Someone to Watch Over Me (23 page)

“You don’t like it.”

“I’m…speechless, Cooper.” Tate rarely called
me by my full name. Like my parents, he only used it when he was
serious. “This is really personal. You might as well have tattooed
my name there.”

“It’s nothing I’ll regret if things don’t
work out between us,” I said, reaching for my panties. Before I
could get to them, Tate grasped my wrist and pulled me into his
arms.

“I like it.”

“It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a
tattoo.”

“But it
does
mean something. You
tattooed your mound with a strawberry patch. That’s like a
declaration to me, one that’s irreversible. I finally feel like
I’ve gained an inch with you, that for once you’re not going to up
and disappear, and then you go and burst my bubble by talking about
breaking up.”

“I didn’t think you liked it.”

“I
love
it.”

“Fine…it means something.” Gazing at him, I
watched his eyes widen, shock monopolizing his expression. “Don’t
act so surprised! I made my feelings clear for you the other
day!”

“I know, but women tell me they love me all
the time. They shout it at me wherever I go. Oooohhh Taaaaaate—I
love yooooouuuu Tate! Over here! I want to have your babies! Oh my
gawd, he
looked
at me—Tate Watkins looked at me!” When I
scowled and swatted at him, he was quick to respond. “What? It’s
true. Come with me this weekend and you’ll see.”

Shaking my head, I rolled my eyes. I could
imagine. I’d been to concerts before. I’d seen women throwing
themselves toward the stage like schools of fish in spawn, their
bodies writhing and struggling in their frantic race to be fruitful
and multiply.

“Are you jealous?” Tate’s lips curled into a
grin. “You are, aren’t you? You’re jealous of all my fangirls.”

I choked on a breath, gaping as Tate’s grin
widened. I was quick to snap my mouth shut, gathering what
composure I could. “Oh puleeze.”

“Don’t worry, strawberry girl. You have one
thing that they don’t.”

“Just one thing?” I said dryly.

“The only thing that matters.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“Me.” Teasing me with a shallow kiss, he
nibbled on my lower lip while his hands busied elsewhere. “The next
few days are going to suck royally.”

“Mm?”

“Not being able to
really
kiss you.”
Trailing down the planes of my stomach, he tormented me with the
warm ball piercing his tongue. “No worries. I can think of other
things to do with my tongue.”

Hitching my knee over his shoulder, he did
just that. By the time he was done working his tongue between the
apex of my thighs, my knees were weak and my body was quivering
from head to toe. Slowly, I unwound my fingers from his hair and
gripped the edge of the sink.

“Better hold on, strawberry girl. We’re not
done yet.” Indeed, he unfastened his very fine designer jeans and
freed himself. Taking his length in his hand, he stroked himself.
The action was needless; he was hard as steel. I gripped the sink
harder, my knuckles whitening.

Reaching behind me, Tate rifled through my
vanity and extracted a square black wrapper. “You really do hide
those all over my apartment, don’t you?”

“I like to be prepared.”

“Where else have you put them?”

“In the kitchen, the sofa cushions, the
nightstand… I plan to fuck you in each room before I go back on the
road. That way you’ll be reminded of me no matter where you
are.”

“I already think of you no matter where I
am, Tate.”

“Do you now?” Tate’s smile lit a fire in my
chest. Smiling back, I curled a finger under his chin, guiding his
lips to mine.

“You are always on my miiiiiiind. You are
alwaaaays on my…” I trailed off, watching Tate’s eyes cloud over
with lust. “….miiinnnnd.”

“That voice of yours…” he proclaimed, “it
makes me want to fuck your mouth.”

“I swear you say the sweetest things.”

“What can I say; I’m a romantic at heart.”
Slipping into me, Tate closed his eyes, surrendering to our carnal
endeavors. Me, I fought to remain lucid. I loved to watch him lose
himself, to know that I had the appeal to satisfy his needs.

Resting on the vanity, I lifted my legs
around Tate’s waist, hooking my ankles behind his back. Tate slid
his hands to either side of my hips, lifting me to a better angle.
Rhythmically, he plunged forward, his teeth set on the edge of his
lip. His muscles bunched and rolled beneath his skin, revealing the
hidden strength behind his lean frame.

Just those few small observations were
enough to bring me to peak.

“Ah! My God, Coop! Not yet!” Pace
increasing, the tendons in Tate’s neck tensed. His grip bruised my
hips, fingertips dimpling my skin as the shudders of my peak sent
him over the edge. “Fuck! Shit! Fuck!” I swear, even the man’s
oaths were musical with his smooth baritone.

Collapsing over me, his chest heaved,
aftershocks of his orgasm still firing deep inside me. A light
sheen of sweat coated his body. His dark hair curled slightly at
the roots. All of these things were secondary to the undeniable
affection I felt for him. God, I had it bad.

“Sabotage, babe, that’s all I’m going to
say.”

“What can I say—I enjoy watching you.”

“Then consider this fair warning—I’m
blindfolding you from now on. You short circuit my brain when that
magic muff of yours starts having seizures.”

Laughing, I ejected him unceremoniously. “Oh
my God!”

Tate took a step back and stared
indignantly. “Amazing, just amazing. Wham bam thank you man. Now
get out. Is that the way it is?”

Still laughing, I added an indelicate snort
to the mix.

“My God, here I thought I was getting a lady
when I first saw you in that office number. Now the real Cooper
Hale comes out. She likes tongue rings, tattoos and voyeurism. And
she snorts to top it off.”

“Stop,” I gasped, holding my stomach. It
hurt from laughing so hard. “I…can’t…breathe.”

Tate, on the other hand, had lost all sense
of humor. My first thought was the condom broke. I was sure of it.
The smile faded from my face. That was all I needed, another
pregnancy. Tate Watkins’ baby or not.

“Come with me, Coop.”

“This weekend?” I asked, able to breathe
again. Sliding the medicine cabinet open, I pulled out the fresh
pack of gauze and the ointment Tiny gave me. I had to redress my
ink. I was supposed to keep it covered for the next twenty-four
hours with the one exception of Tate’s private unveiling. “You
already know—”

“On tour,” Tate clarified.

“What?” Surely, I must’ve heard him wrong.
Taking the gauze from my hands, he began peeling back the paper
wrapper while I stammered in shock.

“Come with me. I’ll be touring hard through
December. I’ll have some time off here and there to recoup, but for
the most part, I’ll be playing back to back. If you come, at least
we’ll get to see each other.”

“I have a kid, Tate. I can’t just up and
go.”

“He’s not in school yet.” Unfazed by what he
was asking of me, he knelt and began taping the fresh sheet of
gauze over my tattoo.

“I still have a job, and things like health
insurance to think about.”

“I’ll cover it. I’m sure they have a cobra
plan.”

“And what happens if things don’t work out
between us?”

“Coop, did anyone ever tell you what a
pessimist you are?” he accused, pausing from his ministrations to
look up at me.

“I’m not a pessimist; I’m a realist.”

Staring intently, he added, “You’d be safer
with me. I have security around me at all times while I’m on
tour.”

“That’s not playing fair.”

“I’m in this to win, strawberry girl.”
Securing the last edge of the gauze, he ran his finger over the
four strips of tape and then generously helped me back into my
bikinis. “I have a place in Seattle. Nice big security system.
Gated. Monitored twenty-four seven.”

“Now you want me to move in with you.”

“It’s big. Levy could have his own room.
I’ll even get him one of those race car beds.”

“You’re crazy.”

“You love me.”

“Everybody loves you. You’re Tate
Watkins.”

“True. What? I’m a lovable guy.” Rising back
to his feet, Tate lifted me back onto the vanity and nestled his
hips between my thighs. “What’s so different than what we’re doing
right now? I practically live here. We disagree on things. I win
because of my calm logic. We have great sex. And I’m a great role
model for your son. What’ve you got to lose?”

Nothing. I had nothing to lose. The thought
blinked at me like a neon sign, a harsh reminder of my pitiful
existence.

Smiling as if he’d already won the
discussion, Tate took my hand and brought it to his chest. “Think
about it. I have another week before we move on.”

“Tate—”

“Think about it, Coop. Come with me this
weekend. You can see what it’s like. Don’t make a decision until
then.”

In the next room, Levy pitched a scream that
raised the hairs on my arms. Tate and I grappled over who would get
out the door first. He went into protective mode, going superhero
chauvinist on me and used his muscle to get there first.

“Mommmmaaaaa!” Levy wailed, sliding from the
couch and toddling sleepily toward me with his arms out. I scooped
him up off the floor, sheltering him in my arms.

“What’s wrong, Lev? What happened?” He clung
to me, nearly choking me as he burrowed under my chin, trembling
from whatever woke him.

“The sandman.”

“The sandman isn’t real, kiddo.”

“I saw him at da winnow.”

After briefly meeting my eyes, Tate crossed
the room and pushed the curtain back. “Screen’s cut. Was it like
this before?” He held up the corner, which was cut completely down
the right side and across the bottom. A moth the size of my left
hand took this as an open invitation and fluttered its way inside.
The shiver that ran down my spine had nothing to do with the
insect, and everything to do with the clean slice in my window
screen.

“No.”

Chapter
12

“H
e’ll be fine,”
Tate promised, referring to Levy. “Carter can’t be a bad influence
as long as he’s here with us.” He smiled wryly at his best friend,
who flipped him the bird.

It was only three days and two nights, but
I’d never left Levy for so long of a time. Carter’s sister Jess was
watching him so I could attend Tate’s concert in Jersey. We were
staying at the Hyatt for the weekend. The hotel was on the
Philadelphia waterfront, right on Columbus Boulevard. The guys
wanted to see the sights, check out South Street and some of the
surrounding areas while they were in town.

Honestly, I knew Levy would be fine with
Jess and Gabi. What really worried me was the intruder behind the
damaged window screen. Neither Tate nor I were deluding ourselves
with notions of robbery. And while I didn’t think Grant was to
blame over the road rage incident, I was pretty sure he was to
blame for the attempted break in at my apartment.

Tate had wanted me to stay at Jess’s house,
but I refused to let Grant chase me from my home again. I ran too
many times already. Hence, I put my foot down. I made my stand.

Consequently, so did Tate.

When I had refused to stay at Jess’s, Tate
called in Evan and Taylor, whom Tate appointed as my personal
security detail. Evan stayed in the car at night, and Taylor took
over every morning. He drove me to and from work, and to lunch if I
decided to eat out. It made for an awkward situation because the
girls all decided to join me, volunteering me to drive in hopes
that Tate Watkins might magically appear in the backseat, though I
promised he wouldn’t. I apologized to Taylor numerous times for the
titters and whispering that occurred. He shrugged it off, but
still, it couldn’t have been comfortable to be stuck in a car full
of prattling women.

To boot, I did horrible with the shooting
lesson. Truly. It was a scene from The Three Stooges, which wasn’t
funny considering firearms were involved. Thus, I refused to keep
one in the house. It just wasn’t happening. With a gun in my hand,
I was a danger to society.

This only bolstered Tate’s suggestion to
join him on the road, he’d decided. This he implied in every
discussion, every non-discussion, and anything in between with no
subtlety whatsoever. He was like a child, intent on obtaining the
latest and greatest of games or gadgets.

Me, I was still hesitant to take that blind
leap of faith.

“Cooper…ooper…ooper…oopper,” Carter echoed,
his hands cupped around his mouth. He smirked as he elbowed Tate in
the ribs. “Dude, does she do that often?”

“Block out annoying noises like the sound of
your voice?” Tate retorted. “Yeah.”

“Down,” I said, in response to Carter’s
question. While I was deep in thought, I was still cognizant to the
world around me. It was a skill honed over time, thanks to Levy.
“Tate’s right, you need to drop down a bar at the end.”

“Go back to wherever you just were,” Carter
scoffed. “La la land or wherever the fuck you go. Twit singer.”

“See that scuff on my shoe, Carter?” I
asked. “Cause I’m going to shine it with your balls in a minute.”
Shane emphasized my retort by sounding a rim shot on his practice
pad.

Carter scowled and gave me the finger.

“Oh what is that—the size of your dick or
your IQ?”

“Brawl!” Jake bellowed as Carter grabbed my
leg and pulled me beneath him and his bass guitar onto the nasty
floor of the body bag. He was throwing mock punches to my kidneys
while his guitar strings sliced my skin like a friggin’
mandolin.

Brawl? It was an ass kicking. Carter was
handing it to me.

“Get your bridge out of my hip, Carter!”

“Say uncle.”

“Don’t do it, Coop,” Tate warned. “You’ll be
his bitch the rest of your life.”