Colorado 02 Sweet Dreams (26 page)

I took in a breath and asked, “Is Neeta married?”

Tate answered immediately, “Yeah.”

I closed my eyes and turned my face away, licking my lips.

“Look at me, Lauren,” Tate demanded and I shook my head. “Babe, fuckin’ look at me.”

I looked at him.

“You hear other shit about Neeta?” he asked astutely and I nodded.

“Nothing much,” I whispered. “People mention her name and yours. They sound… funny.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Fuckin’ hilarious.”

“Not funny like that,” I told him softly.

“I know Lauren,” he replied.

“Betty said she’s the reason you’re not a cop,” I said.

“That ain’t true though I bet she believes it like gospel. Neeta’s bigger than life, likes it that way, works hard for that reputation. You ask about Neeta, people’ll talk and you can believe about five percent of what they say and she likes it like that, it’s exactly how she wants it. They mention me with her, you can believe about point five percent of what they say.”

“Tate –”

He cut me off. “It’s shit.”

“But –”

“It’s shit, Lauren,” he clipped. “I quit The Force because Arnie is a lazy fuck. Most of his officers were lazy fucks too. Shit happenin’ in that town, you wouldn’t believe. Still does ‘cause he’s still Chief. Whacked. I didn’t like the way he ran his station, I didn’t like the way he played favorites with his boys, I didn’t like the way he turned a blind eye when shit went down and I knew he did it because he’d had his palm greased and I didn’t like the way he didn’t have the spine to admit his daughter was sick and get her help. I made detective because I worked fuckin’ hard for it and I did it despite him because he never fuckin’ liked me mostly because I didn’t like him. That shit went down with Bethany, it was his gig. I knew I couldn’t come to work and see his fuckin’ face every day. So I quit and started huntin’. Make triple what I made then and don’t have to deal with any fuckin’ shit.”

“Except Bubba,” I reminded him, perhaps stupidly.

“Yeah, except Bubba,” he agreed, luckily not getting even angrier being reminded of Bubba.

We stared at each other and I watched as Tate seemed prepared to hang onto his anger.

Therefore I told him, “Carrie says I leap before I look.”

Tate didn’t respond.

“And that I hold a mean grudge,” I went on.

“Lived that nightmare,” Tate muttered.

“I should have talked to you,” I whispered.

“Yeah, Ace, you should have talked to me.”

I watched some more as he continued to seem prepared to hang onto his anger.

“I’m sorry, honey,” I kept whispering.

His brows went up and he crossed his arms on his chest.

“Should I forgive you?” he asked and I swallowed.

The tables were turned and now I knew what he felt like all those weeks ago and it really wasn’t nice.

“Um…”

“I got home, Lauren, went straight to you. After a month of wantin’ nothin’ but that, to be home and have you on the back of my bike, I go straight to you and you throw attitude at me and shit in my face. I said somethin’ that hurt your feelings and you busted my balls for two weeks. You treat me to that, what do you expect me to do?”

I gazed around in confusion, considering he’d been sweet to me for nearly two days, he got me safe to my family, got in Brad’s face for me on more than one occasion and gave me three orgasms. I’d already thought he’d forgiven me.

Perhaps I was wrong.

“Um…” I mumbled, not looking at him.

“Baby, get your ass over here,” he ordered and my eyes flew to him.

“Sorry?” I whispered.

“Get your ass over here,” he repeated.

“Are you going to throttle me?” I said it partially in jest, feeling the waters, partially seriously.

He moved fast, stepping toward me in a lunge, he caught my hand and stepped back, taking me with him and yanking my hand at the same time so I crashed into his body.

His arms curved around me and he looked down at my face. “Lucky you’re wearin’ those shorts and that top, Ace, all that skin, those tits, those legs, can’t stay pissed for long.”

“Maybe I should go shopping again,” I muttered.

“You plannin’ on pissin’ me off again?” he asked.

“Not intentionally,” I answered.

“Not exactly what I wanted to hear,” he murmured and started walking me backwards toward the bed, “but it’ll do.”

“Tate?”

“What?”

“If Neeta’s married –?” The back of my legs hit the bed and we both went down.

When we landed and Tate settled on top of me, his fingers slid into the hair at the side of my head but his eyes never left mine.

“It’s over,” he whispered.

“But –”

His lips touched mine and then he pulled back. “It’s over, baby.” He kept whispering. “It shoulda been over years ago but it’s definitely over now.”

“How could you –?”

“Because she’s Neeta,” he answered my not exactly asked question.

I shook my head and put my hands on his shoulders, not to push him away but also not to hold him to me. “I don’t understand.”

His hand left my hair and slid down to cup my jaw, his thumb moving out, the pad of it drifting across my lower lip as he watched and talked. “Years, she’s been under my skin. Took me that long to work her out.”

This was not the news any woman wanted to hear about another woman and I felt my body get stiff under his.

His eyes came to mine. “Laurie, it wouldn’t be for a few days that I’d feel the difference.”

“What difference?” I asked, my mouth moving under his thumb.

“Didn’t know it then, know it now.”

“What?”

“Two kinds of women get under your skin. The ones who do damage, they don’t feel good there but once you’re fuckin’ stupid enough to let them in you got no choice but to take the time it takes to work them out. Then there are the ones who don’t do damage, who feel good there, feed the muscle, the bone, the soul, not rip it or break it or burn it. The ones you don’t wanna work out.”

Was he saying what I thought he was saying?

“Tate –”

“You get me?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly but even I heard the hint of hope in those three words, probably because it was me who felt that hope.

“You will,” he promised.

Wow.

“Tate –” I breathed.

“Quiet, Ace, done talkin’.” And it appeared he was as his head was descending and his hand slid into my hair again.

“But –”

“Quiet,” he muttered against my lips.

“I –”

He kissed me and my hands at his shoulders slid around his neck, definitely to hold him to me as he tuned me right out of my mind and right into the vibrations he was creating in my body.

His lips slid down my jaw to my ear as his hands slid down my sides to my hips and around, to my behind where he pulled them up, fitting my soft ones into his hard ones.

The thin thread I was holding onto my mind with twinged.

We had a lot to talk about. I didn’t know him, hardly at all. He’d played professional football, for two games but still, that was huge and the fact that he played only that short time was heartbreaking. He had a bad knee and he didn’t act like he had a bad knee so I wondered if he still did. And if he did, I wondered if he should be running. He had an eagle tattooed on his back and I wondered if that had something to do with the football team for whom he played only two games. He had shit going on in his life but he didn’t tell me what that was and I figured, since it seemed we were starting something, I should probably know. He’d just worked a woman out from under his skin and I needed to discuss that a bit further. Was she entirely gone? Was there a little bit of her left? What happened to make them history? Was I there now? How deep was I?

Not to mention, I needed a very long, thorough lesson in biker slang so I didn’t accidently mess anything up again.

I held tight to that thin thread and I turned my lips to his ear.

“We should finish talking,” I whispered.

“Fuckin’ you now, baby,” he whispered back, his tongue touched my earlobe and his hand slid from my bottom to between my legs were his fingers slid into the inside leg of my pajama shorts and drifted feather-light across my panties. “We’ll finish talkin’ later.”

“Okay,” I breathed which was a lucky thing, since his tongue and fingers snapped that thin thread that attached me to my mind and it was a miracle I could speak at all.

* * * * *

Laurie, it wouldn’t be for a few days that I’d feel the difference.

My eyes opened and I saw the room was dark. We hadn’t pulled the curtains again and I saw the outside lights shining in, illuminating Tate’s painted shoulder in front of me. I was curled into his back, my arm resting on his waist.

I stayed where I was awhile, hoping sleep would come.

Seems I got a fuckin’ type.

I closed my eyes tight in a flinch.

Boy, Tate could land a verbal blow.

Carefully, I rolled to my back and stared at the ceiling thinking of all Tate said, all Wood said, all Wood
didn’t
say and all I didn’t know about Tate.

Then I thought about my Dad, who still worked the farm even though he had a couple boys he’d hired to help him do it. Then I thought about if he could, or should, continue doing that and if he couldn’t, or shouldn’t, what would happen to our farm.

Then I thought about Tate more.

This took awhile and included me attempting to get comfortable and find sleep in three different positions. After I tried the third, I knew sleep wasn’t going to come.

Moving cautiously so as not to wake Tate, I slid the covers back and started toward the opposite side of the bed, trying to remember where Tate threw my pajamas.

I didn’t even get close to the edge of the bed before an arm hooked around my belly and I was on my back in the bed.

“Where you goin’?” Tate muttered, his voice drowsy.

“Can’t sleep or get comfortable,” I whispered. “You go back to sleep, I’ll –”

I stopped talking because Tate rolled me to face him then his hand slid over my bottom.

“Happen every night?” he murmured, still sounding sleepy.

“No, honey,” I answered, pushing lightly against his chest. “Go back to sleep.”

He lifted his head and then his face was in my neck.

“On the road,” he said there, his hands moving on me, “at night, I’d lie awake wonderin’ if you were sleepin’ okay.”

“That doesn’t sound very focused,” I whispered as his hand slid down my hip, my leg and then lifted my leg at the knee to hook it around his hip.

It didn’t sound very focused but it sure sounded sweet.

“It wasn’t,” he whispered back and I felt his teeth nip my ear, his beard tickling my jaw and neck, his hand slid between my legs and his fingers moved whisper-soft against me.

“Tate,” I breathed as I moved my hips to press into his hand.

“Like that, Laurie,” he murmured.

“What?” I breathed again as his hand kept moving, still soft, so light.

God, such a beautiful tease.

He’d done that a lot earlier. It wasn’t fast and hard like the first time. Tate was a man who knew how to take his time and make a woman’s body sing.

“Those little hitches,” he answered, lips still at my ear.

“Hitches?”

“In your breath,” he explained. “You gettin’ excited, like to hear that, baby.”

His finger suddenly slid inside and my neck arched back as my back arced forward.

“Yes,” I whispered, my arms moving around him to hold on tight as his finger moved in and out.

“Christ,” he whispered, “like that too.”

“Not as much as me.”

I felt his lips form a smile against my neck. His thumb trailed soft, teasing my clit.

My breath hitched again and my hips pressed into his hand.

“You like that too,” he noted.

I didn’t answer.

After more of his sweet torture, I called, “Tate, honey?”

“Yeah, baby,” he answered.

“Am I under your skin?” I whispered as my hips moved with his hand.

He replied instantly, “Oh yeah.” His thumb tweaked my clit harder, my hips jerked and a low mew slid out of my throat as the fingers of one of my hands slid into his hair and the other arm held on tighter. “Fuck yeah,” he growled and his lips left my ear, his mouth found mine and he kissed me, wet and deep.

Then he stopped playing and started
playing
which led to Tate fucking me so hard, when he was done, I couldn’t move.

Luckily Tate could move. He rolled me so my back was pressed to his front, his arms both went around me tight, his knee bent, taking mine with it and his weight settled into me, pressing my front into the bed.

“Sleep, Ace,” he muttered into my hair and I heard him but I heard him a nanosecond before I was out.

Chapter Eleven

I Ain’t Fifteen

I woke before Tate and laid in bed listening to him breathe. I was again tucked to his back with my arm resting on his waist and I could see the eagle close up.

I stared at that eagle inked into Tate’s skin and it hit me.

I was under that skin.

Me.

This beautiful man in front of me had me under his skin.

I smiled and lightly kissed the eagle’s wing at his shoulder blade then carefully left the bed. I went to the bathroom, brushed and flossed my teeth, washed my face and grabbed my shampoo, conditioner, bath wash, shave gel and razor. I got in the shower, did my business, got out, toweled off and wrung out my hair. Then I wrapped the towel around me, quietly left the bathroom and went to my suitcase.

I was pawing through it, thinking I’d go with the baby pink and ecru lace underwear when I heard movement in the bed.

I started to turn but didn’t finish when a strong arm was locked around my belly, my feet were off the floor and my body was turned sharply toward the bed.

Automatically my knees came up, my hands went to his forearm and I shrieked a girlie, “Tate!”

He made no response because we were at the bed, he twisted and we were falling, Tate on his back, me on top of him. He let me go and I rolled off his body but didn’t get very far when he tagged me and dragged me back so I was under his big, heavy frame.