“Don’t you think he knew? Don’t you think he was proud of you?” My voice is soft, laden with compassion as I voice words I often wonder about my own father.
He clears his throat and nods. I give him a minute to gather himself before he continues. “He let me roam when I needed to. He let me make mistakes so I could learn without stepping in. He let me live out from beneath his shadow, and I didn’t realize it until it was too late to thank him for it.”
“And now?” I ask.
“And now his ranch is mine and Lauren’s, who’s my sister, and we have to figure out what to do with it.”
“Is that where you’re heading when you’re done here?”
He nods and takes his time placing his fork atop his knife on his plate. “Yeah. It’ll be the busiest time of the year on the ranch then. The place could run by itself really, but it needs someone to lead it all. That and I promised Lauren I’d be back.” He runs a hand over his jaw and purses his lips. “It’s going to be hard . . .”
“How so?”
“I’ll acknowledge the one thing I’ve never really done before—that I am proud to be a Sutton. That I am proud to be his son.”
I shift in my chair, my feet accidentally bumping his beneath the table, and let the heaviness of the conversation settle.
“Why here, Jack? Why me?”
“I told you. A friend of a friend of a friend . . . and because of karma.” His voice is barely a whisper, his eyes taking their time to find mine.
“Karma?”
It takes him a moment to respond. “That transaction I brokered didn’t sit right with me. Sure, I made good money off the knowledge I exploited, but when I stepped back, when I went home and looked at how hard my dad had worked for everything just so I could have it one day, it really hit home.” He leans forward and taps his wine glass to mine. “I needed to make right with what I did to the other rancher . . . with a lot of things, really. I needed to help someone save their ranch instead of help the sharks take it.”
Tears well in my eyes because he has no clue how long I’ve been keeping the wolf knocking on the door at bay or how much I really do need his help, even if I’ve only just admitted it to myself.
“Hey.” He squeezes my hand, and I draw in a deep breath. “I’m not a bad man, Knox. I’m just trying to find my feet and figure out who I am.”
“And are you getting closer to figuring out who Jack Sutton is?”
“A bit. He’s a man who needs to get back to basics and who needs to remember what his dad taught him—that horses are horses and cattle are cattle and land is land and it isn’t all that complicated so long as you respect them. A man who should have walked away from this place and the woman with a fiery temper and wild streak who lives here but who just couldn’t seem to . . .” The undercurrent that has hummed all night sparks to the surface. “And now doesn’t want to.”
19
TATE
Nerves rattle through me.
I wash one dish after another, more cognizant of the weight of Jack’s stare than I ever have been before.
But what happens next? How does one go from a serious conversation at dinner to what we both know is going to happen now that the meal is over?
“You can at least let me help,” Jack says.
“You bought the steaks.” I glance over my shoulder to where he’s leaning back, arm over the chair beside him as the finger of his other hand runs over his bottom lip. His shirt is dark with the cuffs rolled up to his forearms. His hair is styled with gel and looks darker than it normally does.
He cleans up well. Very well.
“Technically, you cooked since you grilled them too. I didn’t do much, so doing the dishes is the least I can do.”
“Humph.”
“And that sound means what exactly?”
“It means I’m not complaining about the view right now.”
The sponge I have on the plate in front of me falters, and a nervous laugh falls from my lips. I try to cover its obvious sound with an unladylike snort. “You mean a woman in the kitchen cleaning the dishes? Don’t expect the barefoot or pregnant part, Sutton.”
“Nah, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the dishes.” There is shuffling at my back. “Just the woman standing there, Knox.”
I know he’s right behind me. I can sense him before his fingers graze over the nape of my neck and shift my hair to the side.
When the warmth of his breath feathers over my skin, every part of me freezes.
And aches.
And wants.
“Jack?” His name is a breathless syllable as he reaches around me and turns the faucet off.
“Hmmm?” he murmurs, and although we aren’t even touching, I can still feel the rumble of it.
When I turn, he’s inches from me and makes me aware of everything: the nearness of his lips, the wine on his breath, the warmth of his body. The anticipation is almost tangible in the air around us.
“My name is Tate,” I whisper in the silence.
“I know what it is.”
“Say it.”
His smile is slight, but his eyes are loaded with the same desire that has been rioting through me all night.
When I opened the front door to see him standing there in a button-up shirt and genuine smile. The expression on his face—eyes wide, lips lax, fingers itching to touch—when he admired the simple maxi dress I threw on.
When he took the bottle of wine from me, hands closing over mine and holding it there longer than is normal before pulling it away.
When he eyed me across the dinner table, the conversation giving way to the sexual tension.
“Is this what you want?”
I nod.
“Tell me,” he says, his fingertips trailing down my bare arm, goose bumps chasing in their wake.
“Jack.” It’s a soft moan as his hand slides to the small of my back.
Kiss me.
“Tate.”
It’s the only word he says before his lips crash against mine and he pulls me flush against him.
Where the last time I hesitated when he kissed me, this time I dive right in. I allow my hands to run up the plain of his chest to his shoulders to thread through the hair at the nape of his neck.
My lips take hungry sips against his. My tongue demands more with each graze against his. My nipples harden and ache as his hands find their way to cup my breasts.
The moan I release is a reflex I can’t help, and I tighten my hands, which are still fisted in his hair.
“Christ, Tate.” His groan pulls on every nerve in my body to want more, to need more, of him.
I’d say it’s the copious amounts of wine I drank that has given me this heady buzz, but I know the way I feel has nothing to do with the wine and everything to do with Jack Sutton.
Absolutely everything.
Maybe the wine just let me lower my guard so I could relax enough to enjoy the moment.
And maybe it gives me the courage to say, “I want you, Jack.”
He nips my bottom lip and pulls on it before he leans back. When his eyes meet mine, they’re a mixture of desire and patience that I’m not sure how he controls because every part of me itches to touch and taste and take more.