Reparation (The Kane Trilogy, #3)(82)

“Sorry, sorry,” she breathed, resting against him at an awkward angle. He yanked her upright, standing her on her feet. She pushed away from his chest, straightening out her dress.

“Where the fu-ck are your shoes?” he asked, staring down at her feet. She stared down, too, taking in both their barefeet. She smiled. Just like that first time, in his house.

“In the hall,” she replied. “Where's your hat?”

“In my hotel room. Tatum. What the fu-ck are you doing?” he asked.

“I opened your present,” she told him. He raised his eyebrows.

“Oh really. How – what did you say? - magnanimous of you,” he said snidely. She snorted.

“I know, right? What a fu-ckin' ugly necklace, Kane. I came up here to give it back. Can you hit the floor for the lobby? I'm in the middle of a party,” she told him.

“Noooo, I think you're done with your party,” he replied.

“Oh really? What makes you think that?” she asked.

“That look in your eye.”

“What look?”

“That look that says you really want to be fu-cked,” he told her. She laughed.

“And you think you can do something about that?” she asked. He nodded and leaned around her, but he didn't hit the lobby button. He hit the button for his floor.

“I think I'm the only one who can do someting about it,” he replied.

“I don't know how my date would feel about that,” she wondered out loud.

“I don't give a fu-ck.”

She grabbed him by his shirt and yanked him forward. They stumbled backwards, her back ramming into the elevator doors. She moaned against his lips, their tongues swirling around each other. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her against him, and then he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her so tightly she could barely breathe.

“Don't leave me again,” he whispered, tracing his tongue along her bottom lip. She shook her head.

“I won't. I promise,” she whispered back, combing her fingers through his thick hair.

“Your promises haven't worked out so well for me,” he growled, his mouth against her neck.

“We'll have to work on that,” she replied.

“I thought I had lost you.”

“Me, too.”

“You never listen to me.”

“I'm trying. I heard you down there. It just took me a while.”

“I swear to Christ,” he growled, his lips moving across her face. “If you come back only to run away again ..., I won't do this forever, Tate.”

“Yes, you would.”

“Yes. Are you fu-cking around? Am I gonna wake up tomorrow and you'll have run away again? Am I gonna have to chase you to New Jersey? South Dakota? Maybe give me a heads up so I can know what to pack.”

“You're such a dick.”

“At least I'm consistent.”

She sighed. She had missed him, so much.

“I'm so sorry I left you.”

“I'm going to make-,”

She hadn't even realized the elevator had come to a stop, but suddenly the doors were sliding open. She shrieked and fell backwards. Jameson stumbled with her. He managed to keep her upright, but they tripped across the hall, slamming into the far wall, all his weight ramming into her. She grunted and then his mouth was on hers again.

He grabbed her ass hard, yanking her up against him. Her dress was too tight for her to lift her legs, and he carried her like that down the hall. She raked her fingers across his shoulders and he let go of her, her body sliding down the length of his. When her feet touched the floor, he shoved her against a wall.

“Off, you need to get this off,” he breathed, yanking her slim belt apart.

“Yes,” she agreed, her fingers joining his as she whipped the belt away from her body.

“All of it,” he insisted, his fingers going to the zipper that ran down the seam over her butt.

She slid to the side, pulling him with her, until she landed against a door. She braced her hands against the frame while he worked the zipper all the way down. Then his hands slid heavily up her body, over her breasts, to her shoulders. He pulled at the material there, yanked her arms free. The moment the top of the dress slid away from her breasts, he pressed himself against her, covering her up with his body.

“We either do this in the hall, or we go inside,” she whispered to him.

“Okay,” he replied, and his hands flew to his own belt.

“Jameson.”

He stepped away from her and she almost fell forward. He grabbed her upper arm and dragged her down the hall. She held the front of her dress to her chest, trailing behind him. He stopped in front of the last door, fought with the key card, finally got it in, and kicked open the door. Sanders leapt up from a couch.

“Oh, good, I'm so glad you -,” Sanders started to gush.

“Out. Now,” Jameson barked, yanking Tate up against his chest.

Sanders hurried out of the suite, closing the door behind him.

“Wait, wait, wait,” she rushed out, pressing against Jameson's chest. He shook his head, pulling her dress away from her hands.

“I've waited long enough,” he said, one of his hands covering her breast and squeezing. She shook her head.