More Than Meets the Ink (23 page)

“I told him, and I learned my lesson; I was needy and clingy and suffocating him with my problems. I wasn’t about to repeat the same mistake with you.” And James had come to mean so much more to her than Aidan, she hadn’t wanted to jeopardize it.

“I am not like Aidan, and I resent being compared to him. I don’t run when things get tough, and I don’t leave people I care about hanging.”

She stared at him. “I’ve realized that on my own. You’re nothing like him.” Yep, Aidan and James were as different as they came.

“No more comparisons, okay?”

She nodded, and that seemed to appease him. “What about ex-employees? Did you fire anyone recently?”

Tate shook her head. “You’ve seen what I’ve put up with in order not to fire people my dad hired. No, I haven’t fired anyone. Some people left, yes, but it was voluntarily.” She lifted her gaze to him, almost pleading. “There’s no need to overreact.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, princess. Let’s go, and we’ll get breakfast on the way.”

He was still pissed, but it seemed that by agreeing to the alarms and the panic button, whatever the hell that was, the fight had partly gone out of him.

“Will we get to the mall in time after installing the alarm? I still want to buy clothes. I may even let you take a peek while I change in the dressing room.”

He studied her for a second, his eyes serious. “Do not think for even a second I don’t know that you’re playing me like a fiddle.”

“I am, and you like it,” she whispered. “Although you’ll like it better when I take you lingerie shopping. By the way, why are we going to Alden? Don’t you have alarm systems at the office?”

“I have one brand-new prototype we just received there. I want you to have that one.”

“You know what I think?” she asked, throwing him a casual glance, trailing her fingers over the back of his neck. “I think that’s an excuse to get me to your place. You’ve been talking about it for weeks now, about your big bed and your nice hot tub, the lake views too. You should be ashamed of yourself, mister, trying to take advantage of a damsel in distress.”

He narrowed his eyes on her, frowned at her jovial tone. “Don’t you joke about this.”

He wanted to look stern, but she could see his lips beginning to turn up.

She pushed on, waving an admonishing finger at him. “You Catholic boys are sneaky. A girl can never be too careful around you—too many repressed dreams and fantasies.”

He shook his head in mock desperation and stood up, offering her his hand, his gaze daring her not to take it. She’d never held his hand willingly; he’d always had to grab it. Now was her chance to show him how much he meant to her. She reached for his hand, entwined her fingers around his, pressing hard, and smiled at him. James looked so surprised it felt like a sucker punch to her gut. Had she really been so damn bitchy that a simple lovers’ gesture had surprised him?

Chapter Ten

Tate left the recruiting office with a huge smile; she was so hiring Goth Girl. Paige might have come across as a bit on the weird side with all that metal and black paint on her face, but she was witty and perky, and they’d connected right away. She’d spice things up in the dining area and fit perfectly with Kelly and Tina. Not so much with Clint, but hell, with the way he was behaving and how sick and tired Tate was getting of it all, who knew how long he was going to be working for her?

Without letting that last thought mess with her current Zen mood, she started her car and began driving back to Rosita’s, singing happily to the tunes on the radio. It was a nice morning, unseasonably sunny, and for some reason, her spirits were totally up. Maybe she’d pass by James’s office and take him for some waffles, try a traditional breakfast that didn’t include monkey sex and coffee being slurped from her belly button. At the mere thought of her lover, a warm, fuzzy feeling blossomed inside her, which didn’t make sense; the way he’d been behaving lately, the only thing blossoming inside her should have been a helluva tantrum the size of Texas.

It’d been several days since James had installed the state-of-the-art security alarms up in her place and at the restaurant. She was no techie, but those were top-of-the-line babies, equipped with cameras, motion sensors, direct connection with the police—you name it. The whole shebang. Nowadays she felt safer than she would in Fort Knox. The panic button was installed in a cute wristwatch that she kept forgetting to wear, and for that she was taking too much shit from James.

He’d gone to the police and got some detective to come read the e-mails. He didn’t make any promises but assured them he’d look into it, which, coming from the police in regard to a threat that may or may not become a reality, was damn impressive. James hadn’t stopped there, though, and had Zack and Sean watching her when he couldn’t. They hadn’t come out and overtly acknowledged they were babysitting her, but really, what other reason would there be for them sticking around when James wasn’t present? Even that scary dude, Jack Copeland, the owner of the biker bar, had been in Rosita’s a couple of times. She’d confronted Zack and Sean, ordered them away, but they always came up with the most absurd excuses for being there. They were so easygoing and so sweet she couldn’t stay mad with them; it felt like kicking puppies. Jack Copeland, on the other hand, intimidated the hell out of her. Not that he’d been disrespectful or said more than two words to her, for that matter, but the guy looked as intense and as focused as a damn Terminator fresh off the assembly line—he didn’t need words to scare her. There was no way she was confronting him. Let him be in Rosita’s as much as he wanted.

As far as she was concerned, James was blowing everything out of proportion, but he wouldn’t listen to her complaints; he just smiled sweetly at her, fucked her senseless, and then continued to bulldoze her.

James was taking over, and Tate, too dazzled to oppose his advances, was letting him.

When he wasn’t making love to her or purposely melting her into a goop of irrational happiness, he was driving her insane with his clever mix of male arrogance and sweet, grand gestures. She spent most of her time either rolling her eyes at him in exasperation or muttering curses, which, needless to say, had not the slightest effect on him. The guy had no shame when it came to getting his way.

In spite of everything—or maybe because of it—she was falling for him. Big-time. It really wasn’t how attractive and how amazing a lover he was, which of course didn’t hurt a bit, but also how cherished he made her feel, how damn happy she was with him around. How her life was better—richer—with him in it. She loved that he was always in Rosita’s at closing time, helping her out. Absolutely loved the way Tim and the others had taken to him, and him to them.

He and his personality took up a lot of space, especially now that he’d taken out the big guns and gone all protective on her, but she liked “handling” him. And not only that, she was getting used to him and, horrors of all horrors, missed him horribly when he wasn’t around, or when he couldn’t sleep with her, which, in honor to the truth, was very rarely. He would drag his tired body from wherever he’d been working and come to her. And damn, she loved him for that too. Actually, she loved everything about the guy, bossiness and tattoos included. Yes, tattoos included. She’d often found herself mesmerized by the beautiful dragon on his arm and shoulder, tracing it with her fingers, with her mouth. She was pretty sure she’d shamelessly licked and nibbled each one of its shiny, sexy, gorgeously mouthwatering green scales. And the same went for the Oriental symbols on the left side of his abs. Frigging scary, really.

Her overall situation hadn’t changed, it was as precarious as before, but since coming clean with James, she’d been feeling damn light-headed—happy and high. The same way religious grannies felt coming out of the confessionary: squeaky clean and light and liberated. Now she wasn’t carrying the weight of Prince Charming’s existence all on her own shoulders. The threat was still there, and the debts too, but they didn’t feel so heavy anymore. Although she’d convinced herself those e-mails weren’t his business and therefore not worth mentioning, the ugly truth was she’d dreaded telling him about it, afraid he’d bail on her. But that hadn’t happened; if anything, opening up to him had the opposite effect. He was around even more than before.

While stopped at a red light, Tate looked through the window and suddenly realized where she was. Her breath caught in her throat, and adrenaline came rushing in. She hadn’t realized her trip to the recruiting office would bring her through this neighborhood. Her first instinct was to floor it and run away, but she forced herself to stay calm and just clutched the steering wheel. She was stuck in traffic, that little sensible voice coming out of somewhere deep inside her head said to her, nowhere to run, at least not at this very second.

Time seemed to slow down, leaving her alone with her thudding heart almost coming out her mouth and that voice of reason nagging at her, telling her that this was her chance. The lights must have changed because the car behind her honked loudly and angrily. She released the brake and cautiously pushed on the gas, not trusting herself. Maybe that voice was right; maybe this was a sign. For better or for worse, she was there. Could she deal with this now? Probably not, but what the heck, when had she been that close to this place anyway? What was the worst that could happen? Things were looking up; the restaurant was doing better, and she was feeling better, stronger—emboldened. Maybe now she could step into her childhood bedroom, roam through her childhood house.

Or maybe not.

Without allowing herself a second thought, she took the next turn and navigated through the labyrinth of suburban streets she knew so well. Her hands felt sweaty and shaky, clammy against the wheel. Her mind and body were so damn wired up all she could feel and hear was her heart thumping loudly inside her head.
Thump, thump, thump.

Tate stopped in front of a two-story Victorian house. Her house.

The street was quiet. Everything seemed normal, life as usual. Yeah, right. Tate clenched her teeth and fought the anxiety tearing through her. Oh man, what the hell was she doing here? She’d avoided this place like the damn plague since her mom moved to Florida; hell, even before that. If her memory wasn’t failing her, the last time she’d been home was for Dad and Jonah’s funeral reception. With her mom’s relocation to Eternal Sun, Tate had arranged a cleaning service to come once a month to keep the house spotless, but she’d gone to painfully great lengths to ensure she was never around when that happened. She’d always find something extremely important to do, like watching her chef, Nils, prepare tomato sauce. Luckily for her, Mrs. Copernicus took her neighborly duties very seriously, so it had been a piece of cake to talk her into watching those guys for her. Tate claimed she was too busy to come all the way from Rosita’s to open the door for them. In reality, she was too terrified.

So for her to now be at 34 Bridge Lane, voluntarily, all by herself, and not running in the other direction like a possessed woman…pure madness, there was no other way to describe the situation. She’d finally jumped off the deep end. She knew she should split; yet there she was, having trouble breathing and thinking, but not leaving. Although that may have more to do with her muscles being frozen in place than with any cognitive decision on her part.

Shit, this was all James’s fault; his presence in her life and that exhilarating feeling he brought along had got her believing she could handle anything, and look at her now, tricked by her endorphin-cooked mind into coming here to shoot herself in her foot.

She breathed out, anxiety and dread and a tiny bit of hope warring inside her. “What am I doing here?” she mumbled to herself, her voice barely making it through the knot in her throat. She reached up, repeatedly pulling at the neckline of her pullover. It was too tight, dammit! She wasn’t getting enough air.

She couldn’t do this, no way. Going in there was the same as committing emotional suicide. Okay, so what if she was there? She didn’t need to do a damn thing or get out of her car, for that matter; she’d sit there for a while, get her shit together, and then go back to Rosita’s. Yes, that was the smart thing to do: collect herself, turn the ignition on, and be on her merry way. Then she looked at the front lawn, the lawn that Jonah used to take care of, the same one that Mr. Copernicus now kept trimmed and neat, and
kaboom
, she lost it. Her hands moved on their own, and suddenly the door of the car was open and she was stepping out. Although her brain wasn’t ready for this, her body refused to respond to the red flags and kept lunging forward, as if anxious for this standoff to be over. She looked at her actions in panic; she felt torn, as if there were two of her, the one lunging forward with complete disregard for her mental stability, and the one running after that wacko, trying unsuccessfully to grab her by the shirt and bring her to a halt. Her body had been hijacked.

This was crazy. She didn’t want to be there, couldn’t deal with it really. The closer she got to the house, the louder her breathing got, until she couldn’t hear a thing besides her panting, adrenaline pumping so hard through her that her vision narrowed. This was going to do her in. Unable to put a stop to it, she saw her legs bringing her to the front door, her hands grabbing the key and opening the door.

The second she saw the familiar hallway and, from the corner of her eye, the living room, an avalanche of memories slammed at her, one triggering the other and another in a never-ending free fall of flesh-cutting memories, and she almost lost her stomach. Luckily she hadn’t had breakfast yet. The pictures on the vanity in front of her didn’t help a bit either. Mayday, Mayday! her mind screamed. Back off, get out of here. But her traitorous legs weren’t obeying as they took a step forward.

This was a floodgate she shouldn’t have opened. She was so going down.

* * *

James stepped out of the car, his gaze narrowing on Tate, who didn’t see him, not even when he came to a halt in front of her.