Bassist Instinct (The Rocker Series #2) (17 page)

“Intravenous drug use?”

“Never.”

“Then your past is none of my business. You don’t owe me an explanation at all. I don’t expect you to ask me how many people I’ve slept with, and I don’t expect you to tell me, either. It’s just not an issue for me,” Fiona looked him in the eye. She’d made questionable choices in her past that she never planned on telling anyone. Who didn’t? “I don’t know why sex is such a shameful thing to some people, Tate. Um, but I guess it would bother me if there were other women, you know, while you and I were…you know,
if
you and I ever…”

“Never, I’ll be straight with you,” he said, still looking a little stunned. “Fiona, when I’m with you, I am only with you.”

“Thank you, I’ll afford you the same courtesy,” she said. He thought she sounded a bit businesslike.

“So, I haven’t blown my chances by being a rock star?” He grinned at her and she blushed.

“Absolutely not.” Why bother being coy about it?

“I don’t know what to say, Fi.” He was the luckiest man on the planet. He found the one woman who didn’t care that he had been a womanizer all his life.

“You don’t have to say a thing,” she looked at the CDs in her hands and on the bed. “There’s so much here. You’ve been at it a long time,” she said amazed.

“Over twenty years.”

“Will I recognize any of the music?”

“Yes, love. Connor sang one of ours the other night, you knew it. ‘Perching in the Soul,’” he said and hummed a few bars. Fiona smiled.

“Yes, I like that one.”

“And Fi, you played one of our songs on the piano at Thanksgiving,” he grinned at her.

“That was yours? It was lovely.” She sighed. “Tess is such a mixer.” He laughed.

“She certainly is.”

“I’ll listen to all of these when you go to New York.” Her eyes got big again. “And the interview?”

“With Jimmy Fallon. You can watch us play on TV.” He thought he’d try to get back to her by the time the show aired Monday night. She was becoming addictive.

“I’ll make a point of staying up. I think I have a TV around here somewhere,” she smiled when he looked around. There was no TV in her bedroom. “There’s one downstairs.” He kissed her hand. “Why are you doing the interview? What’s changing?”

“You’re pretty clever for not being terribly savvy,” she laughed, she knew the way the music world worked. “Our new CD came out on Tuesday,” he rifled through the CDs and stopped at one, putting his finger on it. “And the concert dates will be announced soon, next week maybe. I’m not usually in the loop with that, so I don’t know.”

“Will your tour bring you back to Washington?”

“Fiona, right now all I can think is that the tour will take me away from Washington, away from you. It might drive me mental,” he leaned over and kissed her again.

“But now that I know what you do, will you still be as intrigued?”

“By Christ, yes, woman. I’m intrigued.”

“Thank you for telling me, Tate. It means a lot that you trusted me with this.” He chuckled.

“Fiona, my love, you were the only one who didn’t know.”

“And I think I was the only one you didn’t want to know. Now I’m just like everyone else.”

“Never. You are unlike anyone else.” He pulled her off the bed again and walked to her bedroom door.

“As long as you think so,” she said as they headed down the stairs. When they got to the bottom and turned toward the kitchen there was a knock at the door. Fiona turned back around to get it, but Sam appeared out of nowhere and looked through the peephole.

“What the fuck?” He said as he opened the door. Edgar stood there looking like bad news, until he got a good look at the man who opened the door and his face cracked a smile.

“Cuba? What the fuck are you doing here?” He said to Sam.

“My job, Major. What’s your excuse?” They shook hands and punched each other on the back.

“I’m doing your job, too,” he nodded toward Tate. “He’s my boss, or one of them, I’m in the private sector now. Sorry I’m late, it’s impossible to park in this town.” Fiona looked at Tate who shrugged a little.

“Is there coffee, love?” Tate asked her. She nodded and they walked back to the kitchen. She poured him a cup and he took it and sat at the small table there. “Come have a seat and let me smell you, lass.” She poured a cup for herself and added cream and walked to the table.

“Smell me?”

“You smell really good,” he tapped his thigh.

“That doesn’t sound comfortable,” she said and sat on her own chair. “Edgar is what you meant when you said bodyguard?” He nodded and sipped his coffee. “Sam is what I meant.”

“Ah ha,” he said leaning over and pulling her chair to him so that their knees touched.

“So you’re a rock star and Edgar is your bodyguard.” It wasn’t really a question but Tate answered her.

“He’s more of a member of the family. He’s been in charge of our security for a long time, but now he just does it when Piper lets him off his leash,” Tate smiled mischievously.

“I heard that!” Edgar said from the other room, making Fiona jump.

Bending close to her and placing both of his hands on her thighs he gazed into her eyes and spoke softly. “We could save them both a lot of trouble and stay here all day, slip back upstairs and…”

“Fiona,” Liam said entering the kitchen soundlessly. Tate sat back in his chair and glared at Liam. There were too many large silent men in his woman’s house.

“What’s on your agenda today?” She glanced at her brother for a second but then turned back to Tate, who appeared to be fairly irritated with Liam’s existence.

“The mall. Lincoln, Jefferson and MLK for sure, and whatever else moves us. I haven’t seen the World War II Memorial, yet.” Tate smiled at her; that sounded perfect.

“Let’s go,” Tate said finishing his coffee and standing up. Fiona stood and he took her hand. In the living room Sam and Edgar were conferring at the window, and turned when they entered.

“All set?” Edgar asked. Tate nodded and they left. Sam and Edgar sat in the front of the black SUV, and Tate and Fiona sat in the back. Sam drove since he was more familiar with DC than Edgar.

Tate held her hand in the back, and Fiona felt a little strange. It was almost as if she were watching herself from afar. She wasn’t the type to climb into hired cars with rock stars and bodyguards. Sure she played the odd concert, but at heart she was a music teacher. She looked out the tinted windows at the people on the street paying them no attention. If this had been a stretch limo people would have looked, but these big black cars were ubiquitous.

Had things changed for her since Tate’s revelation? Could she date a rock star? He probably had supermodels throwing themselves at him all the time. Liam tried to warn her about that very thing, calling Tate a “Wham bam thank you, ma’am,” kind of guy, and maybe he was. Could he be satisfied with a music teacher? Would she be enough for him? She looked over at him and he was watching her very closely, those blue eyes of his boring holes in her.

“Don’t overthink it, love,” he said quietly and squeezed her hand.

“How did you know that was what I was doing?”

“Just imagining worst case scenarios,” he sighed as he hitched a shoulder up in a very Tate-like shrug. “Nothing has changed, only your perception.” For a split second she thought this was the speech he made to nervous dates, but then she remembered she was the first of his dates who had to be told who he was.

“I just need to get used to it, I think. I’ve momentarily lost the Zen, it’ll come back. You’re still just Tate, even though you’re the rest of it, too.” She looked at the backs of Edgar’s and Sam’s heads and sighed. Tate watched her grow weary, and wished this car had the glass between them and the front seat. They’d be walking far enough behind them, soon enough, maybe she’d be comfortable then. He brought her hand to his lips and caught her eye.

“Don’t fret, love. Just think of how safe ye are.” She laughed.

“Oh God, I’d forgotten about that,” she said and he laughed.

“That’s either a very good sign or a very bad sign.”

“Yeah. I’ll get back to you on that.”

“Tate, Gooding’s going to drop us at the Tidal Basin and then park and catch up to us. He and I will be in radio contact, you and I will have cell contact. Fiona, if I may have your phone, I’ll enter our numbers in it.” Fiona pulled her phone out of her pocket and handed it forward to Edgar. He had been so funny and playful at Thanksgiving dinner, this was a completely different side to him. She was glad he was serious, it meant that Tate was safe.

“Sam’s number is already in there,” she said and he handed her phone back to her and nodded.

Sam pulled into the Jefferson Memorial parking lot and both he and Edgar scanned the lot for anything out of the ordinary. The only thing Fiona noticed that was odd was that there were parking spaces. Edgar nodded at Sam and then he hopped out of the front seat. Fiona made a move to her door, but Tate squeezed her hand. Sam hopped out and opened her door and Tate let go. She felt like the Secret Service was taking care of her. Tate was right next to her before she knew it, taking her hand and starting off toward Thomas Jefferson’s great marble dome.

“Tell me why you wanted to see the Jefferson Memorial,” he said and when she turned to see if Edgar was behind them he put a hand to her cheek. “Don’t draw attention to them, they’re there, keep the faith.” She blinked a few times at him and nodded.

“Okay. I’ve had a crush on Jefferson since the fifth grade when I did a report on him. The man was a genius, despite his drawbacks.”

“Drawbacks?”

“Yes, he wasn’t perfect. Everybody knows he owned slaves despite his ‘all men are created equal,’ stand. He drank a bit, and he was the one who started the whole Indian Relocation craze, or so I’ve read. He was an inventor and a wordsmith, such a wordsmith, and a hale fellow well met, but I can’t help thinking that if he had just opened his mind a little about true equality, our country would be a lot further along than it is now. He even had a black lover, and he invented the dumbwaiter to make life easier for her, when he should have married her and hired a stinking maid for Pete’s sake.” He laughed. “But he wrote the Declaration of Independence at the age of 33, that’s impressive, and he enacted a freedom of religion bill when he was president. All amazing things. And last, but not least, he was a redhead, I’ve always had a thing for redheads.”

“Damn. I’ll tell Xav.” She whacked him on the shoulder lightly.

“Don’t scare the poor kid, although, that whole family is beautiful.” They climbed the marble steps and looked around. There weren’t very many people, before 10:00 was the time to come.

After reading the engraved words on the walls and Tate snapping pictures of her looking contemplative, they trotted down the steps and headed toward the Roosevelt and then the MLK monuments.

They had Roosevelt to themselves, but people had started to show up by the time they got to the three giant marble slabs with Martin Luther King carved into the center one.

“Pictures just don’t do it justice,” Tate said in awe.

“No, they really don’t.” Her voice was small and he pulled her to him and kissed her head. “I hadn’t really considered the symbolism when I saw the pictures of this in the papers, but now I see. It’s really something, isn’t it?”

“Aye. Thank you for bringing me here,” he said and she nodded. They walked around and through the rock Martin Luther King was breaking free of and made their way to The Lincoln Memorial, walked the length of the reflecting pool, and ended up at the WWII Memorial. The water made Fiona quite chilled, and she hugged herself. Tate unbuttoned his pea coat and opened it for her. She only hesitated a second and she put her arms around him and he closed his coat over her and drew her close.

“I like this,” he murmured into her ear. Her face was in his chest and he smelled like faint body wash and Tate, it was a heady combination. They remained like that for some time, neither one of them wanting to let go. Finally Fiona pulled back a little and tilted her face up to his. He kissed her, as she had hoped he would. “I especially like this.” She smiled.

“Me too.”

“Let’s go get some lunch somewhere,” he said. “You can warm up a little. I think I know a place.” He disengaged himself just enough to get his phone out and call Edgar. “We’re ready to have lunch, Fi’s freezing.” He paused listening to Edgar for a few seconds. “Right then, ta, mate.” He bent his head to hers. “Sam’s collecting the car, we’ll meet him just there,” he cocked his head to the side, “in a bit.”

Dating, walking with her, holding her hand, country swing dancing; all those things he’d never really done before were actually fun. Watching her face light up when he bought the silly flapper’s hat was the most exhilarating thing he’d done in years.

They wandered closer to the small parking lot completely absorbed in each other until the black SUV pulled up next to them.

“Where is this lunch place you know?” She asked as Tate opened the door for her. He was going to hand her in when two things happened. There was a man he had never seen before in the seat already, and he heard Edgar’s voice shouting his name some distance behind him. The man grabbed Fiona’s lower arms and pulled her into the car.

***

“Cuba, what’s your 20?” Edgar asked into his radio.

“I am 3 minutes out, northwest of the WWII Memorial,” Sam responded.

“Shit! Tate! Tate, don’t!” Edgar yelled as he ran as fast as he could for the parking lot, drawing his weapon.

Tate put the heel of his palm into the man’s face, making a very satisfying cracking noise. The SUV began to pull away just as the man with the broken nose released Fiona, and Tate grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to the pavement on top of him, cracking his head on the tarmac as the car pulled away.

Edgar was right there with his weapon drawn looking around frantically for the enemy. “Tate, speak to me, man,” he bellowed at him, not looking down at him.

“My head bloody hurts,” he said to Edgar who looked relieved and started talking into his radio. “But I like the feel of you here,” he said focusing on Fiona again and smiling at her. “Are ye all right, love?” She rolled over and knelt next to him.