The time they’d spent apart hadn’t eased his cat’s obsession with her. The feline was pissed at Tate. Although Havana was the one who ended the fling, his cat wasn’t upset with her at all. No, the feline didn’t find it an excuse as to why Tate wouldn’t go to her, because the cat knew him inside out; knew that Tate never let anyone else dictate his actions. The way his cat saw it, Tate was the one keeping him away from what he wanted most.
Maybe her now being strictly off-limits was what kept the feline so fascinated with her. Whatever the case, Tate was having no luck forcing his cat to move the fuck on. But since Tate himself wasn’t doing much better at that, he wasn’t in a position to judge.
“No, I haven’t,” he finally replied. “She wants what I can’t give her, so …”
“Would it really be so bad to give it to her?”
No, it wouldn’t. Tate wasn’t keen on relationships, but he liked Havana enough that he’d be interested in seeing if they could build something good. The problem was … “My cat would hurt her. Not physically, but emotionally.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. This could be the one time he truly is interested in a female on more than one level.”
Tate snorted. “I’ve had that thought several times with other women, Elle. It was never the case then. I can’t risk that it isn’t the case now, because I’ve already hurt Havana without meaning to. I won’t do something knowing I could hurt her again.”
“So you’ve cut contact with her?”
“Yes.”
“And how’s that working out for you?”
It wasn’t working for him at all. He missed her voice, her smile, her scent, her laugh. And he couldn’t get the last memory he had of her out of his mind—the sad look on her face as she’d told him to take care of himself before heading into her apartment building. Fuck. He’d done that. He’d made her feel that way. He’d put that look there. The knowledge gutted him.
Luke put a hand on Tate’s shoulder. “So your plan is to grow old and die alone?”
Tate blinked. “What?”
“If this is going to be your knee-jerk response to women wanting more from you, how do you ever expect to eventually commit to one?” asked Luke. “If you’re waiting for your true mate, fine, but there’s no saying you’ll recognize her instantly. Oh look, there’s Damian.”
Tate tipped his chin at their youngest brother, who was walking along the opposite side of the street with a friend. Damian waved at them.
Elle perched a hand on her hip. “Look at him strolling around like he’s a normal person and not the son of Satan. He blends well—I’ll give him that.”
Tate sighed. “Do you think you’ll ever reach a mental place where you no longer feel compelled to brand our baby brother the Antichrist?”
She raised her hands. “I’m just calling the situation as I see it. But hey, if you want to convince yourself that Damian is a mere mortal, feel free to do so. I won’t live in denial, Tate. Not even for you. His destiny is to bring forth the apocalypse and destroy us all. And I’m not gonna keep quiet about it.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed. I guess it’s a good thing Damian loves you despite that.”
“He’s incapable of love. He feels only hatred and a thirst to kill.”
Tate shook his head, at a loss. “If you say so.”
“I do. Now go wind down, relax, and shake off everything that has you so angry.”
There was really only one thing that would relax him right now. Only one thing that would help ease the restlessness plaguing him. But he wouldn’t do it. Wouldn’t seek Havana out. But even as he told himself that, he headed right for her building.
CHAPTER TEN
Havana yanked open the door of the industrial washing machine and crouched beside it. The laundromat facilities located in the basement of her complex were pretty decent. She most appreciated the ceiling fan—it could get seriously stuffy and hot in a room full of dryers. The basement was brightly lit to compensate for the small windows, despite shifters seeing well in the dark. Her devil, however, didn’t like it down there. Didn’t like the too-strong smells of detergent, softener, bleach, and hot metal.
She’d gotten home from the rec center an hour ago and, leaving Bailey and Aspen to catch up on the newest episode of a show they were addicted to, had headed to the basement.
It was empty of people, but there was plenty of noise. The whirring of the ceiling fans, the glugging and slurping of the washing machines, the clacking of zippers against the metal drum of the dryers.
Having transferred her clothes from the laundry basket into the machine, Havana added detergent powder and fabric softener. She’d just finished inserting quarters into the slot when she heard the squeak of hinges behind her. Havana switched on the machine and then glanced over her shoulder. She tensed.
Tate.
He looked as goddamn tempting as always, especially in that navy tee that stretched tight across his taut chest and showed off the badass tattoos on his arms. Her body instantly went into meltdown, and that all-too-familiar sexual chemistry flickered to life.
Oh, help.
Knowing there could only be one reason he’d sought her out, she turned to fully face him. “You have news about the jaguars or Gideon?”
“No, not yet.” He took another fluid step into the room. “I went to your apartment. You weren’t there. Camden said he saw you head to the elevator with a laundry basket, so I figured I’d find you here. How’ve you been?”
Havana hesitated, taken aback by the everyday question he’d casually thrown at her … like they engaged in regular chit-chat all the time. “Good.”
He gave a slow nod. “Glad to hear it.”
Glad to hear it? She rinsed the granules of detergent from her fingers in the stainless-steel sink, dried her hands with paper towels, and then tossed the now-wet towels into the trash. “If you don’t have intel to pass on, why are you here?”
His brow flicked up. “I need a reason to come see you?”
“Well, yeah, since we’re not sleeping together anymore.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”
Havana did a slow blink. “Friends?” He had to be kidding.
“Why not?”
No, he wasn’t kidding, she realized. She cocked her head, wondering if he understood what a kick in the teeth for her it was to hear him offer her friendship. “You want that? Really?”
“What I really want is to fuck you so hard and long you scream until your throat’s raw, but you already know that.” Tate cursed softly and raised his hands. “I’m not here to try to convince you to back down. I just … I wanted to see you. Is that so bad?”
Her heart squeezed. “It’s not bad, but you still shouldn’t be here.” Really, she hadn’t expected to see him for a while. She’d thought he’d be absolutely intent on giving her space purely out of fear that he’d otherwise give her mixed signals.
He had to know he’d make it harder for her to move on if he showed up whenever he felt like it. Did that not matter to him at all?