Tate (Mountain Men 3)

Of course that’s what he meant, and I’m an ignorant cow.

I laugh again, and again sound deranged. “I’m a little off,” I say to him in explanation. “I don’t know what that doctor of yours gave me, but it made me loopy A.F.” I actually say “A.F.” like I’m verbally texting him, and I cringe at how juvenile I sound.

“I noticed,” is all he says. “Now, let me help you.”

He’s right up against me, closer than he’s ever been, closer even than he was that time on our not-really-a-date, when we met accidentally over a cup of coffee. And then he touches me, and oh my God, his hand’s on my elbow. I can feel each finger as if he’s branding me, heat emanating from his touch. Then he places his other arm around my waist, and a pleasant shiver runs down my spine.

I hold the arm he has around me tightly, and hobble like a little old lady. It’s disconcerting, and I don’t like it. I don’t like being dependent on anyone.

“Were you in here before?” I ask.

“Aye. Leith called me out, needed to have a brief meeting.”

Ooh. They were talking about mafia things, I just know it. My pulse races. I don’t say anything, though, because I have to keep a modicum of self-restraint.

“Oh, aye, I understand. Meetings are important.”

Really, Fran? Really?

He lowers his voice and holds my gaze. “Aye, lassie, especially when they have to do with Clan safety.” I feel like this is an admission of sorts, like he’s letting me in on a little secret, and a part of me thrills at that.

His eyes are a crystal blue, stark and piercing beneath those heavy dark brows of his. I never noticed before, but he’s got a scar above his left eye, a silvery thin line, right across his eyebrow. It makes him look hot and dangerous. My hot, dangerous keeper.

“What was the meeting about?” I ask, totally pushing my luck. “Or if you tell me, do you have to kill me or something?”

He gives me a sidelong look that’s somewhat amused. “You don’t want to swim with the fishes?”

Oh, God. Oh God, I didn’t.

I said that, didn’t I?

“I was a little… erm, addled,” I say. “Damn meds.”

He cracks another smile. “I noticed.”

Mother of God, I wish I’d literally died crashing into that fiercely unyielding tree.

“So confiding in me what the meeting was about is fish swimming territory?”

He snorts. “We don’t really have fish swimming territory.” He pauses. “Here you are.”

He gestures to a white door, and I look at it in surprise. Oh, right. I have to use the toilet, apparently.

I don’t believe him about the fish swimming territory. Like, I know that we’re not exactly near an ocean up here in the mountains, so perhaps they have another euphemism they use, but I have zero doubt in my mind that they do wicked, violent things.

I’ve known them for years. I’ve observed them from afar. I know it’s not my imagination.

I hobble into the toilet, and he admonishes me from behind, his voice a harsh whisper because the whole house still sleeps. “Careful, lassie. Take it slow, no sudden movements.”

I want to take it slow alright, with him, me riding him, that’s what I want to take slow.

Wow, so do pain meds turn you on, too? Turn me on? Because I am totally turned on.

I do my business, carefully and slowly like he said, not because he told me but because it’s the sensible thing to do, then I wash my hands.

God, it’s nice in here. This little toilet on the main floor’s no more than a powder room, and it’s still nicer than literally anything else I’ve ever had. The ivory counters gleam, and there’s a large, oval-shaped mirror rimmed with a gold edge. The soap pump is chrome and glass, and when I pump some into my hand it smells divine. I’ve never been to a high-end hotel, but this is exactly what I imagine it to be.

Everything about the Cowen family home is beautiful and elegant without being ostentatious. I take in every detail, with every chance that I get. It’s part of my job.

From where I’m standing, I can see out a little, hexagonal window that overlooks the snowy mountaintops. Moonlight reflects on the white snow outside the window, casting a fairy-dust glow on everything around us. It’s gorgeous.

I sigh and turn to leave. I’m suddenly dizzy, and the world around me spins. I’m on my knees, my hands braced on the tiled floor. I close my eyes, trying to get my head to stop spinning. Without thinking, I place my forehead on my knees, and the blood rushes to my head.

The door smashes open, and I’m aware that Tate’s in the tiny room with me, his large, massive hulk awkward in this small, confined space. He bends to one knee.