The Kane Series Boxset

by Stylo Fantome

  He wanted to devour her.

  “It's really not her fault, sir,” the cab driver started, actually stepping out of the cab. They all turned towards him. “I got a flat tire on the freeway. I have a pinched nerve in my back; the young lady actually changed the tire for me. No charge for the ride.”

  Jameson turned back to Tate, his eyebrows raised. She smiled broadly and flexed her arms like a body builder, kissing one of her biceps. He laughed and gestured for Sanders to pay the man anyway.

  “You changed a tire, dressed like this?” he asked as he led her into the house. She threw back her head and laughed.

  “No, I changed into coveralls first. Yes, like this, Jameson. I didn't have much of a choice. Do you even know how to change a tire?” she asked. He pulled on her ponytail.

  “No playing with me this early, we've got to act respectable for a little while,” he told her.

  “Why?”

  But he didn't have to answer. The back part of the house was a conservatory that over looked his pool and back yard. She gave a low whistle. There were a lot of people on his back lawn, all laughing and smiling. Clinking glasses and chatting, looking like they were all having the time of their lives. Jameson Kane rarely invited people to his private dwellings. Tate stood completely still, staring at everything.

  “Scared, baby girl?” Jameson whispered. She shook her head.

  “No, but why? Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  “You said I treat you like a secret. This is everyone I know in Boston. Except for Angier. Forgot to invite him,” Jameson said, his tone full of bite. She lowered her glasses and gave him a Look.

  “But why?” she pressed.

  “You're not a secret to me, Tate. I'm not ashamed of you or what we do. You're two steps above being an employee anyway,” he pointed out. She snorted.

  “Employees get paid, and I haven't seen a fucking dollar. I ate macaroni and cheese ALL weekend,” she told him.

  “Whatever. I'm being nice. This may be your only opportunity to see it in action,” he warned her. She took a deep breath.

  “I'm not like these people, Jameson. I won't fit in. I'm very flattered, and this means a lot, that you did this. It's very sweet. But ...” she let the sentence hang.

  She is scared.

  “Alright. I made my statement. You don't have to go out there. Since you're scared. And hey, now we really know who the bigger pussy is,” he mocked her.

  Tate turned to look at him, shoving her glasses onto her head. She slowly unbuttoned her shirt and let it fall to the floor, then shoved her shorts off her hips. She was wearing a black bikini, the bottoms breaking into two strings that curved around her hips. She had an amazing body, and the scorching summer had given her a killer tan. He drank in the sight of her.

  “I'm not scared. By the end of the day, those people out there will like me more than they like you,” she informed him. He laughed.

  “I have no doubt of that. But you do realize that not one single other person out there is just strutting around in their bathing suit. I didn't realize you had to be half naked to feel comfortable,” Jameson said, gesturing outside. He was right. There were some board shorts, and a lot of ladies were wearing bathing suits underneath fancy covers and long dresses, but no one was serious about getting in the pool. Tatum shook her head.

  “You said wear a bathing suit, so I'm ready. Let's do this,” she replied, and strode out the back door. Jameson caught up with her, and it was obvious he surprised her when he hooked an arm around her hips, guiding her to the closest group of people.

  “Cecily. Livvy. Tad, this is my friend, Tatum. Our families were close, in Pennsylvania. I recently discovered her living right here in Boston. Tate, Tad's a junior broker at the firm, Livvy is his wife, and Cecily keeps the accounting department in order,” he introduced her.

  Tad stared at her tits the whole time, Livvy looked like she wanted to draw blood, and Cecily laughed, shaking Tate's hand. Tate, of course, was friendly and personable. She laughed easily and it was obvious that making friends came naturally to her. Jameson introduced her to a couple more groups of people, then left her to her own devices. He had done his part, shown her that she wasn't someone he wanted to hide away. She was a friend, he guessed, just like the rest of them.

  Now he could go back to being an asshole.

  Jameson hovered near the makeshift bar, chatting and laughing with some of the guys, but always keeping an eye on her. She floated around the party, mingling with everyone. Cecily took to her, as did a couple of the other girls, but most of the women watched her with venom in their eyes. It was obvious that Tate was aware of this, and she flirted shamelessly with every single guy. More so with the ones who had judgemental girlfriends or wives at their sides. She stretched out on a lounge chair at one point, and made a show of putting sun tan lotion on every visible inch of skin.

  He was not immune to the pull she was having on the other men.

  “Where did you find her?” Wenseworth Dunn walked up to Jameson's side, gesturing to Tate as she stretched her arms above her head.

  “I told you, our families -,” Jameson started.

  “Bullshit. Most blue blood types don't breed daughters that hot,” Dunn laughed. Jameson nodded.

  “Agreed. But she is Mathias O'Shea's estranged daughter,” Jameson supplied. Dunn whistled.

  “Oh wow. Pretty powerful guy. Playing with fire, Kane,” he warned.

  “Not really. Severely estranged. Haven't spoken for seven years. I'm part of the reason why, though he still speaks to me,” Jameson said. Dunn turned to look at him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was dating her sister, and Tate and I slept together. They disowned her,” Jameson explained. Dunn laughed.

  “Good old Kane. You know how to pick 'em. She looks like the type to sleep with her sister's boyfriend. Fucking hot. She yours?” Dunn asked.

  Jameson didn't like this line of questioning, but he didn't want to come off as a jealous lover. Tate didn't have any claim on him, nor did he on her – they had been very clear about that from the beginning. Still.

  Fucking Dunn.

  “We're sleeping together, if that's what you're asking,” Jameson gave an evasive answer.

  “Kinda low brow for you, Kane. I thought you only dated Eastern European supermodels,” Dunn joked. It wasn't funny.

  “I don't date anyone anymore. Tate and I like to fuck, that's it,” Jameson snapped. It was harsh, but he didn't care. He didn't care if people knew they were sleeping together; what he didn't want was people thinking he was in the market for a wife or anything.

  “Good time girl, all right. Tell her to call me sometime,” Dunn mumbled, his eyes raking over Tate's form as she climbed out of her chair, looping her arm through Sanders' and walking with him towards the house. Jameson laughed darkly.

  “You couldn't handle her, Dunn,” he said.

  “Oh really?”

  “To say she likes things a little wild, is an understatement. And you most definitely couldn't afford her,” he snapped. Dunn's eyebrows shot up.

  “You mean she's a -,”

  “I mean, this conversation is over. Go mingle, eat, drink, hit on someone, jesus,” Jameson growled before stomping away.

  He was angry. “... thought you only dated Eastern European supermodels,” – Jameson didn't appreciate obscure references to his ex. Didn't appreciate references to her, at all. And he especially didn't appreciate the way Dunn had been looking at Tatum. It was all fine and dandy for them to sleep with other people, but he certainly didn't want to be trading stories at the water cooler about her gymnastic abilities in bed.

  And, a tiny part of him whispered, he simply didn't like Dunn looking at her, period.

  SEVERAL HOURS LATER, Tatum hopped down the stairs on one leg, pulling up her sock on the other leg. When she got to the bottom of the stairs, she put the other sock on, as well. She had opted for long red socks. Better for evening wear. It was just starting
to get dark outside and people were moving into the conservatory. As she headed into the library, she pulled a loose tank top on over her head and walked right into something. She stumbled backwards, quickly pulling the shirt over her bikini top.

  “I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was in here,” she laughed. There was a man standing in the library. She had met him before, but couldn't remember his first name. Last name was Dunn, he was Jameson's business partner. He smiled down at her.

  “Just looking around. I've only been to Jameson's house one other time,” he told her. She laughed again.

  “Yeah, he never lets anyone come over, treats it like a fortress. I'm surprised there aren't TSA agents at the bottom of the driveway, screening people before they come in,” Tate joked, but she felt a little uncomfortable. Dunn's eyes never met hers, just stayed trained on her body, and she was very aware of the fact that she was standing in front of him wearing only knee socks, a bikini, and a light tank top.

  “He's strange that way, isn't he? So open about some things, so private about others,” Dunn mumbled. She frowned. His words were loaded with tension and double meanings.

  “Not sure what you mean. He's always been pretty open with me,” she replied.

  “Always. You've known each other a long time, huh? I didn't even know Mathias had any kids,” Dunn commented. Tate was surprised. Jameson had talked about her family with this guy?

  “Yeah, there's two of us, I have an older sister.”

  “He mentioned her, too. Sounds like you were very naughty in your younger years.”

  She narrowed her eyes. Jameson had talked about that!? And she was liking this Dunn guy less and less. His voice was lascivious, and while normally that wouldn't bother her, he was Jameson's partner. They were in Jameson's home. And she was not the least bit attracted to Dunn. He gave her the creeps on a seismic scale.

  “We all have a past, don't we?” she brushed past him, heading to where her cell phone was plugged in and charging.

  “Oh yeah. Your past just sounds more interesting,” Dunn told her, following her across the room. She frowned, pretending to concentrate on her phone.

  “I'll be sure to let you know when I write my life story,” she responded.

  “Or we could get together sometime and you could tell me yourself,” he offered.

  She snapped her head up, a little surprised. Though he hadn't spent a lot of time with her at the party, she thought Jameson had made it very clear to everyone that he had some sort of a relationship going on with her. When he would stand next to her, he always draped an arm around her waist. When she had been off by herself, at one end of the pool, he had come up behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, kissed the side of her neck. Turned her to face him while he whispered very dirty things in her ear, his hands running down her body. No one was next to them, but they were well within sight of the other guests. So it was a little bit of a shock to her that his business partner, and friend, was hitting on her.

  “I don't think that's a good idea,” Tate laughed, moving to walk past him. He blocked her way.

  “Why? Because of Jameson? He won't care, we've shared girls before,” Dunn assured her. She snorted.

  “I care, and I say no thank you,” she snapped, trying to go the other way. He moved again.

  “Just name your price, I'm sure I can match whatever Jameson offered.”

  Tate stood stock still, staring Dunn in the eye. Jameson had told him that? Was telling people he had paid her to sleep with him? It was more of a joke than anything, he had never actually given her any money. She didn't want his friends thinking they could just slip him some cash and they could fuck her in a dark corner of his house. She didn't want Jameson thinking that.

  How could he think that!?

  “I don't know what you're talking about. Move,” she ordered. Dunn laughed.

  “It's okay, I'm okay with it. Jameson's okay with it,” he assured her, stepping closer to her. She backed away.

  “Is everything alright?” Sanders' clear voice carried across the room. Dunn whirled around and Tate scurried past him, hooking her arm through Sanders'.

  “No, this guy is an asshole,” she said. Dunn laughed.

  “Oh, c'mon, I just -,” he started, when Sanders cleared his throat.

  “I believe you'll find Mr. Kane in the conservatory, with the rest of the guests,” he interrupted.

  “Oh, was he asking for me?” Dunn asked.

  “No, but I assumed since you're soliciting services from a woman who has been staying in his home, you would want to discuss it with him first,” Sanders told Dunn, his voice like icicles. Dunn's face got hard, and Tate smiled. Apparently Jameson was not “okay with” this little proposition – based on Dunn's face, she would guess that Jameson didn't know anything about it at all.

  “We could go together,” Tate offered. “Tell the whole story, do a reenactment. He'd love it. What do you guys think?”

  “Whatever you say, Ms. O'Shea,” Sanders replied. Dunn huffed and stomped out of the room. Tate laughed.

  “God, did you see his face? What a dick,” she chuckled. Sanders nodded, turning and leading her across the hall, into the kitchen.

  “Clearly. Would you care for a drink, Ms. O'Shea?” he asked. She nodded, and without even having to tell him, he went and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniel's from a cupboard.

  “You treat me so good, Sandy,” she sighed as he sat the bottle on the huge island in the center of the kitchen. He gestured towards the glasses but she shook her head.

  “Are you alright, Ms. O'Shea?” he asked in his careful tone. She shrugged, moving around to the other side of the island so she could face him.

  “I don't know. I will be,” she replied.

  “Did he touch you?”

  She lifted her eyes to Sanders, and for once, he was looking back at her. He almost never made direct eye contact with anyone, except for Jameson. His question surprised her. His voice lacked any emotion, like normal, but there was something in his eyes. He was worried about her, concerned. Tate was shocked.

  “No, he didn't,” she assured him. He nodded.

  “Would you like me to get Mr. Kane?” Sanders offered. She shook her head and twisted the cap off the bottle.

  “No,” she laughed, taking a drink.

  “I think he should know about this. He would be very upset,” he told her. Tate laughed some more.

  “You really think he'd be upset? I don't,” she replied, taking an even bigger swig.

  “You're wrong. He cares about you, Ms. O'Shea,” Sanders assured her. She almost spit the liquor out.

  “Jameson Kane doesn't care about anyone but himself,” she snorted. She had to say things like that; she had to remind herself.

  “I have seen a lot of women come through his life,” Sanders' voice was quiet, almost soft. She stared at him. “But he has never treated anyone the way he treats you. He used to talk about you, you know. A long time ago, when he would drink. He would mention your name, mention that he wondered what you were doing, where you were. He cares.”

  He stressed the last words, and Tate almost felt like tearing up. Who knew Sanders could be so passionate? And about her, of all people. For him to tell her these things, these obvious secrets, it meant a lot, on so many different levels. He really wanted her to know, Jameson cared about her.

  She had told herself so many times that it wasn't a possibility, Jameson Kane would never truly care about her. Would never feel anything for her beyond desire. Maybe there was hope ... no. She didn't want to believe it. Satan didn't have feelings, and if she began to think he did, he would eat her soul – what little she had left to give.

  “You're very sweet, Sandy,” she chuckled in a low voice, “but I think we both know that's not true.”

  “What's not true?”

  Jameson's voice boomed in the doorway. He strode into the room, not looking very happy. He glared at both of them, crossing his arms over his chest as he came to a stop at the f
ront of the island. Tate toasted him with her bottle before taking another drink. Sanders stood up straighter.

  “Did you need something?” he asked.

  “No. You can leave,” Jameson told him. Sanders nodded.

  “I'll be in the guest house. Ms. O'Shea,” he said, and both Jameson and Tate looked at Sanders. “Please think about what I said, very seriously.”

  “What the fuck is he going on about?” Jameson demanded while Sanders walked out of the room. Tate shrugged.

  “Sandy is an old soul in a young body, his riddles are too deep for us to understand,” she joked. Jameson glared at her.

  “I've been looking everywhere for you. What were you two talking about in here?” he asked. She laughed.

  “Your friend, Dunn,” she replied.

  “Dunn? What about Dunn?”

  “He seems to have gotten the impression that I'm a prostitute,” Tate said. Jameson got very still, his eyes turning to ice.

  Sanders must have learned that trick from him.

  “What are you talking about?” Jameson asked in a low voice.

  “He cornered me in the library, was being a super creep, hitting on me, telling me he could afford whatever you were paying, blah blah blah. Sandy came in and saved me,” Tate explained.

  “Are you serious right now?”

  “Yup. Great friends, Jameson. Maybe keep our little game more on the down low, though. Unless you want me to sleep with your friends, which in that case, we could set up -,”

  Jameson slammed his hand down on the island, causing her to jump.

  “Fuck no, I don't want you sleeping with my friends. I can't fucking believe he did that, in my own house. I'm going to go in there and rip his fucking head off,” Jameson swore. She laid her hand on his arm, before he could move.

  “It's over, it's done with, not a big deal. Sandy gave him some of that magical freezer burn treatment, and the guy nearly pissed himself when we told him we were gonna tell on him, so it's cool. We're good,” she assured him.

  “It is not cool, and we are not good,” Jameson growled.