“I thought I had lost you.”

“Me, too.”

“You never listen to me.”

“I'm trying. I heard you down there. It just took me a while.”

“I swear to Christ,” he growled, his lips moving across her face. “If you come back only to run away again ..., I won't do this forever, Tate.”

“Yes, you would.”

“Yes. Are you fucking around? Am I gonna wake up tomorrow and you'll have run away again? Am I gonna have to chase you to New Jersey? South Dakota? Maybe give me a heads up so I can know what to pack.”

“You're such a dick.”

“At least I'm consistent.”

She sighed. She had missed him, so much.

“I'm so sorry I left you.”

“I'm going to make-,”

She hadn't even realized the elevator had come to a stop, but suddenly the doors were sliding open. She shrieked and fell backwards. Jameson stumbled with her. He managed to keep her upright, but they tripped across the hall, slamming into the far wall, all his weight ramming into her. She grunted and then his mouth was on hers again.

He grabbed her ass hard, yanking her up against him. Her dress was too tight for her to lift her legs, and he carried her like that down the hall. She raked her fingers across his shoulders and he let go of her, her body sliding down the length of his. When her feet touched the floor, he shoved her against a wall.

“Off, you need to get this off,” he breathed, yanking her slim belt apart.

“Yes,” she agreed, her fingers joining his as she whipped the belt away from her body.

“All of it,” he insisted, his fingers going to the zipper that ran down the seam over her butt.

She slid to the side, pulling him with her, until she landed against a door. She braced her hands against the frame while he worked the zipper all the way down. Then his hands slid heavily up her body, over her breasts, to her shoulders. He pulled at the material there, yanked her arms free. The moment the top of the dress slid away from her breasts, he pressed himself against her, covering her up with his body.

“We either do this in the hall, or we go inside,” she whispered to him.

“Okay,” he replied, and his hands flew to his own belt.

“Jameson.”

He stepped away from her and she almost fell forward. He grabbed her upper arm and dragged her down the hall. She held the front of her dress to her chest, trailing behind him. He stopped in front of the last door, fought with the key card, finally got it in, and kicked open the door. Sanders leapt up from a couch.

“Oh, good, I'm so glad you -,” Sanders started to gush.

“Out. Now,” Jameson barked, yanking Tate up against his chest.

Sanders hurried out of the suite, closing the door behind him.

“Wait, wait, wait,” she rushed out, pressing against Jameson's chest. He shook his head, pulling her dress away from her hands.

“I've waited long enough,” he said, one of his hands covering her breast and squeezing. She shook her head.

“I have to tell you something,” she whispered, covering his hand with her own. His lips worked their way down her shoulder.

“I don't care.”

“I think you will.”

“I don't want to hear.”

“I want you to.”

“Stop.”

“I had sex with him.”

Bomb. Dropped. Time stood still. He stopped moving. She stopped breathing. His hand slid away from her skin, and any breath she had, flew out of her body. He stood back from her and she grabbed at the material of her dress, pressed it to her bare chest. He rubbed a hand over his mouth.

“I told you I didn't want to hear,” he sighed. She nodded and sat on a couch, pressing her hands flat against her chest.

“I know. I just couldn't ..., not without saying anything. Later would have been so much worse,” she whispered. He nodded.

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Do you hate me?” she asked, looking up at him. He chuckled and squatted down low, putting his head in his hands.

“I have tried very hard to hate you, Tatum. At various times, throughout a large chunk of my life, I have tried to hate you. I haven't been very good at it,” he told her. She sniffled.

“I was so angry at you,” she said. “I wanted to get over you. The Pet thing, and then Ellie ..., I just ..., he was there. I told him that I didn't want to be with him, that it probably wouldn't mean anything.”

“And what? He wanted his shot?”

Well, it sounds dirty, when you say it like that, Mr. Kane.

“I wanted to forget you. Get over you. He offered to help.”

“Did it work?” Jameson asked, lifting his eyes to hers.

“What?”

“Did he make you forget?” Jameson asked. She chuckled.

“Jameson. No one will ever be able to make me forget you.”

He stood back up and stalked towards her. Grabbed her wrists and pulled her up. He kept staring at her, didn't look away as he worked the dress over her hips and pushed it to the floor. When it pooled at her feet, he pulled her forward, away from it.

“I remember buying you that dress,” he said, pulling her against him. “I remember the first time you wore it. I remember you coming into my room after taking it off, only wearing your underwear and those shoes.”

“Happy times,” she laughed. His arms wrapped around her.