Dirty Past (5 page)

I groan.

It’s fake.

I’m as fucking hard as I was when she walked in the door.

I fake a couple harsh breaths then pull out of her. “I’m going to clean up. Leave by the time I get back.”

Leaving her lying on the sofa with her legs open, I stroll into the bedroom and lock the bathroom door. I shower quickly, washing every inch of that easy whore from me, wishing I could scrub my fuckin’ mind clean of Ella Dawson.

I walk out with a towel around my waist. Blondie is still on the sofa with her skirt around her hips, but at least her bra is covering her obviously fake tits.

“I thought I said leave.”

“Tate,” she whimpers. “I thought it was all night.”

I stare at her. Is she fucking serious? I grab my phone and dial Ella’s number.

“Y-yes?”

“I have a situation that needs taking care of.”

She pauses. “You mean you have a girl that needs removing from your room.”

“Aren’t you a modern-day fuckin’ Einstein?” I snipe, each word a sharp snap, because this bitch isn’t the brunette that’s been dominating my thoughts for the last couple days.

“Five minutes, asshole,” Ella responds. She hangs up before I can reply.

Asshole? Who the fuck is she talking to?

There’s knocking at my door, finally, after many protestations from Barbie. I open the door to Ella, looking tired yet fresh, and Carlos. I meet his eyes. “Get her out.” I nod toward Blondie.

“Tate? What?” she says.

I stare at Ella as the blond chick is removed. Clingy bitches. Rolling my shoulders, I rest my hands on either side of the doorframe and ask Ella, “How’d you find tonight?”

She steps back. “It was awesome until you called me to clean up your mess.”

“It’s in your contract, darlin’.”

Her eyes spark with annoyance. “Actually, it says nothing about removing your entertainment.”

I lean forward. “Then I’ll make a note to amend it in the mornin’. And, for what it’s worth, that wasn’t cleaning up my mess. If I wanted you to do that I woulda called you five minutes earlier and had you in the fuckin’ shower with me, Els.” My eyes ghost down her body, lingering at her full breasts and toned thighs.

Thinking of her in the shower, naked and wet, is doing fuck all for the erection I can’t get rid of. In fact, it’s downright painful right now.

She stares at me stonily, that annoyed spark flaring into full-fledged anger. “Believe me, Mr. Burke, if the impossible happens and you somehow get me in a shower with you, I’d probably drown you, not clean you.”

“Tate. My name is Tate.”

“And mine is Ella.” With one last harsh look, she turns.

I step into the hall and watch her walk to her room. Fuck. She really does have a gorgeous ass.

“Oh—be ready for eight a.m.,” she adds, pausing with her hand on her door.

“Gonna give me a wake-up call?”

She glances at me. “With a rock? Sure. Otherwise, no. You have a cell phone with an alarm function, Mr. Burke, use it.”

I laugh as she disappears into her room. Damn. I don’t have a chance in hell at working this chick out, much less her behavior, but it’s a fun fuckin’ ride.

Ella

Note to self: next time Tate Burke calls you to his room, make sure he has pants on before you go.

I don’t know what annoyed me more, the fact he wanted me to get rid of that girl like she was a bag of trash or that he didn’t put his pants on before he called me.

Worst thing is that I didn’t exactly hate that he
wasn’t
wearing pants.

Maybe that’s why I was annoyed. Why I still freakin’ am. He pulled an asshole move, something totally disrespectful to the girl
and
to me, and I was still marginally attracted to him.

Marginally. Just a tiny bit. Because, you know, it’s easy to find someone that looks, like, that incredibly attractive. With the selection of tattoos snaking up his arms and onto his chest, not to mention his lean, defined physique, he’s like a . . . I don’t know. A walking wet dream.

I cover my eyes with my hand. Boss, Ella. No men, Ella. Find yourself before an orgasm, Ella.

“Okay,” I whisper to myself. Sheesh—here we go again with the talking to myself. Maybe Kye’s right and I really am going crazy.

I wouldn’t be surprised, after everything.

At least Tate’s act last night proved something to me.
He won’t hurt me.
If I spoke to Matthew the way I spoke to Tate last night, I’d be dead right now. At the very least I’d be clinging to life desperately.

But Tate. . . . He just stood there and threw words at me. They were sexy words, yep, but that was it. He didn’t slam me against a wall with his hand around my neck, or introduce his fist to my nose. He did nothing. Like a normal guy. Like a normal, non-abusive, level-headed guy.

Well, I’m not sure level-headed guys actually treat women the way he treated Siobhan last night, but it’s close enough.

“Cake! Oh my shit!” Sofie shrieks from the other room.

I poke my head around the door. “Huh?”

“Ella!” She claps her hands to her cheeks and looks at me, horrified. “I forgot to get Mila a birthday cake!”

“Mama!” Mila stomps up next to me. “No cake?”

“Oh shit!”

“Mama, bad!”

Sofie moves her hands to her mouth and looks at me, wide-eyed. “Mila, where’s Tate?”

“Tay ahind.” She points a chubby finger over her shoulder.

I glance in the direction she’s pointing. Tate’s sitting in a plush chair, slouched back, and is very obviously staring at my ass. I cough, and he snaps his eyes up to mine with a smirk.

“Did you already get breakfast?” Sofie looks at him.

“And a cupcake,” he confirms. “A pink one with ‘sarkys, peez, Tay.’ ”

My lips twitch into a small smile.

“A cupcake? It’s not even ten a.m.!”

“And she had McDonald’s for breakfast. What point are you makin’?”

“I was coerced into agreeing to
that
because you already promised her and it’s her birthday.” Sofie glares at him.

“Well, there ya go.” He holds his hands out. “It’s her birthday and she coerced me into a cupcake, didn’t you, Mimi?”

Mila gazes up at Sofie, eyes wide, grinning.

Sofie sighs heavily and laughs. “Okay. Sheesh. I’m gonna take her upstairs and then get a cake.”

“I can do it,” I offer. “I don’t mind going to the store.”

“It’s okay.” Sofie rests her hand on my arm. “I’ll get one of the guys to go.”

“I’ll go with her.” Tate stands up and stretches his arms over his head.

“Er,” I stutter.

“Do you know your way around Charleston?” He raises his eyebrows.

“I . . . no,” I admit.

“There we go.” He looks at Sofie. “Sof, we’ll get her a cake. You go do your thing.”

Sofie exhales slowly. “Okay.”

“And stop freakin’ out. You’re drivin’ me fu—froggin’,” he glances to Mila, “crazy. She’s gonna have fun with us. Ain’t that right, Mimi?” He bends down, swoops the tiny girl up, and spins her around.

Mila giggles. “Uh-huh. My lub Tay. Awww.” She wraps her arms around his neck, and Tate hugs her tightly.

“My lub Mimi.” He smacks a big kiss on her cheek. “Be good and I’ll bring you another cupcake, okay?”

“No!” Sofie snaps when he puts an excited Mila down.

Tate grins playfully and looks at me. “Let’s go, Els.”

I glare at his back. Him and that damn nickname.

He gets one of the security guards to follow us and leads me into the private parking lot. The tour bus takes up most of it, but there are a couple of huge SUVs in the corner. Tate pulls some keys from his jeans pocket and points a black fob at one of the vehicles.

“Come on.” He holds the passenger side door open for me.

“Thanks?” I put my purse on the floor and grab the door to help get me in. Jesus—this thing is massive. “Eeek!” I squeal, feeling Tate’s hands on my waist. Fear jolts through me at the touch, but all he does is boost me up into the car easily.

He walks around to his side, and I shake my head at myself. Wasn’t it only twenty minutes ago that I was telling myself I know he won’t hurt me?

Looks like this habit of fear will be harder to break than I thought.

“You all right?” Tate looks at me from the corner of his eyes when he starts the car.

I nod my answer, because my mouth is too dry to speak.

“Sure?”

Another nod.

He doesn’t say anything else, but his eyes flick to me every few seconds for the next couple of minutes. I shift in my seat. I’m uncomfortable with his silent pushing for me to speak, because that’s what it is. And it’s kind of working, because I want to snap at him to stop. Looking. At. Me. Now.

“You planning on escaping, darlin’?”

“Huh?” My head spins in his direction so fast my neck aches.

“You’re so close to the door I think you’re about to fall out.”

I slide back into the middle of my seat. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.”

He frowns, but the lights change at the intersection and his focus is forced back onto the road. Thankfully.

I look at my hands resting in my lap for the rest of our journey to the store. When we get there, I push the door open and jump out of the car. I barely remember to grab my purse. I just know I need to get out of the small space.

“Wait,” Tate calls. Another car pulls up next to ours and the security guy steps out. Of course—the Dirty B. boys rarely get to go anywhere without being mobbed by either fans or cameras, especially on tour.

Tate and the security guy catch up with me halfway across the parking lot. Another car pulls up and a camera lens is poked out of a window. Immediately, I duck my head so my hair is covering my face.

The more hidden I can stay, the better.

Tate eyes me curiously but doesn’t say a word, and I’m grateful.

We enter the store and walk through the aisles to where the boxed cakes are. Tate scans the shelves until he finds a
Frozen
one. He sets it in the cart gently, then turns to me. “Last month it was
Peppa Pig
. This month it’s all about Olaf.”

“I have no idea what any of that is.”

He stops and looks back at me. “You don’t know what
Peppa
or
Frozen
is?”

“
Frozen
is a movie?” I guess.

“Do New Yorkers live under child-hating rocks?”

My lips twitch. “In my parents’ circles? Yes.”

“Awesome.” He glances at the watch on his wrist. “I have approximately thirty minutes to educate you on
Frozen
.”

I blink at him. Did he just—is Tate Burke seriously going to tell me about a kid’s movie?

Twelve hours ago I was kicking someone out of his room. Now I’m about to get a lesson in
Frozen
.

This must be the Twilight Zone.

I
stare at the snowman-style tea set. “That’s Olaf?”

“The snowman.” Tate nods. “If you really want to get her a birthday present, she’d love you forever if you got this.”

“Right.” I pick up the box and study it. Disney sure has come a long way since
The Little Mermaid
. “I still don’t understand the movie.”

Tate wheels the cart down the aisle to the books. I follow him and stop next to him. He grabs a
Frozen
book off the shelf and hands it to me. “Here. Educate yourself, Els.”

I cut my eyes to him. “You want me to stand in the middle of the aisle in Target to read a children’s story?”

He shrugs. “Or in the car. I’m buyin’ her the book anyway. Conner loves to read stories.” His grin is mischievous.

“I think the car will be best,” I say slowly, putting both the tea set and the book in the cart with the cake. “Do you have wrapping paper?”

“Am I supposed to?”

“Um, yes.” I roll my eyes and hook my finger over the end of the cart. “Come on.” I tug it. “Seriously, you know all the kid’s shows but you don’t know to wrap presents. And you say
I
lived under a rock.”

“Frozen. Peppa Pig. Sesame Street. Doc McStuffins. Mickey Mouse.”

“I know Mickey Mouse!”

“
Clubhouse
?”

“What is that?” I stop by the rolls of paper and look back at Tate.

He shakes his head. “Amateur.”

My jaw drops. He grabs four rolls of paper then drops them into the cart.

“I don’t have any kids in my family, and neither does my ex. I’m not used to . . . this.” I look at the contents of the cart.

“Ex, huh?”

I freeze. “What? Just because you don’t have one, you think no one else does?”

Tate spins on his feet, twirling the cart round with him. “No. I’ve just been wonderin’ how and why you ended up as a PA with a degree from fuckin’ Harvard, and now I know. You’re runnin’ from an ex.”

“N-no. I’m not?”

His lips twitch. “You don’t sound so sure there, darlin’.”

“I’m not running,” I repeat, forcing my voice to be steady.

“So why are you here?”

“I needed a change of scenery.”

“Riiiiight.” Tate rings the items through the self-checkout, even mine, and deposits them back into the cart.

“I can pay for mine.”

“Sure you can, but I’ve done it now.”

“I’m paying you back.”

“I’m sure you will, Els.”

“Will you stop calling me that?”

“Will you stop lyin’ about why you’re here?”

I inhale slowly when he opens the trunk and puts the shopping bags in. “I’m not lying.”

“Mhmm.” He pushes the cart to the security guy, who wheels it over to the cart shelter. Then he walks to me, slowly, and reaches around my body to the car door. With his fingers curled around the door handle, he leans his face toward mine. “Then why,” he whispers, “don’t you look at me when you tell me?”

I avert my eyes to the side, saying nothing. He’s standing so close to me, and he smells good. Like, really good. Like coffee and cinnamon—warm and comforting. Nothing like the harsh cologne Matthew used to wear, and definitely nothing like the whiskey and cigarette smoke he occasionally smelled like.

“Huh?” he prompts, his voice still a gentle breezing whisper. “That’s what I thought.”

“Leave it alone,” I reply, finally bringing my eyes to meet his. They’re burning into me, thrilling and scary, and it’s all I can do to ignore the shiver that cascades its way down my spine. “Please,” I finish quieter.

“Never.” He steps forward. There’s barely a breath of space between our bodies, and my heart is pounding double time, but I don’t know why, because this is wrong, he’s wrong. “I will get it out of you, Ella Dawson. I’m dyin’ to know why a pretty little city girl like you is slumming it on a tour bus with a boy band. And, darlin’ . . .” He runs his thumb along my jaw. “I will get it out of you, even if you’re on your back beneath me when I do.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Still not happening.”

“The telling or the fucking?”

Defiantly, I stare at him, despite the quivering of my hands. “Neither.”

M
ila is hands down the sweetest little girl in the world. After she demolished every inch of paper on her present from me, she clapped her hands to her cheeks and gasped. Seconds later, she launched herself at me for a giant “skeezy hug.” Which is apparently a really, really tight squeeze around your neck.

Everyone got the same treatment as she made her way through the stack of presents in the corner, but Tate won the battle of the gifts. The life-size Olaf—which is bigger than the birthday girl—almost reduced her to tears, she was so excited.

Now she’s sitting on the sofa next to me, with
Frozen
on the giant plasma-screen TV, explaining every scene to me. Well, as good as a toddler can.

“Ven! Ven!” She claps her hands excitedly. “Ahh, Ven! Get Anna! Go, go!”

I glance down at her and smile. “Does he get her?”

She looks at me and sighs. “Watch, Ella. Watch.” She points vigorously.

“Okay, okay.”

Tate perches on the arm of the sofa next to me. “You get the story yet?”

I jump at his sudden arrival, then nod. “I’m going to move to Norway and find my own Olaf.”

“Don’t bother. Mila already convinced me to be Olaf for Halloween.”

My lips form a grin, and I turn my face toward him. “For real?”

He shrugs. “She agreed to let me be zombie Olaf.”