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When they landed, Tatum felt almost halfway normal again. She had changed into a pair of shorts and a tank top, looking as unlike a financial mogul's girlfriend as she possibly could. She yanked her hair up into a ratty ponytail, shoved on her aviators, then followed them off the plane.

It was hot, like she'd predicted, and good lord, the humidity. She could feel herself sweating through her tank top and wondered how the guys could hold up in their suits – Jameson was in a three piece! But he acted as cool and comfortable as ever, strolling through customs like it was something he did every day.

“So are you meeting your lawyer today?” Tate asked during the ride to the hotel.

“No. He's actually not in Hong Kong,” Jameson replied.

“Excuse me?” Tate didn't believe her ears.

“He's not in Hong Kong. He's in Singapore,” he explained.

“So why the fuck didn't we go to Singapore!?” Tate demanded.

“I don't like Singapore. I like Hong Kong. He's going to meet me here,” Jameson continued, scrolling through messages on his phone.

“Oh. Like tomorrow?”

“Like in a couple weeks.”

Tate sat very still. In Boston, Jameson had said it would be a week,
maybe
longer. Now suddenly, the lawyer was going to show up “
in a couple weeks
”.
It was all very strange. How far away could Singapore be!?

“I don't understand,” Tate started slowly, trying to keep her cool. “Singapore is like right next door. You could be there and back in a day. Why not just go to him?”

“Because I don't want to. I like it here.”

“So because
you
like it here, now Sanders and I have to be here with you. Indefinitely,” Tate clarified. Jameson nodded.

“I feel like we're stating the obvious here.”

“Then how come in Boston, you said -,”

“I don't give a shit what I said in Boston. Plans change, Tate. We're here now, and we're not going anywhere. Deal with it.”

Tate hated it when he talked to her like that; it was one thing to get nasty in bed. It was quite another during the light of day. He wouldn't appreciate it if she talked to him the same way. But she didn't say a word. She had long since learned that snapping back didn't work. A person couldn't fight fire with fire, not with Jameson. Calm was much more effective. She stared at him for a second longer, then sat back in her chair. Didn't say another word till they got to the hotel.

She continued not saying anything as they checked in, and didn't make a sound when they got to the room. A penthouse suite, with two bedrooms, a kitchen, living room, and wrap around balcony. She could tell he was waiting for her to say something, to comment on how nice the place was, but she didn't utter a word. After their luggage was delivered, she followed the concierge out. As she got on the elevator, Jameson stepped into the hallway, but he didn't say anything. Just glared at her as the doors slid shut.

Tatum loved Jameson, she really did, but sometimes she needed her space.

They were staying at the Four Seasons, which was right on the water. Tatum walked around for a little while. There had been heavy cloud cover when they'd landed, but they were starting to dissipate. As she walked along the ocean front, the sun beat down on her.

Tate knew she was kind of being a brat. For God's sake, she was walking on a beach in Hong Kong, when twenty-four hours before she had been in Boston, thinking she'd be spending a quiet weekend at home. She was with the man she planned on spending the rest of her life with, a man who still made her heart race and her panties melt. A lot of people would kill to be in her shoes.

But she still had the urge to fight against authority, and Jameson was about as authoritarian as they came. And it wasn't right, him dragging her off for weeks at a time, no matter what he said. They were in a relationship, they should be equals, but he seemed to forget that from time to time. Would just drag and pull her around, like she was his chihuahua. She didn't want to be a chihuahua. She wanted to be a rottweiler.

So I can bite him on the ass.

It was doubly stupid to be upset because she knew it was just in his nature. Every now and then, Jameson had to bang on his chest and act like the king of the jungle. Act like nothing and no one mattered to him, because he was just a bad ass. Whatever. Normally, she just let it run its course.

Something felt different about this time, though. The secrecy, the going behind her back. It seemed a lot more premeditated. Usually he just acted like an ogre and wouldn't let her leave the house or go to L.A., or something. This was a bit much. Talking to her employees? Flying her around the world? Not cute.

The sun was setting so Tate made her way back to the hotel. But she didn't want to go back to the room, not yet, so she made her way out to the pool area. She discovered a large hammock, strung between two palm trees, so she climbed in it. By the time she was comfortable, the sun had completely set and it was dark out.

Tate didn't know how long she had been laying there when she heard footsteps approaching. She sighed and didn't bother turning her head. She knew who it was; wondered what had taken him so long.

“Am I going to get yelled at if I bother you?” Jameson asked, stepping up next to the hammock.

“Eh. Too comfy to care right now. I'll work up the energy for it later,” she replied.

He gripped onto the netting and Tate braced the hammock while he slid into it opposite of her, parting his legs around her own. They swung a little bit, but didn't tip over, and soon he had her feet resting on his stomach. She settled back down, staring up at the sky.

“I wanted this to be a fun trip,” he finally broke the silence.

“Then maybe you should've included me in it, as opposed to just dragging me along,” Tate suggested.

“Maybe I wanted it to be a surprise,” he countered.

“Maybe I think it's not a very good surprise.”

“I can't read your mind, Tate.”

“No, hence why you should talk to me.”

He swallowed thickly and she could feel him working to control his anger.

“If I ask you to do me a favor, do you think you could suspend your brattiness for a little while and just humor me?” he finally asked. Tate snorted.

“Well, when you ask so sweetly …,”

“
Just trust me.
Okay? I have never made you do anything you didn't end up liking,” he pointed out.

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Tate laughed. “Remember that time you -,”

“Shut the fuck up, Tate.”

They laid in silence for a while. Jameson was once again massaging her feet, and she sighed, revelling in the feel of it. Two years ago, if someone had told her that Jameson Kane would be rubbing her feet for her, she would have laughed at them.

Just enjoy this trip. Do it for him. He does a lot for you.

“Jameson,” she whispered, after about ten minutes.

“Hmmm?” he replied.

“Which one is Cassiopia?” she asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Is it that one?” Tate asked, pointing at the sky.

“You're asking me about constellations?” he clarified.

“It's either that, or bitch at you some more. Your choice,” she told him, but she was joking.

“Come over here.”

It took a bit of maneuvering, and she almost tipped the hammock over,
twice
, but finally Tate was facing the same direction as him. The hammock was wide, so Tate tucked into his side, laying next to him with his arm under her head.

“I wanna see 'em all,” she informed him.

“Jesus, I'm not an astronomer, Tate,” he snapped.

“Yeah, but you are
Jameson Kane
. You know all,” was her response.

“Shut up. Look, right there.”

He pointed up and slightly to the right. When she still couldn't tell, he grabbed her hand and held it in his own, pointing her finger. He moved around, showing her the shape; sort of an “
M
” in the stars. Then he showed her some of the astrological signs. It was nice, talking about something non-sensical, something that didn't pertain to anything that was going on around them.

“How did you learn all these?” Tate asked, after he explained how Orion's Belt turned into the Hunter.

“A class in high school. Read some books,” he replied, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and tugging her closer, forcing her to roll onto her side. She anchored her arm around his waist.

“I never learned about that in school,” she said through a yawn. He snorted.

“Probably because you were too busy blowing your teacher,” he suggested. She laughed.

“Shut up, I didn't become a slut till
after
school,” she reminded him.

“Do you ever miss it?” he asked.

“What, school?”

“No, life before …, all this. Being able to sleep with whoever you want, whenever you want,” he explained. Tate grew still. Why was he asking her that?

“How do you mean?” she asked warily.

“You used to get to do whatever you want, whenever you wanted. Do
whoever
you wanted. Like
Angier
– you slept with him for like five years. Do you ever miss that?” Jameson tried to make it clearer. But it didn't clear anything up.

“Do I ever miss sleeping with Ang? What kind of question is that?” Tate demanded, planting her hands on his chest and pushing herself up. He shrugged.

“Just a question. Just curious,” he replied, smoothing her hair off of her face.

“Do
you
miss sleeping with every woman in the tri-state area?” Tate countered. Jameson laughed.

“
Liebe
, every woman in the tri-state area couldn't compete with you.
No
, I don't miss it,” he assured her. She narrowed her eyes.

“You're being suspiciously sweet,” she called him out. He snorted.

“I can't win with you. Just shut up and answer the question,” he said, yanking on a strand of her hair.

“No, I don't miss sleeping with Ang, or anyone else. Why would you ask me that?” she pressed. Jameson shrugged.

“Sometimes … sometimes I just like to double check that you're happy,” he finally said.

I am such a bitch.

“Jameson,” she breathed, laying down on his chest. “Even when you piss me off, I am still happier with you than I have ever been in my whole life.”

“
Good answer.
”

Jameson had a hell of a kink in his neck. That's what he got for spending the night in a hammock with Tate on top of him. And not in a sexy-fun-time way. No, more like a startled-awake-by-janitors way. Not sexy at all.

They made their way upstairs, and he was able to convince her to take a shower with him, but it was short lived. Sanders knocked on the door halfway through, before things had a chance to get really interesting. Apparently Jameson's “
package
” had arrived, the one he'd been waiting for; Sanders wasn't very good at being discreet. Luckily, Tate was too distracted by Jameson's fingers. He would just have to wait for his turn, so he made sure to give her a big enough orgasm that she wouldn't have cared if the bathroom walls fell down around them, never mind Jameson sneaking out.

“She's better?” Sanders asked as Jameson came out of the bedroom, rubbing a towel over his head.

“Yes. She was pissed because I'm '
yanking
' you two around,” he chuckled.

“I told you she wouldn't like the surprise element.”

“I know. Is the car ready?”

“Yes, it's waiting downstairs.”

It was about a twenty minute drive to the airport. Jameson had originally wanted to hire a town car or a limo during their trip, but Sanders shot that idea down. He didn't feel comfortable with someone else driving him.
He
would drive, or he wouldn't be in the car at all. So even though it was supposed to be a vacation for him as well, Sanders was once again Jameson's chauffeur, carting him around Hong Kong in a rented Rolls Royce.

As they made their way across the island, Jameson's mind wandered. He stared out the window, but didn't take in any of the sights. Thought about Tate. Her laugh. Her eyes. Her body. He'd been looking at her almost every day for the last two years, but it never felt old. And really, he'd been looking at her for a lot longer than that; just in his memories. He thought back over the years. Smiled as he remembered the first time he had ever seen her …

*

Eloise O'Shea introduced herself to Jameson at a party thrown by Jameson's father. Both their families were there, and he had met Mathias O'Shea before, but never the O'Shea women. Eloise was exceptionally pretty – when he met her, his first thought was that she could have been a model, if she wanted. Tall, with long legs and smooth hips. She smiled the right smiles, said the right things.

Boring.

He vaguely remembered her gesturing to the rest of her family, her mother and Mathias, who was standing almost in front of a young woman. A leggy, coltish girl who bore very little resemblance to her sister, Jameson could barely see her. He didn't look twice, anyway. He was a month away from twenty-one and already wealthier than anyone had a right to be; young women didn't interest him. Tall blondes with shapely bodies, however, were right up his alley.

Jameson and Ellie met again on several occasions, “bumping” into each other. He would later learn that a lot of it had been carefully crafted by their parents, arranging the whole relationship from the get go. Every time, Ellie angled for a date, mentioning restaurants she liked, offering to get him into exclusive events, blah blah blah.

Jameson didn't give two fucks about restaurants or events – he just wanted to know what she was like in bed.

It took a long time, longer than he would have liked. She was charming and smart, but boring as fuck. He had been raised to be polite, however, so he stuck it out. He'd never gotten along with his father, but for once, the old man was pleased with his decision. Jameson was tired of butting heads with him, so staying with Ellie just seemed easier.

She wasn't horrible in bed – though of course, most women had to actively try to be bad in bed. She was eager to please, but it soon became apparent that she wasn't eager to please him in the ways he really wanted. And Jameson was coming to realize that the things he wanted were pretty far from “normal”.

The first time he ever “met” Tatum O'Shea, it was the beginning of February. Jameson had managed to avoid officially meeting the O'Shea clan for as long as possible, but after two months of dating Ellie, he couldn't beg off anymore. No one could pitch a fit quite like she could, and Jameson hated a fit. So he agreed to have dinner at her house.

He was standing in the living room, having a brandy with Mathias, when the front door swung open, then slammed shut quickly. Jameson glanced in the hall, then did a double-take. A girl was walking towards the stairs, snapping into her phone. She had long black hair that had been yanked up into a messy ponytail on top of her head, and she was wearing running shorts that were so ridiculously tight and tiny, she might as well have just been wearing underwear.

But thinking that made him wonder if she was wearing any underwear at all, which then led to thoughts of peeling her shorts off of her and doing unspeakable things to her … most likely involving tying said shorts around various parts of her body, and -

“Kane,” Mathias barked. “Have you met my other daughter, Tatum?”

That's the girl from the Christmas party!?

“No, I haven't,” Jameson replied.

“Willful child, that one. We told her you would be here tonight, told her what time to be home, but did she listen? Of course not. Ridiculous. And that outfit. She looks like a prostitute,” Mathias grumbled. Tatum was oblivious to all this as she paced in front of the stairs, arguing with whoever was on the other end of the phone.

Stop looking at her like that, she's sixteen, you fucking pervert.

“It's not so bad, she was obviously exercising,” Jameson managed to respond.

Tatum finally got off her phone and jogged up the stairs. Jameson cleared his throat, looked away. Mathias grumbled some more, but they didn't talk about Tatum again. Though Jameson spent the better part of the night watching the stairs, waiting for her to come down, wondering what she'd look like in normal clothing.

She never came – he would later learn that her father had sent her a message telling her not to, telling her that she had already embarrassed him enough in front of their guest.

Over the course of his relationship with Ellie, Jameson didn't see Tatum a whole lot. The two girls were far enough apart in age that they really didn't have that much in common. On top of that, they were two very different people. Two people who didn't get along very well. Ellie never invited her sister anywhere or to anything, and Jameson avoided family gatherings like the plague, so he never had a reason to be around Tatum.

But every time he did find himself around her, he was struck by her presence. She was somewhat shy and reserved, but when she did smile, it was big, and lit up the room. She had sharp, dark eyes, and was very smart. And her body, dear lord. She was only five years younger than him; if they had been twenty-five and thirty, it wouldn't have made a difference. But seventeen and twenty-two? Jameson knew the way he looked at her was inappropriate. Still, good looks were good looks, he couldn't deny that, and Tate had looks in spades. Different from Ellie. Darker.

There was something about her that brought out the dark thoughts in Jameson, as well.

The first time Jameson tried to break up with Ellie, he had been very blunt. He told her the main reason was because she was boring in bed. Jameson wanted something else, something different. Ellie screamed and threatened and cried. Jameson didn't care.

That first attempted break up was the first time he slept with someone outside of their relationship. He had gone to a bar, hooked up with a waitress. A very adventurous girl with a ridiculously talented mouth, but the best part – the woman loved when he pulled her hair. Something about this thrilled him. The harder he pulled, the more she liked it. The deeper she sucked him, the harder she rode him.

This is what I want.

And so it continued for a year and a half. He would try to dump Ellie. They would have a fight. He would warn her that he was going to sleep with someone else, he would go sleep with someone else, he would tell her that he slept with someone else – and Ellie would still beg him to stay. It was insane. What an insane, fucked up relationship.

He would come to learn that he specialized in those kinds of relationships.

But outside pressure from his father, from her parents, from Ellie herself, kept him with her. Deep down, Jameson admitted he was weak. He would rather take the path of least resistance, then just dump the bitch and deal with his father's wrath. So Jameson stayed. Slept around, explored his darker proclivities with other women.

And as she got older, he could admit, he would occasionally fantasize about Tate. She was sexy as fuck, and forbidden fruit. She was nice as could be, always polite, a “please and thank you” kind of girl; which just seemed to spur him on more. The nicer and politer she was around him, the more he wanted to do …, something. Shake her out of her pastel existence. Scare her. Wrap his hand around her throat and squeeze.

But only a little.

It was all a fantasy, though. He also thought pop singer Katy Perry was sexy, but he was most likely never going to sleep with her. He would never actually touch Tate; wasn't actually, literally, attracted to her. Too young, too immature, too inexperienced, too off-limits.

No, there would never be anything between him and Tatum O'Shea.