by SM West
“Mr. Somerset, I hardly know you. You’re my husband’s business associate and that’s it.” Again, her tone is harsh, yet her expression appears more confused than angry.
“I’m happy to help you but would ask that you make an appointment. I was just about to go to lunch.”
“Again, sorry for this, thank you for agreeing to the job. If you’re heading to lunch, let me take you and we can get started on discussing what I’d like.” I’m deliberately pushy.
“Mr. Somerset…” I can hear the decline coming. Julia opens the door. The woman has a twinkle in her eye.
“Sorry to interrupt. Tate, I forgot to tell you that our lunch appointment got rescheduled.” She grins, closing the door.
She was eavesdropping, and despite there being absolutely no privacy in this place, I can’t help but chuckle.
With a slight uplift at the corners of her mouth, Tate answers exasperated and resigned, “Well, it seems I’m free for lunch.”
“Wonderful.” Standing, I gesture my hand out to Tate. “Let’s go.” She grabs her purse, walking past my open hand out into the gallery. Anthony’s quick on her heels as I hurry to her side. “Any preferences as to where to dine or can I surprise you?” I ask.
“Ah, Mr. Somerset, I think you’ve surprised me enough for one day,” she dryly retorts.
We end up at a small, quaint restaurant just a block from the gallery. Anthony tries to sit at our table. Tate quickly puts a stop to it. Fortunately, he’s unable to get a table nearby and is sitting at the bar across the restaurant. The place is loud and bustling. He’ll have a hard time hearing us.
I’m facing him. If he’s not glaring at me, he’s feverishly texting. My money’s on giving Bobby a play-by-play. Bobby would likely be here right now if he weren’t in a meeting with some pretty big investors at this very moment. It pays to have someone tailing him.
I take a sip of my drink before launching into my defense. Tate hasn’t said one word to me since we’ve left the gallery, except for agreeing to the restaurant.
“Tate, I’m sorry,” I start, she quickly cuts me off.
“You seem to be able to readily say that, but do you really mean it?” Her disappointment is evident in the down-turned corners of her lips, hitting me low in my gut.
“Yes, I really am sorry,” I sincerely respond. Without hesitation, my fingers brush the inside of her wrist, resting casually on the table. She shivers at my touch. An emerging hunger creeps from my chest, down my spine, into my groin. Her eyes darken with hunger. An equaling need rolls off her in waves.
My fingers curl gently around her wrist. Briefly, she tenses with my touch, then her fingers willingly dance across the inside of my forearm. Even with my shirt between our skin, the heat and desire grow, linking us. It’s at this moment, I realize this connection between us is much bigger than this case. Bigger than Griffin. I want her.
Our waiter brings our entrees, killing the moment. I’m grateful for the intrusion. I need to shut this shit down. There’s a lot riding on this case and I can’t fuck it all up because of something so basic as off-the-charts chemistry with the opposite sex.
Tate also seems to back off, hastily removing her hand. Her eyes dart around the restaurant, looking at anything but me.
“I meant it, I’m sorry. Bobby’s stalling the deal again and I needed to move things along. We were supposed to meet yesterday. He canceled an hour before with no explanation. I knew showing up at your office would do the trick.”
“And you couldn’t give me a heads up?” She asks, irritation coats her words.
There’s a sage look in her gaze. Something I’ve seen there before. She may be almost twenty-seven years old, yet she acts wiser than her years. Shit, I’m thirty-two yet sometimes the way she looks at me, like she is right now, makes me feel like a child.
It’s like she’s reading my mind, understands my motives. It’s my turn to sheepishly look anywhere but at her. She’s one smart cookie and no surprise, she didn’t miss a beat on calling me on it.
“Fair enough, I could’ve tried to warn you.”
“Yes, you could’ve. You do realize that this will more than get Bobby’s attention. He’ll be livid.”
“I do if Anthony’s behavior is any indication. Will you be okay? I don’t want him to take this out on you.” Tate’s eyes bore into mine. Her softening face suggests she believes I regret my haste. I messed up again. Bobby could very well make her pay for this.
Damn it, this is so unlike me. I usually think things through. I should have considered Bobby’s reaction and what that could mean for her. Any clarity I have is lost in Tate’s presence. I’m constantly battling to keep my wits about me and rational thought in the forefront.
“I’ll be fine.” Her mask slips into place. Blank, expressionless. Shit. This was the last thing I wanted.
“Seriously Tate, if he does anything, call me. Call Clint and tell me…” I grasp for some phrase that’ll work; won’t raise suspicion. “Tell me you couldn’t get the Rembrandt and I’ll know you need out.” My eyes bore into her stoic façade. Her lips turn slightly up at the corners.
“Rembrandt? Look, I’ve some obscenely wealthy clients but shit, just how much money is Clint Somerset supposed to have?” she asks on a laugh. I laugh with her, shaking my head.
“Not THAT much but let’s go with it. If that fucker’s listening, it’ll have him shitting his pants.” That has us both laughing harder. Her smile lights up her face: cheeks rosy, green eyes shining, and lips pink and plump.
“Seriously, call me if you need to,” I stress and hand her my business card.
“I’ll be fine. If I have to, I’ll call.”
We chat easily for the rest of our meal. If it weren’t for Anthony, I’d think this was a date. The thought startles me. Damnit, this is business, nothing else. Even with that reality, I can’t help but bask in the glow of Tate’s laugh and smile as she finishes her story about her friend and partner, Julia. It sounds like never a dull moment with her.
Tate’s the one to burst our dream-like bubble, stating she needs to get back. Thank fuck, I need to get away from her. Any longer and I’m bound to blow this case to kingdom come.
Once outside her office, she tenses, stopping in her tracks. Julia careens around the corner like someone’s chasing her, darting past me into the office. Bobby. He’s sitting behind the desk, fingers steepled. His eyes black as night, brows pinched and lips in a firm, thin line.
“Oh Tate, ah…Bobby,” Julia says flustered.
Tate’s stands still, unmoving. Julia looks at me like a deer caught in headlights. Gently steering her toward the door, I walk her out. Anthony stands in the doorway as I shut the door in his face.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Bobby shouts. Who he’s asking isn’t exactly clear. Tate remains frozen. It’s hard to tell if she’s breathing. I slowly move to stand beside her.
“Bobby,” I coolly respond like his outburst did nothing to my eardrums. “Calm down. I came here to ask Tate to help acquire some art for my new place. Why are you here?” I boldly ask.
His dark eyes narrow further, big hands curling into fists. He menacingly stalks around the desk to stand directly in front of me. If he’s trying to bully me, his efforts are futile. He’s about my size in both height and weight, though I’m in better shape. He’s big but lazy. Not overweight but where’s he’s soft, I’m hard. I could take him down, clean the floor with his ass and walk out of here without breaking a sweat.
“This is my wife’s gallery, my being here isn’t your question to ask,” he grounds out.
His forehead and nose are barely an inch from mine. Standing my ground, I broaden my stance, glaring back at the fucker. I want him to do something stupid. Getting into a fight with him isn’t the smartest thing to do, not for the case and most probably not for Tate. I can’t help the urge to take him out. End him.
All my repressed hunger from spending nearly two hours with his wife, itching to t
ouch, to take, but unable to do a damn thing about it, has me wound tight. I need a release and pummeling him into the ground seems like just what I need.
“Why the fuck are you here? Why the fuck are you taking MY WIFE to lunch? You’re so far out of line I should kill you right here and right now,” he threatens.
Tate sucks in air. Both of us ignore her, although I’m very aware of her presence. Her safety’s my number one concern. Right now, something tells me, my acknowledgment of her will only hurt her.
“Already told you why I’m here,” I growl.
His hands grab Tate with surprising speed. One arm secures her by the waist and one hand covers her throat. Her back is to his front, emerald eyes wide and glued to me. Lips slightly parted, her face pales as he tightens his hold on her neck.
“Let go of her. Now,” I roar. Tate’s flinches. Bobby doesn’t even blink.
“She’s my wife. What I do with my wife is none of your fucking business,” he yells, his face reddening. “Clint, you’ve made a big mistake and I’m going to make sure this deal dies before it even gets off the ground.”
“I don’t care if she’s your mother, your wife or the woman on the street, I will not stand here and let you hurt a woman. Don’t push me, Thornton. One last chance, let her go now,” I warn, my voice low and ominous.
My sole focus is on his huge hand gripping her throat. He smirks, obviously not taking my threat seriously. Tate’s breathing is steady, still, her eyes are glassy, worried. Seeing his hands on her, ready to do bodily harm, the look of fear in her eyes, does something to me. Something dark and restless slithers through my stomach, building and coiling around my insides.
All reason leaves me as my hand slams into the crook of his elbow, taking him by surprise. I’d counted on that. My forceful blow dislodges his grip on her throat and waist. Without hesitation, she quickly scrambles out of the way.
Before he can react, I swing my fist, clocking his jaw hard and fast, resulting in the satisfying and unmistakable thwack of bone against bone. My hand pulses but making sure he has no time to recover, I strike fast with another fierce blow to his gut. Bobby bends over exhaling a moan and stumbles backward into the desk.
I’m poised for my next punch when I sense two men behind me. I can smell Anthony’s cheap aftershave. The other one, I’m not sure where he came from, most probably with Bobby. Before I can make my next move, Anthony clutches my arms, swiftly bringing them behind me. His hold is firm yet not as tight as I think it should be. I could easily break free. Bobby’s glaring like a ferocious beast ready to rip me to shreds. Try it asshole. Not like I need an excuse, anything could send me over the edge.
A red curtain of rage blankets all rational thought. My breathing’s heavy, adrenaline’s pumping through my veins. I’m ready to break their hold on me and take them all down. Ending him, here and now.
Just as I prepare my next move, Tate comes into my peripheral vision. Sensing my intention or perhaps it’s Bobby’s, either way, she stands between us. Holy shit, what the hell is she doing?
Bobby’s eyes flit back and forth, assessing the situation, weighing his options. Surprisingly, his body relaxes. He’s retreating. With one look from Bobby, Anthony releases me and lamely pushes me. Both men leave the room. Tate steps back as Bobby stalks toward me.
“You fucked up Somerset, this isn’t over,” he spits out.
His threat’s empty. We both know it. Warren wants and needs my deal. Warren’s made it clear that he’ll step in if needed. He won’t kill the deal.
Straightening his jacket, Bobby gives Tate a harsh glare and deliberately knocks her with the side of his frame as he makes his way out of the office. I’ve made things worse for her. Damnit. Before I can strike back at Thornton, Tate falters. Caught off guard, she falls backward onto her behind with a yelp. Her legs are sprawled out in a V with her skirt disheveled and partially revealing sexy pink lace panties.
As much as I’d like to admire her legs and lingerie, my concern overrides my carnal desire. Immediately, I crouch and pull down her skirt. She sits up as I rest my palm on her thigh. This entire mess is my fault. I have no clue what this could mean for her. Have I unleashed the beast? How can I fix it? Can I fix it without blowing this case wide open? Touching her, being near her calms me.
“Are you okay?” I examine her face for any sign of distress or pain. She hastily attempts to control her emotions. The shutters descend. Her face hardens. She nods. Taking my hand, we stand and turn. Julia’s in the doorway.
“Oh God, Tate, I’m so sorry. I tried to…” Tate cuts her off.
“It’s okay, Jules. I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?” Julia pushes.
Her eyes close, inhaling deeply to compose herself, “Yes, I’m fine.” Turning to me, she says, “Mr. Somerset, I’ve another appointment in exactly ten minutes,” she coolly states, glancing down at her watch. “You need to leave.” Cold and professional, she’s shut down. I can’t figure out if that’s because she’s mad at Bobby or me or all of it.
“Absolutely,” I quickly respond. “Walk me out.” I should just walk away, we have an audience, but I can’t leave her like this.
Obviously being the smart one out of the two of us, her frown suggests she’s not impressed with my tactics. Still, she nods in assent. I desperately want to take her hand. My need to touch her is overwhelming. Clenching my fists, I stop myself from being so reckless and foolish. Again, we walk through the gallery with Anthony close behind. As we exit the building, she peers over her shoulder at her bodyguard.
“Anthony, please stay here. You’ll see me at all times, “ her voice is authoritative. Even though he’s Bobby’s proxy, she’s clear in no uncertain terms, he must give her space.
Standing shoulder-to-shoulder on the sidewalk, we scan the street. She’s most likely looking for Bobby or his men. I am too. I’m also looking for Noel. I spot him discreetly tucked in the corner of an alley about six doors down. While I can’t make out his facial expression, I’m pretty sure he saw Bobby and is likely already figuring out what went down.
“Tate, I messed up again. That’s all I seem to do where you’re concerned. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” she’s curt.
“Listen, remember what I said…Rembrandt.”
On impulse, some base need that has no rhyme or reason, I subtly curl my pinky around hers. Upon contact, she stills, holding her breath. I, on the other hand, have the opposite reaction as my breathing slows and serenity descends. Tate glances behind. At least one of us is consciously aware of Anthony. She relaxes at whatever she sees, doesn’t pull away.
“Rembrandt…I’ll be there,” I remind her.
She chuckles slightly, loosening up even further. “Yes, Rembrandt. I’ve got your number. I’ll call if I need to,” she reassures, me although that’s what I’m trying to do for her.
Reluctantly, I release her finger. Turning to face her, my eyes scan her flawless features. She’s spent but still lovely. The last few minutes have wrung her out. Giving her a big heartfelt smile, I hope to express my apologies, concern, and promise to protect her. She smiles in return, small yet true. Her eyes twinkle and her cheeks are a light shade of pink.
“I’ll see you,” I reassure.
“Not unless I see you first. Bye, Ry,” she whispers with a small smile before entering the gallery. My name on her lips roots me to the spot. Warmth blooms within me at hearing the name, only reserved for my loved ones, naturally roll off her tongue. Her voice soft and sweet. Intimate. I realize then and there, as wrong as it is, I want her to be among those I hold close.
INCESSANT BEEPING WAKES ME. OPENING my eyes, I shiver at the vague memory of my dream. I dreamt about my childhood, my father more specifically. It was at a time when I thought he hung the moon.
Exhaustion weighs on me. It’s just after five in the morning. I need to get up. Today’s my mandatory monthly breakfast with my father. Bile pushes up my throat at the thought. I have n
o choice or excuse to cancel. My father started these stupid breakfasts after rehab under the pretense of forgive and forget. Or some bullshit like that. It’s pure torture, but I pick my battles. If this keeps the wolves at bay, I grin and bear it.
Heading to the shower, I glimpse my reflection in the mirror. Fatigue is evident in the dark circles under my eyes. Yesterday’s encounter with Wolfe messed with me. I can’t shake the nagging feeling that his visit was more about me than Bobby.
I wonder if he feels it too? This definite draw between us. It’s like being stuck in a force field with no control over the gravitational pull or path my body takes toward him. There’s only one purpose, to be near to him. There’s no denying the physical attraction. What woman wouldn’t be tempted by him? For me, it’s his calm, commanding nature without a hint of arrogance that lures me.
While we kept our talk superficial, I struggled throughout the meal from walking out the door. I could barely stand the burning, crimson tide of passion ebbing and flowing between us. While I’d given up on ever longing for sex or being turned on again, Rylan Wolfe proved me wrong. If nothing else, my libido is alive and well. But I won’t be detoured by a hot, sexy man. Even if his touch bewildered and aroused me. Damn, I have to keep my distance. This is one game I can’t afford to play.
I can’t let my guard down. I’ve got to focus on getting revenge for Griffin and for me. Rylan Wolfe clouds my judgment. I can’t have entanglements, no matter how enticing a package. And Wolfe’s package is mighty fine.
Chuckling, I shake those thoughts out of my head. The hot shower does nothing to calm my nerves or still my thoughts. I get dressed in the bathroom. My hair’s slicked back in a bun, my makeup light and subtle as usual. I’m dressed in a conservative gray suit, one I rarely wear. I purchased it for these very occasions. It’s acceptable to my father.
While slipping on my black slingback heels, I hear movement in the bedroom. Bobby. We haven’t spoken since the encounter with Somerset in my office. He’s lying on the bed, still fully clothed. He, too, looks exhausted.
