Sweet Dreams

  “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.

  “Took a shower without me, Ace,” he growled, his deep voice rougher with lingering sleep, his handsome face soft with it but his eyes were intense in a way that was too sexy for words.

  “You were asleep,” I told him.

  “Consequences,” he muttered and before I could respond to that bizarre reply, his body shifted, he yanked the towel off me and my whole body jerked with the force he used.

  “Tate!” I girlie shrieked again but his body rolled back over mine and then he captured my mouth with his.

  Then I found out that consequences for not waking Tate to take a shower with me were so divine, after he was done meting them out and I was lying face down in bed unable to move while I listened to him shower, I decided I’d sneak a shower without him at any given chance.

  The problem was, the shower I had with him was just as divine.

  Lucky for me, these were my problems.

  * * * * *

  I walked into the hospital waiting room where Tate and Mack were sitting, Mack in a chair with his feet propped up on a low table, his eyes glued to a TV that had the sound down low, Tate in the same position but on a couch.

  When I walked in, Tate’s eyes moved to me.

  “He’s settled,” I announced and then lifted a knee high to maneuver over Tate’s outstretched legs. I got to the other side and collapsed onto the couch beside him.

  “He good?” Tate asked as his arm slid around my shoulders and he pulled me into his side.

  I lifted my feet and put them on the table close to Tate’s, nodding and relaxing into his heat.

  “It okay for me to go in?” Mack asked, I looked over my shoulder at him and nodded again. Mack pulled his feet off the table, put his hands to the armrests and shoved up. “I won’t tire him out,” he muttered and strolled out of the room.

  Dad had been moved out of ICU. He was conscious a lot more that day and talking. This was all good.

  He still was an alarming color and weak in a way that both freaked me out and made me so sad I didn’t know what to do with the feeling. So I just let it happen and decided to process it later since there was nothing else I could do.

  Tate’s arm gave me a squeeze and I lifted my head from his shoulder where I’d rested it to look at him.

  “You need to get outta here,” he declared when my eyes caught his.

  I shook my head and his arm curled me toward him so my front was pressed to his side and, to be comfortable, I was forced to uncross my feet and lift a knee until it was resting on his thighs. This was, by the way, very comfortable because I was wearing white shorts and the feel against my bare skin of his soft, faded denim and the hard muscle under it was really nice.

  “Laurie, can’t stay here all day, your Mom either. She’s barely left. We’ll get her, check out of the hotel, take her back to the farm. She doesn’t have to be this close anymore. He’s good, she needs a break, she needs to connect with home and he needs to rest,” Tate stated.

  I nodded because he was right but said, “In a little while, maybe for lunch.”

  “Mack says he and Carrie need to get back to work,” Tate told me and I knew this to be true. Mack owned his own construction firm
, he was probably good but he also couldn’t be away forever. Carrie was a paralegal and her boss was a jerk. From what I knew of him, he’d lay into her the minute she got back.

  “I know,” I said softly and then dropped my cheek and rested it on his pectoral while my arm slid around his abs. “When they come out, we’ll arrange things,” I finished, settling into him.

  Tate kept his arm tight around my shoulders and we fell silent.

  I contemplated his boots thinking they were hot. I had no idea what he contemplated.

  Then he told me.

  “What’d you do?” he asked.

  “Do?” I asked his boots.

  “Before Carnal, where’d you work?”

  I lifted my head, twisting my neck to look up at him, fear slithering through me because I was thinking this was dangerous ground with ex-football player, ex-cop, current bartender-slash-bounty hunter Tatum Jackson.

  “Where’d I work?” I asked in an effort to stall.

  “Yeah,” he answered.

  I looked at his chest and mumbled, “Um…”

  “Ace,” he called and my eyes reluctantly went to his.

  “Yes?” I asked and he stared at me for several long moments.

  Four tawny flecks in his left eye, three in his right.

  “Did you forget?” he asked and I focused on him and not the tawny flecks in his eyes. When I focused I noted he looked impatient.

  “Forget?” I parroted.

  “Jesus, babe, where’d you work before you left suburbia?”

  I bit my lip. Then I realized this was it, us starting out, getting along, learning about each other.

  Therefore, I said on a rush, “I was an executive.”

  “An executive,” he repeated slowly.