Sheltering His Desire (13 page)

“Everything’s fine.” Tate stepped back, and
his expression went flat. No smile, no frown, just a blank mask. He
straightened his clothes with a single shrug, and wrapped his arm
around Alyssia’s waist. The shock of his touch overloaded her
already crowded thoughts, and she struggled with the desire to lean
into him. She wasn’t a helpless damsel in distress. Except right
now she felt like one, and she wasn’t sure she minded the
possession Tate’s grip conveyed.

“I was just walking Ms. Tippins to her car.”
Tate steered her around his mother and Bryce without hesitation.
“Keep walking. Don’t look at anyone.” His voice was low, meant only
for her ears.

He didn’t say another word on the short
journey to the valet, and she wasn’t sure if she could manage any
of her own. His flat mask never wavered. He waited by her side
while the hop fetched her car, and walked her to the driver’s
door.

“Thank you.” She managed the soft words as
she slid into the vehicle.

He clenched his jaw. “Don’t worry about it.”
Why wouldn’t he look at her?

“Are you all right?”

“I’m good. You should probably get home.”

She didn’t like this. Cold, removed. Tate had
never been like that with her. Awkward was one thing, but this cut
deep, leaving gashes in her thoughts. She couldn’t help trying one
more time. “Are you sticking around? We could go somewhere. Hang
out.”

A tremor ran through the car, and she
realized he was clutching the door so hard his fingers shook. He
finally looked at her, and the dark cloud in his gaze dug deeper
than his indifference. “Go home, Alyssia. Or, somewhere else.
Just…” He inhaled through his nose. “Go.”

Her full name. She forced herself to smile,
despite the tears stinging her eyes. At least he was cutting her
off fast and completely. No false hope or anything there. “Right.
See you around. Or not.”

She yanked her door shut before she could
discover if he had a response. And tossed the car into gear. It was
better this way. He probably knew that. She just had to convince
her own heart of it.

Tate gripped the steering wheel so hard his
wrists ached. He focused on the road, and struggled to clear all
the thoughts from his head. He shouldn’t have gone to his parent’s
barbeque—the entire thing was a disaster. That girl his mother
tried to hook him up with. Bryce Jr.

Alyssia. Every time her name danced through
his thoughts, his pulse kicked back up, and his frustration poured
in. He’d wanted to brain Bryce for cornering her. That was bad
enough. But when Tate had wrapped his arm around her waist, to lead
her away. The light sag against him. The hint of her weight
pressing into his body.

It had taken what little control he had left
not to drag her into a bathroom, lift her onto a sink, and push her
skirt up to see if she was wearing anything underneath.

Except that wasn’t right. He didn’t want to
do that there. In that horrid place filled with bad memories. He’d
wanted to take her back to his place, because what they did
together wasn’t anyone’s business but his and hers.

And when she’d turned that hurt gaze on him,
next to her car. He’d almost caved. Been seconds from tossing
restraint aside. The only thing that kept him from acting on the
impulse was knowing he’d hold her back. The longer they pretended
to be anything more than casual acquaintances, the less likely that
she’d find the guy she actually deserved.

“FUCK!” He pounded the steering wheel until
it creaked. He forced himself to breathe. Inhale and exhale one,
two, three times.

His phone rang, and he ignored it. He
couldn’t get home soon enough. Even if, for reasons he couldn’t
explain, he was dreading going back to his own house for the first
time ever. Home was sanctuary. He was in control there. But now, it
was a looming, empty box.

God damn it.

****

Tate was pretty sure he’d never been more
relieved to see a weekend come to a close. Tuesday morning was his
new savior. Work was safe. He’d dive into his never ending task
list and lose himself in everything he needed to do. Check on all
the other crowd-funding sites, make sure they were all online,
touch base with his sales team.

Today would be better than yesterday. It
didn’t have much of a choice.

His phone rang, and he clicked the speaker
button without looking. “Yeah.”

“Mr. Foster is here to see you.” Alan’s voice
had a more formal tone than Tate was used to. Then again, it would
make sense, if the company CEO was standing next to his desk.

Fortunately, Tate wasn’t quite so worried
about what the man thought of him. His dad didn’t expect the same
formality at work as his mother did. “Send him in.” He looked up at
the snick of his office door opening, and nodded at the chair
across from his desk. “Dad.”

His father closed the door, and Tate’s
suspicion spiked. Ben Foster took a seat, rested one ankle on the
other knee, and intertwined his fingers. Tate could almost hear the
seconds ticking away as he waited. The silence dragged on.

Tate suppressed a sigh. “What can I do for
you?”

Ben clenched his jaw, and his gaze narrowed.
“The waitresses? That’s fine. I don’t know if you’re just trying to
piss off your mother, or you genuinely like those girls, but I
don’t care as long as you’re all having fun.”

That was new. Tate waited for him to
continue, despite the dread building inside. “And?”

“But you can’t mix business with pleasure.
Ever.”

Tate choked back a retort about hypocrisy.
“Great advice. Thanks.” He almost managed to keep the sarcasm from
his voice.

Ben drummed his fingers on his leg. “Get it
out of your system now. Whatever issues you’ve got with my advice.
Work through this, and reconsider what a stupid idea it was for you
to sleep with a client.”

Tate raised an eyebrow. There was no way his
dad knew about that. He was shooting in the dark. He opened his
mouth to ask what the man was talking about.

“Everyone.” Ben cut him off before he made a
sound. “Your mother, the club staff, the maids at the house—know
the Tippins girl has got it bad for you. That’s fine. Kids outgrow
crushes, she will too someday. But that display of yours yesterday?
My money says you’re taking advantage of the situation. Don’t. I
don’t care if you are already, or are just thinking about it. Stop
now, and put the idea out of your head. At least while she’s one of
our clients. After her contract is up, I don’t care what you do to
her.”

Tate choked on an angry retort. Taking
advantage of…? Realization spread through him. Was he? He knew how
Lys felt. Was he really using her? The idea sat heavy in his gut,
and gnawed at his thoughts. “Nothing’s happening. I know better
than that. Not that it’s anyone’s business.”

“It is, though.” Ben stood. “It’s my
business, because it’s my company.”

“Really?” Tate’s irritation slipped out
before he considered where he was going with it. But once the word
was out there, he knew exactly what he wanted to say. “You’re going
to come in here—you of all people—and tell me not to mix my
business and personal lives? Insult Alyssia Tippins for some
imagined slight, when you’re guilty of the ultimate blend of
company and home?”

“Excuse me?”

He didn’t have these arguments with his
father, because normally, the older man didn’t push those buttons.
But he certainly couldn’t talk about it with his mother. She’d
gloss over it, tell him she was right and he was wrong, and brush
him off. “You’re going to tell me business and pleasure don’t mix
when that’s the entire foundation of your marriage? A contract that
makes sure you both get what you want in the boardroom, and doesn’t
care what you do in the bedroom, as long as the world sees you as a
happy couple?”

Ben knitted his brows together, and let out a
long breath of air. “Do as I say, not as I do. I’d hoped you would
turn out better than we did.”

“I didn’t mean to.” The answer snapped
something inside Tate. A frustration crumbling over a week-long,
emotionally exhausting journey. One of Tate’s driving goals had
always been to keep his personal life separate. Why had he let this
happen?

A frown settled onto Ben’s face. “Then you
already know what I’m about to say. This entire affair. The issues
with the Thompson’s dog, the struggling animal shelter. It’s gotten
too personal for you. I know you and Marge are both stubborn, and
that neither of you wants to back down from this.”

He met Tate’s gaze, eyes soft and sad. “But
you’re smarter than that. You know what decisions you need to make
for the business. If I didn’t trust you with that, you wouldn’t be
in the position you’re in, and you wouldn’t have gotten the sign
off on this project.”

Tate didn’t know what was worse—the
accusations based on a truth he didn’t want to recognize, or the
underlying hint of ‘don’t disappoint me’ in his father’s voice. He
didn’t bother with a smile, he just turned back to his computer.
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”

“Make sure that’s true.” Ben walked out and
pulled the door shut behind him.

Tate tried to throw himself back into work.
To immerse himself in the onslaught. But his father’s words echoed
in his head, jumbled and cluttered and trying to grasp at thoughts
just out of his reach. About Lys, about the choices he was
making.

The one thing he refused to acknowledge
though, was the unspoken implication he needed to cut the shelter
from the crowd-funding pilot group. That was the last thing he
would do.

Alyssia padded from one end of her office to
the other, then spun and retraced her steps. Her bare feet slapped
against the cool tile. She’d stashed her heels under her desk until
she really needed to wear them. They weren’t conducive to pacing.
She paused in front of the full-length mirror on the back of her
office door. The skirt and jacket outfit were conservative, and
professional looking. The perfect thing to wear in front of a
camera, and tell the local news that her shelter was a good thing,
instead of the spawn of some greater demon of the billionth plane
of hell.

She straightened her shirt, and pushed a
strand of hair back into her braid. Crap, maybe she should have
worn her scrubs instead. Something that made it clear she was a
doctor, and not just a girl playing a part. She squeezed her
fingers together and then relaxed them. Right now she felt like a
girl playing a part. This had to go well. The group of picketers
outside was growing larger, instead of shrinking, and her time was
running out to raise the money to keep the building.

Her phone rang, and Sara’s voice followed.
“Your visitors are here.”

“I’ll be right there.” Too late to change
now. Alyssia took a deep breath, and opened the door.

The interviewer gave her a warm smile, and
introduced her to the small crew. Alyssia’s tension ebbed as the
afternoon progressed. They chatted, it was friendly, no invasive
questions asked—not really. The closest it came was asking for her
side of the story when it came to the Thompson’s dog. She told them
what she was allowed based on the pending criminal case. That the
dog had come in injured, and they’d treated him, and were holding
him until he found a fitting home.

She walked through the kennels with the
cameraman, let a few dogs out to play.

Almost two hours later, when she saw the news
crew to the front door, Alyssia felt better about the situation
than she had since that horrible news story almost a week ago. Time
to change in to her scrubs and get some work done.

She strolled toward the back rooms, and a
jarring crash spilled through the room. Her heart jumped into her
throat, and she spun before her brain registered it was the sound
of shattering glass. A large rock—twice as big as her fist at
least—sat in the middle of the lobby. Fortunately the window was
tempered, so most of it had rained straight down, but small shards
had escaped, and littered the room.

Chants and cheers flowed in from the
picketers outside. Alyssia forced her racing heart to slow. “Sara,
call the police.” There wasn’t anyone in the waiting room besides
staff—a fact she’d hated a few hours ago but was grateful for now.
“Ricco, will you grab the broom? I need to change. Give me just a
few and I’ll help you clean up.”

While she was changing, she grabbed her
phone. Her thumb hesitated over Tate’s number. What was he going to
do? She pushed the bitter longing aside, and dialed Robert Tippins
instead. “Hey, Dad. I know it’s after eight, I’m sorry. But I need
to board up a window at the shelter, and we don’t have tools here,
can you help?”

“A window? What’s going on? Are you all
right?”

She winced and held the phone from her ear.
“I’m fine, Daddy. You still have some plywood from the remodel,
right?”

“Of course, hon. I’ll be right there.”

She disconnected, and tossed the device back
on her desk. A sob bubbled inside her, and she forced it aside. She
wouldn’t panic. She could handle this. Helping Ricco sweep up
glass, talking to the police, making sure the window was secure
once her dad got there, all of it kept her mind occupied.

When they left, her mind turned on her.
Running rampant and taunting her with every fear and worry she’d
swallowed that afternoon and evening. She gave Sara a weak smile,
shuffled into her office, and collapsed into her chair. What was
she going to do? The news interview better work out for her
tomorrow. Something needed to go right.

Her fingers twitched toward her cell phone.
Call Tate
, chanted in her head. That wasn’t an option. Not
until she knew she could handle herself around him without caving
again. She needed to get to work, instead. Bury herself in the job,
and her mind would do what it needed to, just like cleaning up the
mess in the lobby.