I closed my eyes and lamented for the fifty-fifth time since I buckled my seatbelt in Rush’s car the decision to show at work after Tack’s slam bam thank you ma’am. Then Rush and Tack showed on the back deck and greetings were exchanged. Rush’s was a, “Hey, Tyra.” Tack’s included his fingers sifting into the back of my hair, a gentle tug that brought my head way back to see he was bent in and then he gave me a lip touch that was sweet and supremely annoying at the same time. The latter because he was a jerk and he had no business kissing me and further because I couldn’t demonstrate this or inform him of this fact with his kids in attendance. Something he very well knew.
Tack went to work in my kitchen like he cooked in my kitchen frequently even though his motorcycle-booted feet never stepped into the damned room in his whole badass life, while the kids alternated between him in the kitchen and me on the back deck. Rush, being a gentleman (where he got this, I did not know as it wasn’t from his father), filled my glass twice, even once topping me up when I didn’t need it.
Therefore I was essentially on glass three of white wine when Tack declared dinner was done, the kids raced into the kitchen and I followed much more slowly. We all received piled plates and headed into the living room. Rush stretched out on the floor, Tabby collapsed in the middle of the couch, I took the end and Tack took an armchair.
And there I sat, eating Tack’s fabulous (really, they were amazing, he was a scary biker but it couldn’t be denied the man could cook) fajitas and watching a movie that scared the absolute crap out of me while sipping wine and wondering how in the hell I was sitting in my very own living room with Tack and his kids eating his fajitas, sipping wine and watching a movie that scared the absolute crap out of me.
I finished my fajitas, put my plate on the end table, grabbed my wine and drained the glass, deciding that was a good excuse to escape to the kitchen. I could tell them I needed a refill then wander to the back deck, sit there, drink wine and plan my escape. They probably wouldn’t even know I was gone or, at the very least, I could manage a head start.
At this point, Tabby was on her back, knees bent, the soles of her feet in the couch, head on the armrest, eyes on the screen so I had a direct shot in front of the couch to the kitchen.
So I took my shot.
“Need a refill,” I muttered, standing. “Anyone need anything?”
“I’m good,” Rush mumbled from the floor.
“I’m okay, Tyra, thanks,” Tabby said distractedly.
Excellent. They both were into the movie. A good start.
I walked across the front of the couch and was passing Tack’s armchair when I was stopped and what stopped me was Tack catching my wrist in a firm grip. I looked to him to see him standing.
Then I heard him announcing, “Tyra and I are off-limits for a while.”
“Cool,” Rush mumbled from the floor.
“’Kay,” Tabby said distractedly.
My head jerked back to look at Tack but his hand slid from my wrist to curl around mine. I found the wineglass not in my hand but on the end table by Tabby’s head. Then I found myself being pulled down my hall to my bedroom. Then I found myself in my bedroom. Then I found the door to my bedroom closed.
I jerked my head back again to look at Tack, my mouth opening, my mind deciding I didn’t care if his kids were just down the hall because when I finally made noise, it was going to be loud. But I found my mouth clamping shut because my body found itself in the air. Automatically I grabbed onto Tack’s shoulders, his hands at the backs of my knees swung my legs around his h*ps and then he took three long strides and I was flat on my back in my bed, Tack on top of me.
I blinked up into his handsome, goatee’d face.
Not this again.
“Tack –” I started, his name vibrating because I was so… freaking… pissed.
“Now that I’m not pissed, baby, we need to take some time to talk shit out,” he said gently.
Oh no, we did not.
I unwrapped my legs from his hips, shoved my feet into the bed and bucked up at the same time I pushed against his shoulders but Tack didn’t budge.
When this didn’t work, I hissed, “Get off me.”
He had a forearm in the bed beside me and his other hand came up to cup my jaw, his thumb moving out to sweep my lower lip. I fought back the urge to bite him as he spoke.
“Just settle, Red, and be quiet. I got something to say and I need you to listen.”
“You do not have anything to say that I want to hear,” I whispered irately.
“You’re gonna hear it anyway,” he replied.
I stopped pushing against his shoulders and glared at him. “Of course I am,” I stated sarcastically. “You want to say something, you say it. You want to do something, you do it. And who gives a shit what I want? Is that the jist of what you were about to say?”
His eyes held mine. “Not exactly.”
“Right, well, carry on, Tack. You’re going to anyway.”
“I see you’re pissed –”
“Mm hmm,” I cut him off. “Good call on that, handsome.”
“Babe,” he murmured and I could swear his mouth was moving like he was fighting a smile.
Oh. My. God!
“Do you find something funny?” I snapped.
“Well… yeah,” he answered.
“Interesting,” I replied. “See, I don’t find anything funny. Because, this afternoon, I was innocently working and the next thing I knew, I was on my back on my desk. That is not cool, Tack. That scared the holy hell out of me.” I ignored his face changing, his eyes changing and what the way they changed communicated to me and kept right on talking. “And just now, I was innocently intending to walk to my kitchen and refill my wine and I find myself flat on my back in my bed, something else that’s not cool.”
“I needed your attention then and I want it now,” Tack returned.
“Well done, handsome, you found a definite winner. You got my undivided attention then and you have it now.”
“You pissed me off earlier, Red, and you been pissin’ me off for a while. It wasn’t a good play to take your shit out on me this afternoon.”
I stared up at him a beat then asked, “I’ve been pissing you off for a while?”
“Yeah.”
My head tilted on the pillow “How?”
“Jesus, Red, don’t act stupid and don’t think I am.”
Um… what?
“Pardon?” I asked.