More Than Meets the Ink (16 page)

“Why?” she asked suspiciously. “And why are you here?”

He frowned. “Why are you in cold-bitch mode? So tense and defensive?”

None of your business
, she was going to snap back, but she was too tired to gather the necessary energy to work herself into a tantrum. “Has no one ever told you it’s rude to answer a question with another question?” She waited for an answer, but James just looked intently at her. Her expression softened, her eyes lowering. “Sorry. Bad day.”

“Tell me.”

Oh hell. Just two words. Two tiny words and she was laid bare, completely undone. Shaking like a fresh-baked soufflé left forgotten next to an open window. It had been so long since anybody had asked her that or cared enough to want to hear; she almost broke down into sobs. She shook her head, blinking back tears.
Pull yourself together; don’t act like a crybaby.

“What’s the matter, princess?”

“Never mind me. It’s this place,” she said, waving around. Elaborating further would just make matters worse.

“The diners seemed happy enough. There’s a weird vibe going on with your staff, but it’s hardly noticeable if you aren’t paying attention.”

“And you are?”

“Yes, I am. Come on, Tate, don’t be such a tight ass. Let me in, baby.”

Holy shit, the man really knew how to say the right things at the right time. And she was so desperate for the comfort he was offering, even if it was only a temporary thing.

She swallowed and looked at her lap, trying to keep her tears locked inside. “I feel like I’m drowning here, James. All these memories surrounding me. Choking me.” As the last of her staff had left and she’d closed up the place, Tate had turned off all the lights except for the flickering candles on the table. She needed to save on her electricity bill, but more importantly, the less she saw of her surroundings, the less likely she was to lose it. The idea was sound and had merit; pity it wasn’t working worth a shit. Every inch of this place, photos included, was engraved in her long-term memory, eating at her like a fucking bleeding ulcer she couldn’t eradicate no matter how hard she tried. She blinked some more, desperate for the tears and the lump in her throat to recede. “It’s not only the financial pressure, it’s this pressure valve in my chest that’s about to explode. I miss them so much. The dead and the ones left behind. I miss seeing Elle and Mom here, laughing and pitching in. Even fighting with them. It’s like everyone died in that accident. Even me.”

“I’m so sorry, babe,” he said, reaching for her.

She jerked away. She didn’t want pity. “I should’ve sold the place like my mom wanted. Signed the damn papers just after the funeral and never looked back.” Her voice was shaking badly, and she tried to cover it by clearing her throat. “But stubborn me couldn’t. Still can’t. I’m a fool. Just the thought makes me feel like I’m selling them out; can you believe that?”

“You’re not a fool. And you’ll get this place on its feet again.”

“I won’t.” Now that she’d gotten started, she may as well go for broke. Let it all out. Well, almost all. She wasn’t going to talk to James about the stalker. No way. She couldn’t. Talking about it made it seem much more real, and she couldn’t afford that. Tate was hanging by her last thread as it was; taking the stalker threat seriously would obliterate her. She’d crumble into tiny pieces. Besides, she didn’t want to rely on James of all people. That would be a huge mistake, one she wasn’t risking. She’d go down that road, and in no time she’d grow attached to him, start depending on him, and when he walked out on her, which he invariably would, she’d be crushed. No thank you. She had to remember he wasn’t there to stay. His kind never were.

“You see, when I refused to sell out, the owner of Old Vito began boycotting me and convinced my suppliers to refuse delivering to me. When they do, more often than not, they serve me products of lower quality. My chef is in hysterics most the time, threatening to quit because of it. His assistant calls in sick every other day, and Clint is—”

“An asshole,” James finished.

She couldn’t find it in herself to deny it, so she just shrugged. “They’re grieving, we’re all grieving, plus there’s the economic strain from the fire, which, believe me, is no joke. The kitchen personnel are defensive as hell, convinced I believe they had something to do with it. For a time, they blamed each other.” Yeah, until she had the bright idea to show them one of those e-mails to get them to stop the blaming game. Great move; they stopped blaming each other and started quitting. “I want to keep this place, I really do. I owe it to my father and brother, but I don’t know how. I’m losing it. I’m losing it all.”

Her eyes welled. Damn, damn! This was so undignified. She didn’t want to fall apart. Not now, not in front of James. She was a modern woman, a grown-up, capable of handling anything life threw at her. She certainly didn’t need to go crying to anyone. But her tears didn’t care about being politically correct and burst furiously out of her. She covered her face, ashamed and appalled at her tear ducts’ clear lack of decency.

James pried her hands off her face and tugged her to him, circling her with his strong arms and hugging her. She went along reluctantly, but he was so warm and felt so safe, soon she was gripping his shirt and letting it all loose. All her pent-up feelings, all her anger, all her frustration were being wrenched from her in hard, angry sobs.

He held her tight while she cried. It took a while before all the grief worked itself through her, leaving her limp and exhausted. Tate could feel his thudding heart against the palm of her hand, against her cheek, so soothing.

James was the first to break the long silence. “Tell me something, sweetheart. The curiosity is killing me.”

“Mmm?” she mumbled, her face still buried in his chest.

“Who the hell is Rosita?”

Her shoulders shook in silent laughter. “Rosita is…was…my grandmother from my father’s side. She was from a small town called Lucera, in the south of Italy. My granddad fell madly in love with her when he was stationed there during World War II. He snatched her up and brought her to the United States. She was a great cook, so they opened an Italian restaurant and named it after her. I never got to meet her, but she was a true Italian beauty.”

“So that’s where you got your devastating looks from,” he murmured to her hair, kissing the top of her head. “No wonder I never stood a chance against your magic.”

Yeah right. “Not really. Elle is more like her, with her olive skin and her big black eyes. I got my granddad’s eyes and my mom’s fair skin. The mane of thick hair may come from Rosita though, the wide ass too,” she added and chuckled, very much aware he was trying to divert her attention and grateful for it.

“Sorry for this,” she said, mopping her tear-drenched eyes with the palm of her hand. “I didn’t mean to bum you out.”

She moved to disentangle herself from him, but he wouldn’t let go. “You didn’t bum me out,” he said, assuring her while tucking some strands of hair behind her ear.

She must look like a hag from hell. Her cheeks and nose red from crying, her eyes black from the smudged mascara, her breath still in hiccups, and her loose braid half uncoiled. She unwound it totally, self-consciously running her hand over her hair while his hand kept stroking her back.

“I must look hideous,” she said, still wiping her eyes with her hands. “Sorry for this crying jag.”

“You’re beautiful, Tate, and you know it, babe.” He smiled at her, something worryingly close to tenderness in his eyes, while his thumbs wiped the last of her tears from her face.

Tate lifted her hand to his. So rough yet so gentle. “You came.” She was so glad he was there but didn’t dare to say it. She wasn’t sure where they stood; they weren’t in Eternal Sun anymore. And she was a mess.

“Of course I came. I said I would, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. And I laughed at you. Sorry for being a bitch.” And she’d been quite a bitch. Not on purpose of course, but that hardly changed anything. After coming back from the hotel, she’d pretty much dismissed him. He’d offered her a ride to the airport, but she declined and left almost without saying good-bye. “After what I said and how I behaved, I thought I wouldn’t see you again.”

He grinned and lifted her chin so her gaze met his. “I’m stubborn that way. I don’t hear what I don’t want to hear.”

She laughed. “Well, I’m glad for your selective deafness.”

He coaxed her closer. She didn’t need any coaxing, though; she needed him to kiss her again, desperately wanted to lose herself in him. James was such a great kisser, the right amount of pressure, of aggression and possessiveness. She placed her arms around his neck, bringing him down to her, and as she opened up for him, his lips took charge immediately, making sweet love to her mouth while his body pressed tightly against hers.

There was nothing like kissing James. His taste was intoxicating, not to mention his touch. As he kept eating at her mouth, his hand glided to her breast, stealing a shudder from her. With effort, she broke the kiss and pushed him away.

Startled, he looked at her.

She just smiled.

This was such a bad idea, but hell if she could stop herself.

“Lie back,” she whispered to him, going to her knees between his thighs.

“Tate? What on earth…?”

She wickedly looked at him. “Boy’s Happy Hour is finally here. Enjoy.”

Chapter Seven

Oh man, he was in trouble.

She’d looked so damn beautiful bathed in candlelight, her eyes the color of quicksilver, her dark eyelashes still wet from her tears, the mere sight of her took his breath away. On her knees, though, while unbuttoning his jeans, those sexy eyes of hers wickedly turned up to him, and her breath coming rapidly from her soft lips, she looked more than beautiful. She looked fucking astonishing, so much so that his heart all but stopped and his throat swelled shut.

He stopped her hands. “Tate, are you sure you want to…?”

“Give you head? Yes, I’m pretty sure I want to suck your dick,” she whispered as her sweet, small hands moved from under his and undid his pants. “Do you have anything against that?”

Fuck, he was so going to hell for this. Her words alone were going to do him in, not to mention that curious, wandering hand approaching his cock. The second she palmed him, a jolt of energy hit him so hard he hissed, his hips instinctively lifting to her. It took all his mental control to talk.

“You were upset. I don’t want you feeling forced into anything,” he pressed on, horrified at his own words. Mental. Since when did he let chivalry get in the way of a blowjob? Talk about boycotting oneself, jeez.

Tate ignored him. “Does it look as if I’m being coerced into anything?” she asked while nuzzling his shaft, her soft smooth skin burning him alive, his dick twitching like a motherfucker. “Now shut up and enjoy the ride, big man, before I decide I don’t want to do it anymore.”

He threw his head back in a harsh groan as her wicked tongue made an appearance and flickered over him. This was going to kill him, those luminescent eyes intense on him, her sweet mouth stretched over his dick, ready to suck him into heaven. He wasn’t going to survive it.

“This is one of my favorite sex fantasies.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Do I dare to ask which one, Catholic boy?”

He concentrated on talking, trying to regain a bit of control. “The Corleone fantasy of course. An Italian restaurant, a classic one, like in the movies, with the white and red tablecloths, the homemade curtains on the windows, the old pictures on the walls, the smell of good old Italian food all over. Me in a private booth with a sexy, voluptuous Italian beauty on her knees in between my legs, her long, dark curls all over my thighs, jacking me off with her luscious, talented Mediterranean mouth.”

Tate snorted, her lips sweetly brushing his throbbing cock. “The only voluptuous part of me is my ass, thank you very much.”

“Your ass and Sofia Loren’s, baby, tight as sisters. And you know I’m a sucker for the classics.”

She laughed, the sweet vibration slamming at his cock, forcing him to grit his teeth to hold it all together. And she hadn’t taken him into that sweet piece of heaven yet. When that happened, his head was going to explode.

“You’re incorrigible. I shouldn’t encourage you. Pity I can’t help myself,” she added and then continued lavishing him with sweet attention. “Go on, tell me more; let’s see what I can do to accommodate you.”

He tried to concentrate on talking. “Where was I? Oh yes, the Corleone fantasy. She’s the daughter of a very powerful mob guy, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and the most dangerous too. Her godfather is a scary dude from the old country who loves her and dotes on her to a fault. He’s made many guys disappear for just talking to her. At any moment, her family bodyguards may discover us, and I’ll end up in the river with cement shoes at the very least. And I don’t care. Best blowjob ever,” he said, tucking her hair behind her ears and then sinking his fingers into that dark mass, pulling at it.

She smiled at him and held his gaze, leisurely licking him from his balls to the tip of his shaft, giving special attention to the underside of the crown, under the ridge, until he was ready to beg for her to take him into her mouth. Damn, he wasn’t going to survive unscathed from this. There were no walls with Tate, no defense he could pull up to distance himself from all the things that petite woman made him feel.

She shook her head in amusement. “A very detailed fantasy. You should give up security alarms and go into porn script writing,” she murmured, her hot breath bathing the head of his shaft, torturing it while her sweet fingers lightly caressed the throbbing club. She was teasing him, denying him access to her mouth, driving him ballistic with need.

He grabbed his cock at the base and held her from the back of the head, his dick nudging at her mouth, his hips lifting to her. “Don’t be a tease, baby, please. Open up.”

Poised on the top of his dick, her mouth hot and wet, she looked at him and then parted her lips, his dick slowly pushing in. James hissed, and his body tensed like a bowstring.