Ella
I grab five water bottles from the bar, charge them to the Burke account, and hop into the elevator. My arms chill quickly against the ice-cold bottles, and I’m thankful when the doors open and I can run down the hall to the gym.
I bump the door open with my butt. “Water.”
The guys all look up from the floor where they’re completing push-ups. “You’re a doll,” Aidan says, getting up.
Tate, Kye, and Conner each grab a bottle from me and then they all drop to the mats on the floor. Tate holds the cold bottle against his forehead, while Kye rolls it back and forth across his chest, and Conner drinks it quickly.
Aidan stares at them, still standing, and cuts his eyes to me. “Bunch o’ pussies.”
“Fuck off,” Tate replies immediately. “You did half as many push-ups as us. Kept stoppin’ ’cause your lil baby arms couldn’t take the pressure.”
“Shut it or my lil baby fist will meet your face, asshole.”
I cough and smile sweetly when four pairs of eyes snap to me. “Hi, I’m still here.”
“And thank you for giving us somethin’ nice to look at as we take a break,” Kye flirts.
Tate punches his arm. “Stop bein’ a dick.”
“And I am still here, when you’re done fighting.” I eye all of them. “Carla’s waiting for you in the Royal Room. She told me to tell you to move your lazy butts up there. Well, she used a lot more expletives.”
“Has she got PMS? Because if she does, I ain’t goin’ anywhere near her,” Conner mutters. “One chick with it is more than enough.”
“I’ll make a note to find Sofie tonight and hand her chocolate cake and wine,” I reassure him with a smile.
“That’s why we pay you.”
“Sure. That’s it.” I roll my eyes.
Carla shoves the door open and puts her hands on her hips. “Are all y’all still messin’ around down here?” Her eyes land on the guys. “Upstairs. Shower. Practice. Now.”
I blink harshly. Damn. Now I get why they mumble about her when she isn’t around—she doesn’t mince her words. She doesn’t sugarcoat them either.
“Keep your panties on, Carla.” Tate screws the cap back on his bottle. “We just finished.”
“Yeah, no shit. Now are y’all gonna do what you’re supposed to be doing or stand around here chatting?” She looks at me. “And aren’t you supposed to be making them do it?”
“I’m sorry?” My eyes widen. “I just got down here like two minutes ago myself. I literally just told them they need to get ready to practice.”
“Mhmm.” She smacks her bright pink lips together. “So why are they still here? Don’t you know their schedule yet?”
“Carla,” Tate growls.
“I know their schedule.” I turn to face her. “It says they don’t have to be in the Royal Room to practice for another fifteen minutes. Then they’ll practice for two hours, break for lunch for one, then they’ll practice for three with a fifteen-minute break when they want it. And since there’s a table booked for dinner at a restaurant down the road at six p.m. that’s nonnegotiable, they can’t be late for anything. I write their darn schedule, so instead of coming down here and chewing their behinds out, let them do their thing.” I unscrew the top of my water bottle but pause before I take it fully off. “And making sure they’re where they need to be is my job. You’re only here to make sure Tate behaves himself and make sure everything is okay with the venue. They’ll meet you in the Royal Room in fifteen minutes, showered and ready to practice.”
Carla stares at me harshly, and I get the feeling she’s used to running the show around here. Well, she can—when she’s running her job. Not when she’s running mine.
I’m not a pushover anymore.
Carla turns without a word and slams the door shut behind her. I stare at it for a second, then remove the cap from my water bottle.
“Holy shit,” Tate says, making me turn to look at him. “I think I just came in my pants.”
I lick my lips and fight my smile. “What?”
“There’s nothing sexier than a woman who takes no shit,” he replies.
“And when you take no shit from Carla, you’re automatically up there with Scarlett Johansson,” Aidan adds.
“Awesome,” I reply. “Now get your butts upstairs and into the shower so I don’t have to cover your asses yet again. You were supposed to be practicing fifteen minutes ago.”
They all laugh, which makes my smile-fight futile. I eye them all as they walk out of the gym, except Tate, who pauses in front of me. When the door shuts behind Conner, Tate sweeps an arm around my waist and pulls me into him, squashing my water bottle between us. I squeak as the cold liquid bursts up and covers my front, but he ignores me and plants a huge, hard kiss on my slightly parted lips.
“Hella sexy,” he mutters, stepping back when I push at his chest.
“Speak for yourself.” I look down at my shirt.
“I didn’t realize there was a wet T-shirt competition today.”
“There isn’t.”
“Shame. You’d have won it.” He trails a fingertip down my front to the swell of my breasts, and I step back, away from his reach.
“You need to get ready to practice,” I say quietly, capping my water. “Like, now.”
“Els . . .”
“You want Carla to chew your ass out, then hang around, but I have stuff to do.” I dart past him and through the doors.
I’m still trying to reconcile soft Tate and asshole Tate. I’m still trying to make sense of the soft guy beneath the hardened exterior—why he’s so gentle with me but so harsh to everyone else.
And that soft act, I don’t want to get pulled in by it. The random kiss just then? It’s enough to make anyone believe that something tangible could be forming. Something real and longer-lasting than his usual thing.
Thankfully I’m not anyone. Thankfully, I’m so wound up in their lives that I know the frequency of Tate’s sex life is about to decrease quite drastically, and I’m probably nothing more than a time-filler for him. Something for him to distract himself with while he cleans up his appearance.
And . . . that isn’t okay. I won’t go from being used by one man to being used by another. I won’t fall for his gentle-protector act.
Because that’s all it is . . . An act. And I know an awful lot about acts.
“Oh my God,” Sofie mumbles so quickly the words all mesh together. “Chocolate cake!” This, she shrieks, and it bounces off the walls of the hotel restaurant. She falls into the seat next to me and dives the fork into the hot, gooey mess quicker than I can respond. She shoves a forkful of the cake into her mouth, moans, and leans back. “Chocolate fudge cake. Oh, Ella. I’m going to marry you one day.”
I laugh. “Don’t marry me—marry your boyfriend. He called me after practice and told me you needed to have chocolate fudge cake, not just any old cake, because he was pretty afraid of you.”
Sofie winces. “Yeah, I kinda flipped on Carla. She was bein’ a total bitch to the guys, and, well, hormones and all that jazz.”
“Yeah . . . I might have put her in a bad mood.” I chew the inside of my cheek and stab my fork into my cheesecake. I explain the events in the gym and how I covered for the guys, and Carla’s non-reaction to me calling her out. “So now, I think she hates me.”
Sofie giggles and sips her glass of wine. “Okay, she doesn’t hate you. She likes Tate.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“She likes Tate. Like . . . likes him, likes him. But he refuses to have anythin’ to do with her ’cause she’s Marc’s assistant, and it would be real awkward after.”
“Is that why she’s a raging pain in the ass? Really?”
“I love your passive-aggressiveness,” Sofie laughs. “Yeah, pretty much. I think she’s kind of the same as Tate in that she’s used to getting the attention she wants.”
“But why does she like him?”
“Why do you?”
“I don’t, I mean, wait. What was the question?” I fill my mouth full of cheesecake and chew slowly.
“Why do you like Tate?” she repeats. “Don’t think I don’t see how y’all look at each other. Is he as good a kisser as the rumors say?”
“Isn’t he practically your brother?”
“Yes. But I’ve heard enough rumors to want them cleared up, and you didn’t deny it.”
Ah, crap. That’s what I should have said. “I haven’t kissed him.”
“Nice cover up.”
“I haven’t. He’s kissed me.”
“Semantics.” Sofie squeals, setting her fork down. Apparently the cure for her PMS isn’t chocolate fudge cake, it’s girl talk. “Tell me.”
I stare at my plate. Before I can think it over, the words tumble from my mouth like they’re falling over a cliff edge. I can’t stop them, I can’t slow them down. From our fight in the parking lot in Charleston and him having me cornered against the bus and my breakdown to me talking to him after the sex tape thing to dinner last night, I tell her everything.
How he changes from rough to gentle, and how he talks softly when I clam up. How he promises me I’m safe now, and how he holds me when I’m afraid. Mostly how he holds me when I’m afraid.
How he’s nothing like everyone thinks he is. How the person he is behind closed doors isn’t the guy the media and the girls in his past portray him.
And how I’m confused, because not ten days ago I was running away from my abusive fiancé, and now I’m here, having kissed the worst kind of guy possible, wondering how my life has changed so much.
Sofie reaches over the table and swaps our plates. “I think you need the chocolate cake more than me.” Then she refills our glasses.
I stab my fork into the hot mess and scoop a big piece into my mouth. I nod. I do need it. God I love cake.
“So . . . what are you going to do?”
“What am I going to do? I was kind of hoping you’d have the answer,” I grumble. “I don’t get this . . . confused stuff. And I certainly don’t get kissing without being in a relationship at all.”
“Ella,” she says softly. “Do you know a real relationship at all?”
I pause, looking down, and swallow. No. I have no idea what one entails. My head jerks side to side roughly, and I sit back.
“Real relationships aren’t cut and dry, and most of the time the people involved have no idea what’s happening. Me and Conner spent three weeks in limbo after I returned to Shelton Bay, and it wasn’t until I agreed to do the damn tour with them that we defined ourselves as back together. Now I’m not sayin’ you and Tate have any kinda relationship. I’m just sayin’ that you’re kind of alike. You have a past you’re ashamed of, and so does he. Both of you are forcin’ yourselves to move past the bullshit and onto somethin’ better.” She licks her fork clean and points it at me. “But if I see you fallin’ at his stinky feet I’ma drag you back up.”
I laugh. Hell no. “No falling,” I assure her. “No falling, no tripping, no slipping. Besides, I’m afraid of what he might think I’m planning if I do that.”
Sofie grins and sips her wine. “He’s not a bad guy. Not really. He just went too far at the start of the Dirty B. boom, and now he’s stuck with a stereotype I don’t think he knows how to shift.”
“So you’re saying I should just let him keep kissing me whenever he wants.”
“Well, I’m not saying let him, but if you like it, then you don’t have to stop it.”
I open my mouth, but close it again seconds later. Purse my lips. Lick my lips. “Well, I don’t not like it.”
Sofie’s eyes flick from the cheesecake to me several times, her lips twitching. “So like it some more. And, Ella? You’ve been a lot happier the last few days. Like . . . you’ve come out of that tight little shell you had yourself wrapped in. You’re givin’ the guys as good as you get, and from what Conner said, you gave Carla a real ass-kickin’ earlier. You wouldna done that when you got here. Just . . . I dunno, doll. Let whatever happen. It won’t kill either of you, and you sure as hell deserve some fun.”
I guess she’s right. I’m just not sure Tate Burke is the right kind of fun. In fact, I’m positively sure he’s the worst kind of fun. Not least because we essentially live together for the next few weeks. What if . . . what if I like the man behind the mask and, as soon as his bad behavior quarantine is over, he grabs some random chick?
“Fucking shit.” Tate sits opposite me at the table. “That chick . . .”
“What chick? The receptionist?”
He looks at me, exhausted. “I’m so glad y’all don’t talk that much. It was like being around ten Milas, all chattin’ Frozen shit at the same time, only there was another fuckin’ fifty in the background yellin’ about Elmo and Peppa Pig.”
“Ouch.” Sofie winces. “How’d you get away?”
“Told her my PA needed me.” His eyes still on me, he smirks. “So need me real quick, darlin’, before she walks through here and sees I’m just chattin’. Wait . . . fuck! She’s comin’! Do somethin’!”
“Never thought I’d see the day Tate Burke would run from a girl,” Sofie giggles, finishing her second glass of wine.
I agree, nodding, and finish mine, too. “Come on.” I get up and grab Tate’s hand. “Let’s keep with the toddler analogy and play pretend. Sof, Marc called and Tate said bye.” I wink conspiratorially, and she grins.
I pull Tate out of his seat and tug him behind me.
“Els . . .” His fingers tighten around mine. “What are you doin’?”
“Getting you out of the rest of your date.” I take my keys from my pocket and unlock the door to the Royal Room. “Get in.”
“By seducin’ me in a dark room?”
I laugh. “You wish, Casanova.” I flick the lights on and pull the door shut. “Didn’t you hear what I said to Sofie?”
“That Marc called?”
“Yes. He didn’t. Obviously. Sofie will tell her you had to take it and that you paid the bill, but you’re gonna be a while, so she should go.”
“And what happens when we go back in there pretty soon?”
“Then the call was done sooner than expected and you came for a post-call drink to talk with your assistants.” I nod and put my hands on my hips. With a pointed look, I add, “If she leaves her number, I’ll throw it in the trash.”
“God, that sentence sounds sexy coming from you.”
“The post-call drink?”
“No. The throwing her number in the trash.”
“I fail to understand how that is even remotely sexy.”
“I have three girls in my phone. My sister,” he holds up one finger, “Sofie,” another finger, “and you.” A third finger flicks up and he steps toward me. “And you talkin’ about throwin’ out a girl’s number . . .”
“You are very strange.” I quirk an eyebrow. “Are you just permanently horny?”
“Around you? Yes. It’s like a fuckin’ reflex.”
He’s standing in front of me now, and we’re almost toe-to-toe. He towers over me by several inches, his bulky, muscled form casting a shadow over my petite, slender body. I’m tiny in comparison to him, and even his head is bent forward so he can look at me. His hands are by his sides, fingers hooked in his belt loops casually, and his shirt is rumpled where it meets his jeans. And the bulge in his jeans catches my eye.
That’s a considerably sized bulge.
Very considerable.
I draw in a sharp breath, making my chest heave, and Tate brings his fingers to my chin. He tilts my head back so my eyes collide with his brightly burning ones.
“A very strong reflex.”
“Do you know anything about personal space?” Breathlessly, the words fall from my lips.
“Yes,” he murmurs, stepping into me. “I know that I fuckin’ love it when you’re in mine.”
“I mean other people’s.”
He slides his hand from my chin to the back of my head, twining his fingers into the hair at the base of my skull, and rests his other hand on my waist. “I respect personal space,” he whispers, every breath fluttering over my lips, making them red hot. “But yours looks empty, darlin’. It needs filling.”
“And you’re the perfect guy for the job, right?”
His lips crushing against mine answer my question. Tate pushes us back and I gasp as my back hits the wall. I grasp his shirt as if it’ll ground me, but I’m consumed by his tongue flicking against mine. He asks no permission. He’s not gentle. He’s rough and demanding.
His lips are harsh and desperate, his fingertips digging into me in a way that stings so bad it’s almost sweet, and his hard body against mine almost suffocates me, but that’s because I can feel all of him, from his tensed pecs to his hardened cock.
He’s against me, fully, entirely, every dip and bump of his body evident despite the clothing between us. And as his teeth graze across my bottom lip in a tantalizingly teasing way that makes me moan quietly into his mouth, I want that clothing gone.
I dip my hands beneath his shirt and trail them up his back. His grip gets tighter, his kiss gets firmer. His movements are almost possessive, but not in a bad way. They’re not selfish or careless. Every twitch of his fingers brings me pleasure. Every swipe of his tongue turns me on, too.
And I am. Turned on. I am turned. The. Hell. On. My breasts are aching, my nipples pebbling, and my clit is aching in a way I thought it forgot long ago. But it hasn’t, it remembers, and my muscles remember, and my pussy is clenching, my fingers are gripping, my lips are moving. His hands are caressing, his tongue is battling, his erection is growing.
There’s us—no doubts, no what-ifs, no maybes. There’s the kiss and the need and the want. There’s the actions and the gasps and the tiny moans and the desperation. There’s Tate and Ella, the two who don’t make sense, the two who shouldn’t do this but do anyway, on both accounts.
“You,” he growls into my ear. “What the fuck are you doin’ to me? All through that fuckin’ drink, you drove me crazy. I should have been thinkin’ how soon I could get her upstairs and fuck her. But, no, I was thinkin’ that she wasn’t you. That she didn’t look like you, think like you, talk like you. That she wasn’t fuckin’ Els. That I had to get back to you, to do this, to feel you, to taste you. I had to get back here to feel somethin’ fuckin’ real.”
The low, husky tone of his words sends shivers ricocheting through my body. One by one, my limbs shudder as the electric current runs rampant through my veins. “What took you so long?”
“Good fuckin’ question.” Tate silences me once more. His hands explore my body, and with no bruises, no pain, they can go wherever, touch wherever, feel wherever.
“Ella? Tate? I tried textin’ . . . Oh, fuck me!” The door slams suddenly with Sofie’s shout.
“Oops,” Tate murmurs against my mouth. “Now we’re in trouble.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I protest in a whisper. “You kissed me.”
“You responded,” he throws back, equally as quietly, lips curving into a cocky smirk.
“I was cornered.” I tap the wall on either side of me and push off it.
He grabs me into him, his hands sliding down to my ass, and presses his lips to my neck. They linger just below my ear, his breath cascading over my skin, and he whispers, “By the time we leave Georgia, you and I will know each other very, very well, darlin’.”
“So confident.”
“I could slide my hand inside your panties right now to prove me right, but I don’t need to, because you know I’m right,” he breathes harshly. “And feeling how wet you are, touching your undoubtedly perfect pussy, will only torture me more.”
“Tate . . .”
“Tell her we’re done before I shoot her,” he mutters, a slight growl infiltrating his tone. “But, Els, darlin’?” he pulls my face toward his. “We ain’t done here. We ain’t done until you’re beneath me, my cock buried deep inside you, and my name fallin’ from your lips. Got it?”
“Understood,” I say in a tiny voice.
I step back from him, but he reaches out and grabs my hand. “Did I . . . Did I hurt you? Just then?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Good.” He pushes my bangs from my forehead and rests his palm against my cheek for a moment. He turns and opens the door to Sofie. “Sof. Hi.”
“Hi indeed.” She glances around him at me. “I was just, er, comin’ to say that I got rid of Stacey, and that Conner’s holdin’ the table for us, and that y’all could come back now. But I don’t want to interrupt anythin’, so, you know. Come back when you feel ready to.”
“Ohhh, we’re ready.” I run my fingers through my hair and slide past Tate. “Well, I am, and that’s good enough for me.”
Tate grins, closing the door behind me. “You gonna lock it, darlin?”
I throw my keys at him over my shoulder and keep walking.