Sweet Dreams
Page 112

“Told you no way,” Jonas stated after his fifth win.
“Whatever,” I mumbled with fake disgruntlement and that bought me another smile.
Jonas turned to his Dad and declared, “Bet I could beat you too.”
“Yeah?” Tate, who was now sitting on the edge of the pool, his feet in the water, his eyes on us, asked.
“Definitely,” Jonas declared.
Tate used his hands to shove himself into the water and I drifted away, alternately treading water, crawling and floating, sometimes watching, sometimes trying not to gloat in front of the twenty-something girls. Tate let Jonas win twice and beat him the third go.
They surfaced and Tate was done with handstands. I knew this because he ordered, “Get the ball, Bub.”
“Cool!” Jonas shouted and headed to the steps that led out of the pool.
I did a slow crawl to the side, happy with handstands, back flips and dunking contests but not about to participate in anything that required dexterity, which any activity with a ball would suggest. I put my hands on the side of the pool, prepared to let the boys play boy games and ready to get back to my lounger.
I didn’t make it.
I was mostly out when two big hands gripped my h*ps and pulled me back in. Before I knew it, those hands became arms wrapped around me tight and my front was plastered to Tate’s.
I tipped my head back, opened my mouth to say something but his head was already coming down. Then he was kissing me.
We were mostly to the deep end but Tate was tall enough that he was standing, his neck above the water lapping gently against us. He held me close and kissed me deep. It was a hot kiss but getting it after horsing around in a pool with him and his son, it was also sweet. Very sweet. In fact, it was sweetest kiss I’d ever had.
Which might have been why, once his mouth released mine, I looked into his handsome face, his spiky-with-wet-lashed eyes and, without thought, dipped my face to his, veering to the right at the last minute and sliding my smooth cheek against his rough one.
When my lips were at his ear, I whispered, “Love you, Tate.”
The instant the words came out of my mouth, his body went solid against mine and his arms around me tightened to the point I found it hard to breathe.
Not that I was breathing. I was staring at the water beyond him wondering what on earth I’d just done and why on earth I’d done it.
My arms moved from around his neck so I could plant my hands in his chest and I pushed off, gaining about three inches before he hauled me back in.
“Ace,” he called softly when I kept my eyes averted.
I was saved from having to answer when Jonas shouted, “Dad, quit making out with Laurie, go deep!”
I turned my head to look up at Jonas standing at the side of the pool, avoiding Tate’s eyes as I did so.
“Go deep, Dad!” Jonas repeated.
“Laurie,” Tate called.
My head turned again, my eyes flitted across his and I pushed at his chest as I stared over his shoulder at the sun sparkling off the water.
“Go deep, Captain,” I whispered.
He squeezed me with his arms. “Baby –”
“Dad!” Jonas shouted.
“Go deep,” I said again when Tate didn’t let me go.
His wet hand came to my jaw and he forced me to look at his face. It was soft, it was warm and his eyes were searching.
Then he bent his head, touched his mouth to mine and let me go. I immediately twisted and put my hands on the side of the pool. Hefting myself up, I bent my knee, placed it on the edge and dragged myself out.
I heard a strong surge of water as I got to my feet, my entire body trembling and not from cold. I turned and watched Tate power backwards through the water thinking how stupid I was. How very, very stupid.
I’d told him I loved him.
I did, of course, love him. Though I’d only just figured that out and then blurted it out, but it was true.
I was in a pool in a Nowheresville town with a man who preferred to watch me doing handstands with his son than check out twenty-something girls. A man who called his son Bub and held him in the curve of his arm as he shook off sleep. A man who called me Ace and talked to me or made love to me when I woke up in the middle of the night, even if he was sleepy. A man who flew home with me to make sure I got to my sick Dad. A man who noticed new sheets, spoke his mind, put me on the back of his bike, was nothing but himself and was great in the shower.
After years of searching, years of longing, years of hoping and then giving up, I’d found special in Carnal and in Tate. Special wasn’t exactly perfect but, even so, it was pretty f**king spectacular and it was finally, finally mine.
So I loved him.
But I shouldn’t have told him. It was way too soon. It was way too open. And it put me way too out there.
Because he didn’t say it back.
Stupid!
I looked down at Jonas and saw his arm was up then he threw a mini-sized Nerf ball at Tate. I watched it sail through the air with astonishing accuracy straight at Tate’s raised hand. Tate tagged it and brought his arm down, my eyes went beyond him and my body stilled.
Neeta’s Chrysler convertible, the top down, a sunglassed, big-haired Neeta behind the wheel, was turning into the hotel.
My body stilled.
“Oh shit,” Jonas muttered and I looked down at him then automatically my arm darted out, fingers curling around his shoulder. I yanked him to me, my arm going around his chest and holding him close.
Neeta parked in the open area by the pool and barely stopped her car before she was flying out of it. She didn’t even close the door before she was marching quickly toward us on high-heeled, strappy sandals, her legs bared almost to indecent levels due to her ultra-short mini-skirt.
“Get in the car, Jonas!” she shouted.
I held on tighter.
“Car!” she shrieked, bearing down on us. “Now!”
I noticed both Ned and Betty heading our way. Betty had been deadheading her now abundantly filled window boxes at her house. Ned had been inside at reception.
I also noticed Shambles’s VW van round its way into the lot.
“What’d I say?” Neeta demanded sharply, coming to a halt in front of us. She was talking to Jonas but her narrowed eyes were glued to me.
Jonas didn’t move, I heard a rush of water and I knew Tate was there but I didn’t tear my eyes from Neeta.
“Let him go, bitch,” she ordered.
“That’s enough, Neeta,” Tate’s deep voice came from close behind me.
“I said, let him go!” she screamed at me.