about to say.
“You don’t like the emotions and you’re worried for yourself, worried that you are becoming too attached to her. You’re worried that you will be hurt when she moves on.”
Oh, damn, she really was. She didn’t want to miss Ellie, or Shaw, didn’t want to miss Linc. She so didn’t want to miss Linc. And she would. She’d spent so little time with him, but this house, this stupidly big mansion had become a place she loved, and the people who lived inside it, and who were associated with it, people she had come to truly like. Leaving The Den would hurt like hell.
“The thing is, getting too attached is exactly what Ellie needs from you even though it might break your heart one day. Because showing her love and affection is the right thing to do. She’s the innocent party here, Tate. She didn’t choose a damn thing, so if you withhold love and affection, you’d be punishing her for something she didn’t create.” Linc lifted his hand to clasp the back of her neck, dropping his head to rest his forehead on hers. “The only thing you can do is to make it as easy on her as possible. Even if that might make life harder for yourself.”
“This isn’t me, Linc!” Tate cried. “I don’t want this responsibility. I want to be free and independent and only want to be responsible for myself.”
“That’s the easy route, sweetheart,” Linc said, his voice low and rough. “Having no ties, no commitments, no responsibility is an easy—possibly lonely—way to live. You only have to think about yourself, all the time. It’s a way to protect yourself from life and from all the crap it throws at you. And it’s a really good way to avoid getting hurt.”
He was right, of course he was. His words felt like hailstones smacking her soul, but he was speaking the truth, and she appreciated his honesty.
“Why the traveling, Tate? Why do you keep running from place to place?” Linc gestured for her to sit down on the large wing chair next to the bed, and Tate lowered herself and Ellie to the chair, grateful to get off her wobbly legs. She stared out of the window, watching cold raindrops slide down the windows.
Linc sat down on the edge of the bed, his knee nudging hers, his forearms on his thighs, his expression intense. “Talk to me, Tate. God knows you need to talk to someone.”
Ellie, disturbed by her aunt’s movements, sat up, rubbed her eyes and spat out her pacifier. She pushed Tate’s hands off her, crawled off her lap and dropped her feet to the floor, one hand holding the chair and the other holding Linc’s leg for balance. She wobbled before plopping down onto her butt. Smiling, she started to crawl away. Tate reached for her, but Linc’s hand on her bare knee stopped her. “She’s fine, Tate, let her crawl. Talk to me.”
Tate knew that if she told Linc that she didn’t want to talk about her past, he would respect her wishes, but she wanted him to know the forces that shaped her into the person she was. Keeping it simple and brief, she reminded him about her childhood, her parent’s divorce, her mother’s preference for her niece and why she and her sister didn’t speak for years.
“Thanks for defending me—us.” Linc said.
“My fight with Kari, about her leaving you and Shaw the way you did, caused an additional strain between my mother and me. We didn’t speak much after that. Then she died and our relationship could never be repaired.”
“I’m sorry, honey.”
Tate crossed her legs and turned, resting her head against the back of the chair. “I’m sorry that two more Harper women have turned your life upside down again.”
Linc’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “That’s okay...last night was worth any aggravation.”
She needed to say it, needed to express another apology. “I’m especially sorry that Kari’s actions caused you to shy away from love and relationships, Linc. You’ve given her too much power. Not all women are like that. You should try again. You’re a good guy, and you deserve to be happy.”
Linc kept his eyes pinned to hers, and she saw the flash of annoyance in those granite depths. “Pot calling the kettle black, Tate? Her actions have dictated the course of your life, too. You’re the one who has run from commitments and people and stability because your family pushed you aside. Are you brave enough to change that?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Linc released a long, slow breath before standing up. “Yeah. Me, neither.” He ran his hands over his head, his shirt inching up his stomach to reveal the dark trail wandering down from his six-pack abs. “I’m going downstairs to make coffee. Want me to take Ellie with me so that you can grab a shower?”
Discussion over, Tate thought with relief. She nodded her thanks and watched as Linc scooped up Ellie and held her like a football, Ellie laughing in delight.
He looked down at her and then back at Tate, his gaze suddenly serious. “The trick is to enjoy them, Tate, for as long as you have them.”
He was talking about Ellie but also about them, about the night they shared. He was right—she should just live each moment and deal with whatever life threw at her when she could see it barreling her way.
No promises and no guarantees. Especially from him. Got it, Ballantyne.
* * *
A week passed and it was another cold Saturday afternoon, and Tate had The Den to herself. Linc had taken Shaw to a birthday party and wasn’t expected to be back until the early evening. Ellie had fallen asleep in the middle of Tate’s bed after lunch, so after transferring her to the crib, Tate went downstairs, feeling a little at a loss. She hadn’t spent much time on her own for more than three weeks, so how was she going to fill the next couple of hours?
She supposed she could work out. Linc had told her to make use of his gym in the basement, but the last thing she felt like doing was spending her alone time sweating. She could watch some TV, but that didn’t appeal. A movie? Tate wrinkled her nose...
What she really wanted to do was to climb into bed with Linc and spend a lazy afternoon enjoying that delicious, masculine body. At the bottom of the stairs, Tate halted, her hand on the newel post. God, she was seriously addicted to Linc, her mind constantly occupied with thoughts of him, in bed and out.
Tate plopped her butt onto the bottom stair and placed her chin her hands, her elbows on her knees. She wasn’t acting anything like the nanny she was supposed to be.
Oh, she collected Shaw from school, entertained him in the afternoons allowing Linc to put in a solid day at work. When he came home she didn’t, like a good nanny, walk up the stairs and retreat to her own quarters. Nope, instead she ran straight into his arms. Sometimes, depending on what the kids were doing, they hustled up the stairs, taking a few minutes to rocket each other to a body-blasting orgasm, something to take the edge off until they fell into bed later.
She missed work, of course she did, but not as much as she had expected to. For someone who liked being alone, who felt itchy when she was pinned to a spot for too long, she was remarkably content. And that scared the pants off her. And when she imagined going back to work, to returning to her life of airports and customs control, impersonal hotels and tourist traps, to living life on her own, her heart rebelled. She couldn’t imagine giving up her job, relinquishing her independence and her freedom—she loved what she did far too much—but the notion of giving up Linc and the kids threw her into a tailspin. She didn’t want to live a life without them in it. And deep down in her heart
