“Yes. So, no pressure or anything,” he adds.
Did he just make a joke?
Tate pats the desk. “Sit.” Then he steps between my legs, removing my shirt again. He tweaks my nipple. “I want you to ride my cock before you go.”
I moan, circling his wrist. “Tate.If you start that, I’m not going to get to hear the rest, and I know there’s more to know. Like … what did you mean by you’d give my dad to Kline?”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s boring, and you’re so edible.” His lips find my collarbone. He’s intent on distracting me.
“Tate.”
He heaves a sigh. “It’s a failsafe. He’d rather marry your father for reasons I’m still extracting from him by promising him something he wants so he’ll be open to negotiation.”
“But you would do it.”
“If I have to, yes.”
I get what Tate’s not saying. My father will never let me go. Taking him off the board is a reality I have to face. Breaking free from my father’s prison has a cost. I didn’t ask for it, but I might have to pay for it anyway.
“So, the will. I’m a solution?” The truth of that’s a punch to the chest. It shouldn’t be. Tate’s never promised more than the horse trade we originally proposed. Thankfully, his face is buried in my neck, so he can’t see my face.
God, I’m pathetic.
Stupid.
But he’s so … protective. He seems so obsessed with me. It fucks with my head.
That’s what he does. He charms. He dazzles. He’s not even secretive about it. As soon as he gets what he wants, I’ll be stuffed in a box next to Pearl.
“Why are you telling me this now?” I demand before he can answer. Maybe I don’t want to know the answer to that question. He’s not telling me just for me. He’s refused for weeks, so something must have changed.
Tate pulls back. “You said you needed proof. You made it clear that knowing why I needed to marry was a dealbreaker for you.”
Is he saying he gives a fuck about me and my feelings, or that he’s willing to do a lot—even divulge information he doesn’t want to, which for Tate is a valuable currency—to secure this marriage?
It’s probably the latter, but my lame-ass heart whispers to me like a bad nineties rom-com.He didn’t have to pick you. Somany others would have agreed to this without making him grovel like this.
But then I remember what he said, I’ll know about his secret life. That will make things easier for him. It hits me.
“Luke doesn’t know, does he?”
Tate freezes. “Not a thing, so if you could keep this all to yourself, I’d appreciate it.”
I roll my eyes, because when do I ever talk to Luke?
“He knows about you, though,” Tate adds.
My breath catches. “He does?” Why is my heart beating so goddamn fast?
“Of course. I can’t just show up with a husband; I had to spin a believable tale for him.”
Oof, second gut punch. He only knows about me because I’m part of Tate’s lies to get, and keep, what he wants.
He’s studying me now, which means something in my demeanor has tipped him off to my inner conflict. But like the predator he is, the assessment ticking in his eyes takes on a cool and calculated texture. It’s not the same as feeling something’s off with someone. It’s puredangerornot-dangerevaluation.
“He accused me of having feelings for you.”
That high hits my veins like a drug again, instant relief from the irrational melancholy that was threatening to seize me.
