Читать книгу Desire Collection: August 2017 Books 1 - 4 - Joss Wood, Rachel Bailey - Страница 17

Nine

Tate, always slow to wake up, pulled a strand of hair out of her mouth and groaned into her pillow. Fighting the urge to slide back into sleep, she yawned, frowning when she realized the pillowcase was a deep chocolate color and not the snowy white fabric she normally woke up to.

Linc. Sex. All night long. They’d started on the couch and ended in his bedroom. Twice, three times, four if you counted the heavy petting they’d shared in the shower. They’d been insatiable, turning to each other time and again, consumed by the need to give and receive pleasure.

He was the best lover she’d ever had... Admittedly, she hadn’t had that many men in her bed, but she was convinced that if she had, he’d still be the best. Tender, demanding and confident and, surprisingly, uninhibited, Linc seemed to shed his calm, reserved, everything-can-be-worked-out attitude with his clothes and morphed into a dirty-talking, demanding, unrestrained lover.

Tate had no complaints. Nope, she couldn’t think of one. Well, maybe a little one: she was in his bed and he wasn’t touching her. That, she decided, could be easily remedied. Tate rolled over, and instead of encountering Linc’s hot, hard, naked warmth, her hand landed on a small body wearing flannel pajamas covered in helicopters. Tate immediately glanced down at her chest and sighed her relief when she realized that she was wearing one of Linc’s T-shirts.

Thoroughly confused, she lifted her head to look over Shaw’s sprawled-out body and saw Ellie lying on Linc’s T-shirt-covered chest, her face tucked into his neck and his hand covering her small back. His eyelashes were spikes against his cheeks, and heavy stubble covered his jawline.

Tate noticed the baby monitor on the bedside table next to him and tried to make sense of the time between falling asleep naked and now. She’d acquired a shirt, Linc had pulled on some clothes, and the huge bed they’d made love in had been invaded by two little people.

They looked like a family, Tate thought, panic creeping up her throat. This was what she’d had as a kid, two parents, lazy Saturday morning sleep-ins.

“Welcome to life with kids,” Linc drawled, his growly voice dancing over her skin.

Tate pushed her elbow into the bed and rested her head in her hand. She looked across Shaw to Linc, who had yet to open his eyes. “When did they wake up?”

Linc cracked open one eye and lifted his wrist to look at his high-tech watch. “Shaw wandered in at about five, Miss Ellie was bellowing at six.”

Tate winced. “I didn’t hear a thing. You should’ve roused me.”

Linc rolled his head and his smoky eyes met hers. Heat curled through her at the appreciation in his gaze. “I tried. You didn’t even stir when I poured you into my shirt.”

“That might be because we only got to sleep a few hours ago.” She gestured to Ellie. “But thanks. I owe you.”

“You do,” Linc replied, his smile lazy. “If we were alone, I’d show you how you could repay me.”

Tate blushed, thinking of how well he’d loved her. She opened her mouth to make a witty retort, but her brain had nothing. Zip. Not because Linc was six feet something of pure, primal male but because she’d rolled back in time. Remembering the little girl she’d been, climbing into her parents’ bed at the crack of dawn, waking up in her dad’s arms, her face tucked into his neck, hearing his whiskey-rough voice telling her to go back to sleep.

She’d had a few years of happiness and security, but that had been ripped away when Kari and Lauren dropped into their house and lives. Nothing lasted forever, and as sweet and wholesome as this little scenario was, her past reminded her that it wasn’t hers to keep. Sex was one thing, but playing happy family with Linc and these gorgeous children was not something she could indulge in. She might come to like it and, worse, come to yearn for it. She’d lost one family unit; she wasn’t going to set herself up to lose another.

Tate was about to sit up when Ellie’s eyes slowly opened and focused on her face. She yawned and lifted her little hand in Tate’s direction, her extraordinary blue eyes full of love. Smiling, she crawled off Linc’s chest, over the still-sleeping Shaw and into Tate’s arms. Ah, dammit, Tate thought as Ellie’s chubby arms wound around her neck and the little girl burrowed closer, her nose under Tate’s jaw, her hands tangled in her long hair.

This was trust at its purest form, Tate thought, holding Ellie tight and closing her eyes, feeling the wash of love breaking over her, holding all the pent-up power of the sea. Oh, God, she couldn’t fall in love with Ellie, couldn’t start thinking of being her family, her primary caregiver, of making a family with her.

How was she supposed to look after a little girl with the type of career she had? Babies and border posts were not a happy combination at the best of times, and taking Ellie with her would be utterly impractical.

Keeping Ellie with her would mean sacrificing her career—a career that earned her a lot of money and that she loved. With Ellie in her arms, Tate stood up and walked over to the window of Linc’s bedroom, pushing aside the heavy drapes to look down at the icy road below. She released a heavy sigh. If she even dared to imagine giving up her freedom and her independence to raise Ellie, how would she support them? She had a healthy bank account and she could probably buy an apartment—not in Manhattan obviously—and ensure that they had a roof over their heads. But she’d still have to feed them, clothe them, pay the utilities, and to do that she’d need a job. A job, in this context, meant staying in one place, and Tate shuddered. She hadn’t had a fixed abode in years, and she didn’t think she could do it.

A bigger worry was that Ellie was starting to attach to her, as she’d just shown by leaving Linc’s arms to crawl to her. Would she psychologically damage her niece when she gave her back to her mom? How would being a human equivalent of pass-the-parcel affect Ellie long-term? Would she have trust issues? Tate wouldn’t blame her if she did.

Tate felt Linc’s hands on her waist and sighed when his big body pressed up against hers, her back to his chest, his chin resting on the top of his head. “Is this all feeling a bit too real?” he asked, his deep voice gentle.

Tate nodded, a ball constricting her throat. “I don’t think I can do this, Linc.”

She had to pull back, she had to find that place of inner solitude that served her so well. She had to retreat to her mental island where emotions couldn’t affect her.

“Do what, Tate? Us?”

“No, that I can do because I know it’s just sex.” Not understanding the reason for Linc’s sudden tension, she ignored it.

“I’m not sure I can be what Ellie needs,” Tate said, her voice cracking. “She’s starting to trust me, starting to rely on me, but in a couple of days, or in a few weeks, I’m going to hand her back to Kari—”

“If you find her.”

“Reame will find her,” Tate stated. He had to; she couldn’t imagine having to make the final and crucial decisions about Ellie’s future. That was Kari’s job, dammit. “I’m worried that I will end up hurting her by loving her, by bonding with her knowing that that bond will be severed soon.”

Linc rubbed his chin over her hair, and Tate felt the reassuring squeeze on her hips. “Tate, trust is a learned skill. When we teach children to love and to trust by being loving and trustworthy, they learn that they can expect that from other adults.”

Tate snorted her disbelief. “Can’t see Kari teaching Ellie those life lessons.”

“Me, neither.” Linc released her to stand beside her, leaning his shoulder into the wall, his face solemn. “I accept that you are worried about Ellie’s well-being, but I suspect that you are also worried about your emotions, your state of mind.”

Tate rubbed Ellie’s back with her hand, realizing that the little girl had fallen back to sleep. She tipped her head to the side, not sure if she wanted to hear what Linc was about to say.

“You don’t like the emotions and you’re worried for yourself, worried that you are becoming too attached to her. You’re worried that you will be hurt when she moves on.”

Oh, damn, she really was. She didn’t want to miss Ellie, or Shaw, didn’t want to miss Linc. She so didn’t want to miss Linc. And she would. She’d spent so little time with him, but this house, this stupidly big mansion had become a place she loved, and the people who lived inside it, and who were associated with it, people she had come to truly like. Leaving The Den would hurt like hell.

“The thing is, getting too attached is exactly what Ellie needs from you even though it might break your heart one day. Because showing her love and affection is the right thing to do. She’s the innocent party here, Tate. She didn’t choose a damn thing, so if you withhold love and affection, you’d be punishing her for something she didn’t create.” Linc lifted his hand to clasp the back of her neck, dropping his head to rest his forehead on hers. “The only thing you can do is to make it as easy on her as possible. Even if that might make life harder for yourself.”

“This isn’t me, Linc!” Tate cried. “I don’t want this responsibility. I want to be free and independent and only want to be responsible for myself.”

“That’s the easy route, sweetheart,” Linc said, his voice low and rough. “Having no ties, no commitments, no responsibility is an easy—possibly lonely—way to live. You only have to think about yourself, all the time. It’s a way to protect yourself from life and from all the crap it throws at you. And it’s a really good way to avoid getting hurt.”

He was right, of course he was. His words felt like hailstones smacking her soul, but he was speaking the truth, and she appreciated his honesty.

“Why the traveling, Tate? Why do you keep running from place to place?” Linc gestured for her to sit down on the large wing chair next to the bed, and Tate lowered herself and Ellie to the chair, grateful to get off her wobbly legs. She stared out of the window, watching cold raindrops slide down the windows.

Linc sat down on the edge of the bed, his knee nudging hers, his forearms on his thighs, his expression intense. “Talk to me, Tate. God knows you need to talk to someone.”

Ellie, disturbed by her aunt’s movements, sat up, rubbed her eyes and spat out her pacifier. She pushed Tate’s hands off her, crawled off her lap and dropped her feet to the floor, one hand holding the chair and the other holding Linc’s leg for balance. She wobbled before plopping down onto her butt. Smiling, she started to crawl away. Tate reached for her, but Linc’s hand on her bare knee stopped her. “She’s fine, Tate, let her crawl. Talk to me.”

Tate knew that if she told Linc that she didn’t want to talk about her past, he would respect her wishes, but she wanted him to know the forces that shaped her into the person she was. Keeping it simple and brief, she reminded him about her childhood, her parent’s divorce, her mother’s preference for her niece and why she and her sister didn’t speak for years.

“Thanks for defending me—us.” Linc said.

“My fight with Kari, about her leaving you and Shaw the way you did, caused an additional strain between my mother and me. We didn’t speak much after that. Then she died and our relationship could never be repaired.”

“I’m sorry, honey.”

Tate crossed her legs and turned, resting her head against the back of the chair. “I’m sorry that two more Harper women have turned your life upside down again.”

Linc’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “That’s okay...last night was worth any aggravation.”

She needed to say it, needed to express another apology. “I’m especially sorry that Kari’s actions caused you to shy away from love and relationships, Linc. You’ve given her too much power. Not all women are like that. You should try again. You’re a good guy, and you deserve to be happy.”

Linc kept his eyes pinned to hers, and she saw the flash of annoyance in those granite depths. “Pot calling the kettle black, Tate? Her actions have dictated the course of your life, too. You’re the one who has run from commitments and people and stability because your family pushed you aside. Are you brave enough to change that?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Linc released a long, slow breath before standing up. “Yeah. Me, neither.” He ran his hands over his head, his shirt inching up his stomach to reveal the dark trail wandering down from his six-pack abs. “I’m going downstairs to make coffee. Want me to take Ellie with me so that you can grab a shower?”

Discussion over, Tate thought with relief. She nodded her thanks and watched as Linc scooped up Ellie and held her like a football, Ellie laughing in delight.

He looked down at her and then back at Tate, his gaze suddenly serious. “The trick is to enjoy them, Tate, for as long as you have them.”

He was talking about Ellie but also about them, about the night they shared. He was right—she should just live each moment and deal with whatever life threw at her when she could see it barreling her way.

No promises and no guarantees. Especially from him. Got it, Ballantyne.

* * *

A week passed and it was another cold Saturday afternoon, and Tate had The Den to herself. Linc had taken Shaw to a birthday party and wasn’t expected to be back until the early evening. Ellie had fallen asleep in the middle of Tate’s bed after lunch, so after transferring her to the crib, Tate went downstairs, feeling a little at a loss. She hadn’t spent much time on her own for more than three weeks, so how was she going to fill the next couple of hours?

She supposed she could work out. Linc had told her to make use of his gym in the basement, but the last thing she felt like doing was spending her alone time sweating. She could watch some TV, but that didn’t appeal. A movie? Tate wrinkled her nose...

What she really wanted to do was to climb into bed with Linc and spend a lazy afternoon enjoying that delicious, masculine body. At the bottom of the stairs, Tate halted, her hand on the newel post. God, she was seriously addicted to Linc, her mind constantly occupied with thoughts of him, in bed and out.

Tate plopped her butt onto the bottom stair and placed her chin her hands, her elbows on her knees. She wasn’t acting anything like the nanny she was supposed to be.

Oh, she collected Shaw from school, entertained him in the afternoons allowing Linc to put in a solid day at work. When he came home she didn’t, like a good nanny, walk up the stairs and retreat to her own quarters. Nope, instead she ran straight into his arms. Sometimes, depending on what the kids were doing, they hustled up the stairs, taking a few minutes to rocket each other to a body-blasting orgasm, something to take the edge off until they fell into bed later.

She missed work, of course she did, but not as much as she had expected to. For someone who liked being alone, who felt itchy when she was pinned to a spot for too long, she was remarkably content. And that scared the pants off her. And when she imagined going back to work, to returning to her life of airports and customs control, impersonal hotels and tourist traps, to living life on her own, her heart rebelled. She couldn’t imagine giving up her job, relinquishing her independence and her freedom—she loved what she did far too much—but the notion of giving up Linc and the kids threw her into a tailspin. She didn’t want to live a life without them in it. And deep down in her heart she knew why.

She’d kind of, sort of, fallen a little bit in love with The Den, with the Upper East Side, with being Ellie’s mommy and Shaw’s nanny.

It was also very possible that she was in love with her sister’s ex.

Oh, crap!

Tate dropped her head between her bent knees and sucked in a choppy breath. Say it isn’t so!

No, no, no, Tate.

No! You weren’t supposed to fall in love with him, you idiot. This was about sex, about a mutual fling; it wasn’t supposed to get this intense this quickly.

Tate cursed herself, thinking that she’d definitely forgotten to pay her brain bill.

She couldn’t be in love, she wouldn’t be, Tate decided. She’d just been temporarily seduced by this lovely house and two cute kids and a man who made her catch her breath every time he walked into the room. She was just reliving the last time she’d been part of a family, and she was projecting that happiness onto the here and now.

Reality check, Harper. Reame was going to call, someday soon, and tell her that he’d found Kari, and then she’d return Ellie to her mom’s not-so-loving arms. Man, that would bite. Then, because she had nothing to keep her in the city—she and Linc were as temporary as a social media trend—she’d move out of The Den, and maybe they’d see each other now and again until her vacation was over. She’d receive her next assignment, start working on a new series and she’d be sent God knew where.

She could never risk loving Linc, creating a family with him within the greater Ballantyne clan and then, like before, having it all ripped away. She wouldn’t survive losing another family, losing the people she loved again. Linc and Ellie and Shaw could only be a lovely memory.

That was the way it had to be, the way it would be, so why was her stomach churning and bile creeping up her throat at the thought? Why did the notion of getting on a plane and leaving them behind make her feel like she was facing her executioner? You’re losing it, Harper, so get off your butt and do something! Call Reame, find out what progress he’s made with finding Kari. Contact your producer and see if they have decided where they are sending you next.

Get real. Stop fantasizing about something you can’t have, and let these crazy notions about loving Linc, having it all, go. You have to move on.

Mentally and, sometime soon, physically.

But for now, step off the crazy train, dammit. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. Maybe exercising wasn’t a bad idea after all; maybe she could sweat out her stupidity.