Sanders was still in his suit. He had wanted to change before going down to the beach, but she'd insisted on walking straight down. He'd left his shoes, socks, and jacket up by the motel, then had rolled up his pant legs before going into the water with her. His tie kept flapping around in the wind, so he finally unbuttoned the middle button on his shirt and slipped the length of silk through the hole to keep it in place.
“I like the ocean,” she sighed. “And you like the beach. I knew the weather was going to be shitty, which meant it wouldn't be crazy busy. I thought it would be nice for us to spend some time alone together. I know we won't get a chance again.”
“There is always Christmas,” he assured her, frowning at her back. She finally looked over at him, and even in the dark he could see her smile.
“Like I said – I know we won't get this chance again.”
She didn't elaborate, and he didn't ask for more explanation. He understood, and apparently, so did she. Jameson must have told her about Sanders' feelings. Still. What was the difference, then? If she knew about the issue, why bring him out there alone, now?
I may have ruined everything. I can't let us end like this.
“I appreciate everything you've done for me,” he suddenly told her. Her smile got bigger and she turned to fully face him. She was deeper than him, the water coming to just below her knees.
“Really? All the teasing and needling and embarrassing?” she laughed.
“Every moment of it,” he assured her.
“And all the splashing?”
“Excuse me?”
She didn't respond, but instead kicked up a leg. He gasped – actually gasped – as a sizable splash of water soaked his right leg.
“Tatum,” he said in his stern voice. “This suit was specially designed by Tom Ford for me when we -”
More water. This time she swung her cupped hand through the ocean, throwing it up at him. He managed to turn his face away in time, letting the brunt of it hit him in the chest and cheek.
“I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you. What was that?” she asked, wading towards him.
“I hope you realize this suit is completely ruined now,” he said, his voice full of frost.
It had absolutely no effect on her.
“Oh please, there's dry cleaning even out here in the 'burbs,” she told him.
“It is not the same.”
“That's what's missing in your life, Sandy,” she said, leaning down to put her hand back in the water. “Messiness. You better get used to it, because life alone can get pretty messy.”
She was already swinging her arm towards him, ready to give his poor suit another wash down, but he couldn't handle it. Without thinking, he abruptly put his arms out and shoved her shoulders. She was already off balance, so it didn't take a hard push to send her onto her back. She shrieked and laughed as she went down on her butt in the water.
“See? That wasn't so hard,” she chuckled as she struggled to push herself upright. “That was lesson number two – standing up for yourself.”
She couldn't seem to find her footing in the shifting sand, so Sanders offered a hand to help her up. He should've known better. She gripped his arm in both of her own hands and yanked hard. He went down without a sound, belly flopping.
“And I guess that's lesson number three. Don't trust anyone,” she was laughing at him when he pulled himself upright.
“Forgive me, but you can get yourself out of the water,” he told her, pulling his tie free from his shirt and wringing it out before heading back up the beach.
Tate crawled out of the water behind him and raced back up to the motel, her toned legs carrying her there quickly. Sanders took his time, rolling down his sopping wet pant legs and putting on his shoes and jacket before striding through a small courtyard. He had the key, so she was forced to wait for him as he unlocked the door. When he stood to the side, she dashed through the entryway quickly, throwing her sandals on the floor.
“Brrrrr, it was freezing out there,” she said through chattering teeth as she hurried on tiptoes into the bathroom.
“Yes, that's what I said before we went down there,” he reminded her. “It is not beach weather tonight.”
“It was awesome,” she called back to him.
He didn't argue.
He'd removed his shoes and was sliding off his now-damp jacket when he realized she was running the tap in the bathtub. Was she taking a bath? The door was wide open. As free a spirit as Tate was, she didn't usually bathe in the open. He cleared his throat and took a couple steps forward.
“What are you doing?” he asked from the other side of the open door.
“Come in here.”
“No thank you.”
“Stop being a baby and come in here. I won't bite,” she laughed.
Bracing himself, Sanders stepped around the door and into the room. She was still fully clothed and standing in the tub. The water looked to be steaming hot and was swirling up and around her ankles. She was sighing and had her head tilted back.
“This feels so good,” she moaned. “Get in.”
“Excuse me?”
“Get in.”
“I am not taking a bath with you.”
“I wasn't asking you to strip down and scrub my back,” she laughed, turning towards him. “Just step inside the bathtub, Sandy.”
“I am not taking a bath in my clothing.”
When she grabbed him by his tie and started yanking roughly on it, he had no choice but to follow. If he stood his ground, she would either break his neck or rip the material, and he had hoped that some parts of his suit could yet be saved. So while she pulled, he stumbled into the tub and stood in front of her.
“Why do you have to be so difficult,” she grumbled, but she was smiling and she straightened out the knot in his tie.
“Pardon me for saying so, but that is very much the pot calling the kettle black.”
The tub was only about half full, but she leaned back and turned off the faucet. Then she gingerly lowered herself into the hot water, hissing and breathing fast as she adjusted to the temperature. She bent her legs at the knees, her feet braced on either side of his.
“This feels amazing after that cold water outside. Sit down,” she ordered. He refused to look at her, instead staring at the back wall.
Walls are safe. Walls can never look back at you and judge you or read your mind.
“I told you, I am not bathing with you,” he repeated himself. She laughed and he felt her gently kick him in the ankle.
“Sandy, we're both fully dressed and there's hardly any water in this tub. We're not bathing, we're ... warming up. Sit down.”
He frowned even more, but did as he was told. It was awkward – he was lankier than her, his legs needing more room than hers. But eventually they were situated with Tate sitting upright, her legs on the inside of his with his knees bent and his feet almost under her butt.
“This isn't so bad,” she said in a soft voice, pulling at a loose thread on the sleeve of her shirt.
“No, it isn't,” he agreed. His suit was most likely ruined beyond repair now, but the hot water did feel good. They sat in silence for a moment, just soaking in the warmth, when she suddenly made a gasping noise.
“I forgot! I got us something to celebrate,” she said in an excited voice. She leaned over the edge of the tub and pawed at her purse, dragging it close. He heard the sound of glass clinking.
“Please, I do not want to drink whiskey tonight,” he begged. She snickered and pulled the object free of her bag.
“I figured, so I got you this,” she replied, holding up a bottle of Veuve champagne.
“Now that I'm pretty sure my palate can handle,” he told her, watching while she unwrapped the foil and expertly pulled out the cork. “I can go get glasses so we can ...”
His voice trailed off as she lifted the bottle to her lips and started chugging down the expensive bubbly alcohol. It was several swallows before she finally came up fo
r air and she laughed at his expression.
“Here's to you, Sandy. May your next steps in life be almost as awesome as the ones before,” she toasted him, handing over the bottle.
“Glasses would be easier,” he insisted, but he took a sip straight from the bottle.
They didn't move for a while. Tate chattered on about odds and ends, as she was wont to do, and Sanders fell into a comfortable silence, just enjoying her voice. Her expressive face and animated hand gestures. They continued passing the bottle back and forth, sipping and laughing at her stories.
I should really never doubt her. This has been quite an enjoyable last weekend together, ruined suit and all.
“Sandy.”
Her voice interrupted his thoughts and froze him in place for a second. Contented feeling gone. It wasn't her normal voice, the one full of naughty laughter and innocent teasing. No, this was her husky voice. Breathy, with raspy fricatives. He'd heard that voice often, but never directed at him. No, she'd never used that voice on him.
Only one person got to hear it directed at them.
“What?” he asked, instantly on guard. He even looked around, halfway expecting to see Jameson in the doorway. But they were still alone, and when he looked back, she was shifting around. She moved until she was on her knees, sitting back on her heels.
“There's some things I want to talk about,” she said, some of the sexiness gone from her voice, but not entirely. She was still speaking in a low tone, and was making very direct eye contact with him. She had dark eyes, ringed in thick lashes. Even without her signature makeup, which she'd left off for him, they still stood out.
“What things?” he asked. She shrugged and he became aware that she was walking her fingers very slowly up his shin.
“You're very good looking,” she informed him, her fingers finally reaching the summit of his knee.
“Thank you,” he replied, not sure how to respond. Her fingertips were now tap dancing on him. Making him edgy. Nervous.
“And I'm not just saying that because we're close. It's fact. Other people have noticed it, and when you're alone in the world, without me next to you, or Jameson looming over you, more people are going to notice.”
“I feel that is very presumptuous of you. Just because you find me attractive does not mean other -”
“It's fact,” she insisted. “Empirically speaking, you are good looking. It's just how things are, and girls will be all over you.”
“Well, thank you for the vote of confidence, but even if that is true, I highly doubt they will be 'all over' me. And even if they are, I am pretty sure I can defend myself,” he told her. She smiled and her hand went flat over his knee. The water had grown lukewarm during their time in it, but suddenly he felt himself warming up again.
“You're so sure?” she asked.
“Yes. I -”
His voice caught in his throat as she suddenly sat up on her knees, her hand sliding down the top of his thigh. She followed behind, crawling between his legs until she was leaning over him. Boxing him in. He held his breath and looked over her shoulder.
“You don't seem so sure now,” she whispered, her face only inches from his own. He swallowed thickly.
“Tatum. What are you doing?”
“It's okay,” she said, propping herself up with one arm and letting her free hand smooth its way up his chest. He took a shaky breath.
“This is not okay,” he whispered back. Her fingers came to rest against his cheek and her thumb hooked under his jaw, pulling his head around until he was forced to look her in the eye.
“It is,” she insisted. “We wanted to give you a going away present you would remember forever. Something that would help you. Make you more ... comfortable.”
“I am very uncomfortable right now,” he assured her. She chuckled low in her throat. That bawdy sound he loved so much. Then she was leaning even closer, her cheek pressed to his and her lips at his ear.
“You won't be for long,” she whispered, her lips catching his earlobe.
What most people – including Tate – never understood about Sanders was that though he presented himself as an uncaring, aloof, detached individual, he was far from it. Inside him was a vast sea of emotion that he'd never been properly taught how to navigate. He kept it passive and calm by ignoring it. But sometimes it was like a storm raged through him and he couldn't handle it. He couldn't control it, and Sanders hated nothing more than being out of control.
He lurched forward, forcing her back. She didn't say anything as he abruptly stood up and climbed out of the tub before hurrying from the room. He didn't care that he was soaking wet and trailing puddles of water behind him. Didn't even think about it as he sat down in the chair with a loud squelching sound. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at the front door.
Nothing. Nothing. Think about nothing. The square root of thirty-two is five-point-six-six. Thomas R. Marshall was the twenty-eighth vice president. Control yourself. Control your environment. Don't do anything rash. The twenty-ninth president was Calvin Coolidge. Four hundred and thirty-two divided by seventeen is twenty-five-point-four. Control yourself.
TATE TOOK A DEEP BREATH and ran a hand over her hair. She'd known this wouldn't be easy, but she was ready for the battle. She slowly climbed out of the tub and walked into the bedroom.
Sanders was sitting in the shitty chair at the foot of the bed. His arms were folded sternly across his chest and he was refusing to even look in her direction. She smiled to herself and came to a stop in front of him. When he still didn't acknowledge her, she put her hands on her hips.
“Are you going to ignore me for the rest of the night?” she asked. His mouth was set in a stern line, but he surprised her by responding.
“If that's what it takes to make you realize you are being absurd, then yes.”
“If a woman throws herself at you, the last thing you should do is call her absurd.”
“But it is absurd when that woman is involved with another man. And especially when that man is practically family to me,” he informed her.
“It's not when it's a carefully considered choice made by both that woman and man,” she replied. Even Sanders wasn't able to hide the shock a statement like that induced and he finally looked at her.
“Excuse me?”
“Sandy,” she sighed, dropping her hands and slowly moving around him. “I worry about you. More than you could possibly know. The idea of ... of just anyone being your first time. I can't handle it. You're so different. You deserve perfection. You are perfection. I refuse to send you out to the wolves. I can't let it be awful or awkward or uncomfortable or wrong. The idea of you possibly feeling bad about it, or somebody treating you badly, it kills me. I just ... I can't, Sanders. I can't.”
She was behind him when she finished speaking, and she lightly rested her hands on his shoulders. He was completely stiff, his body locked up into one giant charley horse.
It's gonna take a lot of work to loosen him up.
“What, exactly, are you suggesting? You and I have sex, just so you can feel assured that I've lost my virginity to someone deserving?”
“No,” she laughed. “I don't deserve it. I doubt anyone does – you're too good for mere mortals. But you can relax with me, there'll be none of that awkwardness that usually comes along with a first time or when you have sex with someone you don't really know. You can be yourself with me. We can talk to each other. You can ask me anything, do anything. Like I said once before, I've had a lot of practice. I can show you the ropes.”
That hit a note. She felt a shimmy under her hands. A slight tremble rippling through his system.
He remembers. I'm winning.
“This is a bad idea,” he breathed. Tate bent at the waist, running her hands down the front of his body. She kept moving till her chin was on his shoulder.
“Trust me, you'll feel differently in about fifteen minutes,” she whispered back, deftly undoing one of his buttons.
�
��I don't want to do this.”
“Liar.”
Another button. He was still refusing to move, but he wasn't stopping her.
“Please,” his voice was hoarse.
“I'll stop when you make me stop,” she informed him, now working at the knot in his tie, pulling it loose and slipping the loop free of his collar.
“I don't want him to hate me,” he finally voiced his fear.
“Do you think I would be doing this if that was a possibility?”
“I think that the two of you rarely think through your actions.”
“You think wrong, Sanders. We would never do anything to hurt you. This is a limited time offer. A very special present for a very dear friend who is going so far away. Just accept it. It's like a band aid – just rip it off. Get it over with.”
He was breathing fast, and when she turned to press her lips to his cheek, she saw that he was again staring at the wall.
“I don't want you to hate me,” he whispered.
“Not possible.”
“But what if I don't -”
Enough.
Using both hands, Tate grabbed either side of his shirt and jerked them apart. The remaining buttons popped and flew across the room. He was forced to uncross his arms and she pushed the wet material back over his shoulders, slid it down between him and the chair, then let it fall down his arms.
As his shirt fell away from his hands, she stepped to the side of the chair. She held onto his tie as she went and pulled it free over his head. Then she bent over again, cupping his face between her hands.
“I promise,” she whispered, so close her lips were brushing his. “You won't regret a moment of tonight.”
“I can't ...” he sighed, his eyes closed. She laughed softly, then she pressed her lips to his for a brief second.
“Oh, but you will.”
When she kissed him again, forcing her tongue between his lips, he finally broke. He hid it well, but there was a wild kind of passion in Sanders, she knew. Whenever it came out, it was like a tidal wave, taking over everything in its path.
The Kane Series Boxset Page 101