I looked at his face. He wasn’t smiling anymore, not even a hint of it. This was important. He was serious.
“Yes,” I answered softly which earned me another light kiss.
He slid out and dropped me to my feet. Then he turned me to the spray, my back to him, his face went into my neck and his arms went around me, one going south, his fingers gently invading to wash me clean.
We got out, toweled off and I lotioned because I was in Colorado and as exhausted, and sated, as I was, there was no way I was missing lotioning. Tate ran his hands through his hair. I combed mine. We brushed our teeth standing together at the sink. Tate left the bathroom while I moisturized. I walked into the bedroom, around the bed to the closet. I grabbed undies and a shelf bra camisole, pulled the towel from around me, tugged them on and met him in bed.
“My hair’s going to be a rat’s nest tomorrow, sleeping on it wet,” I stated inanely because what did you do after you had fantastic sex in the shower all the while sharing avowals of love with a badass biker?
Tate turned out the light and then turned to me, pulling me face to face.
“Lucky that’s an easy fix, Ace.”
“It means you can’t look at me first thing in the morning,” I informed him and he burst out laughing and pulled me deeper into his arms.
I snuggled into his chest, Tate kissed the top of my head.
“Wiped, Ace,” he muttered.
“Okay,” I muttered back.
“Sweet dreams, baby,” he whispered.
“You too, Captain,” I whispered back.
And for the first time, even after what had transpired that day and that night and three refills of diet pop, I fell asleep before Tate.
*
My body jolted and I came awake when I heard the noise.
My eyes opened and I saw Tate’s back in the moonlight. I was snuggled up to him, my arm draped around his waist.
I came up on an elbow at the same time Tate did. We both looked over our shoulders to the window.
Another rap sounded on it and I could see the pale knuckles and the ghostly pale face surrounded by dark hair that almost, but not quite, faded with the night.
Neeta.
“You have got to be… fuckin’… shittin’… me,” Tate whispered slowly as we both lay there, looking over our shoulders at the window.
“I think, since we have curtains,” I whispered back, “we might want to remember to use them.”
“Tate!” she shouted and her voice shouting my man’s name in the middle of the night while she was standing out on his deck after she made his life a living hell because he believed in her, he wanted to guide her back to herself and she didn’t let him; after she touched Jonas the way she did; after guessing that she didn’t touch him much better his whole life either physically or emotionally; after the night we had, Sunny in the hospital, Shambles in shambles; after the last few months of topsy-turvy road guiding us to each other – I lost it.
I crawled over Tate and out of the bed. I felt his fingers try to grasp hold of my hips but I was on the move and on a mission and they slid right off.
“Ace, let me deal with this,” Tate said and I heard him moving but I went right to the closet, my mind buzzing with Brad, with Neeta, with my Dad’s heart attack, with Tonia dead, with Bubba off fishing – I was focused. That focus was on the fact that I could not take one more thing and I was absolutely not going to allow Tate to take anymore.
My hands searched through my clothes in the dark closet, I felt a pair of shorts and I dragged them on then exited the closet buttoning and zipping them.
“Dammit, Lauren,” Tate clipped, I heard him behind me but I was on the move, going faster, darting down the hall.
I stopped at the sliding glass door to switch on the light and I saw Neeta outside by the door. My hand went to the lock on the door and I slid it down.
“I said, let me deal with it,” Tate was right behind me.
I whirled, my shoulder glancing off his bare chest, the deep recesses of my mind noticing he was wearing jeans but I was intent and nothing, not even big, bad Tate was going to stop me.
“You are not going to deal with one more thing from that woman!” I declared rather loudly.
I turned back and threw open the door.
“You want this?” I announced to Neeta the second my foot hit the wood of the deck. “You got it!”
Her upper body listed forward. “Bring it on, bitch,” she slurred and I was pulled up short with taking my second step toward her when Tate’s open hand planted itself in my chest and his other arm came up and hit the advancing Neeta in hers.
She fell back a step then two then hit the railing and stopped. When she did she looked to her left and right with confusion as if she didn’t know where she was.
I stilled and stared.
Tate sensed my stillness, dropped his hand and studied Neeta.
“You blitzed?” he asked in disbelief and her head tilted back but it took it a long time to do this. Once it did, it took even longer for her to focus on him.