Читать книгу Desire Collection: August 2017 Books 1 - 4 - Joss Wood, Rachel Bailey - Страница 18

Ten

Linc stood in front of the glass case holding Connor’s alexandrite ring, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Around him, the rich and elite of Manhattan, and a few dozen other cities, drank French champagne and popped dainty canapés into mouths filled with perfect teeth.

Sage’s edgy, interesting, modern collection was a roaring success, and the Ballantyne collection of rare precious gemstones was going to be talked about for a long time to come. Amy had volunteered to babysit Shaw and Ellie, and when he’d checked in with her ten minutes ago, both kids were asleep.

For the first time in, well, ages, he was having fun, and that was only because Tate was with him, sharing her pithy observations about his guests. She looked exquisite in a deep red lace dress. The high-waisted bodice was accented with a rose-printed lace, velvet strips and crystals. She’d found the dress in a vintage shop in SoHo, she’d told him, but Linc was more interested in the slight swell of her breasts peeking out from the neckline, her creamy shoulders and the smooth leg the thigh-high slit in the dress occasionally revealed.

She was beautiful, Linc thought, looking across the room to where Tate stood, talking to a tall, black-haired man who had his back to him. The man turned, and Linc saw his distinctive profile... Tyce Latimore, Sage’s ex. Linc looked around the room to find his sister and saw her by the bar, talking to Reame. He’d once hoped that something would spark between Reame and Sage, but it never had; Reame treated Sage like a sister.

Linc turned his attention back to Tate and narrowed his eyes when Latimore placed his hand on Tate’s back to guide her to the bar. His protective instincts revving in the red zone—there was vibe to Latimore that made Linc think that there was something unbridled and dangerous lurking beneath the smooth veneer—Linc pushed his way through the crowd to reach the bar. Sage, seeing Latimore’s approach, slid off her seat and sauntered away, her ex’s gaze following her, his expression benign but his eyes blazing. When he reached the bar, Linc pulled Tate to his side and gave Latimore a hands-off-or-I’ll-beat-the-crap-out-of-you look.

Latimore just lifted a dark eyebrow and smiled sardonically before holding out his hand for Linc to shake.

Linc shook his hand but deliberately kept a frown on his face. “Are you messing with my sister, Latimore?”

“Since she’s currently not talking to me, and hasn’t for a couple of months, that’s not a feasible assumption,” Tyce replied, his voice deep and dark. Linc thought he saw sadness flash in his eyes but dismissed the thought; the Korean French American was far too much of a player to be fazed that his sister was ignoring him.

“My warning still stands. You hurt Sage again and the three of us will take you apart.” Linc pushed the words out through gritted teeth.

Linc heard and ignored Tate’s surprised gasp. Tyce held his stare but banged his whiskey glass on the counter of the bar, and when he spoke, his words were bitter. “Yeah, you Ballantynes are such freakin’ paragons. Have you ever considered that she might have hurt me, that one of yours might have hurt one of mine? You don’t have the monopoly on family and loyalty, Ballantyne.”

Latimore released a muttered curse and held his hand up. “Forget I said that.” He fixed a smile onto his face, but Linc noticed that it didn’t reach his deep brown, almost-black eyes. “It’s been lovely meeting you, Tate. I hope we do so again.”

“Not damn likely,” Linc muttered.

Latimore flashed him a disparaging smile before Tyce’s attention was caught by movement at the door. Linc followed his gaze and saw his sister, in a midnight blue ball gown, taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. As if she knew that Tyce was looking at her, she lifted her head, and their eyes clashed and held. Linc’s eyes bounced from his sister to Latimore and back again, slightly uncomfortable at seeing the blazing attraction and undisguised lust on Sage’s face.

Oh, God, she looked at Latimore like he did at Tate, like the thrill of riding the lightning bolt was worth ending up as a charred crisp.

“Holy smokes,” Tate breathed, lifting her hand to fan her face. “That’s some intense sexual attraction.”

Linc signaled to the bartender for another glass of whiskey before frowning down at Tate. “Please do not mention sexual attraction and my sister in the same sentence,” he growled.

“She’s all grown-up.” Tate pointed out the obvious, and his frown deepened.

“Not helping, honey.” Linc nodded his thanks at the bartender and took a fortifying sip of his drink. Staring down into the liquid that was the same color as Tate’s eyes, he shook his head. “God, that’s going to end badly.”

“Tyce and Sage?” Tate clarified.

“Yeah. I’d hoped they were over, but any fool can see that they aren’t done with each other. And what did he mean by that your-family-hurting-mine comment?”

“A business deal that went south? A party invitation that wasn’t sent? His grandmother had an affair with your grandfather?”

Linc rolled his eyes. “You’re letting your imagination run away with you. No, Latimore doesn’t come from family money. He’s got to where he is by his own hard work.”

“And you admire that.”

“I do,” Linc reluctantly admitted. “And I worry about the fact that Sage is so much wealthier than him.”

Tate tipped her head to the side. “Does it bother you that you are so much wealthier than I am?” she asked him.

“No, that doesn’t mean a damn thing,” Linc said brusquely, wondering if he should feel insulted.

“Then why do you assume that it’s a problem for him?” Tate asked. “The reality is that most men would be less wealthy than your sister. She could probably buy a small third-world country.”

Linc smiled, acknowledging her point. “Only a small one, she wouldn’t be greedy,” he replied, only half joking.

“For what it’s worth, I like him,” Tate stated, crossing one leg over the other and revealing a very silky thigh. It took Linc thirty seconds to get his head out of the bedroom and to register Tate’s words.

Jealousy, acid and unwelcome, flared. “You and the rest of the female population of the city,” he groused. “He’s said to be one of the best-looking and most talented bachelors in Manhattan.”

“He is a fabulous artist,” Tate agreed. “His sculptures are amazing.”

“That’s not the talent I was referring to,” Linc said, his voice desert dry.

Instead of blushing, Tate erupted into laughter. When she could speak, she looked at him with mirth-filled eyes. “Oh, lucky, lucky Sage.”

“Dammit, Tate!” Linc muttered, scowling into his drink.

Seeing his ferocious expression, her mouth quirked with amusement, and she lifted her hand in a placating gesture. Funny, he wasn’t placated.

“His, um, talents aside, Tyce is a very good-looking man. He has a blinding smile, and his mixed heritage has resulted in a very, very sexy face. His body isn’t too bad, either.”

Linc groaned. “God, shoot me now.”

“But he has sad eyes, and behind the charm and the charisma, I sense a man who hasn’t had it easy. He has demons nipping at his heels,” Tate stated, her tone now serious.

Linc wanted to believe that Latimore had all the depth of a puddle, so he wasn’t happy with her pronouncement. Then again, nothing about this conversation made him happy. Especially Tate’s comments on how attractive she found his sister’s ex. “And you can tell this, how?”

Tate sipped her champagne. “Call it woman’s intuition.”

God, he hated those airy explanations, those inexplicable feelings women got that allowed them to make major assumptions on minimal information. But the hell of it was that he couldn’t discount her pronouncement. Still, where Tate saw sadness, he saw danger, and he was worried that Sage was part of whatever game Tyce was playing.

Because Tyce Latimore, he was convinced, was playing a very dangerous game with someone.

Reame’s hand gripping his shoulder pulled Linc out of his reverie. He sent his friend a weary smile, and when Reame’s eyes remained serious, Linc frowned. Oh, crap. Something had happened. Something he didn’t want to hear.

“Can you leave?” Reame asked Linc. He gestured to Beck and Cady, who were cheek to cheek on the dance floor. “I know that we are celebrating Beck’s engagement, but we need to talk.”

Linc slapped his glass on the counter and nodded. Tate put a hand on Linc’s arm to hold him in place. “Is this about Kari? If it is, then I have the right to know.”

Linc caught the slight grimace that crossed Reame’s face. Linc knew that he wanted to tell him the news in private, so that they could discuss how to tell Tate... Dammit, this news would rock her world.

“Why don’t you join Jaeger and Piper, Tate? I’ll be back in a minute,” Linc suggested, keeping his voice ultracalm.

Her fingernails pushed into his hand like sharp little daggers. “Is it about Kari?” she demanded.

Reame nodded.

“Then I’m coming, too.” Tate shot Linc a hard look when he started to protest. “My sister, Linc, my problem. I am paying Reame’s bill, remember?”

Well, no, because he had no intention of letting her do that. But that was an argument for another day. Linc rubbed his jaw and, seeing the fiery determination in Tate’s eyes, realized that this was a fight he wasn’t going to win.

“I already called for your car,” Reame replied. “It’s waiting outside, and we’ll talk on our way to the airport.”

“We’re flying?” Linc asked, placing his hand on Tate’s lower back as he guided her out of the ballroom.

“Yeah, I called your pilot and told him to file a flight plan,” Reame explained, leading the way.

“So where are we going, Reame?” Tate asked, trying to keep the question light, but Linc heard the panic in her voice. “To a jail?” Her voice broke. “A rehab center? A hippy commune?”

Linc helped Tate into her thigh-length black woolen coat. Reame shook his head, his face somber. He looked at Linc, who nodded, silently telling him to get it over with.

Reame placed his hands on Tate’s shoulders. and released a heavy sigh. “No, Tate. You’re flying to Texas to a hospice about an hour north of Austin. Your sister is there.”

“At a hospice? Working there?” Tate asked, puzzled. “No, that can’t be right. Kari doesn’t do sick people. She wouldn’t be working there.”

Linc closed his eyes; he’d already made the connection that Tate hadn’t. He linked his fingers with hers and squeezed and waited until she looked at him. “Honey, Reame is trying to tell you that she’s in the hospice. As a patient.”

* * *

They were somewhere over Pennsylvania when Tate changed from her ball gown into soft jeans and a thigh-length, moss green jersey that Reame had had Amy pack for her. She scrubbed the makeup from her face and pulled the pins out of her elaborate hairstyle and brushed out the curls, pulling the heavy mess into a tight braid.

Her mind buzzing with both fear and shock, Tate walked back into the main cabin and took a seat opposite Linc, who’d changed into beige chinos and a black sweater over a black-and-white-check shirt. Jo was now back at The Den and watching the kids; Tate trusted her implicitly, and it was a relief not to worry about them. She could focus on Kari and her situation.

As Tate settled into the butter-soft leather chair opposite him, Linc sat up and pushed a glass in her direction. Tate picked up the glass, took a sip and welcomed the burn of rich, expensive cognac. Feeling a little of the icy disbelief melting, she lifted her eyes from the glass to look at Linc.

“Tell me what you know. All of it.”

Linc glanced at a folder on the seat next to him but didn’t bother to pick it up. He’d read it, absorbed it and his ultrasharp brain wouldn’t forget any of it. “Reame’s man in Austin tracked down a friend of hers. They’ve been roommates since Kari split up from Ellie’s dad.”

“Has she spoken to Kari lately?”

Linc shook his head. “No. Kari refused to allow anyone to visit her, to call for updates on her condition. She didn’t want anyone to watch her die.”

“We watched her mom die. It was horrible,” Tate choked out. “She’d hate people to see her like that.”

Tate crossed her legs. “Does she have cancer?”

Linc looked gutted. “Yeah. Stage-four brain cancer. She entered the hospice as soon as she came in from New York after seeing you.”

A shudder passed through Tate. “Dear God, that was only a month ago. How did she manage to travel with Ellie, to fly to New York and back?”

“Her friend was with her, apparently. And she was a lot better a month ago. Apparently she has one of the fastest, most aggressive cancers on record, and she went downhill fast.”

Tate wrapped her arms around her body and rocked in her chair. Lifting a hand, she gestured for Linc to convey all the information he had. Linc remained silent for a beat before speaking. “From what Reame managed to find out from the friend, she discovered a lump behind her ear when she was pregnant, and she ignored it. When Ellie was six months old, five or so months ago, she had the lump removed and they did a biopsy, and it was found to be malignant. That led to a battery of tests, and they discovered the brain tumor.”

“Inoperable?”

“Yeah. They closed her up and told her that she had, at the maximum, four to six months...if she was lucky.”

Tate felt her tears sliding down her face. “God, she must be so scared.”

Linc leaned forward, placing his forearms on his thighs, and Tate noticed the grooves beside his mouth, his narrowed eyes and his tense shoulders. Yes, Kari was her sister, but she was also Shaw’s mom. He’d loved her once. Linc was hurting, too.

She reached out and covered his bunched fists with her hands, sighing when his fingers linked with hers.

“Her main concern, apparently, was for Ellie’s welfare, and she was determined to leave the little girl with you.”

“Why didn’t she just ask me to look after her like a normal person? Why all this cloak-and-dagger stuff? Why involve you? I don’t understand her!” Tate cried.

“Kari never goes directly from A to B, Tate, she always makes a couple of detours. Why be simple when you can complicate the hell out of something?”

Linc made the observation in a voice saturated in frustration but devoid of criticism. Tate’s head snapped up, and she watched as he pulled his hands away from hers to rub his face. He swore bitterly, his curses reverberating off the cabin walls.

“I’ve cursed her six ways to Sunday, Tate, but I swear I never wanted this to happen to her.” Linc slammed his head back into the seat and closed his eyes, misery etched on his face. Of course he hadn’t, no more than she had.

“Cancer doesn’t care who you are, what you do or what you’ve done,” Tate said, standing up to move across to him. Draping an arm around his neck, she sank down on his lap and curled up against his chest, sighing when his arms went around her. She felt so warm here, so safe. But this was a haven she couldn’t linger in, a port she couldn’t harbor in for long.

A few months ago she would have imagined giving and receiving comfort from Kari’s ex, sitting in his masculine, powerful embrace, thinking that this was her favorite place in the world. She wanted this wonderful, amazing man and his love in her life, but she couldn’t ask for it and she certainly didn’t deserve it. Love had never treated her kindly. Sure, Linc enjoyed her, he might even like her a little, but she wasn’t the stay-at-home-mom, happy-to-be-his-wife woman he said he wanted.

She was never quite what anyone really needed, but at this moment she needed comfort and would settle for a little affection. She wanted to feel alive, to be grateful for what she had. But she did she have a right to take comfort from this man? He was Kari’s first, and Tate suspected that a small part of him still loved her. She was the mother of his child; they had a connection she could never have with him. Tate felt the lump in her throat expand and felt the tingle of tears.

This wasn’t fair, she raged. None of this was fair, and even less of what was happening made sense. Kari was facing the end of a life lived on her own terms, and, because of that, Tate had become a foster parent after years of being resolutely single. And she’d fallen in love with her sister’s ex.

She was questioning everything about her life. Did she really want to return to her busy, lonely, nomadic existence? Did she truly want a life without Linc and Ellie and Shaw? Was she still a rolling stone, or was she turning into a bit of a boulder?

This was all so complicated, Tate thought miserably, pushing herself up from Linc’s chest. And she had to start unraveling the mess. To do that she needed to start looking at the situation with clear eyes and a sensible attitude. Right now, she should be concentrating on Kari and her horrible situation. The sensible course of action was to distance herself from Linc, focus on Kari and Ellie and how she was going to navigate the next few weeks.

Tate tried to swing her legs off Linc’s lap, but his hand gripped her thigh, keeping her in place. Tate lifted her head to look into his face and saw his need, blazing in his eyes.

“I need you, Tate. I need to feel warm and alive and like the world is not spinning out of control. For some reason, I find that feeling when I’m making love to you.”

She heard the plea in his voice, felt the tension in his hand, saw it in his thin lips. She understood his need, she found peace in his arms, too, a solace that took her away from the here and now. And, God, they needed to leave the here and now, just for a little while.

Then Linc slid his hand up her cheek, tunneled his fingers into her hair, and his mouth was on hers, hot and demanding, a little desperate and a lot wild. His tongue pushed between her lips to mate with hers in long, hot, ravenous strokes that sent shivers and shocks over her skin. God, she needed him. She needed his heat and his virility, to feel the long play of his muscles under her hands, to touch his skin, to have him slide inside her, filling her, completing her.

Linc was the person she’d always want. It would be so easy to hand this situation over to him, to allow him to make the decisions for her, to relinquish control. So easy but that was a slippery slope, and soon she’d lose herself in him. She couldn’t do that; she’d worked too hard to find her true authentic self. Being independent allowed her to keep people at arm’s length. If she gave that up, she’d allow herself to be vulnerable, to risk her heart. She loved Linc, she did, but she couldn’t give him the power to destroy her.

She could only control the now and here, and they had this time, these few hours before they had to deal with a desperately ill Kari. In no time at all she’d have to make some tough decisions, one of which would be to walk away from Linc and Shaw and the life with him she fantasized about. The life she couldn’t have.

But for now, for the next four or so hours, she could love him. He was hers.

“Don’t walk away from me, Tate. Not now, not yet,” Linc said, his voiced gritty from emotion. She jerked her head up, and her eyes met his, filled with raw, palpable desire.

God, how well he knew her.

“I’m in a jet flying at thirty thousand feet,” Tate joked but it fell flat. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You know what I mean,” Linc growled. “I need all of you, all your hopes and fears. Give them to me, just for the next few hours. Give me you, all of you.”

She wasn’t strong enough to withstand his silent plea for something real, something life affirming, so she gave up the fight. Straddling his lap, she placed tiny butterfly kisses along his jaw, up and over his cheekbone, onto his temple. She rested her forehead against his and looked into his smoky eyes. “Is it wrong to want you, knowing that she is—”

Linc tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Us enjoying each other isn’t going to change what she is going through. Do you want me, honey?”

Tate sighed, her breath sweet on his lips. “I do. So much.” She had to work to keep her words of love from passing her lips. He didn’t need that from her; he just needed to lose himself in her. And she loved him enough to give him exactly what he needed.

Linc pushed his hips up so that his erection pushed into her. “Then let me make you mine.” He closed his eyes as if he were facing a wave of pain. Or pleasure. “I need this, we need this. Here. Now.”

“The pilots?” Tate asked, sending an anxious glance at the closed door.

“The do-not-disturb light is on. They’ll leave us alone.” Linc pulled up her jersey to stroke her sides, his fingers on her ribs just below her breasts. “You feel amazing.”

Tate dropped her mouth on his, and their hot, frenzied kiss went on and on, two mouths desperate to mate. Tate pulled his sweater and shirt up his chest, desperate to get her hands on Linc’s skin, and they broke their kiss for him to pull the garments over his head. Linc, impatient and demanding, helped her peel her sweater off and then held her away from him to look down at her sheer bra that did nothing to conceal her pointed nipples.

“You are so damn sexy,” Linc muttered, bending his head to suck her through the lace. She held the back of his head and arched up into him, lost in his touch, in how incredibly feminine and powerful he made her feel. This was the ultimate aphrodisiac, she thought, having an incredibly sexy man want you with every fiber of his being.

This was what being alive felt like.

Without warning, Linc banded a strong arm around her back and lifted her up, surging to his feet as he did so. Letting her stand, his hands went to the band of her jeans, flipping open the button and pulling down the zipper.

“Take your bra off,” he commanded and Tate did as he asked. When her torso was free of the lace, she dragged her breasts across his chest, enjoying the rough hair, the sinewy muscle underneath his skin.

“I want you.” She panted, reaching down to palm his erection now throbbing beneath her touch. Linc groaned, pushed her panties and jeans down her hips and steadied her as she kicked off her ballet flats and stepped out of her jeans. Linc pulled her to him, making sure that her most sensitive parts were intimately connected with his fabric-covered erection.

“Get naked,” Tate breathed after pulling her mouth off his to speak.

“Shh, baby, slow it down,” Linc told her. “We have a couple of hours.”

Tate shook her head, and, holding his head in her hands so that he had to look at her, she spoke. “Now.”

Breaking their contact, Linc pulled off his socks and shoes, stepped out of his pants and groaned when her hand encircled his long, steel-hard length. He felt amazing, all harnessed power. Linc muttered something about a condom and pushed her hand away to slap his against a small cupboard above his head. Ducking his hand inside, he pulled out a strip of foil packets.

Tate grabbed the foil packet from him, tore it open and pulled out the latex sheath. Rolling it onto Linc—accompanied by his grateful groans—she pressed her lips into his chest, holding him with both hands. She didn’t like how much she loved making love to him, how much she loved him.

She wished he could love her back, that he could heal her fears, convince her that he’d never hurt her, that he’d never leave her. That there was some way for them to be together.

Linc’s hand stilled between her legs. “Tate, honey? You okay?”

Tate flashed him a smile. “I’m grand, why?”

“You tensed and you had a strange look on your face.”

Yeah, that’s my how-the-hell-am-I-going-to-survive-loving-you face. Tate forced a smile and moved against his hand. She linked her arms around his neck, and when he boosted her up his body, she buried her face in his neck. “Make love to me, Linc.”

“That would be my absolute pleasure,” he growled, pulling her down to the settee, where he stretched out on top of her, her legs opening to allow him inside. He surged inside her and he filled up every hollow, dark, shadowed part of her. He was her brownstone just off Park Avenue, big and bold and so damn permanent. He was the soil she could imagine planting her roots in, the home she never thought she needed. He was her soft place to fall. He was, Tate thought as he pulled her closer and closer to oblivion, her everything.