Reparation (The Kane Trilogy, #3)(44)

Now, as she was remembering some of their more adventurous times together, it was like opening her eyes. She stretched out on the bed, bent her legs at the knees. Remembered the first time he had told her he'd slept with another woman; other women. Two. At once. Pretty hot. She walked her fingertips across her stomach, pushing her t-shirt out of the way. Let the cool air in the apartment wash over her skin.

Remembered the time at her parents' house, when she had him screw her against the wall, making sure Ellie and Robert heard everything. Remembered the time in the bathroom on his boat. God, that time. It had been quick for them, but hot. Hotter than anything had been in a long time. Her finger tips crept down to the waist of her leggings.

After Jameson had come back from vacation and found out that Ang had been in the house. Worn his clothing. Had almost slept with Tate. Jameson had been onto her, her little plan. After going down on her like it was his job, he had flipped her onto her stomach and practically pounded her through the mattress. She'd thought she'd had whiplash for the next few days. She closed her eyes as she worked her fingers under her leggings. Under her panties. She could hear his voice, like he was in the room.

“Starting without me, baby girl? Very naughty.”

Only for you, Mr. Kane. Anymore, it's only for you.





~8~


It felt like a lot longer than three days. She'd spent most of the last day with Ang. For the first time since ..., since Jameson had reentered her life, she felt like she was back to the same old friendship she'd always had with Ang, just minus the sex. It was nice. It was amazing. She actually cried a little when he left to go home. He called her a stupid cow and kissed her goodbye.

Sanders pick her up, but instead of driving her straight home, Tate convinced him to stop and have dinner with her. She apologized for making him feel like he had to leave, and explained that she had just wanted some time. Some time to pretend to be the “old her”, so she could figure out exactly who the “new her” was and what that person wanted.

“Did you figure it out?” Sanders asked. She smiled at him.

“I think I did.”

By the time they pulled up in front of the house in Weston, it was after seven o'clock at night. She had guessed that Jameson would be in a foul mood, and Sanders warned that he would be in a foul mood, but she didn't care. She was actually excited to see him. Be in his presence. The couple days apart had rejuvenated her. Made her really like him again. Sometimes, loving a person was easy, the heart went and did that all on its own. Liking a person, however, was a little more difficult. That involved the brain. And the brain was a fickle bitch.

He wasn't waiting for her at the door, as he had a tendency to do whenever she was tardy. In fact, the whole house was mostly dark. She made a face at Sanders, laughing at him as he carried her bag upstairs. Then she crept down the hallway, to the only light source in the house.

A fire was raging.

“Hello,” Tate called out softly, edging into his library. It was her first time entering the room, since he had dumped her in there, that her skin didn't crawl.

“You came back. Shocker,” Jameson commented. He was sitting in one of the wing back chairs, facing the flames. So close, she worried he'd burn his feet.

So, the same spot as always.

“Ooohhh, there's a tone. Someone is feisty already,” she teased, walking over to the couch and plopping down on it, folding her legs under herself. He didn't move.

“Just surprised. It had occured to me that this was all an elaborate ruse, a way to sneak out of my clutches,” he told her. She laughed.

“You give me too much credit. Wasn't Sandy talking to you? I was a good girl, all week,” she assured him.

“I highly doubt that, and sometimes I think Sanders is working for you, and against me. Though he did inform me of a kiss,” Jameson said.

“Such a tattle tale. Yes, there was a kiss. I hope he also told you that I put a stop to the kiss, and told Nick that I wouldn't be running away with him to his castle in Arizona,” she stressed.

“There was some mention of that. Mostly babbling. I try to ignore him when he gets to the facts.”

“Obviously.”

“Shut up.”

“Nothing happened, Jameson. I'm here,” she pointed out.

“Yes. And you could've been here last night, but you chose to spend it with Angier,” he practically spit out Ang's name. Tate laughed and began taking off her scarf and jacket.

“You know, for such an amazing man who is always going on and on about not worrying or caring or any of that bullshit, you're awfully insecure,” she told him. He finally turned his head towards her, his jaw visible below the wing of the chair. She leaned over the back of the couch, folding her arms.

“fu-ck you, Tatum. It's post-traumatic stress, from dealing with you,” he snarled. She snickered.

“Such a bitch.”

She was provoking him on purpose, so she didn't move when he got out of his chair and stalked towards her. She had missed him all week. She wanted him, now. She was ready to let go, to give in to him. He had won, after all. She was finally ready to admit that.

“Care to say that again?” he growled, coming around the couch to face her. She turned around, settling back onto her heels.

“Bitch. I called you one. As in, you're acting like a little bitch. You won, Mr. Kane. I'm here. He's in Arizona. Ang is at home. But I'm here, with you. So stop being a bitch.”