More Than Meets the Ink (27 page)

James took the cigarette and, despite her protests, put it out. “You’re upset.”

“Really? What was your first clue?” She glared at him, her arms crossed over her breasts.

“And you’re jealous.”

Tate shrugged. “Maybe.”

Grinning like a damn fool, James cupped her face and brought his mouth down to her. He wasn’t alone in this; she was as affected by him as he was by her. He ate at her mouth, licking and nibbling her lips, and when she opened for him, his tongue thrust into her in a wet caress, stroking her teeth and every corner of her mouth. He didn’t release her until they were both panting.

“Listen to me. You don’t need to be jealous, princess. Faith and I used to see each other sporadically—strictly physical. I haven’t seen her since I met you. There’s no reason to feel threatened by her. I won’t see her again.”

Tate snorted. “I don’t think she got the memo the way she felt you up.”

“Believe me, I made sure she got it. Loud and clear.”

The second Tate had stepped outside, Faith had gotten even more daring, trying to perch herself on him to the point where he’d forsaken all formalities, had grabbed her by her upper arms, and jerked her away from him. He’d told her it was enough, that she was making a scene and was not only embarrassing herself but also disrespecting Tate, which he wouldn’t tolerate. Faith had looked at him as if he’d lost his mind, but fortunately that went a long way to getting her to leave fast.

“You don’t have to go out of your way for me.” She waved at him. “You’re free to pursue your little flings with whomever you want, pushy, heavily stacked, bottle blondes included. Just count me out.”

James tipped her face up, holding her gaze. “No, I am not, and neither are you, sweetheart.”

Unable to stop himself, he took her mouth again, one of his hands on the back of her head, the other pressing her against him. The way she trembled against him and held tight while they kissed got him every damn time; he could kiss her for hours and never get tired. Although he was pretty much the aggressor again, she also did her share of possessive kissing, and he loved it. When they reemerged, her lips were red and swollen and she was breathing hard.

“And just for the record, sweetheart, I know you very well, better than you might think. Better than you’d probably like. You aren’t pissed at Faith. You’re pissed at yourself because you don’t want to care about me, yet you do, and that scares you.”

She lowered her eyes. “I didn’t like her touching you,” she confessed. “It surprised me how much I didn’t like it. I hated it, actually.”

He smiled. “That’s good, baby.” More than good; this was the first time Tate was staking a claim on him. “I didn’t like it either. Come on, it’s freezing out here. Let’s go inside.”

She went along but let go of his hand as they reached the cash register. The last diners had already left; she had to take care of cash box closing. “Give me five minutes. Go tell Tim we’ll need some food.”

“You got it.”

As he entered the kitchen, James saw Nils, Kelly, and Tim already preparing supper. His stomach rumbled. He’d been busy the whole day, consulting for one of their new clients, and then he’d been with Jack. It turned out the e-mails had been sent from different IP addresses, untraceable ones, although there were several that repeated. Internet cafés. That wasn’t much, but it was a start. They could watch those and see who showed up. Between one thing and the other, he’d forgotten to eat.

“Just in time, man,” Tim greeted him. “Do you want some food? We were thinking about staying for supper.”

James leaned on the table and crossed his legs at his ankles. “Sure, count me and Tate in.” Tate was going to be thrilled. She’d told him many times that before the troubles had begun in the restaurant, all the employees and her family used to eat dinner together. He knew how much that meant to her.

It seemed by getting rid of Clint, the work atmosphere had immediately improved. James was so happy that arrogant jackass was gone. He was one of those fairly violent, fairly dumb men that thought women were beneath him and there to serve him and do his bidding. He probably couldn’t understand why Tate hadn’t fallen at his feet and let him run the show and make the decisions for her. And wouldn’t Vito have loved that. He’d have got his way, and Clint would have settled his debts. Win-win situation. It was a pity James had no proof of that arrangement.

Gradually everyone assembled in the kitchen, chattering and pitching in, except for Tina, who had to run home to her son. James was about to go get Tate when she appeared, bringing the pies, with that damn sweet smile of hers that went straight to his heart. And his groin.

Suddenly the alarm went off, and the sound of shattering glass and the squealing of tires made everyone jump. The pies she was carrying almost flew to the floor.

“Everyone, stay here! Tim, come with me!” he ordered and darted out of the kitchen, closely followed by the kid. And Tate, much to his aggravation.

James looked around, quickly locating the problem—the front door was on fire. But there was another problem too, the restaurant alarm wasn’t on, yet an alarm had gone off. Something was going on in the apartment.

“Grab the extinguisher from the kitchen,” he yelled to Tim as he was reaching for the one in the dining area. He had the feeling he was going to need it. “Take care of the fire. I’m going upstairs.”

“James,” Tate said as he passed by on his way to the back stairs that led to her place.

“Stay here, Tate, I mean it. And call the fire department and the police.”

James ran upstairs, half hoping he wouldn’t find a fire but an intruder. No such luck. The window was broken, and it looked like a gasoline-filled bottle had gone right through it and had landed on the bed, setting it on fire. The curtains too.

“Oh my God!” Tate cried out from behind him.

“Get out of here!” he screamed, but she grabbed a quilt from the sofa and began trying to help him. Damn stubborn woman didn’t know how to follow orders.

As soon as that fire was out, he rushed her down to the restaurant, where the last flames had been extinguished.

“What the hell was that?” Nils croaked.

“A Molotov cocktail,” Tim grunted, kicking some of the glass left on the floor. “Plenty of Molotov drive-bys where I live.”

Nils wasn’t familiar with skid row and didn’t seem to understand, so James explained. “A glass bottle filled with fuel. You stick a burning cloth in it, and boom, you got yourself a fuel bomb. Is everyone okay?” he asked, reaching out to Tate.

She nodded and went to him. He encircled her with his arms, needing reassurance that she was unharmed. He hadn’t wanted her near the fire, but she’d refused to listen to him and leave him alone in the apartment. She smelled like smoke, but she was fine, a bit in shock, but okay nevertheless. James was still pumped up with adrenaline and now that he was sure everyone was fine, fury was taking hold on him. Whoever had dared to pull this stunt was going to pay in blood. The material damage wasn’t so big, especially in the restaurant, but her tiny cluttered apartment was surely fucked. The place was filled with smoke and shards of glass, the window had shattered on impact, her bed was scorched, and the ceiling and part of the walls were blackened. Plus there was foam over her curtains and the bed.

“Who would do something like this?” Kelly uttered.

“Someone’s really pissed,” Tim answered. “Mighty pissed.”

Suddenly it dawned on Tate, and she reached for James. “Do you think Clint…?”

“I don’t know, but I’m damn sure going to find out!” He did have his suspicions, but he wasn’t going to share them until he was totally sure.

When Zack and Sean showed up, James was already checking the video footage. The camera they had installed pointing at the front door had caught a glimpse of the drive-by action through the window; a guy had jumped out of a vehicle and thrown the bottles while the car never completely stopped. It was too dark to recognize anyone, especially as the one throwing the bottles had a hood on and his face was hidden by a scarf. The car, though, was a dark Ford Taurus, the same model Clint drove.

James was burning with rage, his body totally wired up, ready to go hunting, but he willed himself to dampen his fury; he couldn’t leave Tate alone now. The firemen came, the cops appeared too, and although dead tired by the time everything was sorted out, she was still pacing like a lioness—pissed and frustrated. He had to get her out of there before the adrenaline crash floored her.

“Let’s go to my place. You can’t sleep up there. There’s smoke damage, and the bed is a goner.”

“I won’t let the bastard run me out of my place. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Yeah right, the two-foot couch. No way. “You aren’t being run out. Zack, Sean, and Tim will take care of everything here.”

She stuck out her lower lip like a stubborn kid. “No!”

That did it; he was so not fighting with her over that anymore. He darted toward her, and without giving Tate a second to react, he threw her over his shoulder. “You are coming with me to my house. End of story. Are we clear?”

She whined and muttered and fumbled all the way to his place until, once in his house, he stopped her ranting by tipping her chin up and dropping his lips over hers, kissing her thoroughly.

“Enough. Let’s put all that restless energy to use. Be naked when I get back from turning on the hot tub. Otherwise I’ll rip your clothes off.”

That statement effectively shut her up.

Once in the tub, he hauled her onto his lap, her back to his chest, and in between feathery kisses and caresses, he got her to calm down. He massaged her scalp, sinking his fingers into her luxuriously thick mane of hair. Then he massaged her neck, her shoulders, ran his hands along her arms, gently pressing each muscle. By the time he reached her hands, she was limp and her head was leaning into his shoulder, her sweet tits poking out of the water. She was so beautiful and giving. Delving his fingers down toward her core, he leisurely pleasured her and held her to him while she came in his arms. She didn’t cry out her release this time, but whispered his name in a moan as she climaxed.

He’d been dying to have her in his place. She looked like she belonged.

* * *

Tate had been awake for a while. She had no clue what time it was, but she didn’t care; she felt happy, content, and relaxed. The sun was coming up over the horizon, and James was breathing peacefully at her back, his arm protectively wrapped around her waist. The lake views from his bedroom window were so astounding, so captivating, she’d been staring in awe for an eternity already. No wonder James had insisted on them coming to spend time at his place. She’d only been there once before, when they came to pick up the alarms, but James had been so tense back then they had been out of there in a matter of seconds. After that, she’d always found a reason to stay away from Alden, afraid that staying at his place would make their relationship much more real and therefore dangerous. This time she’d had very little say. When one is being thrown over a man’s broad shoulder and can’t see shit but his yummy, hard butt, it was time to accept he’s in charge.

His house was a work of art, magnificent and cozy at the same time, and the hot tub on the outer deck with views to the lake…well, that was beyond description. She was never going to look at her tiny bathroom in quite the same way again. She couldn’t understand how he’d agreed to stay at her place night after night, especially on that shitty bed. The new one she’d bought was better, but it still couldn’t compare with this one. This bed was huge and fluffy and smelled of him. No wonder she’d slept fantastically.

Thinking about her once-new, now scorched bed gave her goose bumps. What the hell was she doing lying here in contemplation, by the way? She should head to the city; she had a cleanup operation to mount. There were thousand of things to do at the restaurant; she needed to get a new front door and a new window, and Elle was coming today. She had to come up with a credible cover story for all the mess. When James had carried her away from Rosita’s, he’d assured her Zack and Sean would take care of everything, that they’d be there first thing in the morning waiting for the insurance guys to assess the damage. The shutters would keep the restaurant closed in the night, and some firm he’d contacted would come and take the door and the frame out and bring a temporary replacement. For the window too. Everything was under control, he’d said, but she felt weird relying on him so entirely, not to mention that her stomach knotted in fear at the thought of how much worse all that could have been. What if she’d been in bed, alone, when the projectile had crashed through her window? Or if she’d been somewhere else, would she have found out in time that Rosita’s was on fire?

Still. The day had many low points, no doubt about it, but seeing Faith throwing herself at James was a definite winner; not even the fire had come close to that. He’d marked the boundaries, but that hadn’t stopped Faith from eating James up with her eyes. It wasn’t so much the fact that she’d made her intentions clear; Tate knew women looked at James all the time. What scared her the most was her own reaction, those possessive instincts that had blazed out of her. She’d sizzled with fury, and fear, which proved that even the thought of losing him terrified her. Damn and double damn! She was building expectations, and that was the only thing she couldn’t afford to do. She felt a pang of panic and a humongous urge to run away, but then the phone rang.

With a swift movement, James flipped his phone open and answered it in whispers, probably thinking she was still sleeping.

“Yeah?”

The arm he kept around her waist pressed slightly at her, his hand expanding on her stomach, soothing her, like it was willing her to continue sleeping. He assented with short replies and then, after some moments, his question froze her blood. “Did they check his place out? What about his computer? Is he our guy?”

He nodded some more and then cut the communication. She didn’t move, but something gave her away. The fact that she’d stopped breathing and her heart was thudding madly might have been it.