by SM West
“You’re still here,” his tone is flat and low.
“Yes, I’m on my way to meet my father,” I coolly answer. This could go so many ways. I prepare for the worst. My only hope is if he attempts to be violent, he knows I’m meeting my father, he won’t be as brutal.
“I’m bushed,” he yawns. I nod, slowly heading for the door.
“Tate,” he calls. His voice low and menacing. My stomach always dives to the tips of my toes at the sound of my name on his foul lips.
“Yes?” I bristle. My back to him, facing the hallway. Escape is close but not close enough. Here it comes.
“You tell me if Somerset approaches you again. If he does anything. So much as looks at you, you tell me,” he demands, making it clear he’s still angry from yesterday.
“Got it,” I readily reply.
“Tate,” his tone still hostile. I sink my fingernails into my palms to quiet my racing mind and calm my hammering heart.
“Yes,” I bite back. Okay, so it’s not working. I’m anything but calm and showing my irritation is a stupid move.
“I don’t want him anywhere near you.”
“Bobby, I didn’t seek him out. This is business for the gallery. Good business,” I soften my tone. Turning around, his hunger burns brightly in his gaze. Shivers slide down my spine. “That’s all it is. I don’t know the man and don’t want to know the man.”
“Good.” He closes his eyes and turns over.
On my way to breakfast, I contemplate my conversation with Bobby. He was calm and reasonable or at least for him he was. Lately, I’ve noticed he’s not as quick to temper and our run-ins, physical or sexual, have lessened. I’m not sure if that’s because he’s been traveling a lot lately or something else is going on.
The bell over the door chimes as I walk into the warm, inviting diner. A welcomed reprieve from the harsh November wind. The smell of bacon and eggs waft through the air, assaulting me with buried childhood memories of Sunday breakfasts with my father and Max. This is my father’s favorite place. He used to regale us with fond stories of time spent here with his parents when he was a boy.
Why he chose this place, I have no clue. It pisses me off. He knows what this place means. It tugs at my heartstrings, reminding me of when he was my world. The thought brings me back to my dream. If I hadn’t been distracted last night by potentially facing Bobby, I’d have stewed over this.
Warren’s seated at a booth in the back, facing the door. He’s immaculately dressed in a black suit, his salt and pepper hair perfectly coiffed, reading the Wall Street Journal. “Good morning, Tate,” his voice is gruff and warm.
Closing the paper, he watches as I take a seat. He’s already eaten. His plate off to the side with the remnants of egg yolk and grease hardening on the plate. “Father,” I politely reply.
“I don’t have much time, I’ve a meeting in twenty minutes, but I wanted to see you,” he states like he’s giving dictation. Forever the business man, he gets right down to it.
“Fine.”
He frowns, pinching his brows and pursing his lips. One word answers don’t please him. I best put on a smile and try harder.
“Your mother’s planning her annual fall dinner party in two weeks. I shouldn’t have to say this but I will. Even though Bobby’s traveling, we expect you to be there.”
“Of course.” This annual shindig is the usual crap, an exercise in boredom. It’s a command performance.
“She’s sending invites out today. Respond immediately and call her to see how you can help.”
I nod. Treating me like a child really pushes my buttons and he knows it. I should say more. He always sees my lack of response as insolence. The urge to snap is strong, so I focus on biting my tongue rather than regret what I might say.
“Sorry, I have to go,” he says absentmindedly. He glances at his phone and moves to exit the booth.
“Father,” I boldly say. What I’m about to do could backfire. I haven’t thought it through. It just dawned on me that this is a rare opportunity. “I had a visit yesterday from Clint Somerset.”
“Really?” his dark eyes are focused on me. “Go on.”
“He’s asked me to acquire the art for his home. Bobby’s not happy with this. I’m surprised he didn’t call you.”
“I was out of town, but I did see he’d called.”
“I wanted you to know. He’s on a warpath. It’s none of my business what you’re doing with Somerset. He wants my expertise and it’s not related to your business with him. Bobby wants me to have nothing to do with him. It’s good for my gallery. I’d like to do this,” I deliberately plea.
He likes my vulnerability. It reminds him of when I was a little girl who needed her daddy. I’ll play that game if it gets me what I want.
“Absolutely. Let me handle Bobby.”
He smiles warmly, happy I’m coming to him with this.
“Thank you,” I say, forcing myself to sound grateful.
Leaning over the table, he kisses my forehead, gently caressing my cheek before leaving. I watch the devil exit the building. Vomiting is imminent. Rubbing at my forehead, my hand shields my view.
“Honey, can I get you something to eat?” asks the waitress.
“I’ve lost my appetite,” I reply and hastily leave.
***
I’M A HOT MESS. BETWEEN staring at my phone and restlessly wandering the gallery, I’m haunted. Wolfe’s number, or actually Clint Somerset’s, taunts me from the screen of my phone. No matter the task, I can’t seem to stop thinking about him. His touch with his warm, gentle fingers suggestively caressing the inside of my wrist.
I’ll be seeing him in three days, surely, I can wait? I’ve no reason to see him, other than I want to. Shit, I like him. That should be reason enough to stay away. I shouldn’t even be considering seeing him. Dueling emotions of anxiety and giddiness duke it out in my body. Damn, this is exhausting. I feel like a love-sick teenager working myself up to call a boy I’m crushing on. This is all new to me, yet familiar. I’ve liked a man before, wanted to pursue something, had a relationship with him and then it all went to hell in a handbasket.
“Hey,” Jules says, entering my office. “I’m heading out for some coffee, you want some?”
“Yes,” I excitedly respond, jumping at anything to stop this lunacy.
As we walk to our favorite coffee joint, Jules yammers on about her date last night and what a loser he was. I look down at my phone, Somerset’s number still staring back at me. Taunting me.
“I mean who wants to be sucked dry? I felt like I had a vacuum attached to my lips,” she laments. “Okay, what the hell is going on? You’ve not heard a word I’ve said and you’ve not made one snarky comment.”
“What? I’m listening,” I feebly reply, her look says she’s not buying it. “Sorry, I’m just preoccupied.”
“With what? Or should I say with who?” she waggles her eyebrows on a chuckle.
“What?” I snap. I’m not playing.
“Well, I sure as hell know it’s not Bobby. Who’s got you with this far-off look? Let me guess.” Bouncing on her heels, she almost spills her coffee over both of us.
“Hey, calm down. Are you sure you should be having coffee?”
“Nice try. I’m not changing the subject,” she utters. Tapping her finger on her cheek, she pretends to contemplate although it’s obvious she thinks she’s has it figured out. “It wouldn’t be a certain dark haired, blue eyed, hot-as-hell businessman, would it? Say, Mr. Somerset?”
Shaking my head, I give Jules my best back off glare and pick up the pace. Best friends can be a pain in the ass because they know you so well. “Seriously Jules, it’s nothing. Just the same old stuff at home.”
She doesn’t know the truth about Bobby, but she’s not a fan. She met me when I was dating Griffin. When I was in love. She never understood, or perhaps believed, what I told her about why I broke up with Griffin and was marrying Bobby. While I don’t think she’d ever guess t
he truth, she knows something is off.
She even tried to find Griffin after we broke up. We fought. She harassed me because she couldn’t understand how he just vanished. I resorted to the silent treatment. It served two purposes. It drives her crazy, she needs interaction and emotion, whereas the dreaded silence drives her batty. Also, I chose silence because Bobby was always listening. I needed to keep her safe. Finally, she stopped badgering me. I know she hasn’t let it go.
If I wasn’t so selfish, I should’ve cut her loose. For her own good. But she and Max are all I have. And maybe Coop, but he’s gone, and…Rylan? He’ll be gone once this is said and done. My desire to lay eyes on him rapidly fades with that sobering thought.
“You refuse to leave him. Why? It’s not like you need the money. You’re young…I’m stopping right there because you know you’re fabulous and I refuse to boost your ego.” She sticks her tongue out and smirks. “Find another guy like Griffin or heck, find Griffin. Rekindle the flame. I know it never died.” She’s said this before. Each and every time I cringe.
“Go. Leave me alone,” I playfully say, shoving her toward the gallery door. “Mrs. Fairfax is here.” Pointing to the elderly lady chatting to Ellie inside. “Go take care of her and leave me alone,” I profess annoyance, she knows I’m kidding.
“We’re not finished here. There’s no reason why both our love lives must suck. I don’t care if you’re married, nothing a divorce can’t cure,” she quips, skipping into our establishment.
If only. Now that’s a dream I’ve had countless times. I foolishly stare down at my phone; her words have stoked my fire of lust. My yearning to be near him is back in full force. Damnit. Before I do something stupid, put my mission in jeopardy, I power off the phone.
STANDING IN THE CONRAD’S LIVING room, not huge but considered so by New York City standards, the brazen wealth and grandiose décor is bedazzling and almost gaudy. The room is covered in gilded gold wallpaper, an enormous soft colored Persian rug spans the floor and dead center is a colossal, crystal chandelier. Coupled with the ostentatious bling dripping from various body parts of the guests, it’s like someone threw up the crown jewels.
I’m surrounded by the who’s who of the city’s illicit underbelly. Its most powerful and ruthless are gathered, acting like the elite and upstanding citizens they want the world to believe they are.
Getting an invite to Taya’s legendary fall party was easier than I thought. And while my options for acting on anything I learn tonight will be limited, confirming who the Conrads are in bed with is still a big win.
Tate hasn’t seen me yet. From across the room, her long black gown fits her like a glove; molding to every inch of her sinful body. Her gold hair is spun into a bun, high on top of her head, and the soft, elegant curve of her neck begs to be devoured.
Her mask’s firmly in place. Tight smiles and the indifferent expression she wears naturally. My chest aches at her façade, nothing like the vibrant woman I’m getting to know. She may still keep things closely guarded when we’re together, but she’s real and relaxed.
Finally spotting me, she heads my way. It’s not lost on me that Taya watches from across the room. Her cold, calculating eyes tracking her daughter’s movements like a hawk.
“Clint,” she greets me with a genuine smile.
My lips graze the top of her soft knuckles, her eyes briefly drift close with my touch. “Tate, lovely as ever.”
“So, is this all you’d hope it’d be?” she smirks.
“Yes and then some.”
I openly peruse her gorgeous form. She briefly casts her eyes downward. The silky, golden crown of her head and the slip of rose on the apples of her cheeks is ethereal and intoxicating. She affects me and her reaction suggests the feeling’s mutual. We’re both in dangerous, uncharted waters.
We chat for a bit about inane things, nothing too deep or personal for fear of being overheard. We’re both playing our parts. All the while, Taya’s frosty eyes watch us. The more we talk, the more Tate relaxes. She eventually moves onto her partner and friend, Julia. A topic she easily spoke about at our lunch as well. She entertains me with tales of hijinks in college and how more responsibilities and owning a gallery hasn’t tempered her bestie’s wild side.
“That woman is a firecracker,” I say with a chuckle. Tate gasps, locking up. Her fingers briefly cover her mouth as she looks like she’s seen a ghost. “What’s wrong, what did I say?”
Moving closer, my hand lightly touches her lower back in comfort. Through the fan of her long eyelashes, she peers over at me.
“That’s what he used to call her,” she whispers.
“Who?”
“Ah…” She wavers, realizing she’s said too much. “Someone I used to know. He used to call her a firecracker.” I squeeze her hand in encouragement.
“Him?” I ask, she nods. “It’s okay if you want to talk about him. I’m here to listen.”
What am I saying? She’s talking about Griffin. I don’t want to hear about them together. The thought pisses me off because I’d do anything to have Griff back, I miss him like crazy. Yet, hearing how much he meant to her and how good they were together twists my insides. I don’t know if it’s jealousy or guilt. Shit. What is my problem?
“No,” she emphatically says, stepping back. “It’s hard to talk about him. I haven’t in years. Sorry.”
Before I can say more, Warren’s deep voice cut in, “Clint, I hope my daughter’s entertaining you.” His wife is at his side.
“Absolutely, she’s fascinating,” I say, turning to Taya. “This is a wonderful party, thank you again for inviting me.”
“Oh Clint, it’s our pleasure. We enjoy hosting this party every year to give thanks for our new and old friends. We’re delighted to have you as a new friend and we look forward to many, many years together.” The ice queen smiles, chilling my insides.
“I was just about to ask Tate, where’s Bobby?” I ask knowing the answer.
“He’s out of town on business,” Warren responds.
“Ah, what a fool. With a wife, as lovely as Tate, I’d be nowhere else but at her side.”
With my boldness, Warren laughs. Taya stiffens and Tate’s eyes widen with shock. I’m testing the waters. It could be a dangerous move but one that needs taking.
“Well, Warren sent him out of town on business. I’m sure Bobby would rather be here,” Taya says, taking Tate’s hand. “Would you please excuse us?”
“Certainly.”
Taya leads her daughter out of the room. Warren then excuses himself. It all becomes clear. They both dropped in to break up our conversation. Interesting.
I covertly follow them out of the room, down a hall and into a room. I’m surprised the door isn’t shut. It’s barely open, so I can’t see anything, but I can hear them.
“What the hell are you doing?” Taya demands.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m warning you, Tate. I’ll only say this once. Stay away from Clint Somerset,” her tone is venomous.
“What are you talking about?”
“I see the way he looks at you, like he wants to devour you. Don’t think it’s not been noted by your father and more importantly, Bobby. This deal with Somerset is of the utmost importance. We’ll not have you messing this up. We both know Bobby won’t hesitate to kill him if he feels threatened. Stop this now,” Taya commands.
The woman storms out, leaving a chilly wake. Unknowingly, she passes the room I’m hiding in. I wait a minute before cautiously slipping into the room where Tate is.
“Are you alright?”
Spinning to face me, her eyes brim with fear, stirring an unnamed emotion in me. I don’t want her to ever be afraid, worried or unprotected.
“Shit, you scared the hell out of me,” she snaps.
“I’m sorry. I followed you. I sensed your mother was not happy about something.”
“So, you heard?” she asks as she shuts the door. “We need to be mor
e careful, Ry. It’s one thing if Bobby doesn’t like you, but if you also become a problem for my father, you’ll be cut off or worse.”
Closing the distance, I take both her hands and pull her near. Again, my need to touch her is strong and instinctive.
“Listen, we’re being careful. I realize now my comment about Bobby being a fool was likely what caused her outburst.”
“You think?”
I grin at her sarcasm. My humor turns to overwhelming want when her tongue darts out to lick her plump lips, desire ricochets up my spine.
“You need to stop the I want her act because they all see it and while you’re likely doing it to get at Bobby, it could backfire,” she warns.
“I can’t.” We’re mere inches apart, but there’s too much space between us. Tugging at her, our chests collide, her soft breasts nestle in my chest. If I’m not mistaken, her nipples are hard. Her breath hitches. “It’s not an act.”
“Ry,” she whimpers. “We can’t do this,” she cautions, yet her lust-filled eyes tell a different tale.
Blowing by the sirens and hazard signs, I leave all reservations in the dust. Even though this is a bad idea, I’ve tunnel vision. All I see is her. This exquisite creature before me. Despite what I said minutes ago, about being careful, I want nothing more than to taste her. Have her. Make her mine.
Tate’s eyes dilate and darken with desire, her gaze on my lips. Her fingers curl the lapels of my tux, I take that as an invitation. Tightening my hold, her soft dips and curves mold perfectly to my hard lines.
My hands rest on the swell of her flawless ass. Drawing her deeper into me. Her eyes widen as my erection presses into her stomach. Feel what you do to me. I want you.
Cupping her jaw, she affectionately leans into my touch, a contented sigh passes her lips. Briefly closing her eyes, long lashes fan her light pink cheeks. Inching our faces closer together, her plump, enviable mouth is less than a breath away from mine. Fuck, I need to taste her.
Mixed with her natural, tempting scent and her wanton need, my senses are overpowered. I’m a goner. At last, the reality of tasting, sucking and nibbling those luscious lips, that have taunted and teased me, is finally here.
