by Emma Renshaw
"No tears."
"I hate that that was your life."
"I got out." Barely, but I got out. Everything I worked for isn't any more stable than a house of cards. One wrong move or turn could send everything tumbling down.
“I wish you had a family,” she admits sadly.”
“I did,” I say gruffly. “A foster brother who became my best friend. He had a little sister I loved like my own, too.”
“Do you still talk to them?”
“We lost touch,” I lie. “But, they were my family.”
We both startle when a flash goes off next to us. My entire body freezes, stilling in the middle of the dance floor. My eyes are fixated on the photographer who snapped a picture of us and walked away.
"James?" Tatum asks, looking around. "Are you okay?"
"I don't like my picture being taken," I say, unable to focus back on her. My photograph appearing anywhere wouldn't just send my house of cards crashing down, it'd decimate it, set it on fire until there's nothing but ash. Ash of everything in my life, including me. "Why are they taking pictures?"
"They do at events like this all the time."
"Are they posted somewhere?"
"Not that I know of," she says, confusion in her voice. "They'll print one in the paper; it's usually the keynote speaker."
"After this dance, I'm asking him to delete it."
"Why?"
"I don't like my picture being taken, Tatum." Part of me wonders how she'd react to everything I'm hiding; the other part knows if I tell her, she'd be in danger. I'm not willing to risk that.
We're silent for a long moment, tension moving between us. Tatum tries to lighten the mood. "Is that a complaint?" She tilts her face up to mine, fluttering her eyes lashes and biting her lower lip.
"Definitely," I mutter. "You'll have to do something really dirty to make up for this one."
She bites her lip, her pupils dilating as her breathing picks up.
"Fuck," I grumble, my cock rising to attention to press against her stomach. I know she feels it when she whimpers slightly.
"Is dancing with me a complaint?" she asks after another minute of silence.
"Not a damn thing to complain about with that."
She smiles before laying her head on my chest. "I think dinner is about to be served. Ready to head back?"
"If that prick stops staring at your tits, then yes."
Tatum laughs. "Remember what I said earlier?"
I raise an eyebrow.
"I said I'm yours. That means only you get to see them." She winks at me before walking off the dance floor, swaying her hips. She looks over her shoulder at me, still rooted to the spot. She gives me a saucy smile that finally gets me to chase after her, ready for my hands to be back on her.
Chapter 30
Tatum
James finally leaves the dance floor, reaching me and immediately wrapping an arm around my waist. His hand slides down my hip, resting at the top of my ass.
"How long are we staying?" he asks, his lips tracing my ear.
"Only as long as we have to," I muse, ready to be back at his house with Sirius, curled up in his bed.
“Where did you learn to dance like that?” The voice coming from behind us sounds amused and curious. James and I turn toward the voice to see a grinning Hudson.
“Hudson,” I greet, leaning over to give him a hug as I turn my cheek when he leans in to kiss it.
“You look gorgeous, Tatum. What are you doing here with this big lug?” Hudson shoves his thumb in James’s direction.
James grunts. “What are you doing here?” James asks, clapping Hudson on the back.
“This is one of my mom’s charities. Whole family is here. Stop by the table to say hi.” Hudson points behind him where a table is filled with a stunning blonde family. Most of the table is filled with men, Hudson’s brothers.
“We will,” James says. “We need to get back to Tatum’s family.”
“Have fun, you two.” Hudson grins, winking.
When we get back to the table, Patrick is beyond just having a drink; he's on the edge of drunk. Hammond's eyes meet James’s over my shoulder, slightly shaking his head. James situates us so he's now sitting next to Patrick and I'm on the other side of him, blocked by his hulking frame.
Patrick chuckles darkly while the rest of my family tries to forget he’s there. The courses are served as we chatter on, ignoring Patrick's remarks and grumbles.
James and I dance again after dinner, and I'm completely content being wrapped in his arms. We walk around the room hand in hand, both donating to scholarship organizations. Hudson keeps us entertained with his date and shenanigans.
James has found ways to touch me all night—gentle caresses, needy squeezes. I feel like I'm about to burst out of my skin if we don't leave soon.
I lean over to whisper in his ear, interrupting his conversation with Hammond. "I'm running to the ladies’ room. Then let's leave."
He turns toward me, his eyes darkening as he nods. Patrick got up from the table after dinner and didn't return; it made the rest of the evening much more enjoyable.
Exiting the restroom, I'm putting my lipstick back in my bag when a hand reaches out, pulling me into a closet. A smile starts to stretch across my mouth when lips slam down on mine. I gasp, realizing this isn't James. It's Patrick.
My hands slam against his chest pushing him off with every ounce of strength I possess. I turn my head to the side forcing our lips to break apart.
"Tate," he mumbles against my skin, kissing just behind my ear.
"Get off me," I state firmly, futilely shoving against his chest and leaning as far away as I can, but my back is against a wall in this tiny closet.
"Tate, please." The alcohol on his breath is pungent and disgusting. It sends fear into my gut. I don't think Patrick would ever intentionally hurt me, but he seems out of his mind tonight.
"Patrick, get the fuck off me,” I beg as I start to scratch against his neck, hoping to hurt him, so he gives me room to move away from him.
He backs up an inch, plucking the string hanging above him. A dim light comes on creating menacing shadows on his confused face. "Talk to me, Tate."
"No. Leave me alone." The inch of space he provided is just enough to shove my elbow into his gut, allowing me to make a break for it. I throw open the door, tumbling into the hallway.
Patrick recovers quickly, following me, grabbing my upper arm and spinning me so my back is against the wall and he's caging me in.
"Move," I hiss, pushing against him and lifting my foot to stomp down on his toes. Just like James taught me in the one self-defense class I took. Patrick’s foot shifts to the side missing the contact. My bones quiver causing pain to shoot up my leg when my foot hits the hard tile floor.
"Talk to me," he says. "Just listen."
"What, Patrick? What?" My voice sounds shrill as I continue to push him. I’ve never felt this angry in my life.
I'm hoping the easiest way out of this will be to listen to his drunken ramble, and then I will make it clear that I have moved on and have no interest in any type of relationship with him—not even friendship. After that, I can forget about him. Every ounce of love I felt for him is gone. At this point, pinned against a wall and all the terrible things he’s said over the past eight months running through my mind, I don’t even wish him well. After this, he will no longer exist for me. He's destroyed me over the last two years, and I let him. The moment I meet someone and find my backbone he's back, and what? Interested again? Bullshit.
"I miss you," he says. "We belong together."
I laugh. I actually laugh like he’s telling a joke. When I’m able to compose myself I speak clearly. "No, Patrick, we don't. You were right to end things before we got engaged or married. We're not right for each other."
"And he is?" Patrick growls. "That fucking lowlife is right for you?"
"Don't you dare speak about him like that.” I lean forward, our noses an inch
apart. My chest is heaving from the angry breaths. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
"He's uneducated. He can't take care of you." My head falls back to the wall.
"I don't need to be taken care of," I hiss, pushing against his chest once more. "This is done. We're over. I'm finally on board with it."
"No," Patrick growls, slamming his lips down on mine again. I push against him, beating on his chest, but he's stronger.
Suddenly he's ripped away from me. James is hovering over him with his hand around his throat. "Don't. Fucking. Touch. Her."
"Get off me," Patrick croaks, his hands pulling on James’s hand that’s still wrapped around his throat.
"Do not ever touch her," James repeats, his hand tightening. He pins Patrick against the wall so hard I hear Patrick’s teeth smack together.
"James," I plead, putting my hand on his arm. He looks at me with so much rage in his eyes, but they soften when he takes me in, scanning me from head to toe.
"Are you okay?" All the ferocity has left his voice as he speaks to me. There’s only concern and affection
I nod, rubbing my hand along his arm. "Let him go. I'm okay," I urge.
James lets up on his hold, but steps in front of me, effectively blocking me from Patrick's view. "I won't be so easy next time. If you touch her again, if you even fucking look her way—hell, if you even think about her, I will end you."
"She belongs with me," Patrick argues.
"Like hell she does," James barks, leaning into his space. I edge around James, wrapping my arm around his large bicep.
"Patrick, we will never get back together. You can't come over or send me flowers like you did today." I enunciate each word, making it as clear as I can that I have no interest in him.
"I didn't send flowers," he says. "But if I want to send flowers to my future wife, I will."
"I'm not your future anything, Patrick." I fold my hands in front of me as if I’m praying. “Please understand me, I don’t want to be with you. This is over.”
"This isn't over, Tate. You'll be mine again." Patrick pulls out a small red box, one I’ve seen before, from his pocket.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, my eyes widening to the size of saucers. I back up a step, crashing into James, as Patrick sinks to the floor on one knee.
“Tatum, it’s always been us. I was a fool. Marry me. Let’s end this utterly stupid separation.”
I start blinking fast, not even believing what is happening in front of me. Before I can answer James has hauled Patrick up to his feet and slams his fist into his face.
“You fucking propose to my girl in front of me? Are you serious?” James’s fist connects with Patrick’s gut and he falls against the wall from the force of it.
“James,” I implore. “Stop. He’s not worth it.”
James’s hand releases him, letting him fall to the floor. I step in front of Patrick, leaning over. “Don’t ever speak to me again. I don’t ever want to see you again. Unfortunately, I assume I will at our fathers’ company parties. You no longer exist to me. You’re nothing.”
I stand back to my full height, my eyes still locked with Patrick’s. He hasn’t tried to say anything. He’s only staring at me with countless emotions rolling across his face. I brush my hands over my dress. “In case that wasn’t clear—my answer is no. My answer will always be no.”
I turn on my heel and stride away. James falls into step next to me, wrapping his arm around my hips and pulling me tightly against him. His head bends down. “That was hot,” he whispers.
My face turns toward him to see him smiling a brilliant smile.
When we reach the end of the hallway and turn the corner, James stops us, moving to stand in front of me and my face in his large hands. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. I’m happy you showed up when you did." A broad grin takes over my face. “That felt so good. It felt so good to say that to him.”
"Love that you got your chance, sunshine,” he says matching my grin. “Wish I was there sooner. I can't believe he put his lips on you."
I shake my head and my lip curls in disgust. "I can't, either. I'm sorry that happened. I know it's not what we expected out of tonight or our arrangement."
"Our arrangement?" He asks taking a small step back as his hands fall to his sides.
"Yes, the just sex, nothing else." My eyes focus on my shoes while I say this.
James’s finger tucks under my chin lifting my face to his. "Tatum, we both know that it's more than that."
"Really?" I breathe, my chest expanding with newfound hope.
"Yes. It’s so much more." James runs a hand through his hair. He closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against mine. "Come on. I want to get you home."
James makes it as simple as that, a few words and I’m irrevocably his.
As we’re walking back to the table, Simon steps in front of me. James and I halt. Simon’s eyes travel down my body until they lock on my hand in James’s. His face flushes, and anger floods his features.
“Simon,” I squeak while trying to pry my hand from James’s strong grip, but he refuses to let go.
“Tate,” he says, staring at our joined hands until a mask slips over his face. His lips are stretched into a fake smile. “Would you like to dance?”
“We’re leaving,” James says before I get a chance to respond.
“I asked you to save me a dance, Tate,” Simon scolds.
“What? When?” I ask. “I didn’t know you would be here.”
“I sent you flowers,” he says exasperatedly.
“Those were from you?” I ask nervously. This entire interaction is making my stomach turn.
“Who else would they be from?” Simon asks incredulously.
Did I walk into a different conversation? I feel like I’m missing something huge.
“Why are you sending my girl flowers?” James asks gruffly.
“She’s not your girlfriend,” Simon says, his fists balling at his sides.
“Pretty sure the fact that she’s in my bed every night implies differently.”
“James,” I hiss. I take a steadying breath before calmly speaking. “Simon, we’re colleagues. That’s all. I appreciate the flowers, they’re beautiful, but inappropriate.”
“You’ve been leading me on,” Simon accuses.
“No, I haven’t.” I’m confused. Simon and I only interact when it’s absolutely necessary.
James pulls me tighter to his side and moves us around Simon. I’m still in shock when I look over my shoulder to see Simon glaring at us.
“What the hell?” I murmur.
“He has a thing for you. Knew that from the second I saw him looking at you in the PT room.”
“His behavior is still weird, though. He’s asked me out a couple of times, but I’ve always said no. I avoid him as much as possible.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I thought you were sleeping with him, which was why he chose you.”
“What?” I screech. “Yuck.”
“Figured out you were too smart for that after about a minute.” James smirks.
“He’s never pressed when I’ve denied him,” I remark.
“He stares at you constantly. I’ve seen him watching you in the room and in the halls.”
I have noticed when he stares at me. It’s not only me, though. It’s every living, breathing female. So many images are flashing through my mind. Eating lunch in the breakroom with his eyes on me the entire time. Simon ignoring patients while trying to get my attention. Asking me for favors. A client switching to my service because he made them uncomfortable. A shudder rocks through me. He’s a creep. “Yuck,” I mutter.
“If he makes you uncomfortable at work, tell me,” James says, coming to a stop and spinning me to face him. His hands come down on my arms, gently squeezing when I don’t answer right away.
“He’s harmless. Creepy, but harmless,” I insist. “He stares at every girl.”
“Just promise me.”
“Fin
e,” I groan, rolling my eyes. “I promise.”
“This sounds fun,” a voice laced with humor says. I glance toward it to find Hudson watching us in amusement. He steps forward, placing a kiss on my cheek. “What are you promising? Can I tell you again how lovely you look, Tate?”
I smile. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, babe,” he says, winking.
James squeezes my arms tighter, but nowhere near enough to hurt. “Go away,” he growls at his best friend.
“James,” I say, widening my eyes.
“Not until I know what she’s promising,” Hudson says. “Is it dirty? Please tell me it’s dirty.”
I lean my head into James’s shoulder as I crack up. It’s impossible not to find Hudson charming. He’s a complete man-whore, but a lot of fun to be around.
“Never mind. I’ll just imagine it’s something dirty. Something really dirty with just me and Tate.”
“Go away,” James growls again. He doesn’t wait for Hudson to walk away, he just pulls me after him, muttering to himself. “Three men in just a matter of minutes. Christ. Fuck.”
He guides me out of the hotel after we say goodbye to my family. At James’s insistence, the valet driver hands over James’s keys and points us to where the car is parked. He backs me up against the door, leaning down and cupping my face in his hands.
"This is more," he says. He sucks in a breath and closes his eyes briefly before opening them and pinning me to the spot with a serious look, stopping the process of me turning into a puddle on the pavement. "This shouldn’t go anywhere. My life is complicated. We should end this, but I can’t. If I wasn't so damn selfish, I'd tell you to walk away now before this gets deeper, before you let me sink into your body again. I can't do that, though."
“I don’t understand,” I say wrapping my arms around his hips. My chin falling to the center of his chest.
“Not tonight,” he says gliding his hands over my hair and down my back.
"I don't get why it shouldn’t go somewhere. What we have is good, baby." I punctuate my words with my hands pressing into his back.
He smiles sadly. "Everything good slips away."
