Page 37 of Tell Me No Lies

Tate’s chin tucks so he can peer down at my face. “You like Jäger?”

I gape at him. “That’s what you’re focused on?”

“It’s the only part of that I’m really worried about.” He squints at me. “Jäger? Really?”

“Says the man who drinks gin.” I wrinkle my nose at him. “You have no room to judge me.”

“Gin doesn’t taste like fucking licorice.” His hand goes back to stroking my skin. “And you don’t need to worry about tomorrow. You want to help these women too much. I know you’re going to do whatever it takes to get them out of there.” He gives me a sly smile. “Including being a sweet, docile little wifey.”

“Ugh.” I let out a groan. “I’m about the least well-equipped woman to pull this off, you know that right?”

“I do know that.” His voice is soft. “That’s why I like you.”

“Right.” I snort as I rest my head back on his chest. “You just love that I’m a pain in the ass.”

“I do.” His lips rest on the top of my head, moving against my hair as he continues. “I like knowing you’ll never let anyone walk all over you.”

That’s an odd thing to like.

Then again, maybe it’s not. Maybe Tate carries the same kinds of fears I do. Worries that his future might someday look too much like his past.

“Hopefully you’re wrong, because tomorrow I have to pretend to be a doormat.” I sigh. “Which reminds me.” I make myself sit up, shivering at the loss of contact. “I need to finish getting ready.” My eyes drift to the pedicure I treated myself to when I got my cast off. “Can’t have the devil’s paint on my toes.”

Tate shifts behind me as I reach for my discarded bra. My fingers are barely wrapped around it when a super soft, Tate-scented T-shirt is dropped over my head. When it clears my face, I lift my brows at him. “This isn’t the one you just had on is it? Because that one was covered in the stuff you were putting on the wall seams.”

He chuckles as he continues working the shirt into place, dragging it over my shoulders. “No. This isn’t the one I was working in. This is the one I slept in last night.”

“You sleep in a shirt?” I help him out by lacing my arms through the holes. “I kinda figured you went au naturel.”

“So you were wondering how I sleep?” His lips curve into a slow smile as he works the fabric the rest of the way down. “Good to know.”

“I was just trying to be prepared.” I say it too loud and too fast, giving myself away. But instead of quitting while I’m ahead, I dig deeper. “We’re about to be sleeping in the same room. I didn’t want the sight of your dick swinging around to catch me off-guard.”

“Uh-huh.” Tate pushes off the bed and saunters through an open door to the left, flipping on the light to reveal a somewhat finished bathroom. “Sure, Sugar.”

“That’s all it was.” I sit up straighter, flailing around for my shorts because I feel real fucking exposed. “Are you saying you didn’t wonder the same thing?”

“Oh, I wondered the same thing.” Tate comes out of the bathroom carrying a rectangular metal can and a towel. “But it had nothing to do with our trip.” He settles onto the bed at my feet and pops the attached, cork-type lid on the can free before tipping some clear liquid out onto the towel. “It was selfish curiosity.” Lifting my unbooted foot into his lap, he goes to work gently removing the polish from my toes.

The sight of him, big and rough and capable of just about anything, carefully wiping away the hot pink swiped onto my nails, does something to my insides. Has me swallowing hard around a tightness in my throat.

I’ve spent so many years proving I’d never be a woman who makes a man her whole life—that I’d never be so obsessed that I catered to his every need and made his decisions mine—that it never occurred to me a man might not want something like that. That there might be a man who wanted to cater to me.

I don’t know exactly how I feel about that, but I do know I’ll never be an ungrateful ass who expects and takes advantage.

“Thank you.” It’s the best I can work up to show my appreciation. I’m too conflicted.

Too confused.

“You don’t have to thank me.” Tate finishes with my right foot and moves on to my left, looking over the sparkling pink brace he helped me hate a little less. “How’s this holding up?”

“Good.” I rub my lips together, wanting to thank him for that too. But considering he just told me not to thank him, I’m not sure how it would go over. “Can I ask you a question?”

Blue eyes lift to my face, holding a second before dropping back to his task. “Sure.”

“Why do you have acetone in your bathroom?”

He barks out a laugh. “Wasn’t expecting that.” He adds a little more of the chemical to the rag before finishing my last few toes. “I help out in the paint shop sometimes and I don’t like the feel of it on my skin. This takes it right off.”

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