His other hand reached around her. When he bumped her clit, climax washed away her thoughts. It rushed over her, and penetrated every inch of her mind and body. She lost herself in the hard grinding from behind, and was only vaguely aware of him coming. Grunting and filling her.
Her senses slowly drifted back in, and her legs wobbled. He helped her stand, and pulled her back into him again.
He wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her neck. “Dirtiest shower I’ve ever had.”
She chuckled, and pulled his arms tighter, sinking into the embrace. Burning the moment into her memories.
When they caught their breath, they finished showering. This time Tate was tender as he rinsed her off, and she returned the favor. They toweled off, and she led him back into the bedroom.
He tugged her into the bed, wrapped himself around her, and pulled the blanket over them both. He didn’t speak, and she didn’t dare shatter the moment by saying anything. If she could only have him for right now, she was going to enjoy the moment for all it was worth. Tomorrow, when he had to leave, she’d deal with that. Right now, he was still here.
****
Tate extracted himself from Lys’s sleeping form. She frowned in her sleep and rolled over. An ache spread inside him, knowing that he had to walk away. Which was exactly the reason he needed to leave. He shouldn’t have mixed business with pleasure. He gave her one last look, resisted the urge to lean in and kiss her on the forehead, and padded into the other room for the change of clothes she’d brought him.
His brows rose, and curiosity tickled his senses when he saw what she’d grabbed. On weekends—those he wasn’t working anyway—he was a board shorts and T-shirt kind of guy. She’d grabbed him a pair of jeans, and a black and white button-down shirt with a dragon wrapped around the back and shoulders. He’d completely forgotten he had it. Vivian had given it to him as a gag gift.
And it planted a tiny, rebellious idea in his head for tomorrow, at his parents’ Memorial Day barbeque. He finished dressing, left Lys a note thanking her for everything—but not saying anything else—and locked the door behind him on his way out.
It was best this way. For her, probably for him, and for the lucky, future Mister Alyssia Tippins.
*
Alyssia shuffled through her town house, operating on autopilot. Her brain was spinning to grasp a thought, a feeling, or something just out of her reach. Waking up alone in bed left her conflicted. It wasn’t a new thing, or an unexpected one, but it still drilled an empty pit into her thoughts.
She poured herself a glass of juice, struggling to make sense of what was going on in her head. This was who Tate was. For as long as she could remember, even being a girl and playing house. At the time his actions had just been those of a stupid boy who thought he was smarter than her because he was older. He’d always boasted that he was never having a wife, or a family, and that house was a dumb game for kids who thought cartoons were real life.
Even though his delivery had changed, his views hadn’t much. In fact, she’d never seen Tate date anyone. He occasionally made a tabloid page, if he hooked up with the right celebrity, but he didn’t do repeats. He was adamant about that.
Someone knocked on her front door and hope surged inside. She beat it back. It wasn’t going to be Tate. What was wrong with her? She was sucking big time at this staying detached thing. She forced herself to walk at a normal pace to see who it was. Despite her mental insistence, disappointment flooded her when she saw a stranger on the other side of the peephole. She opened the door.
The guy looked up from his clipboard. “I’m looking for Lisa Tippins.”
“Alyssia.” She corrected him without thought. Years ago, the mistake bothered her. She was used to it now.”
He handed her a stack of stapled, folded papers. “You’re named as the defendant in the case of Bryce Thompson versus Alyssia Tippins and the Great ‘n’ Small Animal Shelter. Have a nice day.”
“Thank you…” She trailed off when he turned away before she finished. His words sank in, and bile rose in her throat. Thompson was suing her now? Crap. She unfolded the complaint and scanned it. So much legalese. His lawyers probably made more writing this letter than she did in a week. Her insides knotted themselves until she couldn’t breathe. She plopped into the middle of the floor, and folded her legs underneath herself. Calm down. She needed to calm down.
When the spots stopped dancing in front of her eyes, she read the letter again. It was so wordy, but as far as she could tell, he was suing her for keeping the dog after he’d brought it in for standard care, and for the slander and harassment that accompanied her calling the cops on his son.
Fuck, this was so bad. She needed help. The lawyer she kept on retainer would charge extra for a Sunday call. What was she going to do? She forced herself to her feet, and found her phone in the bedroom, on the nightstand. Her fingers were pulling up a phone number before she registered whose it was. She paused, thumb hovering over the Dial button, then cleared Tate’s number from the screen. What was he going to do? It didn’t make sense to call Jared, either. He’d be concerned, but it wasn’t like he could do any more than tell her to call her attorney.
Her fingers twitched against her phone, tapping the plastic frame. What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t just sit around. Waiting would devour her. She’d go to the office, catch up on some paperwork. Her mind whirred over the situation as she drove. Painting possible outcomes, making each scenario worse. Could she lose the shelter over this? What if the crowd-funding didn’t pan out? What would happen to all the animals? She needed to update her list of where she could send them. What if the other local shelters didn’t have room?
By the time she turned down the street for the shelter, her thoughts ran rampant, throbbing against her skull. Beating out a merciless rhythm. Her world darkened several more shades when the shelter came into view. Five people stood on the sidewalk outside the fence, holding signs.
Puppy-napper
Animal abusers like you should rot in hell
She forced herself to look away, and ignored their shouts and waved fists as she pulled into the parking lot. Fortunately, no one was near the back employee entrance.
Fuck. What was she going to do now? She settled into her desk, mind working at high speed for a solution. She needed to reply publicly. Regardless of what Tate said, these people had seen the shelter on TV, and that’s where she needed to make sure people saw her rebuttal. She dialed Sara’s extension. If her assistant wasn’t in, she’d leave her a message.
Alyssia was surprised when she answered on the first ring. “Hey.” Sara’s cheery tone was strained. “I didn’t think you were in today.”
“Same for you.” The small crowd outside must be impacting everyone. Of course, that made sense. Her employees were as dedicated to the shelter as she was. “I was just going to leave you a message, but since you’re here… on Tuesday, will you call up the TV station, the same one that ran the piece on us last week, and tell them I’d like to talk to them. Clear things up?” There, that wasn’t so hard.
“Actually, funny you should mention that.” Sara’s laugh sounded forced. “I just got off the phone with them about half an hour ago. They want the same thing, sooner rather than later, so they can air it on Wednesday night.”
“That’s great. Isn’t it?” She didn’t know if she was asking Sara, or herself.
“It seems like it, right?”
“Absolutely.” Alyssia forced herself to smile, and hoped it would reflect over the line. “Tell them I’ll make time, whenever they’d like between now and then.” She exchanged a few more words about work and life with Sara, and then disconnected. That had gone easier than she thought. So why was her gut souring at the thought of doing the interview?
Chapter Twelve
Every fucking year. Tate grabbed his ticket from the valet and made his way into the country clubhouse. He still didn’t know why his parents threw this party every fucking year. He’d
stopped attending in college. They invited so many people—neighbors, friends, upper and middle management from Skriddie—at the time he’d wondered what he was supposed to get out of the whole event. He’d figured it out since. It was about the networking, the meeting people, and if he managed to find the right people, enjoying Memorial Day.
He cut straight for the bar, made eye contact with the guy pouring drinks, and smiled. “Hey, man. How’s it going? I’m Tate.” He extended his hand.
“Gary.” The bartender returned the handshake. “What can I get you?”
Tate’s smile grew, and he leaned against the bar. One of the things he’d figured out was finding the right people meant being in the right place. “Whatever you’re making today, I’ll pay you that much more to let me slide back there and serve drinks.”
Gary shook his head, easy expression never fading. “No can do. Sorry, man. I was told whatever you offered, they’d double it if I didn’t let you back here.”
Tate hid his irritation. Avenue number one for enjoying his afternoon, blocked by the woman in charge. One thing he enjoyed about any gathering was taking a spot behind the bar, and getting to know people that way. “They?”
Gary grabbed a glass, and polished an invisible spot. “My employers for the day.”
“Right.” Yup. His mother wanted him mingling, not doing common work. Might as well make sure the bartender made some cash for the day and strap Marge’s wallet at the same time. Tate counted five one-hundred dollar bills from his billfold, and laid them on the bar top. “Keep this, and stay behind the bar. Tell Marge Foster that’s how much I offered you to let me back there. Don’t tell her you took my money.”
“I… you’re kidding, right?”
Tate nudged the bills closer to Gary. “Not at all. Enjoy the party, man.” Time to search out avenue number two. Something in his chest twinged, and he breathed deep to force it away. This was nothing. There was no reason to feel bad about plan B for keeping himself occupied during this party. He scanned the room, and then outside, on the sweeping lawn. There. The redhead keeping an eye on the buffet table. Several inches shorter than he was, at least from this distance, with full curves that filled out her white polo shirt and black slacks gorgeously.
Perfect distraction for the next few hours, and great way to remind himself the weekend spent with Lys was strictly a casual thing. Her name filled his head with memories of her moans, the scent of lilac, her smooth skin pressed against his, the way she squirmed when he touched her in the right places.
He dragged in another shaky breath. That wasn’t a great path to wander down. Except his racing pulse said it was a fantastic place to let his thoughts linger. He stepped out of the flow of people, and leaned against a nearby wall. He should have had Gary pour him a drink while he was at the bar.
A movement caught his attention. His mother, standing all but nose-to-nose with Bryce Thompson, laughing, and running her tongue along her upper lip. His stomach churned at the sight. They could at least try to keep that private. He forced his gaze away.
He spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd, and wove through the small clusters of chatters. Lys and Jared’s parents. “Holly. Robert.” He held his arms out.
“You look beautiful, as always.” He gave Holly a quick hug, and peck on the cheek. She did, too. An older version of Alyssia, gray around the temples, but still with a smile for everyone. “Sir.” He clasped Robert’s hand and pulled him into a quick hug as well.
“You look tired.” Holly’s voice was lined with concern. “You’re working too hard.”
The genuine tone warmed Tate. “I do what the job requires.” The Tippins were more like his parents than his own folks. Growing up, they’d always welcomed him at home, and treated him as well as they had their own children. Sometimes he envied Robert and Holly’s relationship, but they had one of those happily ever afters that only existed in fairy tales. The lucky one in a million. And a great reminder of what Lys deserved that he couldn’t offer. “How are you both doing?”
“Wishing retirement weren’t so far off.” Robert chuckled.
They chatted for several more minutes, before someone else called them away. As they headed off, Holly hung back. She tugged Tate aside, voice low enough he barely made out her words above the din. “Don’t let them drive you into the ground. I mean it. Take care of yourself.”
“Thanks.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll do my best.”
Time to make the rounds, meet some people, have some fun.
“What are you wearing?” A familiar voice clawed its way under his good mood.
He froze a pleasant expression in place, and spun. “Mother. I was wondering if you’d pull yourself away from Mr. Thompson long enough to say hello.”
She pointed a glare at his shirt. “Did you forget to have someone pick up your laundry? Oh, for heaven’s sake. What’s she doing here?”
He followed his mother’s gaze back to the clubhouse, and his mind checked out. Lys stood in the doorway, blue sundress stark against her pale skin, and hugging every inch of her figure. It ended a few inches above her knees, leaving her long legs on display. He struggled to pull his attention away. It was a good question, though. Her parents still came to these parties because they were friends of the family. Jared showed up because it was a work thing. But Lys… She could have opted out ages ago. Yet he couldn’t remember a single year he hadn’t seen her there. “I have people to talk with.” He stepped in her direction.
“Yes, you do.” His mother grabbed his sleeve, and redirected him. “I want you to meet someone.”
A snarl bubbled in his throat, but he followed where she was pointing. And then looked again. “Who’s that?”
“The young woman over there.” She nodded at a girl standing just a few feet away.
Tate raised his brows. “Is she even legal?”
“She’ll be twenty this fall.” Marge pulled him toward the girl. “She’s the Senator’s daughter, and she’s dying to meet you.”
“She’s still a kid.”
“When you wait as long as you have to get married, you can’t be picky.” She pasted on a plastic smile as they drew within earshot. “Bonnie. This is Tate.”
Irritation bubbled inside. Bonnie didn’t deserve his wrath, but so help him he wanted to ask his mother why she kept doing shit like this. God, it was going to be a long day.
*
Lys wandered through the clubhouse, making sure she made eye contact, smiling at anyone who noticed her, and trying to keep her expression friendly. Why did she keeping coming to this thing? She should be at the shelter, catching up on work.
It had been too good a chance to pass up, though. She’d always gotten along with the guests in the past, and had several of them tell her if she ever needed any help…
This was her opportunity to mingle, shake hands, and maybe let it slip that her shelter was raising donations to buy the building they were in. Except every time she told herself that was her goal, her gut churned in nervous protest. Networking wasn’t her thing. Tate was good at it.
His name added a new edge to her apprehension. She hadn’t heard from him since the note he left Sunday morning. Not that she should expect to. It wasn’t like he called her every day, normally. This was just how things were.
She tugged down the skirt of her dress, and scanned the crowds. So why couldn’t she stop searching for his face?
Her gaze landed on someone else instead, and acid rose in her throat. Bryce Thompson Jr., taking pictures of something with his phone. She wasn’t sure what. One of the girls serving drinks, possibly. Or the food. Or… she didn’t even want to know. She turned her attention back anything else. Keeping her distance from him would be important today.
She found Tate, and her heart sank. He stood next to his mother, chatting up a girl who was smiling as if she’d just won the lottery. She’d giggle, and then rest her hand on Tate’s arm. Twirl her hair around her finger. Lean in closer.
If she got clo
se enough, would she see the lines around Tate’s eyes that always appeared when he was wearing a mask? Or would she see the genuine expression he wore when he was picking someone up? The same look he’d had with her the night before.
Why had she thought that? Damn it. She turned back into the clubhouse, and headed for the bar. Maybe a drink would help her relax. Or she could go hunt down Jared and Mikki. Mikki’s tactics for meeting people tended to be more blunt that Tate’s, but she still had a gift for it.
Alyssia ordered a glass of white wine, and wandered back into the gardens. So many people wearing so many masks. This was why she liked animals. They were sweet, and accepting, and non-judgmental, and totally not intimidating.
The longer she studied the crowds, the further she drifted from them, until she lingered in a corner. The din drifted toward her, but no longer so loud it kept her from being able to think. Why had she even come to this party?
“Hey.” A rough voice assaulted her ears, and she looked up to see Bryce Jr. approaching. “You’re that bitch who stole my dog.
Her lungs squeezed and she forced herself to draw a breath. She stepped to the side, to move around him. “I need to see someone. They’re waiting right over there.” She nodded at the general area behind him.
“Not until we’re done.” He blocked her path. Every time he breathed on her, the stench of alcohol assaulted her senses. Who the hell had given him a drink? Though he was only seventeen, he was at least six inches taller than her, and twice as wide in the shoulders. He poked a finger in her chest, and her breastbone winced both in pain and panic. “You’re going down. You know that, right?”
“Bryce, buddy.” Tate’s voice cut through her spiraling panic. Bryce whirled. In a single motion, Tate grabbed his hand in what looked like a friendly grip—except Alyssia saw Tate’s knuckles pale—and pushed the younger man out of her path. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Sheltering His Desire Page 9
