Reparation (The Kane Trilogy, #3)(12)

“Angier was here? In my house?” he asked.

“Yeah, I invited him over one night. We were bored, I gave him a tour. Thought it would be funny for him to try on the jacket,” she explained. His eyes got wider.

“You let him wear my clothing?” Jameson sounded shocked. She had blown his mind. Jameson was very sensitive about his things.

“Yeah. It looked good on him, though he's a lot taller,” she said, looking down and picking at her nails. Jameson walked over to her, his movements slow and deliberate.

“You brought Angier to my house, let him wear my clothing, and then you proceeded to get high,” he laid everything out. She glanced at him and nodded before going back to her nails. She couldn't look at him for too long. His eyes were blazing, and it was always a look that set her skin on edge. Made her itch to be touched. Hurt.

“Yeah, in the sun room,” she finished.

“You smoked in my room,” his voice was soft. She had trouble hiding her smile.

“Well, not in in your room, we were -,” she started.

He grabbed her by the throat and she went onto her toes, her fingers flying to his hand. He stared down his nose at her, and he looked equal parts pissed-the-fu-ck-off and really turned on. It was an odd look, one that she had only ever seen on Jameson. A look that made her heart rate double.

“What's your game, baby girl? You knew all those things would make me very unhappy, so why did you do them?” he asked, his voice still soft. Tate sighed.

“We were having fun. Maybe, just maybe for ten minutes, I wasn't thinking about you, Jameson,” she replied. His fingers got tighter and he walked her backwards, out of the closet.

“Doubtful. Fun, huh. What else did you do?” he asked, backing her up to the side of the bed.

“Hard to remember. Gets a little fuzzy after the joint,” she replied. He stepped up so he was almost touching her.

“A little fuzzy, hmmm. Tatum, you're being far too obvious to have actually fu-cked him, so you can stop trying to make me jealous. I'm not jealous. I'm angry,” he growled through clenched teeth. She flicked her eyes to the bed, then back to him.

“You're so sure? You're positive?” she whispered. His gaze went to where she had just looked and then came back to hers. He cocked his head to the side.

“Positive enough. Why are you trying to make me mad? What has gotten into you?” he asked, and she managed to squeak out a laugh.

“I think the question should be who.”

He shoved her and she fell onto the mattress. She tried to scramble backwards, but he grabbed her ankle and pulled her back into place before he crawled on top of her. He straddled her thighs and sat back on his heels, working the buttons of his shirt open.

“I thought you'd at least give me a chance to relax when I first got home. That's not a short flight,” he told her. She snorted and wiggled around, trying to scoot out of the sweater she was wearing.

“It's been five days,” she reminded him. He let his shirt fall backwards to the ground and then peeled off his undershirt.

“Five days, huh,” he mumbled, leaning down close to chew on the side of her neck. “Guess that means you didn't fu-ck Angier.”

“Not for lack of trying,” she laughed. He believed it was a joke.

“Shut your fu-cking mouth, Tate. It's only good for one thing, anyway.”

“Thank you. I had a very good teacher.”

He propped himself up over her, stared at her for a moment. It was dark in the bedroom, but she could see light from the closet glinting off his eyes, giving him a cold, steely look. Not much different than usual. She had expected her comment to make him mad. She was wrong.

“If it upsets you that much that they're together,” he started, his voice quiet, “then just ask him to stop. He would, for you.”

Busted.

“I wasn't -,” she started to cover up when he pressed his hand down flat on her chest.

“Don't lie. All you do is lie anymore, baby girl. It gets tiring. You want to break them up – the question is, why are you trying to do it in a way you know would piss me off?” Jameson asked. Tate held her breath. Apparently she wasn't as unobvious as she liked to think.

“Would it really piss you off?” she asked back.

“If you fu-cked Angier in our bed? Yes, it would piss me off,” he assured her.

“So what, if I fu-ck him, you're gonna kick me out?” she pressed, her breathing getting fast. He chuckled.

“Tate, you can lie to yourself all you like – I have already accepted the fact that there is very little you could do to make me stop wanting you,” he told her, pressing down harder on her breast bone before dragging his hand down her body. Her eyelids fluttered shut.

Wanting. Not caring. Big difference, baby girl.

“Leaves me a lot of scope, Mr. Kane. I haven't slept with Ang in a long time, could be kind of fun,” she whispered.

“Only if you like seeing me mad,” he whispered back. She finally chuckled as well, squirming as he started undoing the button on her shorts.

“I love seeing you mad.”

“Tatum. You have never seen me really mad.”

Scary fu-cking thought.

His hand dived under her shorts then, and she forgot what they were talking about; his fingers always had the ability to make her forget everything. Scratching her, squeezing her, choking her, inside of her. Very talented, those fingers.