by R. Linda
Tate offered to pay me for the pieces, but what good would that do? It would never bring them back, and they were not something I could replicate.
And my week seemed to be going from bad to worse.
The job search was going nowhere. No one wanted to hire me because I didn’t have any experience and I was too old. Everyone want the young ones because the were cheaper. Nico came by on Tuesday with my pizza and a side of bad news. Joe had no work available for me either. I was at the point where I would stand on the sidewalk with a giant pizza strapped to my chest doing a pirouette to gain attention for the shop if it meant cash in my hands. But Joe already had someone doing that.
So, I was throwing myself into my art and my workouts. Every morning I started the day with yoga and spent a few hours searching for jobs before heading into my spare room slash studio to paint. I was still trying to master sling-shooting paint with my bras for one of my ideas. It was a work in progress. And progress had stalled since I couldn’t seem to aim my underwear at the canvas.
I groaned as I lost another bra and decided to go and search the shed for something more appropriate and less expensive, like elastic or something. I opened the doors and stepped out onto the patio, then squeaked in surprise and ran back inside the pool house.
Tate was there.
By the pool.
With his friends.
Shirtless.
Again.
I slammed the door shut and tried to catch my breath. My heart was pounding a million times a minute. I’d been obsessing over the way he wrapped me in his arms last weekend every waking moment of every day this week. I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop, honestly.
I couldn’t get the feel of his skin out of my mind, and I wanted to touch it again. Maybe run my hands across his pecs and down his abs. Bite that V that dipped into his low-slung sweatpants and...
I needed to cool down and focus.
I needed elastic.
I needed to fix my hair and make sure I looked okay if I was going to walk past them.
Whoa. Who was I? And where did I go? I never cared about what people thought of my appearance. My hair was a nightmare, and without Eva spending two hours on it, it would never look sleek and shiny. I’d given in to the fact years ago that I was one of those people who pulled off messy chic, but required a team to make me glamorous.
I settled for fixing my messy bun and putting on a bra.
Once I was satisfied that I at least didn’t look like I’d just rolled out of bed, I snuck out of my house and tiptoed through the garden to the pool shed. I didn’t know why I cared so much how I looked. He’d seen me fall flat on my butt in a paint can. He’d seen me hungover. Doing headstands in my underwear. And walked in on me with my top around my head as my arms got tangled inside the sleeves. He had to help me remove my top. If that wasn’t embarrassing, nothing was.
But that was all before he hugged me.
Before he paid for Nelson’s father’s treatment so I didn’t have to.
Before he repaired the damage his psycho girlfriend did to my house.
And there it was. The glaringly obvious reason why I was so stupid. Worrying over my appearance when Tate Montgomery dated only supermodels or socialites. When he had a fiancée.
So stupid.
I made it to the shed without being noticed by Tate or any of his buddies and began rummaging through the numerous containers stacked on the shelves for elastic or something I could make a slingshot out of, but I tugged too hard on a box and it toppled off the shelf and clattered to the ground at my feet.
I jumped back to avoid my toes being crushed by—I tilted my head and looked at the contents of the container spilled on the floor—screwdrivers. That was a close call.
Peering out the window, I checked to make sure Tate and his friends hadn’t heard the crash or my scream. If they did, they didn’t show any signs of it. They were still lounging by the pool with their beers in their hands and sunglasses over their eyes.
I stood there watching them talking and laughing and enjoying themselves. I’d found myself getting more and more distracted by Tate, and thoughts of Tate, as the days passed. The more I got to know him, the more I realized he wasn’t as bad as he came across. He had these moments where he was almost nice.
Tate’s eyes met mine.
Crap.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t realized I was still staring at him.
I quickly turned away and crouched down to pick up the tools and put them back in the box, pretending as if I hadn’t been caught red-handed.
“Are you spying on us?” His gravelly voice sent shivers down my spine.
“Does it look like it?” I snapped and smoothed my hair down, refusing to look at him because he’d no doubt see the blush to my cheeks.
“Yes.” He chuckled.
“I’m looking for something. Not you.” The heat from his body radiated from him and seemed to fill the small space. Like a heater. Was that possible? The scent of beer mingled with his aftershave was intoxicating and going straight to my head.
“Hmmm.” He sounded thoughtful, and I chanced a glance up at him, only to instantly regret it.
He was close. Too close. His strong legs brushed against my arm as he towered over me. Looking down at me with deep, dark, piercing eyes, he studied me. Heat flooded my body and my stomach flipped. I liked the look he was giving me too much.
His arm moved, stretching his hand towards me. I closed my eyes, ready to lean into his touch when... he flicked my hair.
“Well, you’re not scruffy,” he said, almost in a whisper, and I frowned, shoving his hand away.
“Wow, thanks for the compliment.”
He touched my hair again and laughed. “But, you should probably wash the cheese out of your hair.” He pulled his hand back and, sure enough, there was a piece of mozzarella cheese hanging just behind my ear from last night’s pizza.
Mortified, I pushed myself to my feet and shoved past him ignoring the sound of his laughter.
I took back all my earlier thoughts about him being nice. He wasn’t. He was a jerk. And loved to embarrass me. I could manage that well enough on my own.
Chapter Fourteen
TATE
“I can hear you swearing from the pool house. What’s going on?” Wren asked from the door as I rummaged through the sofa. I hadn’t expected to see her for a few days after laughing at the pizza cheese in her hair.
“I lost my phone. Shit. Dammit.” I ran my hands through my hair and moved to the other sofa.
“Umm, do you...” Wren was speaking, but I was frantic. If I missed the call I was waiting on, my career would be over.
“Give me your phone,” I snapped at her and checked my watch. The designer Steve was in talks with to get me onto the runway at one of their shows was calling in ten minutes. This deal would absolutely make my career.
“Please...” She folded her arms defiantly.
“Wren, don’t fuck with me. This is important.” I needed to call my phone so I could hear where it was.
“Whatever.” She threw her phone at me.
I scrolled through her contacts, looking for my name, but hesitated on the contact saved as ‘Lover’. My stomach rolled and my chest tightened. Lover? She had a boyfriend? How did I not know this? I should have ignored it. It was none of my business, but she was so damn infuriating, and had dug herself so deep under my skin, I wanted to know more. I wanted to know who the lucky bastard was that slipped into bed beside her at night while I locked my door to keep Rachel away.
I should give the phone back.
It would be the right thing to do.
But curiosity got the better of me.
Trying to hide my smile, I dialed Wren’s ‘lover’.
She stood in front of me, hands on her hips, craning her neck to one side as though listening for the ring of my phone. The ring that wouldn’t happen because I wasn’t calling my number.
“Is it ringing?” she
asked, craning her neck the other way.
“Shhh.” I pressed a finger to her soft, full lips. Her breath was warm against my finger as she gasped in surprise.
“I can’t hear anything,” she whispered, her tongue brushing my finger lightly as she spoke. I wasn’t sure she was aware of how close we were. Her body was almost flush against mine; she stood on her toes and leaned her ear next to mine to check for a dial tone just as her lover answered.
“Joe’s Pizza, what can I get ya?” a deep husky voice rumbled down the line as Wren’s eyes widened in realization. I barely managed to hang up before bursting into laughter.
“Give me my phone back, Tate.” She reached for it, but I was too fast.
“I still need it.” I stepped away.
“That was a complete invasion of privacy. Why would you call Joe? Give it back.” She lunged for me again, but I moved back until my legs hit the sofa.
“Because you had the shop saved as lover. I was curious.” I laughed.
“It was none of your business.” She stretched her hand out and tried to swipe the phone, but I caught her wrist, pulled her close and spun us around so I could make my escape with her phone.
But I should have known better. Wren was completely hopeless, and more uncoordinated than a baby giraffe learning to walk for the first time, so she lost her footing and slipped. It would have been fine had she not grabbed the closest thing to her for support.
Me.
We toppled down onto the sofa.
Wren hit the cushion with a soft thud. A small squeal escaped her lips as she pulled me down on top of her. She was warm and soft beneath me. Her breath stalled, and my heart stuttered in my chest. We’d never been this close before. Hips to hips. Chest to chest. Her legs parted ever so slightly, bringing us closer.
Fuck.
If Rachel were to walk in all hell would break loose.
But I didn’t care. I didn’t have it in me to care.
I wanted to be closer.
Inside her.
“Tate,” she whispered my name. Her voice like velvet. Her eyelids fluttered closed and her face tipped up, lips parted. She wanted me. I raised my hand, the one still clutching her phone, mine long forgotten, to the top of the armchair beside her head.
She was fucking gorgeous.
Her fingers traced the length of my arm, slid over my hand... and snatched her phone from my grip.
She laughed in triumph. She was gleeful and totally gloating that she got her phone back.
“Now, get off me,” she groaned and shoved me in the chest harder than I expected her to.
“Wren,” I whispered. It was time to give her a taste of her own medicine. Drive her as crazy as she drove me.
I brought my hand down, brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and captured her gaze with mine. I heard the gasp. I felt her chest stop moving as she held her breath. Her eyes flickered between mine before darting to my lips.
I traced my fingers over her face, gently down her cheek and across her mouth, pulling her bottom lip down with my thumb. She arched ever so slightly under me as I lowered my face and trailed my nose along her jaw, inhaling her intoxicating scent. Biting back a groan, I let my fingers graze her neck, shoulder and down her side. She flinched as I touched the inside of her arm and her skin broke out with goosebumps.
She was ticklish.
Smiling into her neck, enjoying the feel of her beneath me too much, I knew I should move. Get up and walk away, but I was spiraling. My control was slipping fast, and I didn’t want to slow down.
Wren dragged her bottom lip between her teeth, and I mimicked her movement wishing it was her mouth on mine.
“Tate,” she said my name again, eyebrows pinched together as she studied my face. She watched the movement of my hand as I grazed her side and her hip. I snaked my fingers around her hand and grabbed her phone again. I pushed up off the sofa and jumped back with a laugh as she groaned.
“You don’t play fair,” she mumbled into her hands as she rubbed them over her face.
“Oh, Tate,” I whispered in a breathy voice and fluttered my eyelashes in a terrible attempt at portraying her. She sat up and threw a cushion at me. “You don’t play fair either.”
“I did not sound like that!” She huffed and stomped after me as I walked away with her phone. I really did need to find mine before I missed that call. And as much as I wanted to continue this... whatever it was with Wren, I couldn’t.
I typed my number into her phone, hoping that mine was somewhere in the house and I hadn’t lost it at the beach.
It took a few seconds before it rang, and my name flashed across the screen. I smirked at her. “You think I’m sexy?”
“What?” Wren’s eyes widened.
“My contact is saved in your phone as sexy.” She rolled her eyes. “No, it’s saved in there as Stupid Sexy Bastard. Emphasis on the bastard.”
“You think I’m sexy.”
“I’m leaning more toward bastard now,” she said as she pulled my phone out from under the sofa cushion where we were just laying.
“But a sexy one?” I grinned at her. Maybe she didn’t hate me as much as I thought she did.
She raised her eyebrow and shook her head. “Your smug face is fast losing its appeal.” She glanced down at my phone in her hands and frowned.
“What?” I wondered what she was looking at on my screen and then it dawned on me.
Shit.
Her contact name.
“Wren.” I stepped toward her, intent on explaining, but she looked at me with hurt-filled eyes.
“You really are a bastard,” she whispered and threw my phone across the room at my head before storming out and slamming the French doors behind her.
Fuck.
I picked up my phone from the floor, surprised it hadn’t shattered on impact, and read the screen.
My jaw clenched and my hand tightened its grip on my phone. I was done. She was such a fucking bitch, and I couldn’t do it any longer.
I contemplated calling Rachel and finding out what she was doing, but before I had the chance, Wren’s phone rang in my hands.
Ignoring all pleasantries, I answered the phone with a simple sentence. “You need to get over here, now.” And then I hung up and answered my phone that was now ringing in my other hand. The job. All the excitement and anticipation I’d felt earlier had been dulled by Wren’s reaction to what her contact was saved as in my phone.
“Tate Montgomery speaking,” I answered in my best professional voice.
Chapter Fifteen
WREN
I would not cry.
He wasn’t worth the tears.
I couldn’t believe I fell for that smirk. Those dimples.
He was a complete bastard, and I hated him. I wanted him gone. Out of my house. Along with her.
I’d heard some hurtful things in the past. Kind of came with the territory when you refused to conform to society’s idea of perfection, but that was a low blow even for him.
I slammed the door to the pool house behind me, made sure it was locked and went to pull my phone out of my pocket to call Eva, before realizing that I’d stupidly left it in Tate’s stupid, sexy, strong hands.
Groaning to myself, I trudged over to the bar and poured a glass of wine. If I couldn’t speak to Eva, then I could at least drown my sorrows in bitter wine, because there was no way I was going back into that house to ask Tate for my phone.
Half a bottle of wine later, there was a knock on the glass front door. I refused to turn around, because I didn’t want to see Tate. If it was going to take him that long to come up with a weak, halfhearted apology then he could go and step on a lego for all I cared.
The tapping on the window continued, and I poured myself more wine.
“Open the damn door, Wren. I’ll smash it if I have to and that will totally ruin my new gold-flecked manicure. And then you’ll be sorry,” Eva’s voice called from the other side of the door.
I stood u
p and faced her just as she raised Mr. Ruffles above her—the concrete frog in a bow tie, top hat and cigar that sat by my door—and was about to smash the window.
“Stop!” I yelled and rushed over to unlock the door. “Are you crazy?”
She shrugged, kissed Mr. Ruffles on the top hat and placed him carefully back on the patio. “It worked, didn’t it?” She brushed past me, grabbing my wine glass out of my hand as she did and continued down the hall to my bedroom.
“What are you doing?” I followed her reluctantly, more because she had my wine than anything else.
“We’re going out!” she announced from inside my closet where she rummaged through my clothes in search of an outfit.
“No, we’re not.” I hated going out on a good day. And I was so not in the mood to party tonight. I picked up the wine from the dresser where she left it and took a gulp.
“Yeah, we are. The girls are waiting. There’s a new club opening tonight in town and you’re coming, whether you want to or not.”
“I’m not really in...” But she held up her hand to stop me and pulled a black dress off the hanger.
“I know, but he’s sorry, and I believe him. So, I’m taking you out to clear your head.” Eva gave me the dress. “Put this on.”
“He’s sorry?” How did she know he’s sorry? How did she even know what happened?
“Yes. Look.” Digging through her bag, she groaned. “Where is it?”
“What?” I ran my fingers over the silky black fabric of the dress she’d chosen. Maybe I could go out for a night. I didn’t do it very often and it had been ages since I’d seen Emerson and Blake, so maybe a girl’s night out was just what I needed to get my focus back on things other than Tate’s abs.
Eva emptied the contents of her bag onto my bed. “Ah-ha! I knew it was in here somewhere.” She threw something thin and silver at me, and I barely caught it.
My phone.
“How did you get this?” I frowned.
She scooped all her junk back into her bag. “From Tate.”
