“Bitch.”
“She's not a very nice person.”
“Neither are you.”
“No, but I never once thought you were filth. I told her to get the fuck out of my house,” Jameson replied.
“So, you used her. You led her to believe you had something going, you brought her home to embarrass and hurt me, and then you kicked her out. You're doing a very poor job of convincing me you're not the devil,” Tate pointed out.
“I've still got a couple weeks. You're going to have raccoon eyes,” Jameson warned her, and she felt him fiddle with her sunglasses. She batted his hand away and sat up.
“Like the tan I'm going to have is going to be any better,” she laughed, climbing to her feet and looking down at her mangled outfit.
“I told you. Just take your clothes off. There's no one out here, and it's nothing I haven't seen before,” he pointed out, standing as well.
Tate looked up at him. Jameson was staring down at her, but at her body, not her face. She watched his eyes sweep over her frame, and she could see the blatant desire in his gaze. She found herself wondering when the last time he'd had sex was, wondered who it was with, if it was any good. The idea of him sleeping with other women used to turn her on. Now she just wanted to puke.
“Alright.”
Jameson looked a little surprised, but he didn't move as she slowly pulled her shirt over her head. His eyes got wider as he took in her white bra. Then she took her time peeling her shorts away from her hips, revealing skimpy, black panties. His eyes followed her movements, watching her hands and legs as she slid the material down her body, even watched her toes when she kicked the shorts into the back of the boat. If she hadn't known any better, she would have sworn he was holding his breath.
“That's not naked,” Jameson informed her, in a tone of voice she knew well. A tone that meant he wouldn't tolerate any dissension.
“Are you sure you're ready for that?” Tate whispered, stepping up so she was pressed against him, pressing her hands flat against his chest. She almost felt dizzy, being that close to him.
“Baby girl, I was built ready for you.”
“Too bad.”
“Why?”
“Because you've never known how to handle me.”
And with that, she shoved against his chest, as hard as she could. Normally, he was like a brick wall, unmovable. But he had been completely unprepared. Caught off guard. Jameson let out a shout and fell backwards, off the side of the boat. Into the water.
By the time he hauled himself back into the boat, Tate had stretched herself back out on the bow. She was wiggling her bra straps off her shoulders when she felt him stomp up to her. She didn't open her eyes, but smiled big, knowing he was watching her. Probably angrily. Probably so mad, he wanted to -,
THWACK.
She let out a shriek as something cold and wet landed across her, covering her from head to hips. She sat up and fought to untangle herself. When she finally got free, she realized Jameson had thrown his wet shirt on top of her. Her underwear and bra were now soaked, her hair plastered to the top of her head. She turned her head to glare at him, her sunglasses askew on her nose.
“Have you already forgotten everything I worked so hard to teach you? You never get to have the last word, Tatum,” Jameson told her, his arms folded across his broad chest. She growled and threw his shirt back up at him.
“Can we go back now? All this fun is making my head hurt.”
She put her clothing back on, then managed to get her wet bra off from underneath her shirt – no free peep-show for Satan. Jameson just drove back without a shirt on. It didn't seem to bother him at all, but it was making Tatum very uncomfortable. She kept her eyes trained forward, not even glancing at him out of her peripherals. Of course she was very familiar with what he looked like shirtless, but she tried to keep those memories at bay. A good body and great sex didn't mean shit, when a person wound up floating in a pool, stoned out of her mind.
She just had to remember that.
They didn't talk, and when they got back to Puerto Banus, she thought maybe she had lucked out, that he was done pressing his attentions on her for the day. Jameson could only take so much social interaction, she knew, before he had to hide away. She managed to scramble off the boat before he could offer her a hand and she turned to walk back towards the yacht.
“Tatum,” he called after her.
“Yeah?” she asked, starting to turn back to him. Something hit her in the face. She threw up her hands in time to catch her soaking wet bra before it fell to the ground.
Goddammit.
She didn't wait for his clever remark, just stomped her way onto the bigger boat next to them.
~5~
Tate knew she was making things worse on herself. Her bitchy attitude was just antagonizing Jameson, making him try harder. Not good for her. The whole situation set her teeth on edge. Made her want to scream. Made her want to vomit. Made her want to run away.
Makes you want to give in.
She stayed below deck for a while and played chess with Sanders. “Play” was a generous term – he beat her every time, and the game only ever went on for as long as he wanted it to. But they would talk while they played. While he was lost in the intricacies of the game, his tongue would loosen.
“Sandy,” she started, glancing at him. His eyes were focused on the board while he set the pieces back up.
“Pay attention. I'm going to teach you the Alekhine Defense. It's very common and will help improve your game,” he told her. Tate nodded.
“I'm paying attention. But I wanted to ask you something,” she continued. His eyes flicked to her before going back to the board.
“Go ahead.”
“Do you think Jameson would ever marry me?” she asked.
Sanders stopped moving. He slowly lifted his eyes to hers, then leaned back from the board. They were sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed, the chess board between them. He glanced around the room, then back at her.
“Why are you asking me this?” he asked back.
“Because it seems to me, and Jameson, that your whole goal in this little scheme is to get us together. Am I right?” Tate asked, picking up a Rook and toying with it.
“I ... I just want things to be as they should,” Sanders replied.
“So, Jameson and I sleeping together is how things should be?” Tate laughed. He cleared his throat.
“You were happy being with him. He was happy. I don't understand what the confusion is. If you would like to be happy again, then I think you should be together,” Sanders tried to explain. Tate's laughter fell away. It was a very sweet sentiment.
“You have to know that he doesn't care about me. Whatever you're hoping for isn't going to happen. He wants to play a game, and I'm just trying to get out alive this time. I can't be with him, Sandy. Not after what he did to me,” she told him. His lips pressed together for a moment while he thought.
“He made a mistake,” Sanders' voice was soft. She opened her mouth to argue and he held up a hand. “A very large, very dangerous mistake. He wasn't thinking right. The fact that he got so upset, is a sign of how much he cares.”
“His 'sign' nearly broke me.”
“You can always go home. I will fly out with you, tonight, if that is what you wish. But it seemed to me that you were missing something. You haven't been yourself the past two months, but over the past two days, it has been like watching you come out of a coma. It's nice. I enjoy it. I had hoped that you realized it, too,” he told her.
Tate frowned and looked down, putting the Rook back in its place. She didn't like hearing things like that – Jameson always seemed to find a way to be responsible for all the good things in her life. She didn't appreciate it.
“I have,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “But that doesn't mean I'm stupid enough to fall for the same trick twice. Sandy, if I ... if by the end of all this, by some magical chance, Jameson actually cares about me,
actually wants to be with me, but I don't want to be with him, are you going to be okay with that? Would you be okay if I broke his heart and left him?”
Sanders actually laughed.
“How funny. If Jameson could finally prove to you how much he cares, why would you leave?” he asked.
Poor, simple, sweet Sanders.
“I know you love him, but the world doesn't revolve around Jameson Kane, Sandy. Just because he might fall in love with me, does not mean I will fall in love with him,” Tate pointed out. Sanders cocked his head to the side.
“I've always wondered, how did you get so good at doing that?” he asked. She was thrown for a loop.”
“Good at what?”
“Lying to yourself.”
Before she could even process what he had just said to her, the bedroom door swung open. They both turned to see Jameson standing there. She hadn't seen him since their boat ride. She'd stuck mostly to her bedroom and he'd stayed above deck. Avoiding each other.
“Good evening, children. Just wondering if anyone had some suggestions for dinner,” he said, wandering into the room.
Tate watched him as he prowled around. He had changed into a polo shirt and a pair of jeans. No shoes. The first time she had ever gone to his house in Weston, she had been shocked to see him barefoot. She had quickly learned that Jameson preferred to be barefoot whenever he got the chance. It was almost cute in a way. Her eyes wandered over him while he moved. His thick, black hair hadn't been cut in a while, and was a little wild on top of his head. His dark tan set off his blue eyes, even in the dim light of the bedroom, and she felt her heart beat quicken.
You're losing, you're losing, you're losing.
“Dancing,” Tate practically shouted. Both men turned to look at her, and she licked her lips.
Note to self – SERIOUSLY, GET A FUCKING FILTER.
“Excuse me?” Jameson asked.
“I think we should go dancing. There's gotta be somewhere around here to dance. Let's do that,” she suggested quickly, staring at him.
“You want to dance?” he clarified.
“Yeah, why not?” she asked.
“Do you know how to dance?”
“Do you?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of dinner up top,” Jameson said. She groaned.
“I'm sorry, how is this any different than Boston? You never want to leave your little sanctuaries. How do you ever meet women?” Tate asked.
“I met you,” he pointed out.
“By practically stalking me,” she reminded him. He snorted.
“Alright, fine. We'll go out to dinner, then dancing. But when I say it's time to leave, it's time to leave,” he stressed. She rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. This is perfect, Sandy, I bought -,” she started to get excited.
“No. No Sanders. Just you and I,” Jameson said.
“Why not?” Tate whined.
“Sanders, do you want to go out dancing?” Jameson asked, and Tate had to laugh. Sanders looked ready to throw up.
“No, thank you.”
“There. Be ready by eight,” Jameson told her, and then walked out of the room.
She scrambled off the bed and high tailed it to her own room. That only gave her two hours to get ready, and she wanted to look nice. Wanted to look amazing. Wanted to make him regret ever losing the right to touch her.
Stupid fucker.
She pulled her hair up into a ponytail, but raked her fingers through the hair, giving it a messy, disheveled look; sexy. A look she hadn't gone for in a long time. She shimmied into a pair of tiny black shorts, then opted for a skin tight, long sleeve shirt. Something demure enough for dinner, but the plunging scoop-neckline also made it sexy enough for a night club.
Doing her makeup was harder. Tate hadn't really worn makeup since the accident. It seemed silly, but there hadn't been much of a reason to, no one worth being sexy for anymore. She didn't have her job, she wasn't going to sleep with anyone, and she had spent most of her time on a couch. What would have been the point of slutty eye makeup? But she laid it on thick now. She just barely talked herself out of false lashes. She wanted to look like a slut, not a two-dollar hooker. She finished off the outfit with a pair of high, thin stilettos. She turned every which way in front of a mirror, examining herself.
Eat your heart out, Satan.
Tate made her way upstairs, really wishing she could have a drink to settle her nerves. She hadn't been terribly nervous the first time she had gone to his house, and back then she had known they would end up in bed together. Now, not knowing how the night would turn out, only having hopes and wishes that she would get away unscathed – it was way worse.
“Do I look good?” she asked Sanders when she got out onto the deck. His eyes wandered over her.
“You look more like yourself,” he replied. She laughed.
“That's not really an answer,” she snickered.
“I know.”
Tate laughed again and dug her finger into his side, causing him to jump and squirm away. His lips pressed into a hard line, obviously annoyed, but she just got closer and did it again.
“One of these days, you're going to push him too far,” Jameson's voice warned from behind her.
“I could never push you too far, could I, Sandy?” Tate laughed, all of her fingers now traveling up and down his sides. He grabbed at her wrists.
“No, you could not,” Sanders assured her.
“If you two are finished flirting, I'd like to leave.”
Tate burst out laughing, and Sanders turned a little green. She was still snickering as she turned around, but her laughter caught in her throat, coming out as more of a snorting sound. Jameson was adjusting a watch on his wrist, not looking at her, which made her glad, because she didn't want to be caught drooling.
It was funny, but sometimes a person could wear really plain clothing, and it still looked expensive and rich. Jameson did this better than anyone she knew. He had changed into a very fitted t-shirt, which clung to his chest and shoulders in a way that made her mouth water. He had also tamed his hair, forcing it into a stylish mess that made her fingers ache to touch it. He finished adjusting his watch and put on his coat; a slim-fitted black leather jacket. When they had been together in Boston, if they ever went out, it was usually before or after work, so he just wore his suits. At home, he dressed to relax. Holy hell, she had never seen Jameson dressed to go out.
“You look nice,” Tate blurted out, and he stopped in the middle of putting on his jacket, obviously surprised.
“I know, thank you,” he replied. She snorted.
“You make it very hard to be nice to you,” she told him, and he laughed.
“At least I'm consistent.”
Her phone suddenly rang, and when she glanced at her screen, she couldn't believe the timing. Late Christmas present. Tate smiled slowly, and then looked up to find both Sanders and Jameson staring at her. She turned away a little before lifting the phone to her ear.
“Nick! How are you?” she exclaimed, her voice full of excitement. She could hear Jameson snort.
If she was using Nick when he wasn't actually present, it didn't really count, she figured.
Maybe I'm really Satan, this whole time.
“Good, good, how are you?” he asked.
“Doing good. Just about to go out and eat,” she replied, crossing her legs at the ankle and fiddling with her ponytail.
“Nice. I was just checking in. It's kind of weird, isn't it? I mean, we've spent so much time together over the past couple months, and then to not see you or talk to you whenever I want ...” he managed a laugh, but he sounded sad. Tate gave a sad laugh, as well.
“Awww, I miss you, too. Really,” she told him.
There was another snort from behind her.
“Are you sure? I ran into Ang the other day, he seemed really concerned about you. I'm not here to judge you, Tate, I just ... you know I'm always here, right? If you ever need me.
If you need someone to come get you, I'll be there, in a heart beat,” Nick assured her. She laughed.
“Always the gentleman. I don't need rescuing quite yet, but I'll be sure to call you if I do,” she promised.
“I hope so. So. Are you having fun?” his tone lightened up.
“Sometimes. We went out on a speed boat today, it was alright,” she started, laying it on thick and making it sound like it was the most boring thing she'd ever done. “But yesterday Sandy and I went shopping, and I bought anything I looked at, it was awesome.”
“Sounds like trouble. Did you buy clothing?” he asked.
“Yes, lots,” she replied. He chuckled.
“Anything sexy?” he asked. Normally, Tate would stop the conversation right there. Whenever Nick tried to get flirty, she would put an immediate end to it. But she figured indulging him just a little bit this time wouldn't hurt anybody.
“Hmmm, define sexy,” she told him, her voice low.
“Something other than khaki shorts and ankle-length-skirts,” Nick offered. She laughed.
“I bought lots of shorts and skirts, but nothing khaki or ankle-length. You would love it, I bought this one skirt, it barely covers my -,”
Suddenly, her phone was pulled out of her hand. Tate barely had time to gasp before Jameson simply tossed it over the railing. She shrieked and dove for it, but it was too late. She got to watch her cell phone slowly sink into the inky depths, the screen flickering as it went.
“We'll be late,” was all Jameson said before striding down the gangplank.
She was tempted to throw something at him, like a piece of furniture, but then she remembered – she was trying to be “nice” Tatum. Not vengeful, angry, spiteful Tatum. Not punch-a-mother-fucker-in-the-head Tatum. She took a couple deep breaths through her nose, then followed after him.
Jameson hadn't bothered waiting for her, and was halfway out of the parking area when she got off the boat. She glared at his back and started heading after him, but she refused to run. When he reached the street, he finally waited till she could catch up.
“That wasn't very polite,” was all Tate said as she walked past him.
The Kane Series Boxset Page 40