He grabbed her ass hard, yanking her up against him. Her dress was too tight for her to lift her legs, and he carried her like that down the hall. She raked her fingers across his shoulders and he let go of her, her body sliding down the length of his. When her feet touched the floor, he shoved her against a wall.
“Off, you need to get this off,” he breathed, yanking her slim belt apart.
“Yes,” she agreed, her fingers joining his as she whipped the belt away from her body.
“All of it,” he insisted, his fingers going to the zipper that ran down the seam over her butt.
She slid to the side, pulling him with her, until she landed against a door. She braced her hands against the frame while he worked the zipper all the way down. Then his hands slid heavily up her body, over her breasts, to her shoulders. He pulled at the material there, yanked her arms free. The moment the top of the dress slid away from her breasts, he pressed himself against her, covering her up with his body.
“We either do this in the hall, or we go inside,” she whispered to him.
“Okay,” he replied, and his hands flew to his own belt.
“Jameson.”
He stepped away from her and she almost fell forward. He grabbed her upper arm and dragged her down the hall. She held the front of her dress to her chest, trailing behind him. He stopped in front of the last door, fought with the key card, finally got it in, and kicked open the door. Sanders leapt up from a couch.
“Oh, good, I'm so glad you -,” Sanders started to gush.
“Out. Now,” Jameson barked, yanking Tate up against his chest.
Sanders hurried out of the suite, closing the door behind him.
“Wait, wait, wait,” she rushed out, pressing against Jameson's chest. He shook his head, pulling her dress away from her hands.
“I've waited long enough,” he said, one of his hands covering her breast and squeezing. She shook her head.
“I have to tell you something,” she whispered, covering his hand with her own. His lips worked their way down her shoulder.
“I don't care.”
“I think you will.”
“I don't want to hear.”
“I want you to.”
“Stop.”
“I had sex with him.”
Bomb. Dropped. Time stood still. He stopped moving. She stopped breathing. His hand slid away from her skin, and any breath she had, flew out of her body. He stood back from her and she grabbed at the material of her dress, pressed it to her bare chest. He rubbed a hand over his mouth.
“I told you I didn't want to hear,” he sighed. She nodded and sat on a couch, pressing her hands flat against her chest.
“I know. I just couldn't ..., not without saying anything. Later would have been so much worse,” she whispered. He nodded.
“Yes, I suppose.”
“Do you hate me?” she asked, looking up at him. He chuckled and squatted down low, putting his head in his hands.
“I have tried very hard to hate you, Tatum. At various times, throughout a large chunk of my life, I have tried to hate you. I haven't been very good at it,” he told her. She sniffled.
“I was so angry at you,” she said. “I wanted to get over you. The Pet thing, and then Ellie ..., I just ..., he was there. I told him that I didn't want to be with him, that it probably wouldn't mean anything.”
“And what? He wanted his shot?”
Well, it sounds dirty, when you say it like that, Mr. Kane.
“I wanted to forget you. Get over you. He offered to help.”
“Did it work?” Jameson asked, lifting his eyes to hers.
“What?”
“Did he make you forget?” Jameson asked. She chuckled.
“Jameson. No one will ever be able to make me forget you.”
He stood back up and stalked towards her. Grabbed her wrists and pulled her up. He kept staring at her, didn't look away as he worked the dress over her hips and pushed it to the floor. When it pooled at her feet, he pulled her forward, away from it.
“I remember buying you that dress,” he said, pulling her against him. “I remember the first time you wore it. I remember you coming into my room after taking it off, only wearing your underwear and those shoes.”
“Happy times,” she laughed. His arms wrapped around her.
“Hmmm. Was he any good?” he asked, pressing his hands flat against her shoulder blades. She swallowed thickly, staring at him.
“Good enough.”
His hands slid down her back. Worked their way inside the sides of her underwear. Kept moving, pulling her panties down over her hips. Past her thighs. He let them go, and they fell to her feet. She was completely naked, pressed against his completely clothed form.
“Did you follow the rules?” he asked, and it took her a second to figure out what he was actually saying.
“Yes,” she nodded. “I thought of you the whole time.”
“Does he know this?”
“I didn't say it. But I think he did.”
“Pussy.”
“Stop it.”
“How many times?” Jameson asked, his hands moving back to her butt. He picked her up, forced her legs around his waist.
“Just one night. I couldn't do it again,” she assured him. He carried her to the couch, and then he sat down with her straddling him.
“You have been very naughty, Ms. O'Shea,” he sighed. She nodded, rubbing her hands down his chest.
“I know,” she agreed.
“And trying to corrupt Sanders? That was especially low,” he added, his voice evil sounding. She winced.
“Would you rather him be with a stranger? At least you know I would take care of him. I would treat him right,” she pointed out. His fingers dug into her waist and she winced again.
“Tatum. I am giving you a lot of get out of jail free cards. If you ever touch Sanders – inappropriately – ever again, I will kill him and maim you,” he warned her. She chuckled.
“You want to keep him in a box forever. You need to stop treating him like some thirteen year old street urchin. He's a man,” she whispered, undoing his belt buckle.
“You need to stop noticing that he's a man,” Jameson growled, leaning back from her as she undid his pants.
“And you may hate Nick, but you should know that he knows I'm up here, right now. He knows, and wished me luck. That man downstairs is better than you or I will ever be,” she told him. He snorted and worked his jeans down his hips from underneath her.
“We'll reassess that in about fifteen minutes,” he told her.
“Fifteen minutes? You've gotten soft in the last month.”
“Shut your fucking mouth, Tate.”
His hands were on her hips, guiding her down on him. She moaned and shuddered, scratching at his t-shirt. She was completely naked, and he was still almost completely dressed. It was a bizarre, different sensation. She worked her hips against his, gasping.
“I don't want that life with him,” she suddenly moaned.
“I know.”
“But I don't want what we had,” she pressed her forehead to his. One of his arms wrapped around her waist.
“I know, Tatum.”
“I want you.”
“Yes.”
“I want to be with you.”
“You're with me.”
“Only me.”
“Only you.”
She gasped, all of her muscles contracting. His arm got tight around her, holding her down to his thrusts. She let her head drop back, abandoning herself to him. Not that she'd ever had a choice.
“I just want to be like this, all the time,” she sighed, dropping her head to his shoulder.
“You can be.”
“I lied to you. I lied so much to you,” she gasped for air. He groaned and she felt his fingers in her hair, pressed against the back of her head.
“I know,” he replied, his voice straining.
“It was all a lie,” she whispered, her whole body starti
ng to shake. “Every word I said. I loved you. I didn't love him. I've never loved anyone else, ever.”
“I know.”
If you always know everything before me, why don't you clue me in and save us some time?
She came hard, shuddering and shaking on top of him. He stopped moving, just held her close against him. His touch was gentle. If he had been rough, it would have been too much, too soon. He always knew exactly what she needed. She pressed her face into his shoulder. Sucked in air. Cried a little.
“Are you alright?” he breathed. She nodded.
“Yes. For the first time, in a long time, I think I am,” she managed with a laugh.
“See? A good fuck always makes you feel better. Remember that, next time you get upset,” he told her, and she laughed harder.
“Maybe you should just remind me.”
“Is it my turn now?” he asked. She lifted her head and looked down at him.
“What do you mean?” she asked. He lifted his hands to her face and ran his thumbs underneath her eyes, wiping away tears and mascara.
“I mean, that one was for you, baby girl. To reassure you, I'm not going anywhere, no matter what you do. You're feeling upset. You feel bad. That one was to make you feel better,” he told her. She smiled.
“Very generous, sir.”
“I know. Now, I think it's my turn.”
“And what exactly are you feeling?”
“Angry.”
“Ooohhh, and what would you like to do about that?”
“Anything I want.”
“Sounds fun.”
“You up for that?”
“Always.”
The hand in her hair clenched and yanked, forcing her head back. She gasped, and then moaned when she felt his teeth on her nipple. The arm around her waist held her tight against him and he stood up. She wrapped herself around him, digging her fingernails into his shirt. He let his pants fall to the floor and stepped out of them as he walked across the room, carrying her into the bedroom.
“I'm gonna treat you so bad,” he warned her.
“Exciting.”
“I'm gonna fuck you so hard,” he added.
“Even better.”
“You are never going to want to fuck anybody else, ever again,” he continued, dropping her on the bed and then yanking his t-shirt off.
“Too late for that.” She scrambled onto her knees.
“You are never going to want to leave me, ever again,” he finished, his hand gripping her high on her throat, fingers and thumb pressing underneath her jaw. She managed to nod.
“Never again.”
“Now, you are going to shut the fuck up, and you are going to show me just how much you love me,” he informed her. She smiled.
“That could take a long time,” she warned him.
“Good thing we've got all the time in the world.”
Oh, Satan, still so clever.
~16~
“Do I have to propose now?”
“No, Jameson.”
“Good. The words make me physically ill.”
Tate rolled onto her back, turned her heads towards Jameson.
“Do you want to propose to me?”
“Do you want the truth?”
“Always.”
“No. Jesus, Tate, I barely know you. I don't even know your full name. What's your middle name?”
“Elliot.”
Jameson turned his head towards Tate.
“Serious?”
“Yes. Not all of us are as blessed as you, Santiago.”
“Shut up.”
“Alright.”
“I missed you, baby girl. So goddamn much.”
“Good. I missed you, too.”
“You always miss me. Why do you keep trying to get away?”
“Because you scare me.”
“You scare me, too, but you don't see me running.”
“I know. You're braver than me.”
“Sometimes I wonder.”
Tate reached over and pressed her hand against his arm.
“Jameson.”
“Hmmm?”
“You asked me to be willing to try. You said you were willing to try. That's what this is. I just want to be with you, and once in a while, know that you want to be with me, too.”
“I always want to be with you, Tatum.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“I know how you hate titles.”
“Because we transcend titles.”
“That was really beautiful, Jameson.”
“Thank you.”
“We transcend ...,”
Jameson grabbed Tate's hand, brought it to his chest and placed it over his heart.
“We just work. Let it be, Tate. Seven years, a bottle of xanax, Pet, Nick, several countries, and a lot of miles – yet we're still here. Time to stop running, baby girl.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me you love me.”
“I love you.”
“Will you ever fuck anyone else?”
“Not without telling you first.”
“Brat.”
“Fair is fair.”
“Will I always be your favorite?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Yes, Jameson, you will always be the best.”
“Good.”
Tate cleared her throat, drummed her fingers on his chest.
“And what about me?”
“Don't be fucking stupid.”
“You're stupid.”
“Watch it.”
“What about me?”
“What about you?”
“Jameson.”
Jameson pressed his hand flat over her fingers, stilling them.
“I'm not the one who has trouble admitting what we are to each other. I shouldn't have to tell you what I think of you, or how I feel, because I've made it perfectly clear.”
“Your idea of perfectly clear and mine are two very different things.”
“Tatum Elliot O'Shea, sometimes I think you are the stupidest goddamn person I have ever met. Sometimes I think you're crazy. Sometimes I think I hate you. Sometimes I think you're a psychotic bitch, sent from hell to drag me back. But always, ALWAYS, I think you are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
Tate smiled up at him, her eyes filling up with tears.
“See?”
“What? Jesus, are you crying again?”
“Almost sweet.”
“Say you love me again, that usually cheers you up.”
“Get fucked, Kane.”
“Close enough.”
~17~
Tatum leaned between the front seats of the Bentley, staring out the windshield. Why they had chosen to drive to Arizona was beyond her, and Jameson refused to fly back with her and leave Sanders to make the drive. So there they were, driving across the country. She reached out to fiddle with the GPS and Sanders slapped her hand away.
“Please stop. Last time you touched it, we wound up lost in Albuquerque for hours.”
“Honest mistake.”
They had stayed in Tucson for a week. She saw Nick every day. He wasn't exactly happy, but he wasn't exactly mourning her, either. She was glad. Even Jameson came down and shook his hand once. She hadn't even asked him to, he had just done it. When she asked him why, he explained that even though he was Satan, he could recognize and appreciate a gentleman when he saw one.
Ang was beyond excited when she said she was coming home, and he got even more hyped up when she informed him that she had made up with Jameson. She pointed out that there had been a time, not too long ago, when he had been trying to drive them apart. He pointed out that she never bothered listening to him, anyway, so why was she bothering now? Satan obviously made her happy, and Ang only ever wanted that for her.
They pulled into an underground parking garage for a Hilton hotel. She stretched across the back seat and made herself comfortable. They were all driving in shifts, in order to get back to Boston as quickly as possible.
But Sanders refused to go a day without showering. He was renting a hotel room for a day, just so he could spend a couple hours showering and getting cleaned up.
“Sandy?” she called out. He twisted in the front seat.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Think of me, while you're up there,” she winked at him.
“Always.”
She didn't stop laughing till he was halfway across the garage.
Nobody had been happier than Sanders about Tate's change of heart. He had almost cried. That first night, she had fallen asleep halfway on top of Jameson, but she woke up in the middle of the night and snuck to Sanders' room. He needed an apology as well, so she spooned up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. Whispered to him, promised him, that she would never leave him again. No matter what the future held for her and Jameson, she and Sanders were forever.
“You're my soulmate,” she whispered, and he had nodded, holding her hands.
“Yes.”
So even though the stop was unnecessary, and added several hours to their trip, she didn't give him too much trouble. Her departure had been hard on him, she could tell. Harder than he had let on, during their phone calls. She had a lot of ground to cover, trust to build. She sighed and propped her feet up against the passenger side door.
“Maybe the real reason you came back was for Sanders,” Jameson snorted from the front seat. Tate laughed.
“Maybe.”
“How long are you going to wear that thing for?” Jameson asked, turning around in the front seat and looking down at her.
“What, this?” she asked, pressing her hand to the necklace he had gotten her. The first time she had tried it on, the cheap clasp had broken. She'd had to tape it closed, and hadn't taken it off since. Made showering interesting.
“Yes. It's ugly,” he told her.
“I love it. I'm going to wear it on my wedding day,” she informed him. He barked out a laugh and turned forward.
“Good thing that's very, very, very far away. I pity the groom, whoever he may be,” he grumbled.
“Shut up!” She pushed herself up enough to slap him across the back of the head.
“Keeping pushing me, baby girl. See what happens,” he growled, rubbing the back of his head while she laid back down.
Reparation (The Kane Trilogy Book 3) Page 25
