Bassist Instinct (The Rocker Series #2) (32 page)

“You should be very proud of your daughter, she’s a warrior,” Sam looked at Tess and smiled at her. Tess couldn’t help but smile back.

“Keep Tate safe, okay?” She touched Sam’s arm. Genna’s eyebrow raised slightly and she looked at Connor who grinned at her. Tess sometimes hated how they read each other’s minds.

“I’ll do my best,” he said and Tate kissed Fiona, nodded at Connor, climbed into the cab and they drove away.

“That’s a good look for you,” Tate said and Sam chuckled. “I couldn’t help but notice our Tess has got a little hero worship happening,” Tate said and their eyes met in the rear view mirror.

“A certain amount of bonding comes with the kind of situation we were in together, that’s all.”

“Just don’t break her heart, aye?” Tate said and to his surprise, Sam chuckled again, Tate liked the sound of it.

“Are you kidding?
She’s
going to break
mine
.” They drove the rest of the way in silence.

Sam drove around Washington Circle and turned south on 23
^rd
. He knew every third person he saw was an agent, but even with his trained eye he saw nothing irregular. He couldn’t help but be proud of his team. He stopped the cab and Tate started to get out.

“Wait man, they’re watching, you gotta pay me,” Sam said.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, aren’t my tax dollars enough?” Tate said pulling out his wallet.

“Tax dollars? You’re not even an American,” he said taking the money.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Tate climbed out of the cab and walked to the bench and sat. Looking at his watch he inhaled and exhaled deeply.

Leaning down to tie his boot, bugger, no laces, he realized, he reached under the bench and taped the bag with the stone to the underside of the seat. It wasn’t as straightforward as he had hoped it would be. The tape got folded over and stuck to itself, and it was harder to reach the underside of the seat than he thought.

When it was finally done he sat up, looked at his watch again. Eight on the dot. He looked around to see if anyone thought his behavior suspicious, but nobody seemed to be watching him. To hear Liam talk, everyone around him was State Department anyway. After a second or two he stood and briskly walked to the next cab he saw and hailed it. Martinez was behind the wheel. Tate sat down and realized he was shaking.

“Clover is secure,” Martinez said into his radio and drove off in the direction of the airport.

“Clover? It’s clover, is it?” Tate said.

“Yeah, we thought it would be lucky. McBride suggested Harp, but that sounded too much like meeting Saint Peter at the pearly gates. Not terribly auspicious.” Martinez chuckled. “You did great, by the way.”

“Thanks. Can I have my phone back?” Martinez nodded.

“It’s in the pocket of the seat,” he said and Tate fished it out and phoned Fiona to tell her they were on their way to the airport.

***

It was Fiona’s third time flying into Dublin International Airport, and each time it had been raining. She didn’t mind the rain, but she was chilled and couldn’t seem to get warm. Ever since Tate left on his mission to get rid of the diamond, she shivered. When Liam called her to say he was out of danger, when Tate called her with the same message, even when they stood holding on to each other in the airport’s VIP lounge, she couldn’t stop her shaking. She thought she might have broken; something deep inside her must have snapped. No one, especially Tate, should ever have to risk their life for her.

She was outraged that Tate and Liam steamrolled her into letting Tate risk his life so that she didn’t have to. Even now, hours later as they pulled up to Tate’s townhouse in Dublin, she was having a hard time letting it go.

Fiona had been maneuvered and manipulated since her mother died when she was four years old. Always trying not to be conspicuous, she somehow got recognized as a rare thing, and was put on stage at every opportunity. Inciting distain and jealousy in her sister and step mother, and apathy and envy in her father. Liam, by virtue of being her only ally, became her keeper somehow, and she suddenly resented him for it.

“Fiona,” she looked up from her hands. Tate was out of the cab, the bags were lined on the sidewalk, and he held a hand out to her. He had clearly been there, standing in the rain, for a while. “Are you tired, lass?” She hardly said a word to him as they crossed the Atlantic as she hunched over her laptop with her earphones on. He understood she needed to get her grading done, but he felt her anger underneath the silence.

“Just still angry,” she said and got out of the cab. “You must never risk your life for me again.” He only just kept from rolling his eyes at her, but he knew that would make her furious.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I’m fine love, it’s over. Give it a rest, now, aye? Please.” He kissed the side of her head gently. “Come in out of the rain.” He jerked his head toward the building.

A stout woman stood waiting at the open door to Tate’s townhouse. They walked up the steps. There was graffiti on the steps and the lower walls and the front door. These places had layers of paint on them from years of covering the mess.

“I’m sorry, sir, Ewing hasn’t had a chance to clean up for the rain,” the woman said noticing Tate and Fiona eyeing the graffiti as they walked toward the door.

“Not a priority. Mrs. O’Neill, this is Dr. Fiona Brooks,” Fiona smiled and nodded at Mrs. O’Neill who smiled and nodded back.

“Welcome to Dublin, Dr. Brooks,” she said.

“Thank you very much,” Fiona said.

They stepped into the house and Tate tried to help Fiona off with her coat.

“Actually Tate, I’m freezing,” Fiona said. Mrs. O’Neill made a tsk sound.

“Can’t you see the lassie’s near frozen to the bone? Off to the parlor with you, Ewing’s started the fire, I’ll bring the tea.” She bustled off before Tate could tell her to bring it to the bed room. He sighed. He took Fiona’s hand, which was indeed frozen, and they walked through a few rooms and then through a door which led to the next townhouse over. Tate closed that door and locked it.

“I know it seems extravagant, but I was being hounded mercilessly in that one,” he pointed at the door to the townhouse they entered. “And bought this one and the next one over when they came up for sale. It gives me a little bit of privacy when I’m in town. People tend to focus on that one.” Fiona nodded, surprised at the depth of Tate’s fame.

They walked into a cozy room with a roaring fire with a well-loved leather chair on each end of it. Fiona half expected to see a hound on the floor in front of it. She loved the room immediately, it was comfortable and stylish without being pretentious. It was definitely a man’s room. There was a desk, bookshelves, various oil paintings and two Grammys on the mantelpiece. Tate watched her look around and hoped she liked what she saw.

“You and I need to talk this out, love. You can’t stay angry forever. Do you need some crockery to destroy?” She smiled at him.

“Your crockery is safe with me. Call Christie, I know you’re dying to.” Fiona stood next to the fireplace and put her hands to it. Tate stood next to her and kissed her. It began as a tentative kiss, he wasn’t sure if she was going to bite his tongue off, but it blossomed into something more for both of them. He thought she just might be ready to forgive him.

“I’m glad you’re here, even if you’re angry and cold,” she reached her hands under his shirt and put them on his belly. “Christ woman!” He shrieked and they both laughed as Mrs. O’Neill stepped into the room with the tea.

“Ah tea, Mrs. O’Neill takes such good care of me,” he smiled at her.

“And a great big child, he is, too,” Mrs. O’Neill said.

“And she keeps me grounded,” Tate said rolling his eyes.

“Someone has to. Ewing has taken your bags up. We brought what you said you needed from the country, it’s all unpacked for your time here,” she nodded and walked out, closing the door quietly behind her.

“You have a house in the country, too?” He looked at her and grinned.

“Among others. I’m overpaid, aye? I stay there mostly, but I want to be near me mam.” She nodded and poured the tea as Tate pulled out his phone and rang Christie.

“We’re here,” he said when she answered. “Yes
we
,” his eyes lifted to Fiona’s, “Fiona came with.” Fiona handed him a cup of tea and he sipped it smiling. He looked at his watch. “Okay, that gives us time to rest a little first. See you then.” He touched his screen and looked at Fiona. “Could you sleep a little? Everyone’s meeting at the house at four. I was hoping to be a little early, though, say three; miss the rush.”

Fiona was biting a biscuit. She nodded, she could definitely sleep.

“Why don’t you go on your own, Tate? I have plenty to keep me occupied.”

“I want you with me, unless you don’t want to go.”

“I’m here, Tate, use me,” his eyebrows shot up and he stood.

“I think we can manage that before we have a kip,” he took her hand. “That is if you’re not still angry.”

“I’m still angry, but you’re so damned cute.” He barked out a surprised laugh.

“I am so glad you came, Fi. I didn’t think I’d laugh at all this trip,” he leaned down and picked up the tray. They went up the stairs and to the back of the house to Tate’s room where a gas fire silently roared.

Tate’s bedroom was also masculine, but not aggressively so, with a giant bed taking center stage, with extremely white bedding. There was an antique bureau with an antique mirror over it that was blackened with age. Not a conceited fellow, her Tate, she thought. The rug on the hard wood floor was a soft, gray silk Oriental.

Tate watched her as she took it all in. She looked at him and smiled shyly.

“This is very nice, Tate.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he said as he put the tray down on a small table next to the fire. “You’ll be spending a bit of time in here, I think.” He grinned at her, then looked serious. “You’re the first woman I’ve had in this room. I just thought you should know.”

All this time she thought it wouldn’t matter, Tate’s past was just that, the past. The moment he told her she was here, where countless others were never invited, it made a huge difference, it mattered.

“Thank you, Tate.” He walked to her and cradled her face in his hands. She was so lovely. Without conscious thought he lowered his mouth to hers. It was like breathing, his body did it for him, and he was grateful. He pushed her coat off her shoulders and heard it fall to the floor but didn’t care, he had wanted her so badly for hours, and now he had her to himself for a few hours, in his haven from everything, he was going to take advantage of the opportunity.

Item by item, their clothes hit the floor around them until they were completely naked, still kissing, and pressed up against each other.

“I was so afraid, Tate,” she whispered to him.

“I was too, my love. But it’s over, you’re safe,” he lifted her off her feet, cradling her in his arms and took her to his bed. Lovely Mrs. O’Neil had the counterpane turned down and he set her on the sheets below, stood back and gazed at her. “You’re so bloody beautiful, you take my breath away, Fi.”

She reached her arms out to him and he knelt on the bed next to her and gathered her in his arms. He was going to take his time enjoying her, and then he might just enjoy her again. His lips found hers once more and he gently and lovingly toyed with her tongue, licked her mouth and nibbled her lips. When he pulled away briefly to once again gaze into her eyes she made a distressed sound and he grinned at her and went for the spot where her neck met her shoulder, where she responded enthusiastically every time, and he ran his tongue over it and sucked lightly, inciting a moan from her that went straight to his heart.

Feeling the perfect roundness of her breasts, he tweaked her nipples with delicate precision, he knew she was particularly sensitive there and the last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt her. Her gasps told him he was on the right track. Releasing one nipple he replaced his hand with his mouth and sucked at it, driving her a little wild and ran his hand down her body to her inner thigh.

“Tate,” she gasped when he found her opening and slid his fingers right in. She was ready for him, and he was dying for her. Not for the release, but for her, Fiona Brooks, his woman. It had been a stressful twenty four hours but right then they were both safe and she was in his arms and he was never letting her go. “Tate, please.”

“Let it take you, my sweet Fiona, I need to give you this small gift,” he said and moved his mouth to replace his fingers and Fiona mewled softly, loving the feel of his tongue inside her and cried out almost immediately, bucking up to meet his mouth. The climax rolled over her like a wave of warmth and her shivering stopped where her trembling began. “Well done, lassie.”

He moved up her taut body, loving the taste of her skin and slowly, so slowly eased himself into to her.

“So good,” he didn’t know if he had said it or if she had. Maybe they both did, for right at that moment they were one single entity. She inhaled, he exhaled, their hearts beat a rapid synchronous tattoo; they were joined, body and soul. As he moved above her, within her and all around her she stared up at him with those stunning blue eyes, shiny with unshed tears, looking straight into his soul. She saw the Tate Dylan few had ever seen. She saw his love for her because he couldn’t hide anything from the person who shared his soul.

His pace quickened and they climaxed together, silent but for a small sob which slipped from Fiona’s lips. There was naught to be said. While they got their breathing under control they clung to each other, still stunned by the intensity of what they had just shared.

Tate rolled to his back, still holding her tightly to him and cuddled with her after pulling the counterpane back up. Eventually her breathing became even and he realized she was asleep. He soon followed her, with her presence dancing through his senses, making him joyous.

Chapter Fourteen