.

Except it didn’t look like she imagined a boathouse would look, nor did it appear abandoned. “It’s beautiful.” She turned in a full circle, taking in the cypress walls hung with wooden oars and old fashioned life preservers. A large aluminum canoe hung overhead and cypress cabinets lined the far wall.

“You like it?”

Claire nodded. There was something quiet and private about the space even though it sat almost smack in the middle of the McFarland grounds.

“Devin and I used it as a clubhouse when we were growing up.”

“I take it that was before Cindy Lou Ferrill?” She pointed to the large “No Girls Allowed” sign hanging on the back of the door.

He shot her an uncomfortable smile and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “You can’t believe everything Devin says.”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded, but her tone revealed her disbelief. What did it matter to her? She hadn’t known him then, and they surely didn’t have a normal marriage. But she was enjoying watching him squirm. “You know what I think? I think you put that up there and brought girls here anyway. Those pour naïve souls would take one look at that and think that you were so smitten you would break your own rules. Am I right?”

“Maybe.”

“I think I’m dead on.” She started toward the line of cabinets. “I bet if I started digging around I’d find some blankets, maybe some candles, empty wine bottles…”

She opened the first set to reveal exactly that: a romance kit for the ages. She turned to face him.

When had he gotten so close to her?

“W-well?” she stuttered.

“Well, what?” He took another step, bringing him within touching distance.

All she had to do was reach out and she could trace the pattern in his tie…the line of buttons down the front of his shirt…the curve of his lips.

She cleared her throat, intending to ask what he had to say for himself. “Do you always stay so buttoned up?” Who said that?

“Not always.”

Now why did that sound suggestive? And when did it get so hot in here?

Her hands lifted and tugged on the knot of silk at his throat.

“Is this your way of saying that I should loosen up?”

“Maybe.” She lifted her gaze to his. Where had this flirty Claire come from? She hadn’t even known this part of herself existed and here she stood, flirting with her husband, removing his tie and all but inviting him to kiss her.

“Kiss me,” she commanded.

Tristan closed his eyes for a brief moment then opened them again with a groan. “Claire…” her name was both prayer and curse.

“You don’t want to kiss me?”

He shook his head. “That’s not it.”

She knew that. She may have only been around the block once or twice, but he wanted to kiss her. Of that much she was certain. And she wanted to kiss him. They had shared such a wonderful time together. It seemed only natural.

“Tristan?”

“Ask me again.”

“Kiss me,” she said, her confidence slipping a notch.

Then his lips were on hers and all doubts fled.

His kiss was confident, and searching, his tongue invading asking hers to dance. She returned the caress, her confidence growing.

He leaned in, bracing his arms on the other side of her, effectively pinning her between the counter behind her and him in the front. Like she was going anywhere.

She had been waiting for his kiss since the first one in the courthouse.

Then it had been all about chemistry, white hot desire that sparked like tinder in a lightning storm. But this was different. There was more between them now, weeks of living in the same house, sharing a bed, however platonically. This was about…more.

Until it wasn’t. Because it never would be. The kiss was the stuff of her dreams—literally. He was amazing and handsome and not really hers.

She worked her hands between them and gently pushed back. He lifted his head, confusion, concern in his hazel eyes.

She shook her head. She had been playing with fire and if she wasn’t careful she was sure to get burned.

He paused a moment and then nodded. He knew. This was a marriage about money. Not about kissing and loving or even fabulous gifts. And they needed to remember that. She needed to remember it.

Because when the time came for them to part ways, she would be the one left hurting and they both knew it.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.    

A MILLION TO ONE

Copyright 2023 by Amy Lillard 

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.    

They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.  

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

previously published as All You Need Is Love copyright 2013 by Amy Lillard

significant changes have been made to the original manuscript resulting in new copyright status