“You know he wants this, right? We're like estranged parents that he's trying to get back together. It's all very sweet,” he told her. She laughed as well.

“We were never together, so it's going to be pretty hard going for him.”

“Tatum,” Jameson's voice was serious as he looked over at her. They were zipping along at incredible speeds, but he kept his eyes locked on her face. “We were 'together' for a lot longer than either one of us wants to admit.”

He yanked the wheel to the left, hard, and she felt her heart drop down in to her stomach. Whether it was from the boat, or his words, she couldn't be sure. Before she could ponder it, he whipped the boat in a tight circle, sending up a huge wave. Tate clung to the railing, struggling to keep from being thrown overboard. Before she could get her bearings, he gunned the engine, and the boat leapt forward, inertia thrusting her back into her seat. She felt like she was in a wind tunnel, a jet engine blasting air and water into her face.

This is amazing.

Jameson had always known how to show her a good time, and not just in the naughty sense. It was like without communicating, he just knew the things she would like; what clothing she would like to wear, what foods she preferred to eat, movies she would want to see. She had never really noticed it before, but when she found herself thinking a ride on a speed boat was the best time she'd had since September, she realized it. In his own backwards, domineering way, Jameson liked to indulge her. Tate was blown away.

This is going to be harder than you thought, stupid girl.

After scaring her a couple more times with some tight turns, and weaving in and out of buoys, Jameson finally slowed down. Took them well away from town and other boats, then threw out the anchor. Tate was about to ask if he was planning on killing her and dumping her body, when his phone rang. He took the call, standing at the very end of the boat with his back to her.

Tate crawled her way out onto the bow, dragging some cushions with her. She had thought they would just go out for a quick spin, so she hadn't brought her bathing suit. She stretched herself out and pushed up her sleeves, rolled up the bottom of her top so it was right under her breasts. Then she yanked up the legs of her shorts as absolutely high as they would go, before unbuttoning the top and rolling it down. She wanted to soak up as much sun as possible before she went home. Winters in Boston were cruel.

She didn't know how long she laid like there that, but it was long enough to almost doze off. She wasn't aware of Jameson until he was standing right over her.

“You can just get naked, Tate. I won't be offended,” he offered. She managed a snort and put her hands behind her head, not opening her eyes.

“Keep dreaming, Kane,” she told him.

“It is a sort of recurring thing for me lately.”

“Dreaming about me naked?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Cause that's all you'll ever have.”

“You always make these threats, you realize,” he started, and she heard him move. He knelt next to her. “That first time, threatening to walk out of my apartment. Then when you came to my office, warning me that we would never happen. You're like an anti-prophet. By proclaiming that it won't be, I think you're actually hoping it will.”

Tate didn't answer him. Didn't want to think about it. With every person she'd ever had sex with, it had always been just that – sex. Every boyfriend she'd ever had, Ang, an accidental orgy, all just sex. Jameson was the only one it was different with; it had never been just sex. Tate could admit that, even if it wasn't the same for him. It had always been something else to her. If she slept with him again, she would be in danger of getting confused again. She had to keep her guard up.

“I think you like to interpret things however best suits your moods and opinions,” she replied. Jameson laughed.

“Very true.”

They were silent for a while after that. She didn't know what he was doing, because she was too scared to open her eyes and look at him. Then, suddenly, she felt his fingertips against her stomach. Tracing around her hip bone, then lightly up to the edge of her shirt. Back down again. No nails, no scratching, so it was different coming from him, but it still caused her to shiver. She squirmed under his touch.

“How long did she stay?” Tate blurted out.

One of these days, I will have to develop a filter.

“Excuse me?”

“Pet. How long did she stay with you?” she asked, licking her lips nervously. Jameson was quiet for a long time.

“She didn't. I made her leave that night, with everyone else,” he finally replied, his voice soft.

“Poor girl.”

“It was better than she deserved.”

“I saw you with her, in the kitchen.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She was whispering sweet-nothings to you in German,” Tate told him. She didn't know where this was all coming from, she hadn't intended on talking about anything personal with him.

“It's a good thing you don't speak German. There was nothing sweet about what she was saying,” Jameson replied, and his voice was no longer soft.

“Looked pretty cozy to me. She was probably devastated. I know how I felt when I found out you were fucking another woman, it wasn't exac-,”

“I never slept with her,” he interrupted, his hand going flat against her stomach. Tate finally opened her eyes. He was still kneeling, but he was looking down at her with murder in his eyes.