“I don't think it's sick,” Jameson breathed, pulling her in to a hug. “I care about you, Tate. I hate you, and you ruined things a little, but I care about you so fucking much. How did you do that to me?”

“I'm special that way,” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek.

“This was all supposed to be a game. What happened?” he asked. She shook her head.

“I have no idea. Maybe you weren't mean enough,” she managed a laugh.

“Maybe I was too mean. You are a freak like that,” Jameson replied, and she really laughed.

“Shut up.”

“I don't know what to do with you. I don't know what I want. But I don't want you to go. Wait for me?” he asked in a soft voice, his lips brushing the top of her head. She took a deep breath.

“I waited for you for seven years. I can wait a little longer,” she answered. He chuckled.

“I hope I don't take as long this time. Will you be here when I get back?”

“If you want me to be.”

“I do.”

“Then I'll be here.”

“Why can't you be this compliant in bed?” he asked, and she laughed again.

Satan's on a roll tonight.

“It wouldn't be as fun,” she replied.

“You have ruined me, Tatum O'Shea,” he told her. “Completely wrecked me.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“It's only fair, you did it to me first,” she whispered. He finally pulled away from her, held her at arms lengths. His eyes traveled over her form, and she wondered what he saw. What he really saw in her.

“I leave early tomorrow morning. You are welcome to stay here at the house, otherwise I'm going to have Sanders close it up,” he said, his voice all business as he let her go.

Close it up?

“Sandy isn't going with you?” she asked. He shook his head.

“No. He hates long flights, hates Germany. He'll stay here with you, or at a place in Boston,” Jameson explained. She sank in to her chair.

“And you have no idea how long you'll be?” she asked. He shrugged.

“Two weeks. Maybe a month,” he told her.

Tate let out a sigh of relief. That wasn't so bad. She had been expecting him to say something like six months. She didn't know if she could handle that, but a month wasn't so bad. She could do that, go that long without him.

“I'll stay in my apartment. Or hey, if I get lonely for you, I'll just go shack up with Sandy, 'mini-you',” she teased. He glared down at her.

“Better not. He tells me everything, you know, and I will be coming back at some point,” he warned. She took a deep breath.

“So. What are the rules?” she asked.

“Pardon?”

“Rules. We have rules for everything, if you haven't noticed. Do the same rules apply?” she asked. He nodded.

“Sure. You can fuck your way through Boston,” he said. She snorted.

“One guy. I've slept with one other guy this whole time. You've fucked half the country,” Tate pointed out. Jameson laughed.

“That's why I have to go to another continent. Gotta get more stories for you, gotta keep you turned on,” he told her.

“You do that just fine, all on your own, Mr. Kane,” she assured him. He smirked and leaned over her, his hands on her arm rests.

“Tell me you'll miss me,” he demanded. She nodded.

“I will miss you.”

“Tell me you'll think about me, if you fuck anyone else.”

“I always do.”

“Tell me you won't fall in love with anyone else, while I'm gone.”

All her breath flew out of her body.

“Not possible, so not a problem,” she whispered.

He kissed her. Didn't touch her anywhere else, just her mouth. Slowly and sweetly, lips brushing over hers, his tongue sweeping its way past her own. She moaned, brought a hand up to the side of his face. This. More than anything, she wanted to remember him like this; she loved his biting words and his stinging hand, but his kiss. His kiss gave her hope. He kissed her for several long moments and then pulled away.

“Alright, Tatum. Give me a night that'll have me dreaming about you the whole time I'm gone,” he told her.

She smiled and slipped to her knees in front of him.

This, she could do. This, she was very good at.

Love, however, was a completely different story.

~15~

A month wasn't so bad. She could get a lot done in a month.

Tatum broke the bad news to Rus. Explained to her that Ang just wasn't a relationship kind of guy. Tate didn't play it, but she showed Rus a DVD of one of his movies. The cover was enough to make Rus turn a little green. So prim and proper. There were some tears, and a general cursing of men, but she got over it.

Tate wasn't ready to call Ang yet, though. She was still so mad at him. The things he had said to her, the way he had spoken to her. She would wait till after Jameson got home, and then she would talk to Ang. She counted down the days.

One really shocking day was when Nick Castille called her; the baseball player she had screwed in her bar. He had gotten her number from her manager. Totally inappropriate and against the rules, but she was flattered.

Tate was lonely and bored, so she agreed to dinner. They had a good time, but she stared at him when he asked if they could go on a “real” date sometime. Nick was extremely good looking, and several times while they ate, people asked him for his autograph. He was also really nice to her, very respectful. It was a novel experience, and she knew he was a catch. But she politely declined his offer – she was holding out for her lord and savior, Satan. Nick seemed a little sad, but he smiled at her, and said he could settle for being her friend.