by Emma Renshaw
"Not so bad yourself," I whisper, arching so my chest is flush against his. "You didn't have to get me two bouquets."
James turns his head, gazing at the coffee table.
The smile on my face dies when he turns back to me with irritated eyes. "I didn't."
"But..." I step away from him to pick up the card on the first bouquet. "It says, 'See you tonight.' This really wasn't you?"
"No." James’s voice is gruff as he rakes a frustrated hand through his hair. He's glaring at the roses. "Should've got a vase. Fuck." The curse is muttered so low I almost miss it.
"No," I say, squeezing his bicep. "I have the perfect vase for these. They're gorgeous. My favorite colors." I bring the blooms to my nose, inhaling deeply before walking to the kitchen to grab the vase. I’m not sure who the other flowers could be from. Patrick? My parents? I put it out of my mind as I open the cabinet door.
The vase is at the top of one of my cabinets. I try to reach it without my stepstool, but my fingers are just shy of the glass. James presses his body to my back, one hand firmly attached to my hip while he easily plucks the burgundy vase from the shelf.
"So tiny," James teases.
"Everyone is tiny compared to you. You're like the Jolly Green Giant, only not so jolly."
James’s booming laugh echoes in my ears, sending a delighted shiver up my back. "Your grandfather called me Bigfoot."
I laugh along with James, spinning around in his arms and pressing my hands against his chest to feel every shake and echo of his laugh.
After taking care of the ends and filling the vase with water, I arrange the flowers neatly, smiling the entire time. "See? It's perfect."
"Know who it could be?"
"Who what could be?" I ask.
"The other flowers."
"Oh," I say, thinking while still arranging James’s bouquet. I frown when I remember Patrick stopping by. It's not like him to not deliver them personally, but maybe they should have arrived sooner? "Patrick, maybe. Or my parents"
"Your ex?" James is stiff while watching me arrange the flowers. His focus is on the other room. When he turns back to me his mouth is in a flat line.
"Yeah," I say. I spent almost eight months trying to get over Patrick, but once I truly realized this other side of him is the real Patrick, it happened quickly. I don’t want to think about him tonight.
James scans my face, stepping closer before landing a hard kiss against my forehead. "Ready?"
"Yeah. Let me grab my purse."
I walk into my room, grabbing the clutch that matches my ice blue dress perfectly before meeting James back at the door. He grabs my hand as he leads me to his SUV, opening the door for me.
The drive starts out quietly, but comfortably. When James and I met, every moment of silence was filled with thick tension. That's eased between us significantly, and I can't even pretend anymore that I don't like him. Every time he shows me another piece of himself, I treasure it, keeping it close to me. My irritation with him has turned into fascination, and my fascination has turned into obsession. Every caress, laugh, smile, I want to hold onto forever, and I'm willing to do anything to get more of him. He’s a whole new brand of obsession.
"Thank you for taking me," I say, breaking our silence. His gray eyes cut to me before looking back at the road.
"Not a problem." He runs a finger under the collar of his tux.
"Are you uncomfortable?"
"Not used to wearing this," he admits sheepishly.
"Formal attire isn't the most comfortable. Thank you, James. I really mean it."
"It's not a big deal, Tatum."
"It is to me." I turn my head fully toward him, watching his hand wrap the wheel a little tighter.
“Tell me about Patrick.” His is tone is low and intimidating. My focus swings to him. The glow from the lights on the dash are highlighting his scowling face.
I lean on the door, slightly facing James and cup my neck with my hand. My tongue slides over my teeth. This isn’t a question I want to answer right now, but I’d rather get it out of the way and have a good night.
“My ex,” I answer slowly with some hesitation.
“Got that part,” he answers. “Is he the guy Hammond referred to in the drunk singing story?”
“Yeah,” I admit while rubbing my fingers together, focusing on the friction it creates. “The summarized version is we dated for twelve years and broke up eight months ago.”
“Longer version.” It doesn’t come out as a question, but as a demand.
“I thought we would get married. We talked about it since high school, our families our close, our fathers work together. It just seemed to make sense. Eight months ago, we went out to celebrate a milestone in his career. He pulled out an engagement ring box and then dumped me in the middle of a restaurant.”
“Fucker,” James grunts.
I close my eyes to center myself again. The pain I once felt when I thought about that night is now just a sore spot, something that isn’t felt unless prodded. “He told me he still wanted to marry me, but not yet. Before you, he was the only guy I’d been with. I was the only girl he’d been with. He wanted to experience other people. Patrick completely changed after we split. He wasn’t the kind and considerate person I thought I knew. He said horrible things to me and made me feel about two inches tall. I admit I lost myself for a bit, but the night I ran into you at the grocery store, I decided I was done. To be honest, it’s been easy to let him go.”
James swings into a parking lot so suddenly I’m thrown towards him. He slams his SUV into park, unclicks both of our belts and faces me. His hands comes up to my face, cupping my cheeks. “I hate him,” he states. “You may be tiny.”
James’s mouth tilts up on one side before he continues. “But, no one should ever make you feel small. Don’t ever let that fucker make you feel that way again. You astound me. I’ve never met someone as beautiful as you. Not just your looks either. It’s everything. It’s just you. Fuck, Tatum. You’re my sunshine. If he ever makes you feel that way again, I’ll bury him.”
James doesn’t let me respond. He sends my pulse skyrocketing. His thumbs brush against the tears on my cheeks as his mouth slams down on mine. “I know I can’t keep you, but you’re the best part of my life.”
I open my mouth, but he shakes his head. “Don’t say anything. I shouldn’t have brought him up. He doesn’t get this night. I do. It’s mine. And yours.”
He kisses me again before instructing me to buckle up and starts heading toward the gala again.
After a few minutes of silence, James’s mood is lighter than it was and I’m still stunned by his words. I want to reply. There’s so much I want to say, but it’ll wait. I force a question to my lips. It’s not what I want to ask, but it will turn this completely away from Patrick. "Have you ever been to a black-tie event?"
He snorts. "Nope."
"They're a little stuffy, but not horrible. Lots of silverware, formal dancing."
"Okay," he says.
"I'll make it worth your while."
His eyes cut to me again, a smirk curling his lips. "Maybe I should complain a lot while we're there."
My hand grips his thigh before slowly sliding up with tantalizing fingers. His chest expands as he breathes deeply and adjusts himself in the seat. "Tatum," he growls.
"I'll make sure every time you complain, I'll give you something you want."
"Sounds promising," he says. "This bowtie is really tight. I don't like things around my neck like this."
"Solid complaint," I whisper, cupping his hardness through his pants. He hisses through his teeth, shifting his hips as much as he can beneath the restraint of the seat belt.
I take my hand away as James pulls into the hotel valet and mumbles about dirty gym socks under his breath. A valet worker opens my door, holding out a hand to help me step down.
James rushes around just as my feet touch the ground. "Should've been me," he grumbles, snagging my hand in hi
s.
"Is that a complaint?" I ask, my lip quirking on one side.
"Nope. Just the truth."
The air in my lungs leaves in a whoosh. I'm completely dazed as I follow James inside the lobby. "Where do we go?" he asks, bending his head so his lips are close to my ear.
I gesture toward the grand ballroom. Our names are checked off a list, and we're guided toward our assigned table. I stumble when I notice Patrick standing next to my parents, chatting with them. He has one hand tucked into his pocket while the other rests casually on the back of a chair.
I wish he’d leave the table. I don't want to introduce James and Patrick. It's too uncomfortable, especially after his visit earlier. Unfortunately, he doesn't leave, but he does notice us approaching, and his eyes drag up and down my body as a slow smile breaks across his face.
James doesn't miss it. His hand grips mine tighter, and I can feel his eyes boring into the side of my face, but I don't look at him. I turn my attention to the band playing low music while the guests file in.
"Tate, James," my dad says happily, kissing my cheek and slapping a hand on James’s shoulder.
My mom steps up beside him, smiling and kissing both our cheeks."Y'all look wonderful together."
"Thank you," I say.
James lets go of my hand to wrap an arm around my waist. I bite back a grin, but look up at him when he squeezes my hip. He winks at me, and I swear I melt into a puddle right on the hotel floor.
"Tate," Patrick says. I hear the slight sharpness underneath the charm he's trying to emanate.
"Patrick," I reply, hesitating before doing what I know I have to do. "James, this is Patrick, an old family friend. Patrick, this is my date, James Harris."
Patrick walks around the circular table, placing his hand on my side a few inches above James’s, and pulls me into a tight hug. I smell the whiskey on him, but he's not drunk yet.
James doesn't let go of my hip, and his grip tightens.
When Patrick lets go of me, James pulls me closer to his side. "We're a little more than old family friends, darling."
I stiffen at the pet name. James emits a growl low enough that only I hear it. I look up at him; his jaw is twitching and his eyes are blazing.
"James," I say. "Patrick, as you know, is my ex."
"Great to meet you," Patrick says, extending a hand toward James. After a moment, James takes it, and I can tell he's gripping it tightly. "Nice of you to accompany Tate as a friend."
"We're not here as friends," James says in a low, harsh tone, dropping his hand. I wrap my arm around James’s waist, giving him a tight squeeze.
"We're going to go ahead and sit now," I say, hoping this will dismiss Patrick, and he'll walk away.
"I'm sitting at your table tonight," Patrick says. "My family is hosting some of their friends. It seems Hammond and I are the only two single men here."
"Great," I mutter, hoping to keep some of the sarcasm out of my tone. I walk with James around the table, hoping Patrick will sit where he's standing, but he comes around the other side, and now I'm sandwiched between the only two men who've been inside me.
Wonderful.
Chapter 29
James
"You look pretty, Tate. I didn't get to see you dressed earlier." Patrick's words pack a punch. Did he deliver those damn flowers in person? Did she lie about that? My small gift to her looked cheap compared to that frivolous monstrosity.
Motherfucker. He said it that way on purpose. I see him watching me out of the corner of his eye, gauging my reaction as he leans in close to Tatum.
"She doesn’t look pretty," I say. "She is gorgeous."
Tatum's hand falls to my thigh, gripping me tightly, and those damn blue eyes are shining at me like I put each star in the sky just for her. My chest expands under her tender gaze. Every time she looks at me like that, I feel like I've scaled a fucking mountain.
Slowly, she leans toward me, brushing her lips along mine and whispering, "Thank you."
When she leans back, I move my lips to her ear, speaking as softly as I can. "I'm complaining that he's here."
Her lips tilt up at the edges. "Each complaint gets you something you want. Tell me what you want, James." She pulls back slightly so she can look into my eyes. The blue fire of her gaze makes me feel alive.
"Tell me you're mine."
Tatum gasps. It's not what I was expecting to say, but I want her to say it. I need her to say it. Tatum is becoming as vital as my beating heart, blood running through my veins, and oxygen filling my lungs. I need to hear those words from her lips, even if that prick is sitting next to her paying way too close attention to us.
"I'm yours," she finally says on a breathy whisper.
When my attention turns back to the table, I find the rest of Tatum's family has arrived. Hammond is drinking a scotch, grimacing as he pulls at the collar of his tux. Her grandfather is chatting with her parents, and Patrick’s eyes are glued to Tatum's cleavage.
"James, what do you do?" Patrick tears his eyes away from Tatum to meet mine. He has an arrogant smirk as he studies me, his eyes locking on the tattoos poking out of my sleeve.
"I own a gym," I respond flatly.
"How quaint," he says. "Keeping a small business open is no simple task. Where did you get your business degree?"
"Didn't."
Patrick clucks his tongue, shaking his head. It's taking every ounce of willpower to not launch myself over Tatum and send a fist flying through his skull. What the hell did Tatum ever see in this asshole? Is this really what she wants?
"It takes a lot to run a business. With so many businesses failing, it's really best to have a degree."
Tatum's small hand grabbing mine and making me uncurl my fist is the only thing that keeps me from shaking in rage.
"I manage," I spit out. Fuckin' prick doesn't need to know anything about my damn job.
"Idiot," Hammond mutters, just loud enough for everyone at the table to hear. I tense further. Tatum opens her mouth to speak, but I squeeze her hand.
"It is a shame, isn't it, Hammond?" Patrick asks him. "James isn't—"
Hammond cuts him off. "Not him. You. You're the idiot."
My body relaxes and I release a low chuckle. I don't want to embarrass Tatum, but keeping my mouth shut and my fists in check around Patrick is going to be a test. I'm done listening to this. My eyes scan the ballroom, looking for any type of escape. I stand, and Tatum's eyes meet mine as she frowns. I offer her my hand. "Dance with me?"
Her frown slowly morphs into a brilliant smile as we leave Patrick and Hammond arguing behind us. I lead Tatum through other dancing couples until we reach an empty spot on the dance floor farthest from the table. My arm wraps around her, pulling her until she's flush against my body. Her satisfied hum goes straight to my cock. My hand clasps hers, putting us in position, and I lead us in a waltz around the dance floor.
Tatum's eyes are huge. "You know how to dance?"
"Yep."
"Where did you learn?"
"Taught myself," I reply, skimming my hand up and down her spine, eliciting the most delicious shivers from her.
"Why?"
I've never talked about my life. I had friends growing up, most in the same shitty situation as me, so there wasn't a need to talk about it. We all knew the fucking reality. Since I left that life behind, I've kept the tightest seal over it, not revealing a damn thing about myself. It's been easy; it's not hard to hide my past. My first instinct with Tatum, though, is complete honesty, to tell her everything, hold nothing back.
Her posture sags in my arms when she thinks I'm not going to answer. Those blue eyes leave my face to look down at the nonexistent space between us.
"I was almost adopted once," I admit, gearing myself to tell this story for the first time in almost twenty years.
"Really?" Her gaze finds mine again.
"Yeah," I say gruffly, clearing my throat. "I was about eleven. An older couple with no children became interested in
adoption. They thought an older kid might suit their lifestyle better. It's also more competitive to get a baby from the system."
I sigh, shaking my head. Always fucking hated the way that sounded, like it's a damn competition to acquire a kid that needs help. It's the truth, though. Tatum stays silent, waiting for me to continue.
"The couple was wealthy. I met them once and really liked them. I asked my social worker so many questions. I was determined to be the son they wanted."
"James," Tatum whispers, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.
I bring my hand up to her face, swiping along her cheek. "Don't do that for me, sunshine."
She bites her lips, pressing impossibly closer to me. My hand at her back tightens, welcoming every sliver of warmth she'll give me.
"I found out that he was the CEO of some major company, and she was on the board of just about everything in Chicago. Events like this were their bread and butter. I studied so hard."
"Studied what?"
"Etiquette. How to use the crazy number of utensils they give you at this kind of stuff. How to dance. I watched videos at the library and practiced any time I was alone. They had an old TV and VCR they let me use sometimes. I did everything I could to become the son I thought they would want. They were my chance. My one fucking chance. I was getting older by the day. Each day that passed, it became more unlikely that a family would ever want me."
I've never been this honest with anyone in my life. I'm showing her so many dark pieces of myself, and she's still gazing at me like I'm her reason for everything, shining her light on every shadow I'm revealing.
"What happened?" she asks.
"A weekend visit was planned. I was going to stay at their house, and that would be pretty much the final step before I'd live with them permanently. I was in a group home at the time. The day they showed up, someone dumped a baby on the porch just a few minutes before they arrived. They took it as a sign. I didn't even see them that day. I learned this from my social worker after I'd been sitting on my bunk for hours waiting for them to come get me."
Tatum rests her forehead against my chest, breathing me in. I know she's hiding the tears sliding down her cheeks. I kiss the top of her head.