Tad stared at her tits the whole time, Livvy looked like she wanted to draw blood, and Cecily laughed, shaking Tate's hand. Tate, of course, was friendly and personable. She laughed easily and it was obvious that making friends came naturally to her. Jameson introduced her to a couple more groups of people, and then left her to her own devices. He had done his part, shown her that she wasn't someone he wanted to hide away. She was a friend, he guessed, just like the rest of them.

Now he could go back to being an asshole.

Jameson hovered near the makeshift bar, chatting and laughing with some of the guys, but always keeping an eye on her. She floated around the party, mingling with everyone. Cecily took to her, as did a couple of the other girls, but most of the women watched her with venom in their eyes. It was obvious that Tate was aware of this, and she flirted shamelessly with every single guy. More so with the ones who had judgemental girlfriends or wives at their sides. She stretched out on a lounge chair at one point, and made a show of putting sun tan lotion on every visible inch of skin.

He was not immune to the pull she was having on the other men.

“Where did you find her?” Wenseworth Dunn walked up to Jameson's side, gesturing to Tate as she stretched her arms above her head.

“I told you, our families -,” Jameson started.

“Bullshit. Most blue blood types don't breed daughters that hot,” Dunn laughed. Jameson nodded.

“Agreed. But she is Mathias O'Shea's estranged daughter,” Jameson supplied. Dunn whistled.

“Oh wow. Pretty powerful guy. Playing with fire, Kane,” he warned.

“Not really. Severely estranged. Haven't spoken for seven years. I'm part of the reason why, though he still speaks to me,” Jameson said. Dunn turned to look at him.

“What do you mean?”

“I was dating her sister, and Tate and I slept together. They disowned her,” Jameson explained. Dunn laughed.

“Good old Kane. You know how to pick 'em. She looks like the type to sleep with her sister's boyfriend. Fucking hot. She yours?” Dunn asked.

Jameson didn't like this line of questioning, but he didn't want to come off as a jealous lover. Tate didn't have any claim on him, nor did he on her – they had been very clear about that from the beginning. Still.

Fucking Dunn.

“We're sleeping together, if that's what you're asking,” Jameson gave an evasive answer.

“Kinda low brow for you, Kane. I thought you only dated Eastern European supermodels,” Dunn joked. It wasn't funny.

“I don't date anyone anymore. Tate and I like to fuck, that's it,” Jameson snapped. It was harsh, but he didn't care. He didn't care if people knew they were sleeping together; what he didn't want was people thinking he was in the market for a wife or anything.

“Good time girl, all right. Tell her to call me sometime,” Dunn mumbled, his eyes raking over Tate's form as she climbed out of her chair, looping her arm through Sanders' and walking with him towards the house. Jameson laughed darkly.

“You couldn't handle her, Dunn,” he said.

“Oh really?”

“To say she likes things a little wild, is an understatement. And you most definitely couldn't afford her,” he snapped. Dunn's eyebrows shot up.

“You mean she's a -,”

“I mean, this conversation is over. Go mingle, eat, drink, hit on someone, jesus,” Jameson growled before stomping away.

He was angry. “... thought you only dated Eastern European supermodels,” – Jameson didn't appreciate obscure references to his ex. Didn't appreciate references to her, at all. And he especially didn't appreciate the way Dunn had been looking at Tatum. It was all fine and dandy for them to sleep with other people, but he certainly didn't want to be trading stories at the water cooler about her gymnastic abilities in bed.

And, a tiny part of him whispered, he simply didn't like Dunn looking at her, period.

*

Several hours later, Tatum hopped down the stairs on one leg, pulling up her sock on the other leg. When she got to the bottom of the stairs, she put the other sock on, as well. She had opted for long red socks. Better for evening wear. It was just starting to get dark outside and people were moving in to the conservatory. As she headed in to the library, she pulled a loose tank top on over her head and walked right in to something. She stumbled backwards, quickly pulling the shirt over her bikini top.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was in here,” she laughed. There was a man standing in the library. She had met him before, but couldn't remember his first name. Last name was Dunn, he was Jameson's business partner. He smiled down at her.

“Just looking around. I've only been to Jameson's house one other time,” he told her. She laughed again.

“Yeah, he never lets anyone come over, treats it like a fortress. I'm surprised there aren't TSA agents at the bottom of the driveway, screening people before they come in,” Tate joked, but she felt a little uncomfortable. Dunn's eyes never met hers, just stayed trained on her body, and she was very aware of the fact that she was standing in front of him wearing only knee socks, a bikini, and a light tank top.

“He's strange that way, isn't he? So open about some things, so private about others,” Dunn mumbled. She frowned. His words were loaded with tension and double meanings.

“Not sure what you mean. He's always been pretty open with me,” she replied.