Sweet Dreams
Page 135

Tate’s head descended again, this time to brush my mouth with his and when he pulled back, he invited softly, “Make things safe for my boy, baby.”
I liked his soft voice and he’d been gone awhile so I missed it being live and in person but I still felt it necessary to hold a grudge.
“I would have done it anyway, just because it’s a hazard,” I grumbled, my eyes targeted to his ear. “Wrath of Tate be damned.”
“Babe,” he called.
“What?” I snapped, my eyes moving back to his.
“Unpack,” he whispered, kissed me lightly, let me go and pulled me from the door, turning me and I knew he was going to go talk to Jonas but his eyes went beyond me to the wall over the bed and then he went completely still.
Then he muttered, “Christ.”
Uh-oh.
“Um…” I mumbled and his gaze moved to me.
“I don’t wanna know,” he said.
“Stoney was –”
“I don’t wanna know,” he repeated.
“Stoney understood you needed it in your –”
He yanked my body to his, his head came down and he gave me a hard, bruising but thorough and delicious kiss and then his head came back up.
“I love it, babe, loved that picture all my life,” he whispered, my stomach flipped, my heart turned over and he went on. “And I know Stoney loved it too so, you gettin’ it from him… I don’t… wanna… know. Yeah?”
I felt it prudent at that juncture to agree so I nodded.
“Good girl,” he muttered, let me go, left the room and went to say hello to his son.
I stood there and stared at the picture, smiling to myself. Then I stared at the closet. Then I wondered if I unpacked right then, if Tate would think I was too eager.
So I decided not to unpack right then.
Instead, I walked out of the bedroom, down the hall, to the kitchen and finished pouring myself a Kool-Aid which was what I had started doing when Tate arrived home. I offered Tate and Jonas drinks and brought Tate a beer and Jonas an iced Kool-Aid.
Then I went back to the bedroom, taking my Kool-Aid with me, and unpacked.
* * * * *
I would figure it out later, in bed, when it woke me up.
Tate was going to court the next day to battle for his son.
He had been hunting a fugitive and he’d lose time and money if he had to abandon that hunt so he was under the gun and lucky he found his prey before he needed to come home.
And he loved me and wanted me to move in with him, he heard I was looking at apartments and, like usual, when it all came at him at once, he got angry.
I’d have to see what I could do to shield him from that.
“Baby, you awake?” Tate’s drowsy-rough voice called.
I rubbed my nose against his back and pressed deeper, my arm going tight around his stomach.
“No,” I answered against his skin.
“Bullshit,” he muttered.
“Go back to sleep, Tate.”
“Laurie –”
I pressed in and held on tight.
“For me, baby?” I whispered.
His hand found mine at his stomach and covered it, his fingers lacing through mine, he rolled slightly forward, pulling my arm up so our hands were tucked to the bed and I was resting mostly on his back.
I liked this position, a lot, so I tangled my legs with his and settled in.
“Laurie,” he called but I didn’t answer even though I heard him.
I didn’t answer because, a second later, I really settled in, giving him all my weight when I fell asleep.
* * * * *
Ned, Betty, Shambles and I stood in the courtroom. Tate was at the desk with his attorney, a very pretty yet very pregnant blonde named Nina Maxwell. Neeta’s attorney was at the other desk with no Neeta. I was jittery as a cat but Tate looked hot, wearing a well-cut suit and looking unbelievably gorgeous in it, and completely calm.
I was fidgeting, rubbing my hands together and moving from foot to foot when Tate’s eyes came to me. They dropped to my hands then they came back to my face and that tender look was there. He gave me a barely-there grin and then his attention turned back to Nina. I took in a breath, my mind imprinted with Tate’s tender look and I settled.
I was wearing a pale pink blouse with cap sleeves, a skintight, pencil skirt in cream linen and a pair of rose colored, high-heeled slingbacks. I had pearl studs at my ears and my watch but no other jewelry. I’d pulled my hair back in a ponytail at my nape.
I found out earlier I was correct in thinking I was more milf than motherly when I walked into the living room, Tate, Stella and Jonas all looked at me in my outfit, Tate smiled sexy slow and declared, “Jesus, you look like a sex kitten school marm.”
I turned instantly on my heel and headed back to the bedroom while I heard Jonas cackle loudly and effusively which almost, but not quite, drowned out Stella’s laughter.
Tate caught me before I made it to the bedroom and led me firmly to the Explorer.
The doors to the courtroom opened, I jumped and Wood walked in.
His eyes moved through me to Tate and he walked right to the front where the little, shiny wooden partition separated the onlookers from the opponents.
Tate stared at Wood as did Nina.
“I said anything,” Wood murmured to Tate and then turned his attention to Tate’s attorney. “I was there both nights Neeta showed at Tate’s, includin’ the night she drove there drunk.”
“And you are?” Nina asked.
“Neeta’s brother,” Tate answered.
Nina Maxwell grinned.
* * * * *
We were all seated, me between Wood and Shambles. It was ten minutes after the time court was supposed to be in session, the courtroom personnel were looking impatient and Neeta’s attorney was looking harassed.
He was about to be more harassed for the doors opened and Neeta came in and it didn’t take a waitress at a biker bar to know instantly she was drunk off her ass.
“Lordy be,” I heard Betty murmur as I stared at Neeta making her intoxicated way down the aisle.
She was dressed about two steps up from usual. Short skirt (wrinkled) see-through blouse (no camisole, black bra, blouse also wrinkled) and high-heeled, strappy sandals (with scuffs).
She was followed by a dark-haired man in an ill-fitting suit, the suit clearly purchased in a time when beer wasn’t the main component of his nutritional intake. I found myself even more fascinated by him than I was the inebriated Neeta because I knew, I knew just looking at him, he once was beautiful. He could have been as beautiful as Tate but I’d need picture proof of that, but the indicators were all there.