Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tate
I force myself to focus on what we need to do, the safety of the Clan of paramount importance. But though my mind tells me one thing, I’m still lingering with her, still feel her in my arms.
“How’s your head?” I ask her, as if talking about normal, pragmatic things can pull me out of my stupor. I’d dreamed of taking her. Claiming her. Making her mine, in every possible way. And it was everything I hoped for and more.
Everything.
But we have important work to do, for the safety of my Clan, the safety of all of us.
She nods. “So much better. I thank you for the orgasmic healing.”
I give her a teasing swat to the arse that makes her squeal. “It’s been my literal pleasure.” I love that despite everything we’ve been through, despite the dangerous road we still have ahead of us, she hasn’t lost her sense of humor and wit. I love everything about this woman.
We load up the car with our bags and equipment—she doesn’t know I’ve got an arsenal of weapons, and I’ve no doubt I’ll use them—and I open the door for her, my hand lingering on the small of her back. She ducks her head and smiles softly.
Gorgeous.
And when I take my seat beside her, I slide my hand across to hers. She tucks her hand against mine, our fingers entwined, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
“Right, then,” she says, nodding her head. “Tell me all the details.”
I can’t bloody tell her all the details, but I’ll tell her as much as I can.
“We’ve a private jet, but will need to head to Inverness first. I’ve an errand in town, and it will be easier for us to fly from Inverness straight to Dublin. By car would take too long, and it’s too complicated.” Water and ferries and the like, and we have no time.
“So you’ll fly to Dublin…”
“We’ll fly. We have friends outside of the city, good friends who’ll help us find what we need.”
She nods, not able to help the small, pleased smile that flits across her face. “And we’ll visit my publisher.”
“Aye.”
A minute later, she’s fiddling with the radio, does something with her phone, and before I know it, the car’s damn near bursting with the sound of music. She grins, throws her head back, and belts out lyrics.
“Someone’s in a chipper mood,” I say, giving her a teasing glance. “Seems getting fucked good and hard agrees with you.”
Her cheeks heat, but she grins, nods, flicks me a thumbs-up, and keeps on singing. But when the song ends, and the next one begins, she sobers, looking out the window with a sigh.
“What are you thinking of?”
She doesn’t answer at first, and I realize she’s undoing the work of a lifetime of coping by twisting the truth. She doesn’t want to do that anymore, if what she’s told me is any indication. She’s determined to turn over a new leaf.
She sighs. “Islan’s bloody pissed with me.”
It’s more important to me that my sister’s alive. For now, anyway. We’ll deal with the aftermath of all this after everyone’s safety’s secured.
I squeeze her hand. “She’ll get over it.”
But Fran only looks out the window.
I change the subject. It’s time for us to focus on what we need to do, and my sources say she’s going to be integral.
“Fran, what can you tell me about your ex?”
She makes a face like she’s eaten rotten food. “Fergus?” Even his name seems distasteful on her lips.
“Aye, lassie.”
She shrugs. “We met online. He promised his undying devotion.” She rolls her eyes. “Only child, mother was a schoolteacher and single mom. Died when he was just out of school, and he threw himself into studies.”
“Interesting.”
She gives me a curious look.
“Literally everything he told you was a lie.”
Her jaw drops. “What?”
“He was raised by two parents in Wales. Mum’s a politician, father as well. Bloody fucking rich. Fergus isn’t even called Fergus.”
Her jaw unhinges.
“It’s another reason we’re going to Inverness first. My sources say he’s having a pint in town, and I’d like a word before we go to Ireland.”
“Jaysus.”
“He knew exactly what he was doing.”
“Then he… used me?”
“Aye.”
“But whatever for?” She gets the cutest little pucker between her eyebrows as she thinks about this. “I’m not rich. I don’t have anything to offer him…”
“Don’t you, though?”
No answer at first as she mulls this over, then she groans. “My contacts. He wanted access to my contacts?”
“Maybe.”
“Or maybe he thought I’d strike it rich and he could be my bloody lap dog.”
Possessive heat curls around my gut. I grunt in reply.
“Why, Tate,” she says, her hand resting teasingly on my bicep. “Are you… jealous?”
I grunt again.
“You are! You’re bloody jealous!”
“Course I bloody am,” I mutter. “Fuckin’ wanker didn’t deserve a crumb from your table, much less what he had.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, he was bloody awful in bed.”
That actually does make me feel better. “Aye?”
“Och, aye. The bugger couldn’t last for longer than thirty bloody seconds. Couldn’t find a G-spot if it had a spotlight. Even when he went down—”
“Yeah, we can change the fuckin’ conversation right about now.”
She grins. “He just did this weird thing with his tongue like he was—”
“Swear to God, Fran, you push this subject, I’ll bloody pull this car over, whip your arse until you scream for mercy, then show you exactly what a real man does with his tongue.”
She pauses a beat, and when she speaks, her voice is all husky. “That’s supposed to… stop me?”
“Yes, it’s supposed to bloody stop you.”
But I’m already hard, already imagining the wicked things I could do to her right here, right now.
“Might need to try harder than that,” she mutters. Then she grows contemplative. “Do they have a bed on that plane?”
I fucking love this woman.
“Aye, of course, but the flight’s like seventy-two minutes long.”
“Oh, we don’t need longer than that.”
Of course I need bloody more than that. I need all damn night.
“Incorrigible.”
“You’re fond of that word when it comes to me. Let me help you out with a few more. Unreformed. Irredeemable. Beastly!”
I snort. “Beastly? One of these things is not like the other…”
She gives me a playful smile.
I feel like we’ve been on a rollercoaster ride, one moment to the next. I wonder where we’ll land when the ride is over.
I hate the thought of her going home. I hate the thought of waking up every day to an empty bed, not when I’ve shared it with the likes of her. I hate the thought of anyone else, fucking anyone, ever touching her again.
She’s mine now. All mine. I’ll put a ring on her finger and take her back home to my place. She might not know it yet, but there’s time.
“So what are you going to do when you find him?”
“Ask him a few questions.”
She works her lip for a minute. “‘Asking questions.’ Will that entail things like…torture?”
“Depends on how cooperative he is.”
“Oh, dear.”
Does she still have feelings for the bloke? Bloody hell.
“Do you have a problem with that?”
She gives me a curious look, as if thinking over what she wants to say. “Makes it hard responding right away when I’m committed to nothing but the truth.”
I nod. “You’re afraid I’ll hurt him?” I bloody well will, but I might be able to shield her from it.
“Afraid you’ll hurt him? Oh, no, Tate, you misunderstand.” She leans in a little closer to me, her hand resting dangerously high on my thigh. “I want you to hurt him. I’m afraid watching you hurt him might do strange, unexpected things to me.”
“Unexpected things?”
“I’ll want to jump your bloody bones.”
“Unreformed,” I utter, shaking my head, and she laughs out loud.
“What might he have had access to when you were together?”
She thinks this over with a grimace. “Oh, God, I hadn’t thought of that. My phone… my laptop. I guess everything, really.”
I nod.
“I can’t believe I was so damn stupid. I let him trick me like an arse. How did I never suspect everything he told me was a lie?” She shakes her head, her voice a bit tremulous. “I can’t believe I was taken like that.”
“I don’t think it’s all that complicated. He told you everything you wanted to hear. He paid attention to you. He gave you what you thought you wanted.”
“I thought I was better than that.”
“Don’t underestimate the effects of a con artist, sweetheart.”
Her lips tip up. “I like when you call me that.”
I reach for the back of her neck and squeeze gently. Her eyes flutter closed, and she sighs, as if relishing my touch.
She leaves her hand resting on my thigh, warm and reassuring, and I’m tempted to pull this car over. She’s right. We won’t need more than the seventy-two minute flight, not this time.
We arrive in Inverness Centre and park. I frown at the weapons I have in the boot and decide on a discreet Glock and a knife. As much as turning her on at the sight of violence appeals to me, might be a bit easier if it doesn’t come to that.
I call William, our Clan brother who will lead me through the logistics of everything. “He’s here?”
“Aye, brother. At the bar. Bartender’s been paid well, show him your ink but be quick about it. You don’t want to linger.”
We don’t. In, out, on the plane.
I hang up the phone and take Fran’s hand. “We’ll not cause a scene. We’ll ask our questions and take it from there. Follow my lead.”
She nods without a smart mouth for once. Good. Maybe she’s learning.
Probably not.
“So I can’t slap his face for you? Pity,” she says with a frown, her eyes alight.
“Maybe if you’re a good girl.”
She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “I do believe I love you, Tate Cowen.”
My chest warms and I give her a teasing wink as I open the door.
There’s no doubt in my mind I love her, but I won’t declare it for the first time at the threshold of a damn pub. She deserves more than that.
It’s dark and dank in here when we enter, dim light from yellowed bulbs at the bar and by the pool tables, but not much else.
I quickly survey the premises. Exit to the right, under a gleaming fluorescent sign, likely takes us to an alley or dumpster.
Handful of blokes playing pool, one lassie on a lad’s lap to the far left, too preoccupied with what they’re doing to worry about me. Bartender a sturdy but older chap.