Sheltering His Desire (12 page)

Her fingers twitched against her phone,
tapping the plastic frame. What was she supposed to do? She
couldn’t just sit around. Waiting would devour her. She’d go to the
office, catch up on some paperwork. Her mind whirred over the
situation as she drove. Painting possible outcomes, making each
scenario worse. Could she lose the shelter over this? What if the
crowd-funding didn’t pan out? What would happen to all the animals?
She needed to update her list of where she could send them. What if
the other local shelters didn’t have room?

By the time she turned down the street for
the shelter, her thoughts ran rampant, throbbing against her skull.
Beating out a merciless rhythm. Her world darkened several more
shades when the shelter came into view. Five people stood on the
sidewalk outside the fence, holding signs.

Puppy-napper

Animal abusers like you should rot in
hell

She forced herself to look away, and ignored
their shouts and waved fists as she pulled into the parking lot.
Fortunately, no one was near the back employee entrance.

Fuck. What was she going to do now? She
settled into her desk, mind working at high speed for a solution.
She needed to reply publicly. Regardless of what Tate said, these
people had seen the shelter on TV, and that’s where she needed to
make sure people saw her rebuttal. She dialed Sara’s extension. If
her assistant wasn’t in, she’d leave her a message.

Alyssia was surprised when she answered on
the first ring. “Hey.” Sara’s cheery tone was strained. “I didn’t
think you were in today.”

“Same for you.” The small crowd outside must
be impacting everyone. Of course, that made sense. Her employees
were as dedicated to the shelter as she was. “I was just going to
leave you a message, but since you’re here… on Tuesday, will you
call up the TV station, the same one that ran the piece on us last
week, and tell them I’d like to talk to them. Clear things up?”
There, that wasn’t so hard.

“Actually, funny you should mention that.”
Sara’s laugh sounded forced. “I just got off the phone with them
about half an hour ago. They want the same thing, sooner rather
than later, so they can air it on Wednesday night.”

“That’s great. Isn’t it?” She didn’t know if
she was asking Sara, or herself.

“It seems like it, right?”

“Absolutely.” Alyssia forced herself to
smile, and hoped it would reflect over the line. “Tell them I’ll
make time, whenever they’d like between now and then.” She
exchanged a few more words about work and life with Sara, and then
disconnected. That had gone easier than she thought. So why was her
gut souring at the thought of doing the interview?

Every fucking year. Tate grabbed his ticket
from the valet and made his way into the country clubhouse. He
still didn’t know why his parents threw this party every fucking
year. He’d stopped attending in college. They invited so many
people—neighbors, friends, upper and middle management from
Skriddie—at the time he’d wondered what he was supposed to get out
of the whole event. He’d figured it out since. It was about the
networking, the meeting people, and if he managed to find the right
people, enjoying Memorial Day.

He cut straight for the bar, made eye contact
with the guy pouring drinks, and smiled. “Hey, man. How’s it going?
I’m Tate.” He extended his hand.

“Gary.” The bartender returned the handshake.
“What can I get you?”

Tate’s smile grew, and he leaned against the
bar. One of the things he’d figured out was finding the right
people meant being in the right place. “Whatever you’re making
today, I’ll pay you that much more to let me slide back there and
serve drinks.”

Gary shook his head, easy expression never
fading. “No can do. Sorry, man. I was told whatever you offered,
they’d double it if I didn’t let you back here.”

Tate hid his irritation. Avenue number one
for enjoying his afternoon, blocked by the woman in charge. One
thing he enjoyed about any gathering was taking a spot behind the
bar, and getting to know people that way. “They?”

Gary grabbed a glass, and polished an
invisible spot. “My employers for the day.”

“Right.” Yup. His mother wanted him mingling,
not doing
common work
. Might as well make sure the bartender
made some cash for the day and strap Marge’s wallet at the same
time. Tate counted five one-hundred dollar bills from his billfold,
and laid them on the bar top. “Keep this, and stay behind the bar.
Tell Marge Foster that’s how much I offered you to let me back
there. Don’t tell her you took my money.”

“I… you’re kidding, right?”

Tate nudged the bills closer to Gary. “Not at
all. Enjoy the party, man.” Time to search out avenue number two.
Something in his chest twinged, and he breathed deep to force it
away. This was nothing. There was no reason to feel bad about plan
B for keeping himself occupied during this party. He scanned the
room, and then outside, on the sweeping lawn. There. The redhead
keeping an eye on the buffet table. Several inches shorter than he
was, at least from this distance, with full curves that filled out
her white polo shirt and black slacks gorgeously.

Perfect distraction for the next few hours,
and great way to remind himself the weekend spent with Lys was
strictly a casual thing. Her name filled his head with memories of
her moans, the scent of lilac, her smooth skin pressed against his,
the way she squirmed when he touched her in the right places.

He dragged in another shaky breath. That
wasn’t a great path to wander down. Except his racing pulse said it
was a fantastic place to let his thoughts linger. He stepped out of
the flow of people, and leaned against a nearby wall. He should
have had Gary pour him a drink while he was at the bar.

A movement caught his attention. His mother,
standing all but nose-to-nose with Bryce Thompson, laughing, and
running her tongue along her upper lip. His stomach churned at the
sight. They could at least try to keep that private. He forced his
gaze away.

He spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd,
and wove through the small clusters of chatters. Lys and Jared’s
parents. “Holly. Robert.” He held his arms out.

“You look beautiful, as always.” He gave
Holly a quick hug, and peck on the cheek. She did, too. An older
version of Alyssia, gray around the temples, but still with a smile
for everyone. “Sir.” He clasped Robert’s hand and pulled him into a
quick hug as well.

“You look tired.” Holly’s voice was lined
with concern. “You’re working too hard.”

The genuine tone warmed Tate. “I do what the
job requires.” The Tippins were more like his parents than his own
folks. Growing up, they’d always welcomed him at home, and treated
him as well as they had their own children. Sometimes he envied
Robert and Holly’s relationship, but they had one of those happily
ever afters that only existed in fairy tales. The lucky one in a
million. And a great reminder of what Lys deserved that he couldn’t
offer. “How are you both doing?”

“Wishing retirement weren’t so far off.”
Robert chuckled.

They chatted for several more minutes, before
someone else called them away. As they headed off, Holly hung back.
She tugged Tate aside, voice low enough he barely made out her
words above the din. “Don’t let them drive you into the ground. I
mean it. Take care of yourself.”

“Thanks.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll do my
best.”

Time to make the rounds, meet some people,
have some fun.

“What are you wearing?” A familiar voice
clawed its way under his good mood.

He froze a pleasant expression in place, and
spun. “Mother. I was wondering if you’d pull yourself away from Mr.
Thompson long enough to say hello.”

She pointed a glare at his shirt. “Did you
forget to have someone pick up your laundry? Oh, for heaven’s sake.
What’s she doing here?”

He followed his mother’s gaze back to the
clubhouse, and his mind checked out. Lys stood in the doorway, blue
sundress stark against her pale skin, and hugging every inch of her
figure. It ended a few inches above her knees, leaving her long
legs on display. He struggled to pull his attention away. It was a
good question, though. Her parents still came to these parties
because they were friends of the family. Jared showed up because it
was a work thing. But Lys… She could have opted out ages ago. Yet
he couldn’t remember a single year he hadn’t seen her there. “I
have people to talk with.” He stepped in her direction.

“Yes, you do.” His mother grabbed his sleeve,
and redirected him. “I want you to meet someone.”

A snarl bubbled in his throat, but he
followed where she was pointing. And then looked again. “Who’s
that?”

“The young woman over there.” She nodded at a
girl standing just a few feet away.

Tate raised his brows. “Is she even
legal?”

“She’ll be twenty this fall.” Marge pulled
him toward the girl. “She’s the Senator’s daughter, and she’s dying
to meet you.”

“She’s still a kid.”

“When you wait as long as you have to get
married, you can’t be picky.” She pasted on a plastic smile as they
drew within earshot. “Bonnie. This is Tate.”

Irritation bubbled inside. Bonnie didn’t
deserve his wrath, but so help him he wanted to ask his mother why
she kept doing shit like this. God, it was going to be a long
day.

*

Lys wandered through the clubhouse, making
sure she made eye contact, smiling at anyone who noticed her, and
trying to keep her expression friendly. Why did she keeping coming
to this thing? She should be at the shelter, catching up on
work.

It had been too good a chance to pass up,
though. She’d always gotten along with the guests in the past, and
had several of them tell her if she ever needed any help…

This was her opportunity to mingle, shake
hands, and maybe let it slip that her shelter was raising donations
to buy the building they were in. Except every time she told
herself that was her goal, her gut churned in nervous protest.
Networking wasn’t her thing. Tate was good at it.

His name added a new edge to her
apprehension. She hadn’t heard from him since the note he left
Sunday morning. Not that she should expect to. It wasn’t like he
called her every day, normally. This was just how things were.

She tugged down the skirt of her dress, and
scanned the crowds. So why couldn’t she stop searching for his
face?

Her gaze landed on someone else instead, and
acid rose in her throat. Bryce Thompson Jr., taking pictures of
something with his phone. She wasn’t sure what. One of the girls
serving drinks, possibly. Or the food. Or… she didn’t even want to
know. She turned her attention back anything else. Keeping her
distance from him would be important today.

She found Tate, and her heart sank. He stood
next to his mother, chatting up a girl who was smiling as if she’d
just won the lottery. She’d giggle, and then rest her hand on
Tate’s arm. Twirl her hair around her finger. Lean in closer.

If she got close enough, would she see the
lines around Tate’s eyes that always appeared when he was wearing a
mask? Or would she see the genuine expression he wore when he was
picking someone up? The same look he’d had with her the night
before.

Why had she thought that? Damn it. She turned
back into the clubhouse, and headed for the bar. Maybe a drink
would help her relax. Or she could go hunt down Jared and Mikki.
Mikki’s tactics for meeting people tended to be more blunt that
Tate’s, but she still had a gift for it.

Alyssia ordered a glass of white wine, and
wandered back into the gardens. So many people wearing so many
masks. This was why she liked animals. They were sweet, and
accepting, and non-judgmental, and totally not intimidating.

The longer she studied the crowds, the
further she drifted from them, until she lingered in a corner. The
din drifted toward her, but no longer so loud it kept her from
being able to think. Why had she even come to this party?

“Hey.” A rough voice assaulted her ears, and
she looked up to see Bryce Jr. approaching. “You’re that bitch who
stole my dog.

Her lungs squeezed and she forced herself to
draw a breath. She stepped to the side, to move around him. “I need
to see someone. They’re waiting right over there.” She nodded at
the general area behind him.

“Not until we’re done.” He blocked her path.
Every time he breathed on her, the stench of alcohol assaulted her
senses. Who the hell had given him a drink? Though he was only
seventeen, he was at least six inches taller than her, and twice as
wide in the shoulders. He poked a finger in her chest, and her
breastbone winced both in pain and panic. “You’re going down. You
know that, right?”

“Bryce, buddy.” Tate’s voice cut through her
spiraling panic. Bryce whirled. In a single motion, Tate grabbed
his hand in what looked like a friendly grip—except Alyssia saw
Tate’s knuckles pale—and pushed the younger man out of her path.
“I’ve been looking for you.”

“Let go of me, queer-boy.” Bryce jerked out
of his grip with a growl.

Tate’s smile never wavered, but Alyssia had
never seen him show so many teeth. “Tell you what.” The
pleasantness vanished from his voice. “Why don’t you walk away now,
and go check out the banquet table.”

Bryce stepped closer to Tate. “Why don’t you
leave and let me talk to the bitch?”

Tate growled, and faster than Alyssia could
blink, his forearm was pressed to Bryce’s throat, and he had the
boy pinned to the wall. “Leave. Or I stop asking nicely.”

Bryce choked out a response that might have
been, “Fuck you.” Tate pushed harder.

“Is everything all right?” Marge Foster
joined the group.

Alyssia’s head spun, and her pulse hammered
in her throat. Why was her quiet corner suddenly the highest
traffic area in the clubhouse?