Separation (21 page)

“You think I like to treat women like shit because I hated my mother?” he clarified. She shrugged again.

“Maybe.”

“You hate your mother – is that why you
want
to be treated like shit?” he pointed out. She blinked in surprise.

“I ..., no. I don't know,” Tate hadn't really thought about it.

“What's your favorite color?” Jameson suddenly asked. She was caught off guard again.

“Huh?”

“Your favorite color. What is it?”

“I don't know. Black? Gold?” she prattled off. He nodded.

“Why do you like gold?” he pressed.

“Are you okay?”

“Shut up and answer the question. Why do you like the color gold? Specifically. Think about it.
Why,
” he stressed. She looked at him like he was crazy, but she thought about it.

“Because ..., I like it. When I look at it, it pleases me, aesthetically. I don't know why, but it just does,” Tate explained as best she could. Jameson nodded, digging his fingers into her thighs and dragging his nails up towards her knees.

“When I call you a '
stupid cunt
', it pleases me, physically. I don't know why, but it
just does,
” he copied her answer to make his point. “Why do people always need a reason? I hate my mother, so I treat women like shit? You hate your dad, so you find guys to treat you like shit?
No,
Tate, I didn't hate my mother. I got along great with her. Loved her very much.

“I'm not acting out my psychological problems in bed. It is possible to like kinky shit just because you like it. If it seems like I treat women like shit, it's because I treat
everyone
like shit; women, men, orangutans,
everyone
. I'm not some damaged person, I'm just
spoiled
. I'm used to getting my own way, and when I don't, I tend to throw a temper tantrum. I have no problem admitting this – I have been getting my way long enough to expect it to just happen, and I have enough money to normally ensure that it
does
happen. It's as simple as that. So, sorry to disappoint you, I'm just plain old fashioned kinky. I like weird sex, simply because I like how it makes me feel.”

Temper tantrum. I thought bringing Pet home was some well thought out, elaborate plan to hurt me because he's a sadistic bastard. But he's really just a spoiled brat. A goddamn temper tantrum ...

“You should really work on that whole spoiled thing. Your temper tantrum nearly drove me insane,” Tate managed a laugh, though she felt very much like crying. Jameson nodded.

“I know. I think about that everyday. You have very effectively taught me that it is one thing to want things my way,” he started in a soft voice, staring her very directly in the eyes. “But quite another to ignore the ways of everyone else. I hurt you, and I'm still finding it difficult to forgive myself. If you had died, Tate …, there are no words. I would have been very sad. And not just because I had done something bad, I want you to know. I would have been sad because my world is a very lonely place without you.”

So many unshed tears. Tate was glad she was wearing his glasses, she felt like they were hiding her emotions a little bit. She took deep breaths through her nose, tried to stay calm. They were very sweet words. Words that soothed the gaping hurt in her soul. But the devil is very good when it comes to dealing with damaged souls.

I wanted to learn about him so I could hate him more. I didn't expect his answer to make me want to forgive him. Cheating bastard.

“We were talking about your mother,” Tate drew the conversation away from the heavy stuff. Jameson sighed and looked back over the water, wearing a look on his face that she couldn't quite decipher. Annoyance? Hurt?

Those two shouldn't look similar …, only on you, Satan.

“My mother and I got along great, she was an amazing person. My father wasn't exactly big on being involved in family issues. He wasn't even there when I was born. My mother is the one who named me,” he told her.

“Oh yeah, you said your middle name was her last name,” Tate remembered the first time they had run into each other in Boston, at his firm's opening party.

“Technically,
Kraven
is part of my last name. I have several middle names.”

“You have more than one middle name?”

“Yes. I'm a thoroughbred,” he joked.

“What's your full name?” she asked. He sighed and dragged a finger back down her thigh, following its path with his gaze.

“
Mi nombre es Jameson ..., Santiago ..., Agustin ..., Kraven Kane,
” he said it slowly, tracing the first inital of each name on her skin.

He's branding me.

“You have five names,” she commented softly. He nodded and glanced at her.

“I know. It took a long time to memorize, when I was little,” he chuckled. She couldn't imagine him ever being little.

“
Santiago
. I like it. Can I call you Santi?” she teased.

“Only if you want to get slapped.”

“Ooohhh, tempting.”

“Is this really okay, Tate?” Jameson asked, going back to scratching his nails up and down her legs.

“What do you mean?”

“
This
. Day before yesterday, you were over me. Last night, you were ready to say you wanted to go home. Today, you're sitting here, flirting with me, half naked in my clothing. I am a little suspicious,” he warned her.

“Sometimes, I just need a good fucking to put me in my place,” she laughed.

“
Tatum
.”

“I don't know,” she was finally serious. “I'm just tired, Jameson. I'm tired of fighting, and I'm tired of arguing, and ..., and I missed you. I hate to admit it, but I did.”

She watched him carefully while she talked, tried to judge whether or not he believed her. His eyes were narrowed, wandering over her face. She swallowed thickly and stared right back. Prayed for him to believe her.

He should – you're technically telling the truth. Weak bitch.

“So. That's what you wanted to talk about? My sexual proclivities?” he asked, his fingers starting to massage her. Tate shrugged.

“Yeah, amongst other things.”

“I never knew they bothered you.”

“Obviously, they don't – I love them. I was just curious, if there was something else there,” she replied.

“And that's why you wanted to ask about my mother?” he asked. She nodded.

“Yeah. I don't know, I used to wonder if you hated women. I thought maybe there was a reason,” she told him. Jameson laughed and grabbed her ankle, lifted her leg up so he could nibble at her calf.

“I don't hate women, Tate. I
love
women,” he said, kissing his way to her ankle. “I love the way they feel, their skin, their smell. The way they
taste
, the
sounds
they make.”

“Clearly. I just wanted to get to know you better,” she continued. He sat her leg down and grabbed her by the hips, scooting her even closer to him.

“So what else do you want to know, baby girl?” he asked, his eyes hooded as he looked down at her. Tate licked her lips and ran a finger along the collar of his shirt.

“Mmmm, how many women have you fucked since me,” she breathed. Jameson laughed and moved his hands to her neck, slowly undoing his tie.

“Hmmm, how many, how many,” he wondered out loud, pulling the tie over her head and tossing it behind her.

“Less than ten?” she asked. He looked upwards, like he was thinking hard, and took the glasses off of her.

“I lose track of these kinds of things, so easily,” he mumbled. He sat his glasses down beside the engine parts and then went to work on the buttons of her shirt.

“Less than twenty?” Tate pressed. It had started out as a tease, but now she wanted to know.
Needed
to know. Jameson finished unbuttoning and spread the shirt open, running his hands over her breasts.

“Tatum,” he whispered, leaning her backwards till she was laying in the bottom of the boat.

“Hmmm,” she purred, lifting her hips as he slowly pulled her bikini bottoms away.

“I haven't slept with
one single other woman
since you.”

With words like that, she would give him anything. They could play all the games they wanted, and he would always win. It was his board game, his dice, his cards. She never stood a chance against him.

Tate had slept with a lot of guys in a lot of interesting locations, but she could safely say that in the middle of the day, on a tiny row boat, in the middle of the Mediterranean, was a first.

*

“Your color has improved,” Sanders commented, when he came to see them later in the day.

“You think? I've been soaking up as much sun as possible,” Tate replied, holding out her arms to examine her skin.

“I wasn't talking about your tan,” he told her. She laughed.

Jameson had set a table up on the top deck. Very intimate. However, he obviously hadn't counted on Sanders crashing the party. He had glared at him the whole time while they all ate. It made Tate laugh. Jameson had finally stomped away, in search of something stronger than champagne and water.

“It was a good New Year's party,” she replied. Sanders quirked up an eyebrow.

“Really? I was under the impression that it was just the two of you,” he said. She smiled at him and waggled her eyebrows.

“It was.”

“Good.
That
took long enough,” Sanders said, looking out over the ocean.

“Sandy,” she started, glancing at the stairs, listening for Jameson. “Why do you think Jameson and I are so good together?”

“Because you are,” he replied simply. She rolled her eyes.

“Seriously. Us being together is obviously a big deal to you. But, he doesn't want a girlfriend. I told you, he's never gonna really care about me. We're not gonna, like,
be
your parents, Sandy. He's going to leave me at some point,” Tate warned him. Sure, she planned on leaving Jameson before that ever happened, but she didn't think that needed to be said out loud. Sanders cleared his throat.

“I don't think of you as my parents. I have parents. Jameson is my guardian. You are my best friend,” he corrected her. She smiled brightly, pleasantly shocked.

“Really?
Me?
God, I love you, Sanders,” she gushed. He still wouldn't look at her.

“I want you two to be together because you make Jameson happy. He makes you happy. If you would both stop trying to
assume
what each other are doing and thinking, and just
ask
each other once in a while, things would be much better between you,” he informed her.

“You should be a marriage counselor,” she pointed out.

“Oh god.”

“I just don't think it's that easy, though. He's playing a game. At the end of this month, what, we're going to ride off into the sunset together? I don't think so. I'm not holding my breath for him to change,” Tate said. Sanders shrugged.

“That shouldn't be a problem, because he already has.”

Before she could question him further, though, Jameson came back up the stairs. Her eyes got wide as she saw the bottle he was carrying. He stared back at her while he took his seat, putting the bottle in the middle of the table.

“Scared?” he asked, giving her a wolf grin. She snorted.

“Terrified,” Tate answered honestly, her eyes traveling over the black and white label.

“I would just like to say, I think this is a bad idea,” Sanders piped up. Jameson glanced at him.

“No one asked you. Besides, this is for me,” he replied. Sanders cleared his throat and stood up.

“I think I should leave. I have everything arranged for Paris, sir. We leave in seven days?” Sanders clarified. Jameson nodded, leaning back in his chair.

“Yes. Did you book the hotel room for
Angier
?” he asked. Sanders nodded.

“I did, and one for myself. Are you sure you don't want us all in one suite?” he double checked.

“Positive. I never need to share a dwelling with
Angier
. My generosity has its limitations.”

“It seems to me that it would be more cost effective if -,” Sanders started, but Jameson held up a hand.

“We'll talk about it tomorrow. Go home,” he snapped. Tate wondered what the big deal was with not wanting to share a suite. It was already surprising enough that he didn't keep Sanders on the boat. Why the need for so much privacy?

I knew it. He's gonna sell me in to sex slavery.

“Very well. Good night. Good night, Tatum,” Sanders said, then hurried down the stairs.

“That guy,” Jameson grumbled.