Reparation (The Kane Trilogy, #3)(14)

“You're being overdramatic. Maybe you should see a therapist,” Sanders suggested. She snorted.

“fu-ck that.”

“What Jameson did was wrong, but he has apologized. You claim to have forgiven him, but you haven't. If you are going to keep holding it against him, then I personally feel you should not be with him. What Mr. Hollingsworth did was wrong, he should not have kept his relationship a secret – he should have discussed his feelings with you before anything started. But it is not the end of the world. For your sake, for everyone's sake, just talk to people,” he urged.

She stared at the counter top. Of course she should talk to everyone else. The thought ran through her brain a million times. Every time Tate was with Jameson, it was on the tip of her tongue. If anyone would understand an uncontrollable urge to hurt people, it would be Jameson. But she couldn't talk to him – she wanted to hurt him, too.

She wanted blood.

“I get it. I really do. And I'll snap out of it, I promise. No more sneaking Ang into the house, no more dirty tricks while you guys are gone,” she promised. She hated lying to Sanders, so she kept her options open without being specific. He sighed.

“I honestly think you'd -,” he started to say, but then Jameson walked into the room.

“Think she'd what, Sanders?” he asked, moving to stand between them. Tate shrugged and put the brownie spoon in her mouth.

“I think if she keeps eating sweets the way she has been, her weight is going to balloon out of control,” Sanders replied, then marched out of the room. Tate stared after him.

Was that ..., did he just ..., was that a dig!? Did Sanders just snap at me, in Sanders-speak!? Good for you, Sandy.

“Am I getting fat!?” she exclaimed, turning to look down at her ass.

No matter what was going on in her life, she always tried to make it a point to exercise, in some fashion, at least twice a week. In Spain, she had jogged up and down the marina. In Weston, she used a small gym that Jameson had put into a spare room. She couldn't be getting fat! She turned in a circle, trying to judge.

“Your ass is perfect, he's being rude. You've upset him. What were guys talking about?” Jameson asked, leaning against the island.

“Ang,” she replied. Jameson hung his head.

“fu-ck, I just cannot get away from that guy.”

“You're the one who blabbed all of our pillow talk to Sandy. Do you throw in the dirty stuff, too?” Tate asked, licking the spoon clean.

“Only if he's been very good. Let's get out of here,” Jameson suddenly said.

“But I just put brownies in,” Tate told him, gesturing to the oven. He moved to stand in front of her and ran his finger along the inside of the bowl she'd used to make the batter.

“So. Set a timer, Sanders will take them out. Let's go get lunch,” he suggested, licking his finger. She followed the movement with her eyes and he smiled.

“You take him for granted,” she warned him. He barked out a laugh.

“You are always so wrong. C'mon, fat ass, let's go,” he urged, roughly squeezing her butt before walking past her.

“I am not -,” she started to argue when he hooked a finger into her apron and yanked her backwards.

“I wasn't asking, Tate.”

They went to lunch in Weston, which surprised her. He was either at home, or in Boston. She couldn't remember him ever doing anything in Weston, but he drove them straight to a restaurant and walked right in, like he had been going there for years. He had ordered before she even sat down, and she had to wait for the waiter to come back before she could put in her own order.

Being alone with him in public was the worst for her. She couldn't seduce him in a restaurant, during the middle of the day. Well, she could, but it would be a little awkward, while he was stuffing his face and a family of four sat behind them. So she was subjected to his company. And sometimes, Satan was very pleasant company, indeed. It almost made her feel guilty about her plans.

Almost.

Because she loved it so much, he had taken the Jaguar, and then surprised her by cruising around with her for a while afterwards. It was freezing, but the sun was out, so he opened the sun roof. She leaned her seat back, enjoying the breeze.

“Tate,” Jameson started, his voice heavy. She groaned.

“No more talking. I feel like everyone keeps wanting to have 'talks' with me. I am a big girl. I make my own decisions, retarded as they may be, thank you,” she said quickly.

“I wasn't going to have 'a talk'. I was going to ask how much convincing it would take to get some road head,” he replied. She burst out laughing and glanced over at him.

“Jesus, Jameson, are you always fully erect?” she chuckled. He smiled.

“Not quite always.”

“Not quite, huh. What about when you're at work? What could possibly get you excited there?” she questioned.

“Well, we did hire a new secretary. She is particularly edible,” he said. She stopped laughing.

“Oh really. fu-ck her yet?” she asked, trying to sound breezy.

“Despite what you may think, I don't just fu-ck every woman who steps in front of me. I do let some of them get away,” he assured her.

“What about this one?” she kept on.

“No, I haven't fu-cked her.”