“Hmm?” she murmured, opening her eyes and staring down at him.
“Your nails. They're too long. They aren't practical.”
“I don't care if they're practical or not,” she said, pulling her hand free of his grasp. Then she dragged her hand through his hair and he groaned at the feel of her nails against his scalp. “You like them don't you?” He didn't respond, just dropped his chin to her stomach and closed his eyes as she continued to stroke his hair, almost as if she was petting him like a dog. But he didn't mind. Not at all. “When I was locked up, I couldn't have them. I felt like my hands were naked all the time. And boring,” she said, her voice low and husky. “That's what happens when you grow up in a beauty salon. Everything has to be colorful all the time or it feels wrong.”
“And what about the ring?” he said, his eyes still closed. Her hand paused in his hair and only then did he open them to look at her. He closed his fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand down closer to his face. The small diamond caught the light and he studied it. The setting looked old, not like a fancy new cut. The band was plated gold, not platinum, which was more common these days. He'd seen Gennifer's queen-sized ring and it looked nothing like the modest one on Shay's finger.
“I'm engaged,” she said and he shot her a sharp look. In the gradually lightening room, her face was still mostly in shadow. He couldn't quite make out if she was fucking with him or not.
“That's not funny,” he said, finally, wanting to pull the ring off her finger and toss it across the room. The thought of her with some other man, smiling and laughing and laying like they were currently laying, all tangled up and warm in a big bed somewhere else, made his stomach turn. He didn't care to think about why he had such a reaction; all he cared to think about was how much he didn't fucking like it.
“You don't have much of a sense of humor, Tate Grayson,” she said, pulling her hand out of his grasp.
“I can be a goddamn laugh riot,” he said, but she snorted out a laugh like she didn't believe him for a second. “But not when it comes to fucking someone else's woman.”
“Well don't worry. I haven't dishonored your name,” she said, lifting her hand to look at her ring. “So the story goes that my father was broke and didn't have any money. But my mother was pregnant with me, so he didn't really have a choice. So he bought this ring at a pawn shop and asked her to marry him. Since she didn't run screaming down 125th street at the sight of such a shitty ring, that's how he knew she was the one. At least that's what he says,” Shay dropped her hand to her stomach lightly. “I never asked my mother her side of the story.” She sniffed and shifted her hips against him, like she was trying to get more comfortable. He didn't move to accommodate her thought. He didn't want to. The mention of her father had killed any bit of good mood he'd had. “They never did get married, though,” she mumbled.
“Why?” he asked, but she didn't answer him. He wondered if she was drifting back to sleep. “Why didn't they get married?” he asked again and she took a deep breath and shrugged lightly.
“Just didn't,” she said. “My mom died when I was twelve. Maybe they ran out of time.” Tate thought about that for a second, and quickly decided that Sam Spears was full of shit. If there was anything Tate knew about people in love, it was that they acted rashly and without thought. If they wanted to get married, they would damn sure get married. He thought back to the way Gennifer and Mikhail had come back from Las Vegas and announced that they'd eloped. Maria had nearly had a heart-attack, but Tate was secretly impressed with his sister and her new husband. It took guts to admit what you wanted and not let yourself back down. Tate had never been in love, but he liked to think that once he was, he wouldn't talk himself out of it or waver. He wouldn't be a coward about it.
“Sorry about your mom,” he said, because he could hear the underlying sadness in her voice. He wondered how life would've been different for her if her mother had lived. She might've avoided a lot of heartbreak with a strong parent there to guide her. Shay didn't respond and he wondered if she was thinking about that too.
“What was that woman's name?” she asked suddenly, switching topics and throwing him off.
“Who?” he asked, even though he instantly knew who she was talking about. “What woman?”
“The woman at the restaurant. The Asian woman.” She tapped her long nails against her abdomen. He turned his eyes to the window, wondering why she was asking him about Leah. She obviously didn't like talking about her parents. She'd turned the conversation on him, and he didn't know how he felt about it. Especially since he hadn't thought about Leah since the night in the salon with Shay. “Tell me,” she demanded softly when he didn't answer.
“Leah,” he said with a sigh. Suddenly, he was feeling very tired. She shifted her hips again, this time rolling onto her side. He moved to let her have space, but when she put her back to him and closed her eyes, he got the message loud and clear. She was shutting him out. Maybe she was just tired, but he had a feeling it was deeper than that. So he didn't let her. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back into his chest, spooning her tight against him. He was used to sleeping alone; he wasn't going to do it when he had someone next to him. She squirmed against him, rubbing her ass against his dick, but then she went still and accepted it. The important thing was that she didn't fight him, so he closed his eyes and pressed his nose into her hair. It was comfortable, too comfortable, and his eyes drooped shut almost immediately.
“You're so clingy,” she murmured, but she felt so good in his arms that he could only smile lightly. There was no need to pretend that her words weren't true. Her warm body next to him was impossible to resist. He didn't like sleeping alone. He never had. If he had his choice, he would sleep next to a woman every night. A woman as soft and warm and beautiful as Shay, but not as crazy. His smile widened as he thought about how she would react to him calling her crazy. As the room brightened, her steady breathing finally lulled him to sleep.
***
“It's so bright,” Shay grumbled, throwing her arm over her eyes as an errant ray of sunshine hit her across the face. She had no idea what time it was, or how long she'd been asleep. All she knew for sure was that she was still in Tate's apartment. It was strange, but she'd be lying if she said she hadn't had the best sleep of her life. His bed was soft and perfect, a lot better than the twin bed in her room at Gina's. His arm was wrapped lightly around her waist, trapping her against him, but it wasn't uncomfortable.
It was far from uncomfortable.
Behind her, Tate moaned in response to her complaint, but didn't wake up. She dropped her arm and threw a dirty look at the offending window. The man didn't have curtains, she realized, and the sunlight was streaming in and disrupting her sleep. The bottom half of the window was covered with an opaque film for privacy, but other than that, the huge window was completely unadorned. She frowned, annoyed. Not only was she annoyed at Tate for not having curtains, but she was also annoyed that the sun was up, which meant the night was officially over. She had to get up and get on with her life. But the longer she stayed in Tate's bed, the harder it was going to be to get out of it.
With her thumb, she absent-mindedly fiddled with her mother's ring on her finger, vaguely remembering a conversation she'd had with Tate in the middle of the night. He'd asked her about the ring and she'd told him about her parents' ill-fated love story. She didn't usually like to talk about her parents. In fact, the ring was the only thing left of their doomed relationship, other than her existence. When Tate had asked why her parents had never married, Shay had answered like she knew the answer, when in reality, she'd asked herself that very question a million times. She didn't tell Tate that her dad's straying eye and criminal ways were the most likely culprits. She didn't want to talk about any of that stuff with Tate. It would just complicate things even more and she didn't feel like ruining things. Their night together had been good, and she didn't want to ruin it.
However, as much as she di
dn't want it to be true, the sunlight was undeniable. the night was over and she had to go to work. Being the boss's niece had its perks, but Gina wouldn't let her get away with being too late. She wouldn't want to take advantage of her position like that anyway. Wondering about the time, she tried to sit up to check the clock on Tate's side of the bed, but his big arm was anchoring her to the bed. She attempted to lift the heavy limb off of her, but he moaned again in disagreement and tightened it around her.
“Your arm is heavy,” she said, not able to resist running her fingers up his forearm, teasingly. She could feel his erection against her ass and it was tempting to think about staying in bed with him all day and exploring his body the way he'd explored hers. He had such a beautiful body. She didn't know if she would ever get used to how beautiful he was naked. He was a work of art, plain and simple. She didn't know how it was possible, but every inch of him was attractive.
Including his dick. Especially his dick. Never before in her life had she felt such strong urge to suck a man's dick. It really was a cruel joke the universe had played on her, making Tate Grayson such a wet dream. If someone had told her six years ago she would have ended up lying beside him like this, she would have laughed in their face. However, she knew she had to put up some boundaries. She knew it was just a fling—an ill-advised one, at that—but she couldn't deny that the sex was fire. But she was the one in control; she had to maintain it or she didn't know what would happen.
She might just fall in love with him.
Shivering in horror at the thought, she shoved at his arm again, using more force than before. He still didn't budge. Instead, he snaked his long leg over hers and hooked it around them, pulling her even closer to him. “Hey!” she exclaimed, smacking his knee in protest. He was dragging her back in and she couldn't allow it.
“Go back to sleep,” he grumbled.
“I have to go,” she replied, even though her eyes were already starting to droop closed again, despite the sunniness of the room.
“No,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. Which, of course, only made her want to argue.
“Yes,” she said, squirming against him and forcing herself to wake back up. “I have to go to work.”
“Fuck work,” he replied. He pressed his cheek to her shoulder and she could feel the roughness of his stubble against her skin. She liked the way it teased her skin, but she ignored the sensation.
“Tate,” she said, using the voice that he seemed to respond to when he was turned on. Soft, but firm. “Let me go.” He exhaled a sharp breath through his nose and she wondered if he was going to listen to her or not. Then he surprised her, pushing himself over onto his back. Immediately, she missed his weight and his warmth and the rhythm of his breathing, but she forced herself to sit up. She pushed the thick blankets off of her legs and scowled as the cool air of the room hit her bare skin. His apartment wasn't as drafty as Gina's, but the air was still cold in contrast to the lush heat of the bed. “Bathroom?” she asked, pointing to the door against the far wall, even though she knew it was the bathroom. She glanced over her shoulder at him and he was staring at her through his lashes, his face blank and emotionless again. He nodded, simply, and she slid off the mattress and made her getaway.
She closed the bathroom door behind her lightly. She checked herself out in the wide mirror that stretched over the double sinks. She didn't look too bad, she decided as she ran her hand through her hair. She hadn't washed off of her makeup the night before and her mascara was smudged. But she had to pee first.
As she sat on the commode and did her business, she took the time to look around. Like the rest of the apartment, the bathroom had been renovated recently. White tile wrapped around all four walls. The floor was a black slate tile that looked familiar to the stone on the countertops in the kitchen. There was a deep clawfoot tub against one wall. Gray towels were folded on a cedar rack next to the tub. It was plain but nicer than she expected, just like the rest of the apartment. And it was clean. She hadn't been in many men's bathrooms, but she imagined that most men weren't as tidy as Tate. In comparison, with three women often using it, Gina's bathroom looked like a war zone.
After flushing, she went to the sink. She washed her hands and quickly tidied up her face. Then she bent and took a quick drink from the faucet. She hadn't realized how thirsty she was. Lots of sex was dehydrating, apparently. Although a shower was tempting, Shay decided that it was best the sooner she got out of there. She needed to get back to her life and away from the fantasy that was Tate.
He was starting to seem too perfect. She knew he wasn't, but it was hard to remind herself that when he lived in a big lovely apartment and had a big lovely dick. It didn't help that he knew how to fuck like he was born to do it. It would be easy for a girl to blind herself to the reality of the situation, but she wasn't going to fall down that rabbit hole. No how, no way. Tate was still a cop. He was still one of the assholes that had gotten her in trouble in the first place. She couldn't let herself forget that.
When she opened the door, he was still on his back in the bed and he was staring up at the ceiling. She glanced around on the floor, quickly locating her bra, panties, and sweater. As she went to collect them, the silence of the room got to her and she found herself wanting to say something. Anything.
“You don't have curtains in here,” she said, grabbing her sweater and shaking it out.“What kind of a person doesn't have curtains in their bedroom?” she teased, keeping her voice light. “Are you some kind of pervert?” He rolled his head on the pillow to look at her. His face was still blank. No smile, no nothing.
“Maybe,” he said and a shiver ran down her spine at the way he said it. She suddenly had a shockingly realistic vision of him fucking her against one of the open windows, slamming into her, not caring that any one who happened to pass by on the street below would get a good show. No, she thought, shaking her head as she mentally chastised herself. No more thinking about sex.
“I'm surprised Leah let you get away with no curtains,” she said, stepping into her panties and sliding them up her legs. She didn't like how bitchy her voice got when she said the other woman's name, but it almost couldn't be helped. After being fucked like Tate had fucked her the night before, it was easy to think of herself as special. She didn't want to think about any other woman he'd had in his bed before. She didn't want to think that somehow he treated all of his lovers the way he'd treated her. “She doesn't seem like the freaky type,” Shay continued, unable to stop herself from talking.
“She never came here,” he said, sitting up. The muscles in his chest and arms caught her attention as he moved.
“What do you mean?” she asked, vaguely, her eyes following his hand as he lifted it and rubbed it across his chest. He didn't answer her question, just looked at her like he knew what she was thinking as his hand worked over his chest and then upward, his fingers digging into the bulge of his shoulder muscle. For a second, she wondered if he was sore from all of the exercise he'd gotten last night. Or if his big scar hurt him in the mornings. For a second, she thought about getting back in bed with him and massaging away any tension in his muscles. And then sucking his dick.
“I never slept with Leah,” he said lazily. Shay froze as the information sunk in. Then she forced herself to pull on her bra. She had to keep moving or else she was never going to leave. He stopped massaging his shoulder as he watched her. She could feel his eyes on her as she hooked her bra closed.
“I'm to blame for that, I'm sure,” she said, even though keeping the conversation going was taxing. She just wanted to get out the door with her pride and dignity intact. If he kept looking at her like that and touching himself like that, she didn't know how that would be possible. He stayed frustratingly silent, but his eyes told her all she needed to know. She was walking on eggshells. Of course, it was because of Leah. He was still pissed that she'd fucked him over with his other woman. An errant memory of the elegant Asian woman, sitting across from him a
t the table at the candlelit restaurant, popped up in her brain. She didn't want to feel jealous, but she couldn't help it. She didn't like thinking of him smiling at another woman. It was too damn soon. “But you still got laid, so good for you.” She threw her sweater over her head and yanked the hem down over her stomach, a little too forcefully. “Her or me, I guess it didn't really matter.”
“You're so full of shit, Shay,” he said, an edge to his voice. She looked at him sharply.
“I didn't lie, though, did I?” she said, rolling her shoulders to get the wide collar of her sweater to lay right. “She'd be here right now if not for me. But I made it up to you, didn't I?” She tossed a wink at him and she knew it was shitty, but she couldn't stop herself. Her words held too much truth. She could practically see him in the middle of his big bed with Leah, his face between her thighs and his hand squeezing her tits.
“It's too early,” he said, shrugging off her annoyance. “Get back in bed and we'll talk about it later.” His blunt, suggestive answer forced a shocked laugh out of her. He'd surprised her once again. A normal person might tell her to go to hell or get the hell out of his house. But not Tate, apparently.
“No,” she said, even though his offer was tempting. Very tempting. He narrowed his eyes at her and leaned forward, placing both of his hands flat on the bed in front of him. Weirdly, she instantly got the feeling of being hunted. He was looking at her the way a lion looked at a gazelle, right before he pounced and ripped its throat out. She bit her lip, taking a step back involuntarily. Part of her wanted to run the other way, but the most of her wanted him to grab her and pull her kicking and screaming back into the bed.
Not that she would ever admit that out loud.
A buzzing sound rang out, shattering the silence and breaking the tension between them. They both looked toward the sound, as if neither could believe it had really happened. But then the door buzzer rang out again, and it couldn't be denied. “Are you expecting somebody at—” She glanced at the clock on Tate's bedside table. “Nine in the morning?”
Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2) Page 19