Sweet Dreams by Kristen Ashley
“For an airline,” I told him.
“What airline?” he asked.
“Um…” his arm gave me a squeeze, “Kites?” I said it like a question as if he could confirm its validity.
“Kites,” he repeated.
“You heard of it?” I asked like it was a small airline that had a fleet of about twelve planes when it wasn’t small. It wasn’t international but it was national, based in Phoenix, flew mostly west of the Mississippi but also had flights all over the country and had so many planes sometimes Dean, the man in charge of keeping track of them, lost track (though he only told me this but they figured it out, I knew that because one of the e-mails I read three days ago was from him telling me he got fired).
“Yeah, Ace, I’ve heard of it,” Tate drawled. “Executive of what?”
“Um…”
“Babe.”
“Senior Vice President of Labor Relations,” I said swiftly then downplayed it, “kind of the HR Guru.”
Tate stared at me.
Then he looked to the TV and muttered, “Jesus.”
That fear started taking hold.
“Tate,” I called and his eyes came to me.
“You make a lotta cake?” he asked.
“I did,” I whispered.
“Now you’re a waitress,” he said.
“Now I’m a waitress,” I confirmed.
“Livin’ in a hotel,” he remarked.
I bit my lip.
“Where’d you live before?” he asked.
“Horizon Summit,”
“Suburb of Phoenix?”
“A housing development in Scottsdale.”
“Scottsdale,” he murmured.
“Um…”
“What’s your ex do?” he asked.
“Executive Vice President of Sheer Aeronauticals,” I whispered.
Tate stared at me.
“He makes a lot of cake too,” I was still whispering.
“Martinis and manicures,” Tate mumbled.
“I don’t miss it,” I told him quickly but Tate didn’t respond, didn’t speak, didn’t move, his face didn’t even change. “I promise, I don’t.”
“Right,” Tate muttered and his eyes went back to the TV.
I pulled up his chest so my face was in his line of vision.
“We lived in a gated community, our backyard butted a golf course,” I said. “Every time I drove through that gate I wondered if it was there to keep people out or lock me in. I hated that gate. I hated living behind a gate and what that said. I hated golf and I still do. I had a girl who cleaned my house and I liked cleaning my house. It was a big house but I didn’t do anything in my life where I saw the results unless they were on a graph in some report and what does that really mean?” I planted a hand in his chest and kept going. “I didn’t even paint my own nails. I rarely cooked because Brad was never home and both our hours were crazed, not to mention he was carrying on an affair. If I wasn’t cleaning my house, I didn’t like it. It was too big, too shiny, too new. I didn’t drink grape Kool-Aid there because Brad’s not a Kool-Aid type of guy but I was scared I’d spill it on the furniture. Everything was so perfect. Nothing had personality.” I took a deep breath and kept babbling. “I didn’t like my job, I liked the people I worked with but I didn’t like my job. It was all about rules, about policy. I’m all for rules and policy, I just don’t want to be the one pushing them down people’s throats. I don’t know why I did it. I was lost after college and I got into human resources on a fluke. I liked it. It fascinated me, people fascinate me. And it just took off from there. My Dad taught me to be a good employee, work hard and smart, be loyal. It just ballooned and there I was, where I didn’t want to be, at work and at home. Sometimes I’d sit in my office and look at my computer and wonder how I got there and then I’d wonder why I stayed. But Brad liked the life we could live on our salaries and I loved him so I –”
“Ace.”
I was so on a roll, I blinked when Tate spoke and asked, “What?”
“You can shut up now.”
I studied his face and saw he was fighting a grin.
“What’s funny?” I asked.
“I ain’t a grape Kool-Aid type of guy either,” he answered.
“That’s funny?” I asked.
“But you want it, you shouldn’t stop yourself from havin’ it just because I ain’t.”
“Okay,” I said softly.
“You spill it on my couch, babe, just sayin’…” he stopped.
“What?”
His neck bent and his face got close to mine. “I really don’t give a fuck. My couch is shit.”
It took me by surprise, starting in my belly then my body shook with it and finally I dropped my forehead to his chest and let the laughter escape my lips.
As I laughed I felt his arm give me a squeeze and his lips kiss the crown of my head.
I stopped laughing and turned my cheek to rest on his chest and my eyes to rest on the TV. We both watched the muted TV for awhile and then Tate’s arm dropped from my shoulders so his hand could pull my shirt up at the back and then his fingers trailed random patterns against the skin at its small. This felt nice and I relaxed deeper into him.
That was, I relaxed deeper into him until his legs and hips shifted and he muttered, “Fuck.”
My head came up and I looked at him to see his eyes were beyond me, staring in the vicinity of our legs and there was an expression on his face I couldn’t read.
“What?” I asked, pulling slightly away only to have his hand flatten on the skin of my back and hold me still. “Are you uncomfortable?”
His eyes went from our legs to my face.
“Yeah and no,” he answered.
“Sorry?” I asked.
“Babe, sittin’ here lookin’ at your legs thinkin’ of this mornin’ and just lookin’ at your legs, thinkin’ of this mornin’, them wrapped tight around my back, I started gettin’ hard. Just lookin’ at your fuckin’ legs. Christ,” he bit off the last word.
That fear that went away came back, it was different and it was mostly about not understanding why he looked suddenly annoyed. To me, this was all good, really good, happy good. To him, it seemed the opposite.
“Um… isn’t that kind of…” I hesitated. “Good?”
He stared at me then stated, “I ain’t fifteen.”
“No,” I agreed because he wasn’t. I still didn’t know how old he was but he wasn’t fifteen, I was sure of that.
“Fifteen year old kids get hard like that. Men…” He shook his head.
I tipped mine to the side, suddenly finding this conversation very interesting.
“They don’t?” I asked.
“Nope,” he answered.
“Really?” I asked and his eyes grew intense on my face.
“Okay, I’ve no fuckin’ clue so let me rephrase, I don’t.”
He didn’t.
So this meant Neeta who could work her body and blow kisses to hotel clerks and laugh so loud it rang in the air didn’t make him start to get hard just looking at her legs.
But I did.
I dipped my chin but obviously didn’t hide my smile because my face was captured with his hand at my jaw and forced back up.
He didn’t speak when his eyes locked on my mouth but his face changed again and I couldn’t read it but his eyes got dark in a way that was both sinister and exciting.
“Tate?” I called and his gaze lifted to my eyes.
“Now your fuckin’ sexy little smile is makin’ me hard,” he growled, sounding more than slightly perturbed.
I felt my smile deepen, decided to change the subject and leaned my face close to his. “How old are you?”
“Forty-four.”
I leaned back.
“What?” I asked.
“Forty-four,” he answered.
“You are not,” I stated and his head gave a small jerk.
“Babe, I am.”
“Aren’t.”
His brows drew toget
her. “You swipin’ your Dad’s meds? What’s the deal?”
“No forty-four year old man has your body,” I informed him.
“Well, I do.”
Light dawned. “You know how old I am,” I stated.
“Yeah, Ace, read your application. Though, I’ll point out, Kites wasn’t on it.”
I decided to ignore the fact that I fibbed by omission on my application so Krystal wouldn’t eject me bodily from Bubba’s and stayed on my chosen subject.
“So you’re saying you’re forty-four so you won’t make me feel badly for being older than you.”
“Lauren, I am older than you.”
“You aren’t.”
He stared at me.
Then he burst out laughing, his head going back with it and his arms both came around me and pulled me to him, then up his chest and very close.
“I’m not seeing anything funny,” I muttered into his neck.
“How old do you think I am?” he asked my ear.
I pulled my head back, examined his face and guessed, “Thirty-six?”
He grinned. “You want, you can go with that. I don’t mind.”
“Tate –”
He cut me off. “But I’m forty-four.”
“Tate –”
“Though, it’s okay with me my old lady looks older than me.”
“Tate!” I snapped.
“Or thinks she does,” he continued.
I glared at him. He kept grinning.
Mack, Caroline and Mom entered the room; I heard them and slid off Tate’s chest to look their way.
“Hey,” I greeted when I saw them all looking at us, Mack’s lips twitching, Mom out and out smiling and Carrie giving me a look that said she thought I was in the middle of full on leaping without checking first where I might land.
“Hey,” Carrie replied as I felt Tate’s body get tight against mine.
“Mack, turn that up,” he ordered, straightening and taking his feet from the table, effectively taking my feet and body with his.
“What?” Mack asked.
“TV, turn it up,” Tate reiterated and he was pulling us both to our feet.
When I gained my feet, my head tipped back and I saw his eyes were glued to the television screen so my head turned and my eyes went there as well.
There was a male newsreader on the TV and I could barely hear him talking but I could see the words “May December Murderer” in a graphic behind him.
“Oh my God,” I breathed and Mack turned the TV volume up.
“…victim yesterday,” the newsreader said. “The police of Chantelle, Colorado think this latest murder is the victim of what is known in police circles as the ‘May December Murderer’.”
“Chantelle,” I whispered.
“Our fuckin’ backyard,” Tate growled and I felt that dark energy radiating from him but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the TV.
The newsreader kept talking. “However, this incident is outside the perpetrator’s usual schedule and police and FBI are concerned these murders, now eight in total with the same modus operandi, are escalating.” The newsreader turned to another camera. “We’ll be back with more…”
I stopped listening because Tate’s body moved and I turned to him to see he was digging his cell out of his back pocket.
“Tate,” I whispered.
“A minute, Ace,” he muttered.
“What?” Carrie asked as she, Mom and Mack got closer.
I turned to them uncertain what to say. They wouldn’t exactly want me flying back home when a serial killer was on the loose.
Tate moved away and he had his cell to his ear.
“What?” Carrie asked again as my family made it to me.
“That’s um…” I started, bit my lip then finished, “the murderer Tate was hunting the last month.”
“Oh my,” Mom breathed, Mack looked over his shoulder at the TV but Carrie’s eyes stayed locked on me.
“Tonia?” she asked and I nodded. “Holy cow,” she finished on a breathy whisper.
I licked my lips.
Tate returned, got in my space and his hand came to my neck where it met my shoulder. His face was serious but his eyes were conflicted.
“Babe –” he began.
I interrupted him. “You have to go.”
He used his hand at my neck to pull me closer and I put mine to his waist.
“Ace –” he said softly.
I leaned closer. “It’s okay, Tate.”
“Your Dad –”
“We’re okay.”
“I wouldn’t –”
I pressed against him, my hands sliding up so my fingers could curl around his shoulders.
“Honey, it’s okay,” I said quietly. “Go.”
He closed his eyes and when he opened them what I saw in them made my body automatically move closer.
“Baby,” he muttered as his head dipped then his mouth was on mine.
It wasn’t a Tate kiss that took me out of mind and into my body but it was long and it was definitely sweet (and there was tongue which made it sweeter).
He lifted his head but stayed in my space.
“Text me when you get up, when you get ready to go somewhere tellin’ me where you’re goin’, when you get there, when you leave and when you go to sleep,” he ordered.
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Be smart, Laurie.” He kept ordering.
“Okay.” I kept whispering.
“Locked doors, in cars, houses –”
“Okay.”
“Be aware of where you are, who you’re with –”
“Tate –”
“Don’t open any fuckin’ doors unless you’re sure who’s behind them.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise, Ace.”
“I promise, Captain. I’ll be safe.”
Tate stared at me.
Then he whispered, “Fucker was in my backyard.”
“Go, baby,” I urged softly.
He touched his mouth to mine, his hand at my neck gave me a squeeze then he let me go and turned to Mack.
“Give me a ride to the hotel?” he asked.
“Absolutely, Tate,” Mack replied.
I saw Carrie and Mom looking at me. Mom was smiling still, it was softer, knowing, with a hint of happiness mixed with the anxiety she’d worn the last few days and some confusion too.
Carrie was also smiling but it was in a way I figured she thought maybe me taking the plunge with Tate might not be such a bad thing.
Tate turned to Mom and kissed her cheek.
When he did she patted him on the back and breathed, “Oh my.”
Tate did the same to Carrie and she gave him a hug.
He left the waiting room and Mack followed.
He didn’t turn and look at me. I wanted to see his face but I got it this time.
He was focused.
Chapter Twelve
Sweet Dreams, Baby
I was in bed in my old room which was now the guest bedroom at my family’s farm.
I had my phone in my hand and I was punching out the words on the little keyboard.
Hey honey, going to bed.
I hit send but didn’t put down the phone. I twisted, turned out the light and settled in, all the while I kept the phone in my hand.
Over the past five days I learned Tate wasn’t a big texter. At first, as ordered, I texted him as he asked me to, telling him my every move – to the hotel, farm, hospital, when I woke up, when I went to bed. He rarely texted back and when he did they were one of two words.
Good.
And.
OK.
So on day three I stopped telling him my every move because, in all honesty, he didn’t seem all that interested.
This earned me a phone call to which, when I answered while pushing a cart through the grocery store at approximately ten thirty in the morning, Tate did not greet me.
Instead he said, “What the fuck?”
I wa
s surprised at this opening so I non-greeted back, “What the fuck what?”
“Babe,” was his reply.
I was silent because that wasn’t much of a reply, he sounded slightly put out and I wasn’t certain why.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Where are you?” he asked back.
“The grocery store,” I answered.
“You forget something?”
I looked in the cart. “No, it’s just that Mom and I are at the farm and she hasn’t had a home cooked meal for awhile and I haven’t cooked at all for awhile so tonight I’m going to cook…”
“Ace,” he growled and realized he did that a lot. Growl. He could, with that rough voice he could definitely growl, but he didn’t have to do it so often and especially for reasons unknown.
“What?”
“Last I knew, you were goin’ to sleep,” he informed me.
He might not text but every night, from that first night, minutes after I texted him with the information that I was going to bed, he’d call. Our conversations weren’t long, heartfelt and soul-baring. They were short and informational but I thought they were sweet mainly because they were with Tate.
“Well, I’m awake,” I pointed out the obvious.
“I’m gettin’ that,” he ground out. “We had a deal.”
“A deal?”
“You text,” he clipped.
Well there it was, I was wrong, he was interested.
“Oh,” I said.
“Oh,” he repeated.
“I won’t forget again,” I promised.
“Yeah, Ace, don’t forget again,” he warned and it was definitely a warning.
I felt my back straighten as I stood in the grocery store aisle. I turned and stared at the shelves, feeling myself getting angry.
“Well, it’s not like your King Text,” I snapped.
“Come again?”
“You don’t reply,” I told him. “I text and you don’t reply. I mean –”
He interrupted me. “Deal wasn’t that I was texting you.”
“Yes, but –”
“I don’t text,” he informed me.
“But you expect me to?” I shot back.
“Yeah, Ace. Newsflash, I’m huntin’ a raping serial killer. I think you get that he’s tweaked me, that sick fuck takin’ out Tonia. My old lady is four states away, not close, not in my control. You get that?”
“Um…” I mumbled because I partly did and the part I got felt nice. I also partly didn’t because he referred to me as not in his control and I not only didn’t get that I wasn’t sure how to take it.
“What airline?” he asked.
“Um…” his arm gave me a squeeze, “Kites?” I said it like a question as if he could confirm its validity.
“Kites,” he repeated.
“You heard of it?” I asked like it was a small airline that had a fleet of about twelve planes when it wasn’t small. It wasn’t international but it was national, based in Phoenix, flew mostly west of the Mississippi but also had flights all over the country and had so many planes sometimes Dean, the man in charge of keeping track of them, lost track (though he only told me this but they figured it out, I knew that because one of the e-mails I read three days ago was from him telling me he got fired).
“Yeah, Ace, I’ve heard of it,” Tate drawled. “Executive of what?”
“Um…”
“Babe.”
“Senior Vice President of Labor Relations,” I said swiftly then downplayed it, “kind of the HR Guru.”
Tate stared at me.
Then he looked to the TV and muttered, “Jesus.”
That fear started taking hold.
“Tate,” I called and his eyes came to me.
“You make a lotta cake?” he asked.
“I did,” I whispered.
“Now you’re a waitress,” he said.
“Now I’m a waitress,” I confirmed.
“Livin’ in a hotel,” he remarked.
I bit my lip.
“Where’d you live before?” he asked.
“Horizon Summit,”
“Suburb of Phoenix?”
“A housing development in Scottsdale.”
“Scottsdale,” he murmured.
“Um…”
“What’s your ex do?” he asked.
“Executive Vice President of Sheer Aeronauticals,” I whispered.
Tate stared at me.
“He makes a lot of cake too,” I was still whispering.
“Martinis and manicures,” Tate mumbled.
“I don’t miss it,” I told him quickly but Tate didn’t respond, didn’t speak, didn’t move, his face didn’t even change. “I promise, I don’t.”
“Right,” Tate muttered and his eyes went back to the TV.
I pulled up his chest so my face was in his line of vision.
“We lived in a gated community, our backyard butted a golf course,” I said. “Every time I drove through that gate I wondered if it was there to keep people out or lock me in. I hated that gate. I hated living behind a gate and what that said. I hated golf and I still do. I had a girl who cleaned my house and I liked cleaning my house. It was a big house but I didn’t do anything in my life where I saw the results unless they were on a graph in some report and what does that really mean?” I planted a hand in his chest and kept going. “I didn’t even paint my own nails. I rarely cooked because Brad was never home and both our hours were crazed, not to mention he was carrying on an affair. If I wasn’t cleaning my house, I didn’t like it. It was too big, too shiny, too new. I didn’t drink grape Kool-Aid there because Brad’s not a Kool-Aid type of guy but I was scared I’d spill it on the furniture. Everything was so perfect. Nothing had personality.” I took a deep breath and kept babbling. “I didn’t like my job, I liked the people I worked with but I didn’t like my job. It was all about rules, about policy. I’m all for rules and policy, I just don’t want to be the one pushing them down people’s throats. I don’t know why I did it. I was lost after college and I got into human resources on a fluke. I liked it. It fascinated me, people fascinate me. And it just took off from there. My Dad taught me to be a good employee, work hard and smart, be loyal. It just ballooned and there I was, where I didn’t want to be, at work and at home. Sometimes I’d sit in my office and look at my computer and wonder how I got there and then I’d wonder why I stayed. But Brad liked the life we could live on our salaries and I loved him so I –”
“Ace.”
I was so on a roll, I blinked when Tate spoke and asked, “What?”
“You can shut up now.”
I studied his face and saw he was fighting a grin.
“What’s funny?” I asked.
“I ain’t a grape Kool-Aid type of guy either,” he answered.
“That’s funny?” I asked.
“But you want it, you shouldn’t stop yourself from havin’ it just because I ain’t.”
“Okay,” I said softly.
“You spill it on my couch, babe, just sayin’…” he stopped.
“What?”
His neck bent and his face got close to mine. “I really don’t give a fuck. My couch is shit.”
It took me by surprise, starting in my belly then my body shook with it and finally I dropped my forehead to his chest and let the laughter escape my lips.
As I laughed I felt his arm give me a squeeze and his lips kiss the crown of my head.
I stopped laughing and turned my cheek to rest on his chest and my eyes to rest on the TV. We both watched the muted TV for awhile and then Tate’s arm dropped from my shoulders so his hand could pull my shirt up at the back and then his fingers trailed random patterns against the skin at its small. This felt nice and I relaxed deeper into him.
That was, I relaxed deeper into him until his legs and hips shifted and he muttered, “Fuck.”
My head came up and I looked at him to see his eyes were beyond me, staring in the vicinity of our legs and there was an expression on his face I couldn’t read.
“What?” I asked, pulling slightly away only to have his hand flatten on the skin of my back and hold me still. “Are you uncomfortable?”
His eyes went from our legs to my face.
“Yeah and no,” he answered.
“Sorry?” I asked.
“Babe, sittin’ here lookin’ at your legs thinkin’ of this mornin’ and just lookin’ at your legs, thinkin’ of this mornin’, them wrapped tight around my back, I started gettin’ hard. Just lookin’ at your fuckin’ legs. Christ,” he bit off the last word.
That fear that went away came back, it was different and it was mostly about not understanding why he looked suddenly annoyed. To me, this was all good, really good, happy good. To him, it seemed the opposite.
“Um… isn’t that kind of…” I hesitated. “Good?”
He stared at me then stated, “I ain’t fifteen.”
“No,” I agreed because he wasn’t. I still didn’t know how old he was but he wasn’t fifteen, I was sure of that.
“Fifteen year old kids get hard like that. Men…” He shook his head.
I tipped mine to the side, suddenly finding this conversation very interesting.
“They don’t?” I asked.
“Nope,” he answered.
“Really?” I asked and his eyes grew intense on my face.
“Okay, I’ve no fuckin’ clue so let me rephrase, I don’t.”
He didn’t.
So this meant Neeta who could work her body and blow kisses to hotel clerks and laugh so loud it rang in the air didn’t make him start to get hard just looking at her legs.
But I did.
I dipped my chin but obviously didn’t hide my smile because my face was captured with his hand at my jaw and forced back up.
He didn’t speak when his eyes locked on my mouth but his face changed again and I couldn’t read it but his eyes got dark in a way that was both sinister and exciting.
“Tate?” I called and his gaze lifted to my eyes.
“Now your fuckin’ sexy little smile is makin’ me hard,” he growled, sounding more than slightly perturbed.
I felt my smile deepen, decided to change the subject and leaned my face close to his. “How old are you?”
“Forty-four.”
I leaned back.
“What?” I asked.
“Forty-four,” he answered.
“You are not,” I stated and his head gave a small jerk.
“Babe, I am.”
“Aren’t.”
His brows drew toget
“No forty-four year old man has your body,” I informed him.
“Well, I do.”
Light dawned. “You know how old I am,” I stated.
“Yeah, Ace, read your application. Though, I’ll point out, Kites wasn’t on it.”
I decided to ignore the fact that I fibbed by omission on my application so Krystal wouldn’t eject me bodily from Bubba’s and stayed on my chosen subject.
“So you’re saying you’re forty-four so you won’t make me feel badly for being older than you.”
“Lauren, I am older than you.”
“You aren’t.”
He stared at me.
Then he burst out laughing, his head going back with it and his arms both came around me and pulled me to him, then up his chest and very close.
“I’m not seeing anything funny,” I muttered into his neck.
“How old do you think I am?” he asked my ear.
I pulled my head back, examined his face and guessed, “Thirty-six?”
He grinned. “You want, you can go with that. I don’t mind.”
“Tate –”
He cut me off. “But I’m forty-four.”
“Tate –”
“Though, it’s okay with me my old lady looks older than me.”
“Tate!” I snapped.
“Or thinks she does,” he continued.
I glared at him. He kept grinning.
Mack, Caroline and Mom entered the room; I heard them and slid off Tate’s chest to look their way.
“Hey,” I greeted when I saw them all looking at us, Mack’s lips twitching, Mom out and out smiling and Carrie giving me a look that said she thought I was in the middle of full on leaping without checking first where I might land.
“Hey,” Carrie replied as I felt Tate’s body get tight against mine.
“Mack, turn that up,” he ordered, straightening and taking his feet from the table, effectively taking my feet and body with his.
“What?” Mack asked.
“TV, turn it up,” Tate reiterated and he was pulling us both to our feet.
When I gained my feet, my head tipped back and I saw his eyes were glued to the television screen so my head turned and my eyes went there as well.
There was a male newsreader on the TV and I could barely hear him talking but I could see the words “May December Murderer” in a graphic behind him.
“Oh my God,” I breathed and Mack turned the TV volume up.
“…victim yesterday,” the newsreader said. “The police of Chantelle, Colorado think this latest murder is the victim of what is known in police circles as the ‘May December Murderer’.”
“Chantelle,” I whispered.
“Our fuckin’ backyard,” Tate growled and I felt that dark energy radiating from him but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the TV.
The newsreader kept talking. “However, this incident is outside the perpetrator’s usual schedule and police and FBI are concerned these murders, now eight in total with the same modus operandi, are escalating.” The newsreader turned to another camera. “We’ll be back with more…”
I stopped listening because Tate’s body moved and I turned to him to see he was digging his cell out of his back pocket.
“Tate,” I whispered.
“A minute, Ace,” he muttered.
“What?” Carrie asked as she, Mom and Mack got closer.
I turned to them uncertain what to say. They wouldn’t exactly want me flying back home when a serial killer was on the loose.
Tate moved away and he had his cell to his ear.
“What?” Carrie asked again as my family made it to me.
“That’s um…” I started, bit my lip then finished, “the murderer Tate was hunting the last month.”
“Oh my,” Mom breathed, Mack looked over his shoulder at the TV but Carrie’s eyes stayed locked on me.
“Tonia?” she asked and I nodded. “Holy cow,” she finished on a breathy whisper.
I licked my lips.
Tate returned, got in my space and his hand came to my neck where it met my shoulder. His face was serious but his eyes were conflicted.
“Babe –” he began.
I interrupted him. “You have to go.”
He used his hand at my neck to pull me closer and I put mine to his waist.
“Ace –” he said softly.
I leaned closer. “It’s okay, Tate.”
“Your Dad –”
“We’re okay.”
“I wouldn’t –”
I pressed against him, my hands sliding up so my fingers could curl around his shoulders.
“Honey, it’s okay,” I said quietly. “Go.”
He closed his eyes and when he opened them what I saw in them made my body automatically move closer.
“Baby,” he muttered as his head dipped then his mouth was on mine.
It wasn’t a Tate kiss that took me out of mind and into my body but it was long and it was definitely sweet (and there was tongue which made it sweeter).
He lifted his head but stayed in my space.
“Text me when you get up, when you get ready to go somewhere tellin’ me where you’re goin’, when you get there, when you leave and when you go to sleep,” he ordered.
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Be smart, Laurie.” He kept ordering.
“Okay.” I kept whispering.
“Locked doors, in cars, houses –”
“Okay.”
“Be aware of where you are, who you’re with –”
“Tate –”
“Don’t open any fuckin’ doors unless you’re sure who’s behind them.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise, Ace.”
“I promise, Captain. I’ll be safe.”
Tate stared at me.
Then he whispered, “Fucker was in my backyard.”
“Go, baby,” I urged softly.
He touched his mouth to mine, his hand at my neck gave me a squeeze then he let me go and turned to Mack.
“Give me a ride to the hotel?” he asked.
“Absolutely, Tate,” Mack replied.
I saw Carrie and Mom looking at me. Mom was smiling still, it was softer, knowing, with a hint of happiness mixed with the anxiety she’d worn the last few days and some confusion too.
Carrie was also smiling but it was in a way I figured she thought maybe me taking the plunge with Tate might not be such a bad thing.
Tate turned to Mom and kissed her cheek.
When he did she patted him on the back and breathed, “Oh my.”
Tate did the same to Carrie and she gave him a hug.
He left the waiting room and Mack followed.
He didn’t turn and look at me. I wanted to see his face but I got it this time.
He was focused.
Chapter Twelve
Sweet Dreams, Baby
I was in bed in my old room which was now the guest bedroom at my family’s farm.
I had my phone in my hand and I was punching out the words on the little keyboard.
Hey honey, going to bed.
I hit send but didn’t put down the phone. I twisted, turned out the light and settled in, all the while I kept the phone in my hand.
Over the past five days I learned Tate wasn’t a big texter. At first, as ordered, I texted him as he asked me to, telling him my every move – to the hotel, farm, hospital, when I woke up, when I went to bed. He rarely texted back and when he did they were one of two words.
Good.
And.
OK.
So on day three I stopped telling him my every move because, in all honesty, he didn’t seem all that interested.
This earned me a phone call to which, when I answered while pushing a cart through the grocery store at approximately ten thirty in the morning, Tate did not greet me.
Instead he said, “What the fuck?”
I wa
“Babe,” was his reply.
I was silent because that wasn’t much of a reply, he sounded slightly put out and I wasn’t certain why.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Where are you?” he asked back.
“The grocery store,” I answered.
“You forget something?”
I looked in the cart. “No, it’s just that Mom and I are at the farm and she hasn’t had a home cooked meal for awhile and I haven’t cooked at all for awhile so tonight I’m going to cook…”
“Ace,” he growled and realized he did that a lot. Growl. He could, with that rough voice he could definitely growl, but he didn’t have to do it so often and especially for reasons unknown.
“What?”
“Last I knew, you were goin’ to sleep,” he informed me.
He might not text but every night, from that first night, minutes after I texted him with the information that I was going to bed, he’d call. Our conversations weren’t long, heartfelt and soul-baring. They were short and informational but I thought they were sweet mainly because they were with Tate.
“Well, I’m awake,” I pointed out the obvious.
“I’m gettin’ that,” he ground out. “We had a deal.”
“A deal?”
“You text,” he clipped.
Well there it was, I was wrong, he was interested.
“Oh,” I said.
“Oh,” he repeated.
“I won’t forget again,” I promised.
“Yeah, Ace, don’t forget again,” he warned and it was definitely a warning.
I felt my back straighten as I stood in the grocery store aisle. I turned and stared at the shelves, feeling myself getting angry.
“Well, it’s not like your King Text,” I snapped.
“Come again?”
“You don’t reply,” I told him. “I text and you don’t reply. I mean –”
He interrupted me. “Deal wasn’t that I was texting you.”
“Yes, but –”
“I don’t text,” he informed me.
“But you expect me to?” I shot back.
“Yeah, Ace. Newsflash, I’m huntin’ a raping serial killer. I think you get that he’s tweaked me, that sick fuck takin’ out Tonia. My old lady is four states away, not close, not in my control. You get that?”
“Um…” I mumbled because I partly did and the part I got felt nice. I also partly didn’t because he referred to me as not in his control and I not only didn’t get that I wasn’t sure how to take it.