“Too bad.”
“Why?”
“Because you've never known how to handle me.”
And with that, she shoved against his chest, as hard as she could. Normally, he was like a brick wall, unmovable. But he had been completely unprepared. Caught off guard. Jameson let out a shout and fell backwards, off the side of the boat. Into the water.
By the time he hauled himself back into the boat, Tate had stretched herself back out on the bow. She was wiggling her bra straps off her shoulders when she felt him stomp up to her. She didn't open her eyes, but smiled big, knowing he was watching her. Probably angrily. Probably so mad, he wanted to -,
THWACK.
She let out a shriek as something cold and wet landed across her, covering her from head to hips. She sat up and fought to untangle herself. When she finally got free, she realized Jameson had thrown his wet shirt on top of her. Her underwear and bra were now soaked, her hair plastered to the top of her head. She turned her head to glare at him, her sunglasses askew on her nose.
“Have you already forgotten everything I worked so hard to teach you? You never get to have the last word, Tatum,” Jameson told her, his arms folded across his broad chest. She growled and threw his shirt back up at him.
“Can we go back now? All this fun is making my head hurt.”
She put her clothing back on, then managed to get her wet bra off from underneath her shirt – no free peep-show for Satan. Jameson just drove back without a shirt on. It didn't seem to bother him at all, but it was making Tatum very uncomfortable. She kept her eyes trained forward, not even glancing at him out of her peripherals. Of course she was very familiar with what he looked like shirtless, but she tried to keep those memories at bay. A good body and great sex didn't mean shit, when a person wound up floating in a pool, stoned out of her mind.
She just had to remember that.
They didn't talk, and when they got back to Puerto Banus, she thought maybe she had lucked out, that he was done pressing his attentions on her for the day. Jameson could only take so much social interaction, she knew, before he had to hide away. She managed to scramble off the boat before he could offer her a hand and she turned to walk back towards the yacht.
“Tatum,” he called after her.
“Yeah?” she asked, starting to turn back to him. Something hit her in the face. She threw up her hands in time to catch her soaking wet bra before it fell to the ground.
Goddammit.
She didn't wait for his clever remark, just stomped her way onto the bigger boat next to them.
~5~
Tate knew she was making things worse on herself. Her bitchy attitude was just antagonizing Jameson, making him try harder. Not good for her. The whole situation set her teeth on edge. Made her want to scream. Made her want to vomit. Made her want to run away.
Makes you want to give in.
She stayed below deck for a while and played chess with Sanders. “Play” was a generous term – he beat her every time, and the game only ever went on for as long as he wanted it to. But they would talk while they played. While he was lost in the intricacies of the game, his tongue would loosen.
“Sandy,” she started, glancing at him. His eyes were focused on the board while he set the pieces back up.
“Pay attention. I'm going to teach you the Alekhine Defense. It's very common and will help improve your game,” he told her. Tate nodded.
“I'm paying attention. But I wanted to ask you something,” she continued. His eyes flicked to her before going back to the board.
“Go ahead.”
“Do you think Jameson would ever marry me?” she asked.
Sanders stopped moving. He slowly lifted his eyes to hers, then leaned back from the board. They were sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed, the chess board between them. He glanced around the room, then back at her.
“Why are you asking me this?” he asked back.
“Because it seems to me, and Jameson, that your whole goal in this little scheme is to get us together. Am I right?” Tate asked, picking up a Rook and toying with it.
“I ..., I just want things to be as they should,” Sanders replied.
“So, Jameson and I sleeping together is how things should be?” Tate laughed. He cleared his throat.
“You were happy being with him. He was happy. I don't understand what the confusion is. If you would like to be happy again, then I think you should be together,” Sanders tried to explain. Tate's laughter fell away. It was a very sweet sentiment.
“You have to know that he doesn't care about me. Whatever you're hoping for isn't going to happen. He wants to play a game, and I'm just trying to get out alive this time. I can't be with him, Sandy. Not after what he did to me,” she told him. His lips pressed together for a moment while he thought.
“He made a mistake,” Sanders' voice was soft. She opened her mouth to argue and he held up a hand. “A very large, very dangerous mistake. He wasn't thinking right. The fact that he got so upset, is a sign of how much he cares.”
“His 'sign' nearly broke me.”
“You can always go home. I will fly out with you, tonight, if that is what you wish. But it seemed to me that you were missing something. You haven't been yourself the past two months, but over the past two days, it has been like watching you come out of a coma. It's nice. I enjoy it. I had hoped that you realized it, too,” he told her.
Tate frowned and looked down, putting the Rook back in its place. She didn't like hearing things like that – Jameson always seemed to find a way to be responsible for all the good things in her life. She didn't appreciate it.
“I have,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “But that doesn't mean I'm stupid enough to fall for the same trick twice. Sandy, if I ..., if by the end of all this, by some magical chance, Jameson actually cares about me, actually wants to be with me, but I don't want to be with him, are you going to be okay with that? Would you be okay if I broke his heart and left him?”
Sanders actually laughed.
“How funny. If Jameson could finally prove to you how much he cares, why would you leave?” he asked.
Poor, simple, sweet Sanders.
“I know you love him, but the world doesn't revolve around Jameson Kane, Sandy. Just because he might fall in love with me, does not mean I will fall in love with him,” Tate pointed out. Sanders cocked his head to the side.
“I've always wondered, how did you get so good at doing that?” he asked. She was thrown for a loop.”
“Good at what?”
“Lying to yourself.”
Before she could even process what he had just said to her, the bedroom door swung open. They both turned to see Jameson standing there. She hadn't seen him since their boat ride. She'd stuck mostly to her bedroom and he'd stayed above deck. Avoiding each other.
“Good evening, children. Just wondering if anyone had some suggestions for dinner,” he said, wandering into the room.
Tate watched him as he prowled around. He had changed into a polo shirt and a pair of jeans. No shoes. The first time she had ever gone to his house in Weston, she had been shocked to see him barefoot. She had quickly learned that Jameson preferred to be barefoot whenever he got the chance. It was almost cute in a way. Her eyes wandered over him while he moved. His thick, black hair hadn't been cut in a while, and was a little wild on top of his head. His dark tan set off his blue eyes, even in the dim light of the bedroom, and she felt her heart beat quicken.