“I know what you're trying to do,” Jameson growled in her ear as he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist. “And I get it, but enough is enough.”
“What? You said the party was canceled, and I think a good looking guy like that shouldn't be single. It's my duty to find him a nice girl,” Tate laughed, squirming against his hold. It didn't do any good, though, he just squeezed tighter and she found herself gasping for air.
“Rusty,” he suddenly said, directing his attention to the woman in the other lounge chair. She swallowed visibly and her eyes were so big, they seemed to take up half her face.
“Y-yes?” she stammered.
“Did I ever tell you that I was always partial to redheads?”
She went pale at that statement and Tate struggled to keep from bursting out laughing.
“I think I'll go inside now,” Rusty replied hastily as she stumbled to her feet.
“Yes, thank you, run along now,” he called after her.
“You're not very nice to her,” Tate snorted, pulling at his wrists.
“I'm not very nice to anybody. So, 'gorgeous deep blue eyes', huh? That's what does it for you?” he asked. He loosened his grip but didn't entirely let her go. Instead, he let his hands wander under her t-shirt.
“Maybe. Are you going to cancel the party?” she asked, then hissed through her teeth when he pinched sensitive flesh.
“No. I've already paid for everything. Are you going to flirt with Rich Klimas all evening?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On how much trouble I'll get into if I do,” she breathed, leaning fully back against him, resting her head on his shoulder.
“So much trouble,” he whispered back. “If I so much as catch you looking at him, you won't be able to sit down without wincing for a week. That much trouble.”
She shivered, then moaned when she felt his teeth against her earlobe.
“Then I am definitely going to flirt with him.”
~5~
Tate looked around the backyard. She could hardly believe she was at home. There were bales of hay stacked about for “ambiance” and a huge barbecue was back by the pool house. Amazing smells were wafting away from it.
A bevy of young men and women were walking around in matching outfits – jeans and gingham t-shirts. They carried appetizers and cocktails and, hilariously enough, PBR in tall-boy cans.
Satan must be shitting himself.
Jameson was actually mingling and chatting away. When she finally located him, he was laughing at something one of his junior partners said. Then he caught her staring at him and he glanced over his sunglasses, cocking up an eyebrow at her.
Yup. He's definitely uncomfortable.
Things were going pretty smoothly. At first, when everyone had shown up, things had been stiff and uneasy. A bunch of young brokers at the Jameson Kane's home – they hadn't known what to do with themselves. Luckily, Tate was a born partier, and Rusty wasn't too far behind her. They got everyone laughing and talking quickly enough, and pretty soon everyone was having a great time.
And bonus points for Tate, she hadn't spoken to Richard Klimas once. Several times she'd seen him making his way towards her and she'd taken evasive maneuvers. There were plenty of women at the party, he could find someone else to flirt with – she still couldn't figure out why he'd set his sights on her. Because of Jameson? Didn't he know better? There was only one outcome to a pissing contest with Jameson Kane.
She hoped Rich liked losing.
“Hey!” she said loudly as she sidled up to Rusty's side. The light was catching Rusty's hair, making it look like a fiery halo around her head. Combined with the flush in her cheeks and her wide, expressive eyes, she looked like a real life angel come to earth.
The man she's talking to certainly seems to think so.
“Hey, you!” Rusty squealed back, hugging Tate to her side.
“How're you two doing? Looking cozy,” she said.
“Great party, Mrs. Kane,” the guy said, toasting her with his can of PBR.
“Oh god, don't call me that, it just makes me sound like an old lady. Tate,” she introduced herself as she held out her hand. He shook it quickly.
“Howard Steele,” he replied.
“Wait wait wait,” Tate gasped. “Your name is Steele!?”
“Yeah. It's a weird kind of name,” he laughed.
“No, it's just ... Steele ... Rusty. Rusty Steele!” she practically yelled.
“Oh my god, Tate,” Rusty snorted, then she delicately hiccuped.
“Hey, I didn't even notice. I think this means we have to get married, Rusty,” Howard teased. She blushed even more and it suddenly hit Tate that her friend was just a tad bit drunk, and more than a tad bit infatuated.
“I think we should at least kiss first,” Rusty giggled. “I mean, can you imagine anything worse than marrying someone only to find out they're an awful kisser?”
“I can imagine a few things,” he replied in a low voice.
Rusty's cheeks practically caught on fire after that comment, so Tate excused herself. She knew her friend had been having a pretty long dry spell. But vodka plus sexual frustration multiplied by over the top flirty banter pretty much equaled Boomtown. She was willing to bet the dry spell would be over before the night was through.
I'm like Cupid, only for sex. Way cooler.
She spied Sanders standing at one end of the pool, finally alone. He'd been surrounded by people all afternoon – over the years, he'd changed. He was halfway decent at socializing now. Or at least at pretending to be sociable.
On top of that, he'd become something of a legend. Everyone at Kraven Brokerage had heard stories about Jameson's former assistant, the quiet man who was more like a son to Jameson, and who also basically ran everything, and yet wasn't anywhere near as scary as his boss. So all the new brokers had been eager to make his acquaintance and get on his good side, and the female ones hadn't been immune to his classic good looks.
Not to mention his new and improved physique. I better get over there before someone drags him away again.
“Having fun?” he asked when she came up alongside him.
“I am,” she assured him, then she slipped her arm though his and hugged close to him. “Everything seems to be going well.”
“I'm not a fan of the hay,” he said as he leaned over to brush some of the offending decoration off his pant leg. “But everything else seems to be going according to plan.”
“The hay makes everything quaint, it's great. Are you really leaving me on Monday, Sandy?” she sighed, laying her head on his shoulder.
“Yes. My flight departs at three-thirty in the afternoon.”
“It gets harder and harder every time,” she mumbled. He was silent for a second, then she felt his cheek against the top of her head, and his arm was squeezing hers tightly.
“It is not easy,” he agreed. “But I am only ever a phone call away.”
“But I like you right here.”
“Sometimes missing someone is what makes you love them more,” he suggested. “If I were at home all the time, we would never get the opportunity to miss each other, and thus we wouldn't be able to love each other as much as we do.”
“I hate it when you make leaving seem like a good idea. Just let me hate you a little bit,” she joked.
“Alright.”
They stood in a companionable silence for a while, just people watching. When Sanders stiffened up, though, she knew something had caught his attention. Something that annoyed him. She glanced around and saw Rich heading in their direction. Before she could say a word, though, Sanders turned away and headed back into the house, forcing her to walk along next to him since her arm was still linked through his own.
“I don't get it,” she said as they moved through the rooms and into the kitchen. “Jameson threw this party to show Rich how awesome and rich he is, how he's totally the coolest guy ever and that's why I'm with him, yet I haven't
seen him even talk to Rich once since he's gotten here.”
“Knowing Jameson, I'm sure whatever it is he's planning is much more interesting than simply talking to Mr. Klimas,” Sanders pointed out. She stayed by the door while he ignored the caterers and cooks in the kitchen, stepping around them smoothly till he reached the cupboard next to the fridge.
“Oh god, that just makes me nervous,” Tate laughed, watching as Sanders took a bottle of Jack Daniels off a shelf. He grabbed two shot glasses as well, then walked back over to her.
“Really? I would think you are used to his antics by now,” he replied, leading the way into the library.
“I don't think anyone could ever get used to Satan's antics,” she snorted.
Sanders didn't reply, just went about pouring the whiskey into the glasses. Tate moved behind the desk and sat in the big chair while Sanders moved one of the wingback chairs over so it was next to her. Then he scooted the glasses across the desk until they each had one in front of them.
“Do you have something in mind?” Tate asked, picking up her shot. Sanders thought for a moment, then picked his up and stared at her over the rim.
“To good friends,” he offered, and they both took their shots. Then she poured another round.
“To soulmates,” she corrected him. A blush started creeping up his neck, but he nodded and they took their second shots.
“I have not had whiskey since the last time I visited,” he breathed as he shoved his empty glass away from him.
“Pussy,” she snickered, and she took a pull straight from the bottle. “You know, Sandy, sometimes I worry about life.”
“Why?” he asked, adjusting the knot in his tie.
“Because everything is so ... I was talking to Rusty last night, and the way she was talking, it was almost like she missed our old life together. And I was thinking about those days and about how weird it is to imagine my life without you guys in it. I mean, I feel like I've known you forever now,” she told him.
“Four years would be more accurate.”
“Ug, you know what I mean. You're a part of me, it almost seems weird that you weren't there the whole time. And Jameson ...”
She could never quite articulate her feelings for Jameson. With Sanders, it was easy enough. Love, soulmate, best friend. But with Jameson ... it was just feelings. No words. He was a fire that started in her chest and spread to her entire body. A sun at the center of her solar system. She'd been living off his light for most of her life. Sure, there'd been times when he'd been very far away, but he'd still been there, burning bright. Lighting her way to the person she was now.
“Yes, the three of us have a very unique relationship. I do not believe in destiny, but if I did, I would certainly think it had a hand in bringing us together.”
“Such a romantic,” she joked. He cleared his throat and adjusted his tie again.
“I do try. Shall we return?”
“If you insist.”
“I do.”
“And if I resist?” she teased, smiling up at him as he climbed to his feet.
“I am not Jameson, I won't play your games.”
“Then how would you get me to leave?”
He didn't say another word. He simply picked up her bottle of Jack and carried it out of the room with him.
He knows me so well ...
JAMESON GLANCED AROUND, realizing he hadn't seen Tate in a while. The sun had long since set, but no one had left the barbecue yet. Pecan pie, hush puppies, and ambrosia were being passed around by waiters, and drinks were still flowing. Everyone seemed to be laughing and having a good time.
Everyone except the host, because he can't find the hostess. Where the fuck is she?
He strolled around the pool and finally found her. She'd changed into her evening outfit – a ridiculous cocktail dress that didn't fit the casual theme at all. It was also cheap, obviously from some store in a mall somewhere. The top was strapless and tight, while the skirt was short, almost sticking out at her sides. It reminded him a little of a ballerina. A cheap, slutty, ballerina.
She wore that for me. God, she's perfection.
His appreciation of her dress was spoiled, however, when he realized who she was talking to – Rich Klimas. They were near the end of the pool, and she kept taking steps backwards, clearly trying to end the conversation and get away. Klimas took no notice and simply matched her step for step.
It was fun for a moment, watching Tate be uncomfortable. She so rarely was – at the bar, if she'd been caught in the same situation, she would've simply told him to fuck off. But in Jameson's world, surrounded by his coworkers and colleagues, he knew she felt hindered. She didn't want to do anything that might embarrass him.
Stupid girl. All these years and she's yet to figure out I'm not easily embarrassed.
“Tate,” he said loudly, finally walking up next to her. “There you are.”
“Thank you,” she gushed, the relief obvious on her face. “I was just coming to find you.”
“Jameson!” Rich said, smiling big. Jameson cocked up an eyebrow. Were they on a first name basis now? “Tate and I were just talking – you know, it turns out Tate and I went to the same prep school! She was a couple grades above me, and I transferred out after my freshman year. But what a coincidence. We were just talking about getting together sometime and comparing high school horror stories.”
Tate's jaw dropped. Clearly, this was news to her. But before she could ruin the moment and say she had no intention of comparing anything with Rich, Jameson spoke over her.
“Sounds like fun. Mind if I borrow my wife for a moment?” he asked, smiling congenially as he cupped his hand around Tate's elbow.
“Only if you promise to give her back,” Rich chuckled, toasting his glass in jest.
“Twenty minutes and she's all yours,” Jameson assured him.
He didn't wait for a reply – he steered Tate back into the conservatory. They went down the first row of flowers, stopping in front of the roses. When he let her go, she turned to face him.
“Okay, first of all – he came up and spoke to me. I tried to get away, and I didn't flirt at all. Second of all – we never talked about getting together. And third of all – did you just say 'borrow my wife' out loud? For reals?” she asked, still in shock.
“I never realized walking away from someone was such a problem for you, Tate,” he said, glaring down the length of his note at her.
“Oh, shut up,” she grumbled, turning to look out the window. “So what did you want to 'borrow' me for? I'm hoping this stimulating conversation isn't why.”
“I don't understand why you feel the need to talk to someone you don't even like,” he kept harping on the subject.
“Not all of us are like you, Jameson. Some of us feel bound by social etiquette to be polite, and particularly so when we're dealing with a guest we invited into our home,” she replied. He almost laughed.
“Bullshit. You're rude to me all the time, and I own this house.”
“When you talk, you make my brain hurt.”
“Then you're getting an idea of how I feel almost all the time.”
“Why are you picking a fight right now?” she abruptly asked, looking at him again. “It's been a good party, I've behaved myself, you've pretended to be a decent human being. I'm pretty sure all your little peons are totally impressed with your awesome home, so what reason could you possibly have to be mad?”
“Maybe I don't need a reason,” he replied in a soft voice, stepping closer to her and dragging his finger up the center of her cleavage, across her chest, and scratching up her throat. “Maybe I just think it's fun.”
TATE KNEW THIS SIDE of him very well. As Jameson's fingers gently wrapped around her throat, she let her gaze slide away. Looked outside.
“Jameson,” she breathed. “You have a backyard full of guests standing maybe fifty feet away.”
“You're becoming shy in your old age, Mrs. Kane,” he said, his grip around her throat g
rowing tighter.
“Ooohhh, that sounds like a challenge.”
“Game?”
“Do you even have to ask?”
His fingernails were cutting into her skin when he yanked her close. She gasped but his mouth replaced oxygen, his tongue blocked her air flow. She moaned and pressed herself against him, smoothing her hands over his chest.
She never got tired of it. His body, his mouth, his hands. And especially his voice. Each time was was still exciting. Different. Intense.
“Is this the point you wanted to prove?” she asked in a breathy voice as she backed up onto a table full of flowers.
“I don't have to prove shit to you,” he growled, pulling at the top of her dress, forcing it down under her strapless bra.
“Maybe not to me,” she panted, practically ripping apart his belt and whipping it away from his pants. “But you sure feel the need to prove yourself to a lot of other people.”
“Shut the fuck up, Tate.”
“And to a lowly junior broker? Pathetic, Jameson.”
A hand was in her hair, yanking back hard. She let out a cry of pain, then groaned when she felt his teeth against the side of her neck.
“I thought I told you, this is all fun to me,” he hissed, both his hands moving down her body and working their way under her skirt. When his finger curled around the top of her underwear, she pulled back a little.
“Jameson, the door is open,” she whispered, glancing at the exit to the backyard. He didn't answer at first, instead taking the time to rip her panties away from her body.
“See? So shy,” he chuckled, his face buried in her cleavage.
He wasn't entirely wrong – Tate was growing more reserved in her “old age”, as he liked to joke. Crazy sex was still okay, but the possibility of getting caught had lost its shine. She liked it best when she was certain they couldn't be interrupted. When she was positive she would have him all to herself, from start to finish.
Not that it would stop her, though. As his hands forced her legs wide apart and his fingers made themselves at home inside her, she forgot all about the door. She moaned again and fell against the window behind her.
The Kane Series Boxset Page 97