by Joss Wood
Tate snorted her disbelief. “Can’t see Kari teaching Ellie those life lessons.”
“Me, neither.” Linc released her to stand beside her, leaning his shoulder into the wall, his face solemn. “I accept that you are worried about Ellie’s well-being, but I suspect that you are also worried about your emotions, your state of mind.”
Tate rubbed Ellie’s back with her hand, realizing that the little girl had fallen back to sleep. She tipped her head to the side, not sure if she wanted to hear what Linc was about to say.
“You don’t like the emotions and you’re worried for yourself, worried that you are becoming too attached to her. You’re worried that you will be hurt when she moves on.”
Oh, damn, she really was. She didn’t want to miss Ellie, or Shaw, didn’t want to miss Linc. She so didn’t want to miss Linc. And she would. She’d spent so little time with him, but this house, this stupidly big mansion had become a place she loved, and the people who lived inside it, and who were associated with it, people she had come to truly like. Leaving The Den would hurt like hell.
“The thing is, getting too attached is exactly what Ellie needs from you even though it might break your heart one day. Because showing her love and affection is the right thing to do. She’s the innocent party here, Tate. She didn’t choose a damn thing, so if you withhold love and affection, you’d be punishing her for something she didn’t create.” Linc lifted his hand to clasp the back of her neck, dropping his head to rest his forehead on hers. “The only thing you can do is to make it as easy on her as possible. Even if that might make life harder for yourself.”
“This isn’t me, Linc!” Tate cried. “I don’t want this responsibility. I want to be free and independent and only want to be responsible for myself.”
“That’s the easy route, sweetheart,” Linc said, his voice low and rough. “Having no ties, no commitments, no responsibility is an easy—possibly lonely—way to live. You only have to think about yourself, all the time. It’s a way to protect yourself from life and from all the crap it throws at you. And it’s a really good way to avoid getting hurt.”
He was right, of course he was. His words felt like hailstones smacking her soul, but he was speaking the truth, and she appreciated his honesty.
“Why the traveling, Tate? Why do you keep running from place to place?” Linc gestured for her to sit down on the large wing chair next to the bed, and Tate lowered herself and Ellie to the chair, grateful to get off her wobbly legs. She stared out of the window, watching cold raindrops slide down the windows.
Linc sat down on the edge of the bed, his knee nudging hers, his forearms on his thighs, his expression intense. “Talk to me, Tate. God knows you need to talk to someone.”
Ellie, disturbed by her aunt’s movements, sat up, rubbed her eyes and spat out her pacifier. She pushed Tate’s hands off her, crawled off her lap and dropped her feet to the floor, one hand holding the chair and the other holding Linc’s leg for balance. She wobbled before plopping down onto her butt. Smiling, she started to crawl away. Tate reached for her, but Linc’s hand on her bare knee stopped her. “She’s fine, Tate, let her crawl. Talk to me.”
Tate knew that if she told Linc that she didn’t want to talk about her past, he would respect her wishes, but she wanted him to know the forces that shaped her into the person she was. Keeping it simple and brief, she reminded him about her childhood, her parent’s divorce, her mother’s preference for her niece and why she and her sister didn’t speak for years.
“Thanks for defending me—us.” Linc said.
“My fight with Kari, about her leaving you and Shaw the way you did, caused an additional strain between my mother and me. We didn’t speak much after that. Then she died and our relationship could never be repaired.”
“I’m sorry, honey.”
Tate crossed her legs and turned, resting her head against the back of the chair. “I’m sorry that two more Harper women have turned your life upside down again.”
Linc’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “That’s okay...last night was worth any aggravation.”
She needed to say it, needed to express another apology. “I’m especially sorry that Kari’s actions caused you to shy away from love and relationships, Linc. You’ve given her too much power. Not all women are like that. You should try again. You’re a good guy, and you deserve to be happy.”
Linc kept his eyes pinned to hers, and she saw the flash of annoyance in those granite depths. “Pot calling the kettle black, Tate? Her actions have dictated the course of your life, too. You’re the one who has run from commitments and people and stability because your family pushed you aside. Are you brave enough to change that?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Linc released a long, slow breath before standing up. “Yeah. Me, neither.” He ran his hands over his head, his shirt inching up his stomach to reveal the dark trail wandering down from his six-pack abs. “I’m going downstairs to make coffee. Want me to take Ellie with me so that you can grab a shower?”
Discussion over, Tate thought with relief. She nodded her thanks and watched as Linc scooped up Ellie and held her like a football, Ellie laughing in delight.
He looked down at her and then back at Tate, his gaze suddenly serious. “The trick is to enjoy them, Tate, for as long as you have them.”
He was talking about Ellie but also about them, about the night they shared. He was right—she should just live each moment and deal with whatever life threw at her when she could see it barreling her way.
No promises and no guarantees. Especially from him. Got it, Ballantyne.
* * *
A week passed and it was another cold Saturday afternoon, and Tate had The Den to herself. Linc had taken Shaw to a birthday party and wasn’t expected to be back until the early evening. Ellie had fallen asleep in the middle of Tate’s bed after lunch, so after transferring her to the crib, Tate went downstairs, feeling a little at a loss. She hadn’t spent much time on her own for more than three weeks, so how was she going to fill the next couple of hours?
She supposed she could work out. Linc had told her to make use of his gym in the basement, but the last thing she felt like doing was spending her alone time sweating. She could watch some TV, but that didn’t appeal. A movie? Tate wrinkled her nose...
What she really wanted to do was to climb into bed with Linc and spend a lazy afternoon enjoying that delicious, masculine body. At the bottom of the stairs, Tate halted, her hand on the newel post. God, she was seriously addicted to Linc, her mind constantly occupied with thoughts of him, in bed and out.
Tate plopped her butt onto the bottom stair and placed her chin her hands, her elbows on her knees. She wasn’t acting anything like the nanny she was supposed to be.
Oh, she collected Shaw from school, entertained him in the afternoons allowing Linc to put in a solid day at work. When he came home she didn’t, like a good nanny, walk up the stairs and retreat to her own quarters. Nope, instead she ran straight into his arms. Sometimes, depending on what the kids were doing, they hustled up the stairs, taking a few minutes to rocket each other to a body-blasting orgasm, something to take the edge off until they fell into bed later.
She missed work, of course she did, but not as much as she had expected to. For someone who liked being alone, who felt itchy when she was pinned to a spot for too long, she was remarkably content. And that scared the pants off her. And when she imagined going back to work, to returning to her life of airports and customs control, impersonal hotels and tourist traps, to living life on her own, her heart rebelled. She couldn’t imagine giving up her job, relinquishing her independence and her freedom—she loved what she did far too much—but the notion of giving up Linc and the kids threw her into a tailspin. She didn’t want to live a life without them in it. And deep down in her heart she knew why.
S
he’d kind of, sort of, fallen a little bit in love with The Den, with the Upper East Side, with being Ellie’s mommy and Shaw’s nanny.
It was also very possible that she was in love with her sister’s ex.
Oh, crap!
Tate dropped her head between her bent knees and sucked in a choppy breath. Say it isn’t so!
No, no, no, Tate.
No! You weren’t supposed to fall in love with him, you idiot. This was about sex, about a mutual fling; it wasn’t supposed to get this intense this quickly.
Tate cursed herself, thinking that she’d definitely forgotten to pay her brain bill.
She couldn’t be in love, she wouldn’t be, Tate decided. She’d just been temporarily seduced by this lovely house and two cute kids and a man who made her catch her breath every time he walked into the room. She was just reliving the last time she’d been part of a family, and she was projecting that happiness onto the here and now.
Reality check, Harper. Reame was going to call, someday soon, and tell her that he’d found Kari, and then she’d return Ellie to her mom’s not-so-loving arms. Man, that would bite. Then, because she had nothing to keep her in the city—she and Linc were as temporary as a social media trend—she’d move out of The Den, and maybe they’d see each other now and again until her vacation was over. She’d receive her next assignment, start working on a new series and she’d be sent God knew where.
She could never risk loving Linc, creating a family with him within the greater Ballantyne clan and then, like before, having it all ripped away. She wouldn’t survive losing another family, losing the people she loved again. Linc and Ellie and Shaw could only be a lovely memory.
That was the way it had to be, the way it would be, so why was her stomach churning and bile creeping up her throat at the thought? Why did the notion of getting on a plane and leaving them behind make her feel like she was facing her executioner? You’re losing it, Harper, so get off your butt and do something! Call Reame, find out what progress he’s made with finding Kari. Contact your producer and see if they have decided where they are sending you next.
Get real. Stop fantasizing about something you can’t have, and let these crazy notions about loving Linc, having it all, go. You have to move on.
Mentally and, sometime soon, physically.
But for now, step off the crazy train, dammit. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. Maybe exercising wasn’t a bad idea after all; maybe she could sweat out her stupidity.
Ten
Linc stood in front of the glass case holding Connor’s alexandrite ring, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Around him, the rich and elite of Manhattan, and a few dozen other cities, drank French champagne and popped dainty canapés into mouths filled with perfect teeth.
Sage’s edgy, interesting, modern collection was a roaring success, and the Ballantyne collection of rare precious gemstones was going to be talked about for a long time to come. Amy had volunteered to babysit Shaw and Ellie, and when he’d checked in with her ten minutes ago, both kids were asleep.
For the first time in, well, ages, he was having fun, and that was only because Tate was with him, sharing her pithy observations about his guests. She looked exquisite in a deep red lace dress. The high-waisted bodice was accented with a rose-printed lace, velvet strips and crystals. She’d found the dress in a vintage shop in SoHo, she’d told him, but Linc was more interested in the slight swell of her breasts peeking out from the neckline, her creamy shoulders and the smooth leg the thigh-high slit in the dress occasionally revealed.
She was beautiful, Linc thought, looking across the room to where Tate stood, talking to a tall, black-haired man who had his back to him. The man turned, and Linc saw his distinctive profile... Tyce Latimore, Sage’s ex. Linc looked around the room to find his sister and saw her by the bar, talking to Reame. He’d once hoped that something would spark between Reame and Sage, but it never had; Reame treated Sage like a sister.
Linc turned his attention back to Tate and narrowed his eyes when Latimore placed his hand on Tate’s back to guide her to the bar. His protective instincts revving in the red zone—there was vibe to Latimore that made Linc think that there was something unbridled and dangerous lurking beneath the smooth veneer—Linc pushed his way through the crowd to reach the bar. Sage, seeing Latimore’s approach, slid off her seat and sauntered away, her ex’s gaze following her, his expression benign but his eyes blazing. When he reached the bar, Linc pulled Tate to his side and gave Latimore a hands-off-or-I’ll-beat-the-crap-out-of-you look.
Latimore just lifted a dark eyebrow and smiled sardonically before holding out his hand for Linc to shake.
Linc shook his hand but deliberately kept a frown on his face. “Are you messing with my sister, Latimore?”
“Since she’s currently not talking to me, and hasn’t for a couple of months, that’s not a feasible assumption,” Tyce replied, his voice deep and dark. Linc thought he saw sadness flash in his eyes but dismissed the thought; the Korean French American was far too much of a player to be fazed that his sister was ignoring him.
“My warning still stands. You hurt Sage again and the three of us will take you apart.” Linc pushed the words out through gritted teeth.
Linc heard and ignored Tate’s surprised gasp. Tyce held his stare but banged his whiskey glass on the counter of the bar, and when he spoke, his words were bitter. “Yeah, you Ballantynes are such freakin’ paragons. Have you ever considered that she might have hurt me, that one of yours might have hurt one of mine? You don’t have the monopoly on family and loyalty, Ballantyne.”
Latimore released a muttered curse and held his hand up. “Forget I said that.” He fixed a smile onto his face, but Linc noticed that it didn’t reach his deep brown, almost-black eyes. “It’s been lovely meeting you, Tate. I hope we do so again.”
“Not damn likely,” Linc muttered.
Latimore flashed him a disparaging smile before Tyce’s attention was caught by movement at the door. Linc followed his gaze and saw his sister, in a midnight blue ball gown, taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. As if she knew that Tyce was looking at her, she lifted her head, and their eyes clashed and held. Linc’s eyes bounced from his sister to Latimore and back again, slightly uncomfortable at seeing the blazing attraction and undisguised lust on Sage’s face.
Oh, God, she looked at Latimore like he did at Tate, like the thrill of riding the lightning bolt was worth ending up as a charred crisp.
“Holy smokes,” Tate breathed, lifting her hand to fan her face. “That’s some intense sexual attraction.”
Linc signaled to the bartender for another glass of whiskey before frowning down at Tate. “Please do not mention sexual attraction and my sister in the same sentence,” he growled.
“She’s all grown-up.” Tate pointed out the obvious, and his frown deepened.
“Not helping, honey.” Linc nodded his thanks at the bartender and took a fortifying sip of his drink. Staring down into the liquid that was the same color as Tate’s eyes, he shook his head. “God, that’s going to end badly.”
“Tyce and Sage?” Tate clarified.
“Yeah. I’d hoped they were over, but any fool can see that they aren’t done with each other. And what did he mean by that your-family-hurting-mine comment?”
“A business deal that went south? A party invitation that wasn’t sent? His grandmother had an affair with your grandfather?”
Linc rolled his eyes. “You’re letting your imagination run away with you. No, Latimore doesn’t come from family money. He’s got to where he is by his own hard work.”
“And you admire that.”
“I do,” Linc reluctantly admitted. “And I worry about the fact that Sage is so much wealthier than him.”
Tate tipped her head to the side. “Does it bother you that y
ou are so much wealthier than I am?” she asked him.
“No, that doesn’t mean a damn thing,” Linc said brusquely, wondering if he should feel insulted.
“Then why do you assume that it’s a problem for him?” Tate asked. “The reality is that most men would be less wealthy than your sister. She could probably buy a small third-world country.”
Linc smiled, acknowledging her point. “Only a small one, she wouldn’t be greedy,” he replied, only half joking.
“For what it’s worth, I like him,” Tate stated, crossing one leg over the other and revealing a very silky thigh. It took Linc thirty seconds to get his head out of the bedroom and to register Tate’s words.
Jealousy, acid and unwelcome, flared. “You and the rest of the female population of the city,” he groused. “He’s said to be one of the best-looking and most talented bachelors in Manhattan.”
“He is a fabulous artist,” Tate agreed. “His sculptures are amazing.”
“That’s not the talent I was referring to,” Linc said, his voice desert dry.
Instead of blushing, Tate erupted into laughter. When she could speak, she looked at him with mirth-filled eyes. “Oh, lucky, lucky Sage.”
“Dammit, Tate!” Linc muttered, scowling into his drink.
Seeing his ferocious expression, her mouth quirked with amusement, and she lifted her hand in a placating gesture. Funny, he wasn’t placated.
“His, um, talents aside, Tyce is a very good-looking man. He has a blinding smile, and his mixed heritage has resulted in a very, very sexy face. His body isn’t too bad, either.”
Linc groaned. “God, shoot me now.”
“But he has sad eyes, and behind the charm and the charisma, I sense a man who hasn’t had it easy. He has demons nipping at his heels,” Tate stated, her tone now serious.
Linc wanted to believe that Latimore had all the depth of a puddle, so he wasn’t happy with her pronouncement. Then again, nothing about this conversation made him happy. Especially Tate’s comments on how attractive she found his sister’s ex. “And you can tell this, how?”