5

Tate looked around the backyard. She could hardly believe she was at home. There were bales of hay stacked about for “ambiance” and a huge barbecue was back by the pool house. Amazing smells were wafting away from it.

A bevy of young men and women were walking around in matching outfits – jeans and gingham t-shirts. They carried appetizers and cocktails and, hilariously enough, PBR in tall-boy cans.

Satan must be shitting himself.

Jameson was actually mingling and chatting away. When she finally located him, he was laughing at something one of his partners said. Then he caught her staring at him and he glanced over his sunglasses, cocking up an eyebrow at her.

Yup. He's definitely uncomfortable.

Things were going pretty smoothly. At first, when everyone had shown up, things had been stiff and uneasy. A bunch of young brokers at the Jameson Kane's home – they hadn't known what to do with themselves. Luckily, Tate was a born partier, and Rusty wasn't too far behind her. They got everyone laughing and talking quickly enough, and pretty soon everyone was having a great time.

And bonus points for Tate, she hadn't spoken to Richard Klimas once. Several times she'd seen him making his way towards her and she'd taken evasive maneuvers. There were plenty of women at the party, he could find someone else to flirt with – she still couldn't figure out why he'd set his sights on her. Because of Jameson? Didn't he know better? There was only one outcome to a pissing contest with Jameson Kane.

She hoped Rich liked losing.

“Hey!” she said loudly as she sidled up to Rusty's side. The light was catching Rusty's hair, making it look like a fiery halo around her head. Combined with the flush in her cheeks and her wide, expressive eyes, she looked like a real life angel come to earth.

The man she's talking to certainly seems to think so.

“Hey, you!” Rusty squealed back, hugging Tate to her side.

“How're you two doing? Looking cozy,” she said.

“Great party, Mrs. Kane,” the guy said, toasting her with his can of PBR.

“Oh god, don't call me that, it just makes me sound like an old lady. Tate,” she introduced herself as she held out her hand. He shook it quickly.

“Howard Steele,” he replied.

“Wait wait wait,” Tate gasped. “Your name is Steele!?”

“Yeah. It's a weird kind of name,” he laughed.

“No, it's just … Steele … Rusty. Rusty Steele!” she practically yelled.

“Oh my god, Tate,” Rusty snorted, then she delicately hiccuped.

“Hey, I didn't even notice. I think this means we have to get married, Rusty,” Howard teased. She blushed even more and it suddenly hit Tate that her friend was just a tad bit drunk, and more than a tad bit infatuated.

“I think we should at least kiss first,” Rusty giggled. “I mean, can you imagine anything worse than marrying someone only to find out they're an awful kisser?”

“I can imagine a few things,” he replied in a low voice.

Rusty's cheeks practically caught on fire after that comment, so Tate excused herself. She knew her friend had been having a pretty long dry spell. But vodka plus sexual frustration multiplied by over the top flirty banter pretty much equaled Boomtown. She was willing to bet the dry spell would be over before the night was through.

I'm like Cupid, only for sex. Way cooler.

She spied Sanders standing at one end of the pool, finally alone. He'd been surrounded by people all afternoon – over the years, he'd changed. He was halfway decent at socializing now. Or at least at pretending to socialize.

On top of that, he'd become something of a legend. Everyone at Kraven Brokerage had heard stories about Jameson's former assistant, the quiet man who basically ran everything, and yet wasn't anywhere near as scary as his boss. So all the new brokers had been eager to make his acquaintance and get on his good side, and the female ones hadn't been immune to his classic good looks.

Not to mention his new and improved physique. I better get over there before someone drags him away again.

“Having fun?” he asked when she came up alongside him.

“I am,” she assured him, then she slipped her arm though his and hugged close to him. “Everything seems to be going well.”

“I'm not a fan of the hay,” he said as he leaned over to brush some of the offending decoration off his pant leg. “But everything else seems to be going according to plan.”

“The hay makes everything quaint, it's great. Are you really leaving me on Monday, Sandy?” she sighed, laying her head on his shoulder.

“Yes. My flight departs at three-thirty in the afternoon.”

“It gets harder and harder every time,” she mumbled. He was silent for a second, then she felt his cheek against the top of her head, and his arm was squeezing hers tightly.

“It is not easy,” he agreed. “But I am only ever a phone call away.”

“But I like you right here.”

“Sometimes missing someone is what makes you love them more,” he suggested. “If I were at home all the time, we would never get the opportunity to miss each other, and thus we wouldn't be able to love each other as much.”

“I hate it when you make leaving seem like a good idea. Just let me hate you a little bit,” she joked.

“Alright.”

They stood in a companionable silence for a while, just people watching. When Sanders stiffened up, though, she knew something had caught his attention. Something that annoyed him. She glanced around and saw Rich heading in their direction. Before she could say a word, though, Sanders turned away and headed back into the house, forcing her to walk along next to him.

“I don't get it,” she said as they moved through the rooms and into the kitchen. “Jameson threw this party to show Rich how awesome and rich he is, how he's totally the coolest guy ever and that's why I'm with him, yet I haven't seen him even talk to Rich once since he's gotten here.”

“Knowing Jameson, I'm sure whatever it is he's planning is much more interesting than simply talking to Mr. Klimas,” Sanders pointed out. She stayed by the door while he ignored the caterers and cooks in the kitchen, stepping around them smoothly till he reached the cupboard next to the fridge.

“Oh god, that just makes me nervous,” Tate laughed, watching as Sanders took a bottle of Jack Daniels off a shelf. He grabbed two shot glasses as well, then walked back over to her.

“Really? I would think you are used to his antics by now,” he replied, leading the way into the library.

“I don't think anyone could ever get used to Satan's antics,” she snorted.

Sanders didn't reply, just went about pouring the whiskey into the glasses. Tate moved behind the desk and sat in the big chair while Sanders moved one of the wingback chairs over so it was next to her. Then he scooted the glasses across the desk until they each had one in front of them.

“Do you have something in mind?” Tate asked, picking up her shot. Sanders thought for a moment, then picked his up and stared at her over the rim.

“To good friends,” he offered, and they both took their shots. Then she poured another round.

“To soulmates,” she corrected him. A blush started creeping up his neck, but he nodded and they took their second shots.

“I have not had whiskey since the last time I visited,” he breathed as he shoved his empty glass away from him.

“Pussy,” she snickered, and she took a pull straight from the bottle. “You know, Sandy, sometimes I worry about life.”

“Why?” he asked, adjusting the knot in his tie.

“Because everything is so … I was talking to Rusty last night, and the way she was talking, it was almost like she missed our old life together. And I was thinking about those days and about how weird it is to imagine my life without you guys in it. I mean, I feel like I've known you forever now,” she told him.

“Four years would be more accurate.”

“Ug, you know what I mean. You're a part of me, it almost seems weird that you weren't there the whole time. And Jameson ...”

She could never quite articulate her feelings for Jameson. With Sanders, it was easy enough. Love, soulmate, best friend. But with Jameson … it was just feelings. No words. He was a fire that started in her chest and spread to her entire body. A sun at the center of her solar system. She'd been living off his light for most of her life. Sure, there'd been times when he'd been very far away, but he'd still been there. In the background, lighting her way to the person she was now.

“Yes, the three of us have a very unique relationship. I do not believe in destiny, but if I did, I would certainly think it had a hand in bringing us together.”

“Such a romantic,” she snickered. He cleared his throat and adjusted his tie again.

“I do try. Shall we return?”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

“And if I resist?” she teased, smiling at him as he climbed to his feet.

“I am not Jameson, I won't play your games.”

“Then how would you get me to return?”

He didn't say another word. He simply picked up her bottle of Jack and carried it out of the room with him.

He knows me so well ...

 

*

 

Jameson glanced around, realizing he hadn't seen Tate in a while. The sun had long since set, but no one had left the barbecue yet. Pecan pie, hush puppies, and ambrosia were being passed around by waiters, and drinks were still flowing. Everyone seemed to be laughing and having a good time.

Everyone except the host, because he can't find the hostess. Where the fuck is she?

He strolled around the pool and finally found her. She'd changed into her evening outfit – a ridiculous cocktail dress that didn't fit the casual theme at all. It was also cheap, obviously from some store in a mall somewhere. The top was strapless and tight, while the skirt was short, almost sticking out at her sides. It reminded him a little of a ballerina. A cheap, slutty, ballerina.

She wore that for me. God, she's perfection.

His appreciation of her dress was spoiled, however, when he realized who she was talking to – Rich Klimas. They were near the end of the pool, and she kept taking steps backwards, clearly trying to end the conversation and get away. Klimas took no notice and simply matched her step for step.

It was fun for a moment, watching Tate be uncomfortable. She so rarely was – at the bar, if she'd been caught in the same situation, she would've simply told him to fuck off. But in Jameson's world, surrounded by his coworkers and colleagues, he knew she felt hindered. She didn't want to do anything that might embarrass him.

Stupid girl. All these years and she's yet to figure out I'm not easily embarrassed.

“Tate,” he said loudly, finally walking up next to her. “There you are.”

“Thank you,” she gushed, the relief obvious on her face. “I was just coming to find you.”

“Jameson!” Rich said, smiling big. Jameson cocked up an eyebrow. Were they on a first name basis now? “Tate and I were just talking – you know, it turns out Tate and I went to the same prep school! She was a couple grades above me, and I transferred out after my freshman year. But what a coincidence. We were just talking about getting together sometime and comparing high school horror stories.”

Tate's jaw dropped. Clearly, this was news to her. But before she could ruin the moment and say she had no intention of comparing anything with Rich, Jameson spoke over her.

“Sounds like fun. Mind if I borrow my wife for a moment?” he asked, smiling congenially as he cupped his hand around Tate's elbow.

“Only if you promise to give her back,” Rich chuckled, toasting his glass in jest.

“Twenty minutes and she's all yours,” Jameson assured him.

He didn't wait for a reply – he steered Tate back into the conservatory. They went down the first row of flowers, stopping in front of the roses. When he let her go, she turned to face him.

“Okay, first of all – he came up and spoke to me. I tried to get away, and I didn't flirt at all. Second of all – we never talked about getting together. And third of all – did you just say 'borrow my wife' out loud? For reals?” she asked, still in shock.

“I never realized walking away from someone was such a problem for you, Tate,” he said, glaring down the length of his note at her.

“Oh, shut up,” she grumbled, turning to look out the window. “So what did you want to 'borrow' me for? I'm hoping this stimulating conversation isn't why.”

“I don't understand why you feel the need to talk to someone you don't even like,” he kept harping on the subject.

“Not all of us are like you, Jameson. Some of us feel bound by social etiquette to be polite, and particularly so when we're dealing with a guest we invited into our home,” she replied. He almost laughed.

“Bullshit. You're rude to me all the time, and I own this house.”

“When you talk, you make my brain hurt.”

“Then you're getting an idea of how I feel almost all the time.”

“Why are you picking a fight right now?” she abruptly asked, looking at him again. “It's been a good party, I've behaved myself, you've pretended to be a decent human being. I'm pretty sure all your little peons are totally impressed with your awesome home, so what reason could you possibly have to be mad?”

“Maybe I don't need a reason,” he replied in a soft voice, stepping closer to her and dragging his finger up the center of her cleavage, across her chest, and scratching up her throat. “Maybe I just think it's fun.”

 

*

 

Tate knew this side of him very well. As Jameson's fingers gently wrapped around her throat, she let her gaze slide away. Looked outside.

“Jameson,” she breathed. “You have a backyard full of guests standing maybe fifty feet away.”

“You're becoming shy in your old age, Mrs. Kane,” he said, his grip around her throat growing tighter.

“Ooohhh, that sounds like a challenge.”

“Game?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

His fingernails were cutting into her skin when he yanked her close. She gasped but his mouth replaced oxygen, his tongue blocked her air flow. She moaned and pressed herself against him, smoothing her hands over his chest.

She never got tired of it. His body, his mouth, his hands. And especially his voice. Each time was was still exciting. Different. Intense.

“Is this the point you wanted to prove?” she asked in a breathy voice as she backed up onto a table full of flowers.

“I don't have to prove shit to you,” he growled, pulling at the top of her dress, forcing it down under her strapless bra.

“Maybe not to me,” she panted, practically ripping apart his belt and whipping it away from his pants. “But you sure feel the need to prove yourself to a lot of other people.”

“Shut the fuck up, Tate.”

“And to a lowly junior broker? Pathetic, Jameson.”

A hand was in her hair, yanking back hard. She let out a cry of pain, then groaned when she felt his teeth against the side of her neck.

“I thought I told you, this is all fun to me,” he hissed, both his hands moving down her body and working their way under her skirt. When his finger curled around the top of her underwear, she pulled back a little.

“Jameson, the door is open,” she whispered, glancing at the exit to the backyard. He didn't answer at first, instead taking the time to rip her panties away from her body.

“See? So shy,” he chuckled, his face buried in her cleavage.

He wasn't entirely wrong – Tate was growing more reserved in her “old age”, as he liked to joke. Crazy sex was still okay, but the possibility of getting caught had lost its shine. She liked it best when she was certain they couldn't be interrupted. When she was positive she would have him all to herself, from start to finish.

Not that it would stop her, though. As his hands forced her legs wide apart and his fingers made themselves at home inside her, she forgot all about the door. She moaned again and fell against the window behind her.

“What's … the hurry ...” she gasped. His fingers were moving so fast, she couldn't quite catch her breath.

He didn't answer, but he did remove his hand from between her thighs. He stepped into the V of her legs and she didn't hesitate, she immediately began pushing and shoving at the top of his pants.

“Not so worried about getting caught now,” he chuckled at her eagerness. Then it was his turn to groan as her hand wrapped around the base of his dick.

“Keep poking fun at me and I'll go find my new best friend, Rich Klimas,” she teased, stroking up and down his hard length.

Those seemed to be the magic words. Jameson's hand was suddenly on her chest, shoving her back into the window again.

“Your fucking mouth,” he growled, shoving her hand out of the way. “Always fucking pissing me off.”

“You love it,” she started chuckling, but it was cut off by a shriek as he slammed into her. The potted plants began to shake and rattle on the table as he pounded away.

He is in a hurry tonight.

“Yeah? You want to know what I love?”

“What?”

“When you shut the fuck up.”

She managed to laugh again and she pressed her hands to his chest, then clutched at his shirt.

“Some day I really will shut up, and you'll be sorry,” she warned him. He grabbed her wrists and held them together before raising her arms, slamming them against the window. A pane of glass cracked, but luckily didn't break completely out.

“That day will be a blessing. Fuck, Tate,” he grunted, grabbing her knee and lifting her leg up against his hip. “Why so wet so fast? Do barbecues turn you on?”

Tate smiled to herself.

God, I love pushing his buttons.

“Only certain guests at certain barbecues,” she whispered.

All movement stopped and Jameson's hand was back in her hair. He pulled hard enough that she was forced to stare at the ceiling. Her eyes watered from the sting and she took quick breaths through her nose while she felt his other arm coiling around her waist.

“Goddamn Tatum,” he snarled. “Always making me do things I don't want to fucking do.”

“Liar,” she squeaked out, then she gasped as she was yanked flush with him. He stepped away from the table, carrying her with him. He slowly turned so his back was to the window, then he lowered them to the floor.

“If you say one more thing just to piss me off,” Jameson warned. “I will fuck your mouth.”

“Promises, promises,” Tate moaned as she adjusted her position on top of him, rotating her hips in a circle over his lap. She almost went cross eyed. When she was on top, he hit spots that shut down her brain.

But after a while, the silence got to her. Orgasming was only fun when they got to do it together, and while she was perilously close to coming, she knew Jameson still had a ways to go. She licked her lips and pressed her forehead to his, pumping her hips faster.

“This is what you wanted,” she panted, scratching and pulling at his shirt until she was able to pull it free from his body.

“Always,” he breathed, dragging his nails down the length of her back.

“You think people will think you're a big man because you fucked your own wife at some party?” she asked. He managed a chuckle.

“You'd rather I was fucking someone else?”

“Might be more interesting.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“If you wanted to make a statement, why not just fuck me on the buffet table?”

“Because I don't like seeing trash served on my table.”

She laughed out loud.

“I know someone out there who doesn't think I'm trash”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Tate,” he growled.

“Maybe I should help him climb the corporate ladder, as it were,” she whispered.

“Stupid slut, you better shut the fuck up.”

“I can't remember the last time I fucked someone my own age. Could be fun.”

Apparently she'd gone too far with that comment. She let out a shriek when Jameson suddenly rocked forward. She fell backwards, her legs kicking straight up, and suddenly he was on top of her. Propping himself up so he could pound her straight through the floor. Her eyes rolled back in her head.

“God, yes, this,” she groaned. Her legs fell and struck the table, her calves catching on the edge and leaving her legs propped up in the air. Just when she thought it all couldn't get any better, she felt his hand on her neck, squeezing tightly.

Perfection.

“Such a bitch,” he growled, shifting up onto his knees so he could thrust harder. “Flirting when I asked you not to. Opening your mouth when I tell you to shut up. When the fuck are you ever going to learn?”

“Never,” she whispered, as a burning sensation started in the center of her chest and quickly started racing towards her extremities. “Never.”

“Never is fucking right. God, why are you always so difficult?” he demanded, his thrusts turning brutal.

“Because,” she was gasping for air in earnest. “It's the only way to get your attention.”

His grip on her throat got even tighter.

“Mission fucking accomplished.”

She couldn't hold it back anymore. She came hard, shouting out his name as her hands flew to her hair. She gasped and shook and cried out, pulling at her roots. When he leaned down and kissed her, his teeth nipping sharply at her bottom lip, the orgasm doubled back and regrouped, pulsing across every nerve ended. Her back arched and he finally let go of her throat, dragging his fingers down her chest and squeezing her breast.

“So perfect,” he groaned before slamming his hips home one last time, coming in a series of jerks and swear words.

“Oh my god,” she gasped for air after he'd collapsed on top of her. “Holy shit. Oh my god.”

“Language, Mrs. Kane,” he was panting as well, his voice muffled by her chest.

“I can't believe we just did that while there's a party going on outside,” she finally laughed, pressing her hand against her forehead.

“Better than doing it with a party going on in here,” he pointed. She wiggled her feet, which were sticking up above the table still and in full sight of anyone who might happen to look in the windows.

“Not much of a difference. This is gonna be more awkward than that time you fucked me in Hong Kong, when all those investors were in the next room,” she sighed.

“Good,” he replied. “I like making people nervous.”

“And jealous,” she added, smiling to herself. He snorted.

“Everyone is already jealous of me. What I wanted was to fuck you in front of him so as to leave him in no doubt of who you belong to.”

“Possessive words, Mr. Kane.”

“Goddamn right they are.”

“Rich Klimas isn't any kind of threat to you,” she promised, combing her fingers through his hair.

“Of course he fucking isn't. He's offensive, and that's worse. Now any time he comes sniffing around you, he'll have this moment in the back of his head. Like I said, mission fucking accomplished.”

Tate laughed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hugging him close for a second. Then she started pushing him away.

“Get off, you weigh a million tons.”

Tate wiggled around on the floor, getting her bra back in place and putting her dress to rights. Jameson really had no shame and simply stood up, pulling on his pants as he moved. Then he stooped to retrieve his shirt and put that on, as well. She held out her hand and he pulled her to her feet.

“We look insane,” Tate commented, glancing at his hair and wondering how bad hers looked.

“I look fine,” he replied, running his fingers through his dark locks and calming it down. “You, on the other hand, look like you just got fucked.”

“Ah, my fave look.”

She attempted to pull her hair into a ponytail. Jameson laughed and smoothed out some wild strands around the crown of her head. Then he straightened out the zipper on the back of her dress and smoothed out her skirt before pulling her close.

“I want you to know something,” he murmured, trailing his lips along the line of her neck. She wrapped her arms around him.

“What?”

“It wasn't about him.”

“Huh?”

“I would've fucked you in here regardless of whether or not Klimas had shown up tonight.”

“Really?” Tate asked, not entirely surprised – Jameson generally always wanted to have sex – but curious about his reasons.

“This dress,” he sighed, his hands running down the sides of her body. “Your body. You knew what you were doing when you picked it out.”

“Maybe,” she replied coyly. Of course she had. Jameson could never resist a cheap looking slut.

They finally pulled apart for good. Jameson looked none the worse for wear in his polo shirt and jeans. Tate's dress was wrinkled in odd places and stretched in others, her hair was mussy, and her voice was hoarse. All her old faves. She held his hand as he lead her back outside.

“Proud of yourself?” she asked as they moved along. All around them, people were snickering and grinning. A few were even blushing, averting their eyes as their boss stalked past them.

“Always, Tatum,” he said in a clipped tone, but his hand squeezed hers while they moved.

Summer barbecues might be my new favorite thing ever.