Текст книги "Trust"

Автор книги: Ella Frank

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Chapter Nine

Twenty minutes later, Tate found himself seated next to Logan in the back of a cab, while his mother was up front. After he’d finally given in, Logan had mumbled something about this being a “fucking disaster waiting to happen” and then had gone to his room to change. Tate had decided that a quick shower and borrowing Logan’s clothes were in order since Evelyn had mentioned wanting to take them somewhere fancy.

Now they were in the cab, and he’d been smart enough to avoid engaging the volatile man beside him…until right this second.

As Evelyn started to speak to the driver, Tate leaned over and put his lips by Logan’s ear. “I know what you mean now.”

Logan faced him, a scowl of annoyance still firmly in place, but there was a definite question in his eyes.

“You know when you tell me how crazy it makes you when I scowl? This prickly, ‘don’t fuck with me’ attitude you’re throwing around? It’s all kinds of sexy.”

One of Logan’s dark eyebrows rose. “Really? You’re coming on to me here? My mother is sitting in the front seat.”

Tate hummed and put his hand on Logan’s leg, sliding it up his thigh as he flicked his tongue over his earlobe. “Do you want me to stop?”

Logan coughed a little and shook his head. “I didn’t say that.”

With a smile against Logan’s cheek, Tate flexed his fingers into the material under his hands. “No, you didn’t, did you? Did you—”

“It’s so nice to spend an evening with family. We never get to do that, do we, Logan?” Evelyn’s question broke through Tate’s rapidly growing lust and reminded him that Logan was right—they were in a cab with his mother.

He shifted so he was sitting back in his seat, and just when he was about to remove his hand, Logan’s came down over his to guide it farther up his leg.

“No, we don’t. And I’m so distraught I can hardly speak of it,” Logan said in a droll voice while he interlaced their fingers, locking his in place.

“Don’t get sassy with me, young man. I’m still your mother.”

Tate’s eyes moved to Evelyn and then shifted back to Logan as he spread his legs a little wider and turned his head toward him—all the while carrying on a perfectly normal conversation.

Damn his ability to be so in control while turned on.

“I’m well aware of who you are, Evelyn. I’m just trying to work out what it is you want.”

Tate bit down on his lower lip, thinking of exactly what he wanted in that moment, and Logan’s eyes practically dared him to come get it. After making sure the other occupants in the car were facing forward, Tate glided their hands over to the growing erection under Logan’s black pants.

“Is it a crime that I wanted to come and see my boy? I hardly think so. And it’s a good thing I did. You never would have told me about Tate.”

Tate wasn’t even paying attention to the conversation. He was too busy squeezing his fingers around the hardness under his palm, and when Logan’s lips parted and he pushed his hips up a little, Tate had to bite back a groan. Goddamned exhibitionist.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t have told you. Because it’s private. If and when I was ready, I would’ve called.”

“Which means I never would have known.”

Logan closed his eyes then and pressed their hands hard against his groin. Tate’s tongue almost rolled out of his mouth. He knew that, if the cab were to pull up at the restaurant right this second, getting out and walking inside would be a major fucking problem.

“And that would be a shame, right, Tate?” Evelyn finally addressed him, but there was no way he could find the brainpower to talk. “You seem like such a nice boy.”

The look that filled Logan’s cobalt eyes was full of irony, and so was his positively immoral smile. “He is very nice. But would you stop calling us boys? We’re not sixteen.”

Knowing he didn’t have the same control Logan possessed, Tate realized he needed to get his shit together—something that wouldn’t happen while massaging Logan’s cock. So he pulled his hand back and straightened in his seat.

Logan also sat up, and when their eyes met, he mouthed, “You started it.”

Tate shook his head and stared out the window at the passing cars, trying to calm down. He couldn’t believe he was sitting in a cab and going to dinner with Logan’s mother and he had a fucking hard-on. Who would’ve guessed?

He’d borrowed a pair of dress pants from Logan and a burgundy, button-down shirt, which was under his jacket, and when he’d stepped out of the en suite earlier, he’d known Logan approved. Even with the surly look on his face, he hadn’t been able to mask the heat in those eyes.

Logan had also cleaned up. Wearing all black, he resembled a dark prince as he sat there with his broody expression, which was now heightened by the flush of arousal staining his cheeks.

“This traffic is terrible tonight. Is it always so busy?”

Thankful for the question from the oblivious woman, Tate managed to reply politely. “This is fairly slow compared to some nights.”

“See, this is why I don’t live in the city.”

Logan shifted beside him and said, “That’s not the only reason.”

Curious as to what Logan meant, Tate was about to ask, but before he could, the driver informed them that they were almost there.

Logan glared at the back of the headrest where his mother was sitting, knowing that that was a surefire way to get his body to cooperate as the car pulled up to the front entrance of—

“The Peninsula? Are you out of your mind? This place is ridiculously expensive.”

“Logan,” Tate said softly beside him, but he wasn’t in the mood to be placated.

He clenched his fists as his mother, who hadn’t even bothered responding, pushed the car door open and stepped onto the sidewalk as if she were royalty. Tate followed silently, probably realizing the sour mood he was fighting, and left him seated and fuming.

Why am I so fucking surprised? She does this all the time.

Taking a fortifying breath, Logan shoved his door open and climbed out, coming around the back of the car and over to where Tate was standing beside his mother. He watched her carefully as she pressed something into the cabbie’s hand before giving a little wave. And like every man under Evelyn’s spell, he smiled like a true sap before he got back in his car and left.

“What are we doing here?” Logan asked as she started walking toward the revolving door, where a valet greeted them with polite smiles.

“We’re having dinner. I’ve been here for a week now and thought it would be nice to invite you back to my place,” she said with a flourish as she pushed the door and stepped in as it spun.

Tate glanced his way, and Logan grit his teeth. He was trying to think of a way to explain his mother, one that would make any fucking sense, but in the end, he figured that the best way for Tate to understand would be to just let things play out—after all, she never failed to disappoint in a spectacular way. It was only a matter of time.

“This place is insane,” Tate said and whistled as he looked at the lights above.

“Yeah,” Logan agreed and took his hand. “Evelyn never does anything halfway.”

“Like you, huh?”

Logan stopped in his tracks and said more curtly than he’d intended, “Nothing like me.”

“Okay,” Tate said, narrowing his eyes at him. “I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, trying to brush it off, but his ill temper seemed determined to stay.

Tate released his hand and pushed his fingers through his hair. It was obvious he was getting annoyed, and Logan knew he was acting like an ass, but he couldn’t seem to shake himself out of it.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he started, but before he could continue, Tate was walking away.

Fuck…fuck, he thought as Tate shoved through the revolving door with a little more force than necessary.

Irritated at his own churlish behavior, Logan followed him inside and through the elegant lobby area. He didn’t bother taking the time to observe. He wanted the night over with as fast as possible, which in turn meant no time for sight-seeing.

Once he’d spotted both Tate and his mother waiting for him by the elevator banks, Logan made his way over. When he stopped by the two of them, Evelyn ran a hand down the lapel of his black sports jacket.

“Give me a smile, Hot Wheels.”

Logan saw Tate trying to bite back a grin, and he decided to try to loosen the fuck up.

“If you want to live,” he told Tate in a most serious manner, “don’t ever think about repeating that.”

Tate pushed his hands into his pockets and gave a smug look, and Logan knew that his tease would definitely not heed that particular warning.

When the elevator doors opened, Logan turned back to his mother and asked, “Where are we going? Please don’t say your room.”

“No, silly. We have a table up on the Shanghai Terrace.”

As they followed her inside, Logan mumbled, “Of course we do.”

“What was that?” she asked as she walked over to stand by his side.

Logan looked down at her and let his eyes search her face. He was hoping to see something that would indicate she’d changed, but so far, there was nothing.

“I said, ‘Of course we do.’”

“Well, yes. Only the best for the Mitchells.”

Logan leaned back against the wall of the elevator and felt Tate step beside him. He recognized the move for what it was—a silent show of support should he need it. Not that he really deserved it with the way he was acting.

As they were ushered out of the elevator and into the dimly lit waiting area, Logan scanned the dark, wooden furniture, stunning oriental silkscreens and paintings, and the large wall of windows letting in the lights of Chicago’s skyline.

It was stunning. He had to give his mother that. Her taste, as usual, was impeccable.

“Good evening,” the beautiful, young hostess greeted them. “Welcome to the Shanghai Terrace. Do you have a dinner reservation?”

“Good evening, dear. Yes, I booked a table under Evelyn Mitchell for two. However, there’ll be an extra person dining with us. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

“No, certainly not, Mrs. Mitchell.”

They then followed her past several full dining tables to a nice corner one by large double doors that led out onto a terrace.

“Will this work for you this evening?”

Logan decided he should probably locate his manners and pulled his mother’s chair out as she told the woman that it was indeed okay. Then he took the chair opposite Tate. Once they’d ordered their drinks, he looked over to where his mother was shaking her hair back behind her shoulders.

As usual, she was immaculate, wearing an elegant A-line dress in crimson, the same color as her coat. It was amazing the way she never seemed to age—or not so amazing when modern medicine was to thank.

She sat forward as if about to ask state secrets and addressed Tate. “All right. Time to start talking. How long have you known this charmer over here?”

Tate glanced at Logan, who was looking heavenward probably hoping the night would hurry up and end, but he was out of luck. As far as he could tell, Logan’s mother seemed determined to spend time with her son.

Tate had to admit, she was certainly more accepting of them than his mother had been, so that earned her points in his mind straight off the bat.

“That’s a good question,” he answered. “A few months. Right, Logan?”

“Yeah. About five now,” Logan supplied.

“Wow.” Feels like I’ve known him forever.

“You shocked you put up with me for that long?” Logan joked.

“Hardly. I’m just surprised it’s not more. It feels like more.”

Almost as if he’d forgotten his mother was there, Logan sat forward and took his hand where he had it resting on the table. “It does.”

“Aww, you two are adorable,” Evelyn gushed. “It makes me so happy.”

“Oh, God,” Logan said.

“What?” she asked with a romantic gleam in her eyes. “Am I not allowed to be happy that my son’s in love?”

As the waiter appeared with their drinks, Logan immediately picked his own up and took a sip. “This night keeps getting better and better. Keep those coming please.”

The waiter nodded and scurried off, leaving them to get back to their discussion. Tate smiled over at Logan’s mother, who was looking between the two of them.

When her eyes stopped on him, she boldly asked, “How’d you two meet?”

“Would you stop with the twenty questions already?” Logan asked.

Tate found it extremely interesting that Logan seemed almost embarrassed about this part of the story.

“Oh, stop being such a bore, Logan. Plus, I wasn’t asking you. I was asking Tate. What are you so worried about? Did you hunt the poor guy down or something?”

That was it. Tate couldn’t hold back his laughter anymore, and the shocked expression that crossed Logan’s face at his hilarity didn’t help.

“Don’t tell me…” Evelyn continued, picking her glass of white wine up. “He did, didn’t he?”

Logan pointed a finger at him. “Shut it.”

But he wasn’t about to keep quiet. “Let’s just say he was very persistent.”

“In other words, I was right. He’s always been like that, even as a kid. If he saw something he wanted, he went after it with the tenacity of a bulldog.”

Logan took another gulp of his drink.

“To be fair, he had to be a bit more forceful than usual. I’d never considered dating a man, let alone wanted one before I met him.”

Logan practically choked on the liquor he’d just swallowed, and Tate gave his most charming smile as he raised his glass to his lips.

“Really?” Logan said as if he couldn’t believe he’d just said that.

Tate lowered his drink back to the table and nodded. “Really.”

“Good evening, and welcome to the Shanghai Terrace. My name’s Julie, and I’ll be your waitress tonight. Do you know what you would like to start with?”

For the most part, the night went along smoothly, which was a minor miracle.

Logan decided to go all out after much coaxing from Evelyn and ordered the most expensive meal on the menu. The food was delicious, and after several drinks, Logan reluctantly admitted that the company wasn’t too bad either.

He’d just excused himself, deciding to take a time-out to get the final round from the bar. All night, he’d been wary, waiting for the proverbial ball to drop, and he was both shocked and pleasantly surprised it didn’t seem it would happen.

Maybe she is turning over a new leaf.

Resting up against the bar, he didn’t see Tate approach until he felt a warm body behind him and heard a low voice whisper in his ear.

“Hey there, Hot Rod. Wanna come home with me later?”

A wide grin split Logan’s lips at the change to his childhood nickname and he turned so he was only inches away from Tate. With one of his forearms on the bar top, he reached out with the other to play with the buttonholes on his jacket.

“Hot Rod?”

Tate’s eyes lazily ran down his body, and when they came back up to his, the desire in them was obvious. “Yeah. I’m thinking that fits you better these days than Hot Wheels. Though you do still like fast cars.”

Logan licked his upper lip, and when Tate’s eyes followed his tongue, he cocked his head to the side. “Says the one who rides fast bikes.”

Tate kissed him, and then said, “What can I say? I like sleek, sexy things between my legs. Makes sense since I fucking love having you there.”

Logan placed his hand on Tate’s chest and closed his eyes for a second. “Shit, Tate.”

“You never answered. Want to come home with me?”

When Tate took a step back, Logan opened his eyes. “I’d love to, but I have a staff meeting first thing tomorrow and need several things from home. You could always come back and stay the night with me.”

As the bartender came over with their drinks, Tate shook his head. “Nah, it’s okay. I kind of need to go home and get into my own clothes anyway. Plus, I told Rachel I would meet with her before work with a list of potential areas.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

Logan turned to see their waitress for the evening.

She softly asked, “Are you Mr. Mitchell?”

He nodded at the polite inquiry that also had Tate turning.

With a tight smile, she handed him a small, black bill folder. “Your wife told me she had to leave to catch her plane and that you’d be taking care of the tab for both the dinner and the hotel stay.”

As Logan’s fingers clutched the rectangular folder in his hand, he felt the blood drain from his face and all the sound around him ceased to exist.

No…she couldn’t have…

It wasn’t until he heard Tate’s muffled voice disagreeing with the woman in front of them that he was aware she was waiting for him to respond. Like a robot on autopilot, Logan reached for his wallet, removed a card, and handed it over. All the while, Tate was still talking, saying words he couldn’t quite decipher.

She’d done it again. Not only had she done it to him, but she’d done it in front of Tate.

Logan closed his eyes, willing himself to get a hold on his anger and not let Tate see how much he was fucking hurt. Not like this behavior is unusual for her. This is her “thing.” This is what she does.

She’d accused him tonight of being a hunter, and it was no surprise he’d turned out that way. He’d learned from the best.

“Logan?”

Finally, Tate’s voice broke through as he took his arm and ushered him toward the elevator. He didn’t respond though; he had nothing to say.

What is there to say?

It wasn’t until they were seated in the back of the taxi and Tate had gently touched his thigh that Logan turned his way.

“Hey.”

As Logan stared over at the man seated beside him, he was numb. No matter how many times he told himself not to let her in, she always, always, managed to weasel her way inside to pull this shit again.

When will I fucking learn?

He looked away from Tate, unable to bear the sympathy in those beautiful, brown eyes, and decided to talk. Maybe, that way, the silence wouldn’t suffocate him where he sat.

“When I was a little boy,” he started, staring out at the traffic as they pulled onto the main street. “My mother used to tell me a story about the scorpion and the fox.” He glanced over to Tate and asked, “Have you heard it?”

Tate shook his head and reached for his hand. Logan let him take it, but unlike earlier, there was no sexy flirtation here, no tension buzzing in the cab—just silence as Tate waited for him to continue.

“One day, there was a scorpion, and he was walking along the riverbank, searching for a way to cross. He looked around everywhere, but no matter which way he decided on, he knew it would mean instant death for him. That was until he spotted the fox. Casually, the scorpion walked over to him and struck up a conversation with the animal. He asked him to help him cross the river, but being a cunning and smart animal, the fox told the scorpion, ‘No. Why would I help you? You’ll only end up stinging me and then I’ll drown. Sorry. I just can’t do that.’ The scorpion disagreed profusely, swearing his honest intentions. ‘No, no, you have me all wrong. I’d never do something like that. I need you to help me cross the river. If I sting you and you die, then we both drown. So no, I don’t want to harm you, fox. I merely want us to both get across the river.’”

Logan looked at Tate and saw that he was frowning. He was totally caught up in the story he was telling, but Logan knew he was also wondering why he was reciting an old fable from his youth—but he would soon understand, just as he eventually had.

“The fox thought over the scorpion’s proposal and decided that maybe he had a point. Why would he endanger himself in such a way? So he agreed. ‘Sure. Hop on,’ he said, and the scorpion climbed onto his back. The fox then started across the river, believing that his leap of faith had paid off—until halfway over, when he felt the biting sting of a traitor at his neck and poison started to seep through his veins. Unable to comprehend why the scorpion would have done such a thing, knowing it would ultimately mean death for himself as well, the fox asked, ‘Why? Why have you betrayed me in such a way? Now, you too will drown.’” Logan stopped and caught Tate’s eyes as the tale ended the same way it always did. “‘I couldn’t help it,’ the scorpion said, offering no apologies. ‘It’s my nature.’”

As his words sank in, Logan took his hand from Tate’s and ran it over his face. He then looked out the window and whispered into the night, “The only thing she failed to mention to the child was that he was the fox and she was the scorpion.”