“Okay, but this time, you get to spend the whole time on your knees,” he warned her.
“Hey, no one made you do that for me, and I would have been happy to reciprocate, but you ran away. Where have you guys been all this time? Where’s Sanders?” Tate asked, realizing for the first time that he wasn’t there. She glanced around, but didn’t see him anywhere in the room.
“Look, I know you don’t like surprises, but I think you’ll -,” Jameson started.
He was interrupted by a banging noise, though. Something banged into the hotel room’s door, and then it opened a little. There were voices in the hall – Tate recognized Sanders speaking softly, though she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Then someone else started to talk, and they weren’t being soft at all.
“I didn’t fly all this way on a moment’s notice just so you and Satan can tell me what I can and can’t do.”
Tate let out a shriek and started running for the door, just as it began to swing open. Sanders walked in first, but she ran right past him, throwing herself at the other voice.
It’s been too long.
Angier Hollingsworth hadn’t changed much over the years – she often joked that he was a vampire. The man didn’t seem to age. He was still lanky, his hair still messy, his smile still naughty. The only difference was now he was semi-famous and pretty wealthy. Tate hadn’t seen him in quite a while, because both their schedules were so busy. She couldn’t get time away to see him as often as she used to, and he couldn’t get any time at all, period. The porn industry was very demanding, and Ang was sitting at the top of it.
Well, more like laying down, really.
“What are you doing here!?” she yelled, leaping on him. Ang stumbled backwards with her weight, dropping his luggage as he fell against the wall in the hallway.
“I was invited!” he told her, wrapping his arms around her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.
“I’ve missed you, Angie-wangy,” she sighed, pressing her head into his neck. Ang always felt a little like home to her. Warm, familiar, comforting.
“I always miss you, Tater tot,” he countered, hugging her tightly.
“God, I think I’m going to be sick,” Jameson’s voice came from behind them.
Tate laughed and unwrapped herself from Ang, stepped back onto the ground. She helped pick his bags up and carried them into the hotel suite. Showed him around a bit, let him ooh and aah over the décor, the balcony.
“Seriously, Ang. What are you doing here? Jameson hasn’t told me anything, I’m not even sure what I’m doing here,” Tate asked while they looked out over the ocean. Ang turned towards her.
“He called me a week or two ago, told me he’d be bringing you out here, thought maybe you’d like the company,” he explained.
“Sanders called you a week ago?” she asked.
“No, Satan.”
“Jameson called you!? Himself? Like actually spoke to you?” Tate guffawed.
Jameson and Ang had never become friends. They tolerated each others’ presence for her, but they were just two totally different people. They were cordial and polite, got along on a basic level, but that was it. There were no phone calls or text messages between them. The idea of Jameson calling Ang was downright bizarre.
What the fuck is going on?
“He called you – two weeks ago – to ask you to come on this trip? And I didn’t even know I was coming on this trip till yesterday morning?” Tate clarified, still in shock. Ang swallowed thickly and shrugged, turning back to look out at the water.
“Might have only been a week, I don’t know. And he only said he might be bringing you, and that he might want me to come. I only got the call yesterday morning that he actually wanted me here,” Ang broke it down.
“God. I must have really made him feel bad,” Tate mumbled, remembering their talk in the hammock – which must have happened after Jameson had called Ang.
“Not surprising. You’re kind of an asshole.”
Tate punched him in the arm.
“Shut up. Let’s get something to eat, and you can tell me all about your latest sex-capade,” Tate suggested, linking her arm through his and leading him back inside.
“You know, believe it or not, I might actually be a little over having sex,” Ang told her, and Tate burst out laughing.
“I don’t believe it. You? Not possible.”
Jameson was in some sort of phone meeting, so Tate took Sanders and Ang downstairs to a restaurant. Sanders told Ang all about Moscow, and Ang told Sanders all about reach-arounds.
Just like old times.
Jameson finally joined them, which added a sharp edge to the conversation. Tate had often wondered if the rivalry between the two men would ever die down. Two years was a long time, but both still seemed to be locked in some sort of war with each other.
“You owe me big time for this,” Jameson commented after Ang had left to find a bathroom. Tate snorted.
“I shouldn’t have to owe you for something I didn’t ask for,” she pointed out.
“Shut the fuck up and tell me how grateful you are.”
“Beyond words, darling.”
“Shut up.”
“Jameson,” Tate started, “why are you still so pissy with him? And if he makes you so antsy, why did you invite him?”
“I am not ‘pissy’ with Angier, I just don’t like him. And I invited him for you,” Jameson repeated the sentiment.
“You acting like a bitch about the whole thing kinda ruins the gift,” she teased.
“Tatum?”
“Hmmm?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Anything for you.”
They were silent for a while. Sanders picked at his salad. Jameson glared off into space. Tate smiled at him. He finally glanced at her, did a double-take, then stared at her.
“What? That blank stare makes you look like a cow,” he said bluntly.
“Jesus. How did you ever manage to pick up women with a mouth like that?” she replied.
“I got you easy enough.”
“Thank you,” she suddenly blurted out. Jameson groaned and ran a hand over his face.
“Your mood shifts become tiring. What are you thankful for?” he sighed.
“For you bringing Ang, for trying to salvage this trip for me. For putting up with me,” she offered. Jameson nodded.
“Good. You should be thankful.”
“Oh, trust me, I am.”
5
Jameson sat at the foot of the bed, watching Tate as she shut the bedroom door. All the lights were off in the room. The blinds had all been drawn, only leaving a sliver of light coming in just at the bottom of the windows. They had never turned on the air conditioning when they’d gone to lunch, so the room was sweltering hot. But Tate made no move to turn on the AC. She knew he liked it warm.
She knows me so well.
Jameson loved this side of Tate. Of course, he loved all sides of her – first and foremost, he loved her heart and soul. But he thought it was stupid that people never wanted to admit that sex played a part in a loving relationship. Yes, he loved having sex with Tate. Yes, he loved how she was in bed. It was a large part of what had drawn him to her in the first place, her sex appeal.
He especially loved that he was the only one who got to see that side of her, anymore. Outside of the bed, in public, Tate was a spitfire. A dominating personality, she knew how to command a room. How to garner attention. Her wit and personality, her smart mouth and sassy words. She didn’t take shit from anybody, over anything. Very independent. Very strong willed.
So it gave him a dark thrill to see such an independent, strong willed woman down on her knees. Lowering herself to crawl across the bedroom floor to him. So slow in her movements, accenting the sway of her hips. She reached his feet and sat back on her heels. Placed her palms on his knees, then slid them up his thighs, pushing his legs apart. Her body quickly filled the void and she slid up his length, pressing her lips to his e
ar.
“Game?” she whispered, slowly moving till she was straddling his lap, raised up on her knees.
“What kind of game?” he whispered back. She kept shifting and sliding around, moving like silk against his body, till she was kneeling at his side.
“You can’t say one word,” she breathed, moving around so she was pressed against his back.
“Or what?”
“Or I win, and it’s all over,” she chuckled, working his tie loose and dragging it over his head.
“Doesn’t sound like a very fun game to me,” he pointed out, letting her pull him back. She forced him to lay down flat as she moved back to his side.
“Trust me, I’ll make it fun,” she assured him, and he felt her hands on his belt buckle.
“You say that. Somehow I doubt it,” he challenged her. She snorted and yanked his pants down.
“By the end of the night, you’ll be worshipping me. Game starts now,” she said.
“Wait, I never -,”
Her teeth skimmed the underside of his dick, and Jameson choked on air. She chuckled; a condescending sound that made him want to yank on her hair and tell her who was in charge. But he hated to lose. So he swallowed his groan and closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of her lips working their way to the base of his cock.
This woman will be the death of me.
Of course, that was nothing new. Jameson had slept with a lot of women in his day, and none of them compared to Tate. She always kept him wanting more. Was always more than enough, which was really saying something, considering the crazy things he’d done in past. The crazy things that had become somewhat standard to him. Almost boring, even …
*
“… is all the paperwork ready?” Jameson asked, strolling down a wide hallway while trying to eat a hot dog. Lunch on the go.
“Everything is ready. Is there a reason you keep asking?” Sanders replied, flipping through some pages in a folder he was carrying. Jameson glanced down at him.
“Attitude. I like it. I’m just double checking – that stupid fucking party is tomorrow, and I know Dunn hasn’t done a goddamn thing to prepare for it. What a mistake, going into a partnership with that guy,” Jameson grumbled, taking another bite of his food.
“I never understood why you agreed to it. The party is all set – I booked the caterer and drove down to Boston yesterday to check out the office space. Everything is ready to go. What are the plans for tonight? Dinner?” Sanders asked, shutting the folder and placing a tablet on top of it.
“No, no dinner,” Jameson said around a full mouth. “Club. If this is my last night in New York for a while, I’m gonna make it count.”
“A very adult approach, I’m sure.”
“Watch it. I don’t like attitude that much.”
“Any particular club?” Sanders ignored him.
“I’ll figure it out. But I don’t want to stay at home, you can have the movers start boxing up the rest of the shit. We’ll stay at the Waldorf,” Jameson informed him.
“Alright, I’ll book a suite.”
A man came around a corner and Jameson went to side step him, but it forced him into Sanders. The bump was enough to knock all the stuff out of Sanders’ hands. The younger man glared up at Jameson, flicked his eyes to the mess on the floor, then back up. Jameson held up his hands, trying hard not to laugh. Sanders hated messes.
“I’ve got it, I’ve got it, don’t worry your pretty little head,” Jameson teased, then bent down to pick up the mess.
He wasn’t looking forward to living in Boston. He wasn’t necessarily a fan of Bean Town. But he owned a home there, and Dunn was an old friend who had been looking for a helping hand. Jameson had more than enough money to throw around, and life had gotten pretty stagnant, so he thought maybe it would be fun. He could work with his clients from anywhere in the world, location didn’t matter. And New York was always just a drive away, so it couldn’t be too bad.
I’ll be back living here by New Year’s.
Jameson went out alone. He had no problems doing things alone, because not only was he ridiculously happy with his own company, but being wealthy and good looking had multiple advantages - he rarely ended any night alone.
And that night he ended with twice the fun.
The next morning, Jameson was awoken by a shaft of sunlight burning across his eyelids. He groaned and tried to lift an arm to block it, but something was on top of him. He finally opened his eyes. A woman was laying on top of his arm, pinning it between the mattress and her breasts. He couldn’t quite feel his fingertips. He looked down at his chest and another woman was stretched across him.
“What fucking time is it?” he croaked out, yanking his arm free.
“Just after seven in the morning, sir. If we want to get to Boston in time to be settled and ready for the event, we should leave soon.”
Sanders’ voice was soft, and Jameson looked around till he found the younger man. He was standing in front of the windows, opening another set of drapes.
“Yeah, fine, get them out of here. I’ve got a headache the size of Belgium,” Jameson complained, shoving the other woman off of him before crawling out of the bed.
He stumbled into the en suite, yanking on a pair of boxers as he went. He yawned and ran his hand through his hair, frowning at his reflection. He looked hungover as fuck; hopefully he’d improve before the evening. He didn’t want to look that way in front of potential clients. He shrugged and shoved a tooth brush in his mouth while he turned on the water. He was opening the complimentary tooth paste when he heard raised voices in the next room. He turned off the water and listened. When one of the girls began shouting, he stepped back into the room.
He almost laughed. Sanders was trying to corral the women towards the front door of the suite. One woman was fine, yawning and yanking on a pair of knee high boots. But the other woman – the one who had been sleeping on his arm, if Jameson wasn’t mistaken – was not taking kindly to being kicked out. She shouted and argued with Sanders, demanding to know who he was, and why she had to leave. When she shoved Sanders, though, that was going too far. Jameson tossed his toothbrush into the sink and strode through the suite.
“There you are!” the girl all but shrieked. “Tell this pip-squeak I -,”
Jameson didn’t care. He grabbed her by the upper arm, yanked open the front door, and practically tossed her into the hall. She yelled and stumbled against a wall. The other girl – Jameson couldn’t remember either of their names – left on her own accord. As she pulled on her jacket, she winked at him.
“Call me.”
Then she took off down the hall. He smiled and slammed the door shut.
“And that is how you deal with them,” Jameson said, turning to Sanders.
“Pardon me, but I wouldn’t touch those women if you paid me to,” was the assistant’s response. Jameson laughed and rumpled his hair.
“Such a princess. C’mon, pack my clothes and let’s get the fuck out of here.”
By the time they got in the car, Jameson didn’t feel so bad. The four extra strength Tylenol he swallowed helped, and by the time they got into Boston, four hours later, he almost felt normal. But his mood was something else. Somehow, Sanders had managed to get them lost.
“No, no, you got us lost,” Sanders countered as he turned down another street.
“How the fuck did I get us lost!? I’m in the back seat!” Jameson snapped.
“You kept telling me when and where to turn. I have repeatedly told you that I don’t appreciate back seat driving,” Sanders reminded him.
“Shut up and get us the fuck out of here. Where are we? I feel like we’re going to get shot,” Jameson grumbled, staring out the window.
They were in a shitty neighborhood, in a part of Boston he’d never been to; a part he’d never wanted to visit. His father was originally from the Boston area, so Jameson had actually spent a lot of time there when he’d been a child, but hadn’t been back a whole lot as an adult
. And certainly never to the frickin’ ghetto, where he appeared to be now.
He glared out the window, watching as they passed boarded up businesses and liquor stores. He opened his mouth to snap at Sanders to drive faster, but was then caught off guard. They were passing some sort of restaurant, and slowing down for traffic. But that wasn’t what caught his attention.
Two women were eating outside at a picnic bench. Or more correctly, on a picnic bench, sitting on the table top. While the car waited at a red light, Jameson watched as the girls hopped off the table. One of them stretched her arms above her head, laughing as she did so. She was wearing a large pair of mirrored aviators that hid half her face, but she had a great smile, and an even better body. She was wearing tight leather leggings, and a white tank top that left little to the imagination. He didn’t recognize her at all, which made sense – he didn’t really know anyone in Boston. But there was something about her that was familiar. Something …
“Sanders,” Jameson barked as the car started to roll forward. He watched as the sexy woman pulled on a jacket. “Sanders, turn the car around.”
“Sir, I think the freeway exit is just ahead, I can get -,”
“Turn the fucking car around.”
Sanders did as he was told, but it took a while to find a place, and by the time they were rolling past the restaurant again, the two women were walking down the street. The one who had caught Jameson’s eye was doing some sort of silly gallop, making her friend laugh. Then both girls got into a shitty looking VW and he couldn’t see her anymore.
“How strange,” he mumbled, trying to stare into their car as they drove past. He couldn’t see anything.
“Did you recognize them, sir?” Sanders asked. Jameson sat back in his seat, frowning.
“No. No, not at all.”
6
One thing Tate had learned about Jameson was that he was obsessed with money. Almost as much as he was obsessed with sex. It wasn’t even necessarily because he wanted to be rich, he just couldn’t sit still when there was a profit to be made, a deal to be drawn, something to be happening. He didn’t even have to be making money for himself, hence why he kept working at all. Jameson had enough money to retire for multiple lifetimes. He mostly kept working to help other people make money. It was just second-nature to him.
Completion (The Kane Trilogy Book 4) Page 5