Reparation (The Kane Trilogy Book 3)

by Stylo Fantome

  “How about you stop worrying about him for tonight. I know I have,” she said in a husky voice.

  Like that would even be possible.

  She knew she had him. The temptation to put something over on Jameson was too great for him. She knew Ang very well, knew how to get to him. They hadn't slept together in a long time – since August. They had quit cold turkey, and he hadn't had a say in the matter. In fact, he'd been pretty angry about it for a while. Here was his chance to strike back. Fuck Tate, in Jameson's bed. In Satan's home. Much too hard to resist. She closed her eyes as his head lowered towards hers.

  Please, please don't hate me.

  “It's haaaard out here, for a BITCH!”

  His pocket started blaring Lily Allen. Talk about a mood breaker. They stared at each other, in the darkness of the bedroom. The only light was coming from the closet and the windows. The chorus to the song repeated itself, and she realized it was his phone. He licked his lips.

  “Ellie,” he said, then pulled away, walking into the closet to take the call.

  Moment gone, plan ruined. She huffed and fell backwards onto the bed. She tried to ignore how elated she actually felt; she wouldn't have another chance like that one for a while. It would've been perfect. Fuck Ang in Jameson's bed, piss off all three of them. Originally, she wanted to do it in the library. She hadn't even gone into it yet, so if Jameson found out she had not only gone in there with Ang, but slept with him in there, game over. But she couldn't make herself go in there yet. The bed was a close second.

  “How's the little woman?” Tate asked, staring up at the ceiling as Ang walked back into the room.

  “Okay, she has a cold,” he said, standing in front of her legs. He reached down and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her upright.

  “Does she pee when she sneezes?”

  “What? No. What the fuck was all this about?” he demanded. He had taken off the jacket and was holding his car keys in his hand.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, standing up and straightening out her shirt.

  “This, Tatum. What the fuck is going on with you?” he asked. She laughed.

  “Ang, since when have we needed a reason to have sex? One time we did it to celebrate Election Day. I wanted to do it because you're here,” she told him. He narrowed his eyes.

  “Since when has Jameson not been enough for you?” he countered.

  “Hard for him to fulfill needs when he's thousands of miles away,” she replied, and lead him out of the room.

  “Is that what this was about? You're lonely?” he asked as they made their way down the stairs. She took quick breaths.

  Yes. I'm always lonely. So lonely.

  “Ang, it was just fun. I'm a little stoned, you're sexy, it's been a while. It didn't happen, big whoop. Next time I'll just take my top off, maybe then you won't hesitate,” she managed to joke.

  “If you whip out your boobs next time, I promise to fuck you until you won't be able to look at Satan the same,” he joked. She snorted.

  Yeah, good luck with that.

  “If Ellie could hear you now,” she sighed, opening the front door.

  “Yeah, it wouldn't be pretty. Seriously, you okay out here? You can come stay with me, or her, until they come home,” he offered. She shook her head, almost shaking with the amount of tension running through her body. She just wanted him gone.

  “No, I'm good. Besides, someone has to water Sanders' plants. He'd kill me and bury me in there if I let one of them die,” she said. Ang nodded.

  “Okay. Take it easy, kitty cat. Call me if you need anything. Anything,” he urged, then leaned down and gave her a quick kiss.

  “Good night!” she called out after him.

  Tate had barely swung the door shut when she fell to her knees. She crawled forward, pressed her back to the door and pulled her knees up. She tried to get her breathing under control while she wrapped her arms around her legs. Holy shit. Holy shit, what had she almost done? Ang had no clue, he thought she was being weird, but all sexy and cheeky. Stupid man. He didn't know.

  And Jameson. Jesus, if he even knew how far it had gone right then, he would've been pissed. If she'd actually gone through with it? Slept with Ang? God. He would hate her. Ellie would hate her. And Ang would hate her, as soon as he found out it was all on purpose. Most of the time, it all sounded like a great idea.

  But sometimes, when she was alone, and she couldn't stop the crying, it just sounded like she was the worst person she'd ever met.

  Well, next to Jameson ...

  *

  Tate stood in the doorway a couple days later, watching as Sanders unloaded the car. Jameson was sitting in the backseat, talking on his cell phone. She smiled and held out her arms when Sanders finally made his way up to the porch.

  “What did you do?” he demanded, and she laughed.

  “What? What!? I'm alive, I didn't kill any of your plants, and I cleaned up the meatball explosion in the kitchen,” she defended herself.

  “I had this strange feeling while we were gone, and you sounded odd whenever I called,” he said, looking her over.

  “No, nothing strange here. Just bored most of the time,” she replied. Jameson finally got out of the car and strode up onto the porch. Sanders gave her one more Look, and then headed inside.

  “God, what a fucking nightmare. Sanders was ridiculous, he worried about you the whole time,” Jameson grumbled, pushing his way past her. She shut the door after everyone was inside.

  “Sweet to know someone worried about me,” she laughed, following him up the stairs. Sanders left Jameson's luggage in front of his room, then headed back downstairs.

  “If I wasted my time worrying about you, I would never get anything done,” he responded, pulling his tie off and walking to the edge of the bed. Tate kicked the door shut behind her.

  “See. Sweetness. You're just full of it,” she teased. He glanced at her while he slid his jacket off, let it fall onto the bed.

  “You're in an awfully good mood,” he said suspiciously, unbuttoning his shirt sleeves. Tate shrugged.

  “I spent a week alone. It was quiet. Peaceful. Nice. I didn't have to listen to you bitch the whole time,” she taunted him, smiling as she said it. He narrowed his eyes, then walked past her into the closet.

  “Starting awfully early, baby girl. At least let me -, what is this? Why is this on the floor?” Jameson asked. Tate held her breath and crept to the door into the closet. The blazer Ang had worn was crumpled up on the floor, where he had left it. Tate had never picked it up.

  “What?” she asked, feigning ignorance. He picked the blazer up and shook it out.

  “Why is this on the floor?” he asked, holding it up. He made a face. “Jesus, is that weed? Were you getting stoned in my jacket?”

  “Oh, no. Ang was over, and we -,” she started to explain, as if it were an every day occurrence. Jameson turned towards her, his eyes wide.

  “Angier was here? In my house?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I invited him over one night. We were bored, I gave him a tour. Thought it would be funny for him to try on the jacket,” she explained. His eyes got wider.

  “You let him wear my clothing?” Jameson sounded shocked. She had blown his mind. Jameson was very sensitive about his things.

  “Yeah. It looked good on him, though he's a lot taller,” she said, looking down and picking at her nails. Jameson walked over to her, his movements slow and deliberate.

  “You brought Angier to my house, let him wear my clothing, and then you proceeded to get high,” he laid everything out. She glanced at him and nodded before going back to her nails. She couldn't look at him for too long. His eyes were blazing, and it was always a look that set her skin on edge. Made her itch to be touched. Hurt.

  “Yeah, in the sun room,” she finished.

  “You smoked in my room,” his voice was soft. She had trouble hiding her smile.

  “Well, not in in your room, we were -,” she started.

 
He grabbed her by the throat and she went onto her toes, her fingers flying to his hand. He stared down his nose at her, and he looked equal parts pissed-the-fuck-off and really turned on. It was an odd look, one that she had only ever seen on Jameson. A look that made her heart rate double.

  “What's your game, baby girl? You knew all those things would make me very unhappy, so why did you do them?” he asked, his voice still soft. Tate sighed.

  “We were having fun. Maybe, just maybe for ten minutes, I wasn't thinking about you, Jameson,” she replied. His fingers got tighter and he walked her backwards, out of the closet.

  “Doubtful. Fun, huh. What else did you do?” he asked, backing her up to the side of the bed.

  “Hard to remember. Gets a little fuzzy after the joint,” she replied. He stepped up so he was almost touching her.

  “A little fuzzy, hmmm. Tatum, you're being far too obvious to have actually fucked him, so you can stop trying to make me jealous. I'm not jealous. I'm angry,” he growled through clenched teeth. She flicked her eyes to the bed, then back to him.

  “You're so sure? You're positive?” she whispered. His gaze went to where she had just looked and then came back to hers. He cocked his head to the side.

  “Positive enough. Why are you trying to make me mad? What has gotten into you?” he asked, and she managed to squeak out a laugh.

  “I think the question should be who.”

  He shoved her and she fell onto the mattress. She tried to scramble backwards, but he grabbed her ankle and pulled her back into place before he crawled on top of her. He straddled her thighs and sat back on his heels, working the buttons of his shirt open.

  “I thought you'd at least give me a chance to relax when I first got home. That's not a short flight,” he told her. She snorted and wiggled around, trying to scoot out of the sweater she was wearing.

  “It's been five days,” she reminded him. He let his shirt fall backwards to the ground and then peeled off his undershirt.

  “Five days, huh,” he mumbled, leaning down close to chew on the side of her neck. “Guess that means you didn't fuck Angier.”

  “Not for lack of trying,” she laughed. He believed it was a joke.

  “Shut your fucking mouth, Tate. It's only good for one thing, anyway.”

  “Thank you. I had a very good teacher.”

  He propped himself up over her, stared at her for a moment. It was dark in the bedroom, but she could see light from the closet glinting off his eyes, giving him a cold, steely look. Not much different than usual. She had expected her comment to make him mad. She was wrong.

  “If it upsets you that much that they're together,” he started, his voice quiet, “then just ask him to stop. He would, for you.”

  Busted.

  “I wasn't -,” she started to cover up when he pressed his hand down flat on her chest.

  “Don't lie. All you do is lie anymore, baby girl. It gets tiring. You want to break them up – the question is, why are you trying to do it in a way you know would piss me off?” Jameson asked. Tate held her breath. Apparently she wasn't as unobvious as she liked to think.

  “Would it really piss you off?” she asked back.

  “If you fucked Angier in our bed? Yes, it would piss me off,” he assured her.

  “So what, if I fuck him, you're gonna kick me out?” she pressed, her breathing getting fast. He chuckled.

  “Tate, you can lie to yourself all you like – I have already accepted the fact that there is very little you could do to make me stop wanting you,” he told her, pressing down harder on her breast bone before dragging his hand down her body. Her eyelids fluttered shut.

  Wanting. Not caring. Big difference, baby girl.

  “Leaves me a lot of scope, Mr. Kane. I haven't slept with Ang in a long time, could be kind of fun,” she whispered.

  “Only if you like seeing me mad,” he whispered back. She finally chuckled as well, squirming as he started undoing the button on her shorts.

  “I love seeing you mad.”

  “Tatum. You have never seen me really mad.”

  Scary fucking thought.

  His hand dived under her shorts then, and she forgot what they were talking about; his fingers always had the ability to make her forget everything. Scratching her, squeezing her, choking her, inside of her. Very talented, those fingers.

  “Ooohhh, wow,” she breathed out, her shoulders lifting off the mattress.

  “Tell me why you're trying to break them up,” Jameson demanded, pressing two fingers inside of her.

  “Because,” Tate panted. “I'm angry at them.”

  “Why? Why do you care who Angier fucks?”

  “I don't care. I care that she's fucking him,” she replied, her head tossing from side to side as his fingers worked quicker.

  “Why?”

  “She stole my life away from me, my future. She doesn't get to steal my best friend, too,” Tate replied, a little surprised at herself for blurting it out so plainly. Those damn fingers. He stopped moving and she groaned.

  “Seems to me the life you have now isn't so bad. Maybe she did you a favor,” he pointed out, dragging sticky wet fingers up her body. She managed a laugh.

  “You would see it that way. I see it as more of a burden,” she teased him. Jameson glared, then pressed his two fingers into her mouth. She moaned, leaning her head forward to work her lips all the way to his knuckles.

  “Fucking Tatum. Didn't I tell you? No more games,” he growled at her, pulling his hand away and then yanking her shorts down.

  “Jameson, you and I have never stopped playing games,” she pointed out, hurrying to pull off her bra.

  “Such a bitch.”

  “You bring it out of me.

  “Shut up.”

  He yanked her legs up, hooking her knees over his shoulders. Her hands went into his hair. Once upon a time, he had treated going down on her like it was some monumental thing, some amazing gift he was bestowing upon her. It was pretty goddamn amazing, but he wasn't so stingy anymore.

  She wouldn't say it out loud, would barely even whisper it inside her own head, but she had actually realized, he was a pretty giving man.

  Even scarier fucking thought.

  When she'd had a big enough orgasm that she thought she was going to pass out, he finally let her go. While her head was spinning, he crawled back up her body, kissing his way to her throat.

  “You're very good at that,” she panted. She felt his smile against her pulse, his fangs against her skin.

  “I know.”

  “Did Petrushka teach you how to use your mouth?” she asked bluntly. Jameson snorted.

  “No. By the time I got with Pet, I had learned all my tricks,” he replied, leaning away from her enough to unbuckle his pants. Tate helped, using her feet to work them down his legs.

  “All of them, hmmm? So I guess there's nothing new to learn from me,” she sighed. He laid all of his weight on her.

  “Tatum, I think I learn something new from you every single day.”

  Nice words scar so bad.

  ~3~

  “If you won't talk to them,” Sanders started the next day, walking into the kitchen. “Will you talk to me?”

  “What do you want to talk about?” Tate asked, holding out a spoon covered in brownie batter. She held it in front of his face until he took a taste.

  “Paris. Last fall. Why you're trying to break up Mr. Hollingsworth and Mrs. Carmichael,” he said. She blinked in surprise.

  “Jameson told you about all that?” she asked, dumping the brownie mix into a pan.

  “I asked if he had talked to you. He mentioned it. May I ask why you're doing this?” Sanders pressed again. She sighed, opening the oven and sliding the pan inside.

  “Because. I'm upset. I'm tired of feeling like people walk all over me. I shouldn't have to ask them to not be together – they should've known better,” she tried to explain. He shook his head.

  “Sometimes, it is possible for a person
to have no control over the people he likes,” he pointed out, staring at her very hard. She frowned.

  “Jameson and I are completely different, he never -,”

  “I was talking about me and you, Tatum.”

  Well, isn't he just full of surprises.

  “What are you saying, Sandy? You don't want to be my friend, but you just can't help it?” she laughed. He nodded, and her laughter dried up pretty quickly.

  “When I first met you, I did not like you. I never liked any of the women Jameson brought home. But you wouldn't leave me alone. You talked to me. I grew accustomed to you. And then I started to appreciate you. I looked foward to us spending time together. Now, I'm not even sure how it happened, but I feel like I need to be in your presence. I did not want, nor did I ask, to love you. It just happened. Would you hold that against me?” Sanders stated.

  Tate was completely blown away. Sanders loved her? Of course, she knew that he liked her. That they were friends. He had called her his best friend, once. Very touching. But people also referred to their dogs as their best friend – Tatum felt like a spaniel about half the time. But he loved her. Sanders loving anybody was shocking enough, but her ..., she didn't know what to do with that information.

  Except feel like the goddamn devil – I am completely unworthy of him.

  “Sanders,” she breathed. “I think I hate myself.”

  “No you don't. You're just confused. Talk to him, talk to Mr. Hollingsworth,” he urged. She shook her head.

  “I can't. I just ..., I feel like this is something I need to do. It's all I think about. Sometimes, I stay awake all night, because I can't stop thinking about ruining things for everyone,” she whispered, glancing at the doorway. Jameson was somewhere in the house.

  “You're being overdramatic. Maybe you should see a therapist,” Sanders suggested. She snorted.

  “Fuck that.”

  “What Jameson did was wrong, but he has apologized. You claim to have forgiven him, but you haven't. If you are going to keep holding it against him, then I personally feel you should not be with him. What Mr. Hollingsworth did was wrong, he should not have kept his relationship a secret – he should have discussed his feelings with you before anything started. But it is not the end of the world. For your sake, for everyone's sake, just talk to people,” he urged.