Page 23 of Fighting Gravity

Rosie gasped and yanked out of his soft grip. She turned toward him, accusation on her face. “You were watching our drinks.”

Tate stared at her, uncomprehending. But when tears pooled in her eyes, he understood. She felt betrayed. His heart crashed to his shoes. Her arm flung out to clutch the red leather wall as he held out his hands in supplication. He was livid first, hurt second. “You think you’ve beendruggedand that I would do that to you? Rosie, I would never hurt you. Never.”

Who the fuck drugged women? Rosie didn’t deserve that shit. No woman did. He didn’t deserve the accusation, either. His mind went to very dark places as he contemplated why someone would drug Rosie. He needed to get her out of there.

A crushing hug made him grunt. “I’m sorry,” he heard her say. “I’m so sorry. You wouldn’t hurt me. I’m sorry. I panicked. I’m panicking. I don’t know what to do.”

A relieved breath left his lungs as his arms went around her. “You go to the bathroom. We file a police report, get Elle and Chen, and get the fuck out of here.”

She nodded, her chin on his shoulder. She slipped out of his arms but gripped his hand in hers. She trembled with fear the whole time they stood in line. Tate trembled in rage.

13

Rosie had never felt worse. After the suspicion first crossed her mind, for one brief, debilitating moment, she’d let her darkest fear rule. That everyone she cared for would betray her.

But Rosie knew Tate. He wasn’t devious or deceitful. He was good, and she had hurt him. Her words looked like they’d physically wounded him. His entire body had changed under the weight of her accusation.

Her shaking limbs and initial fuzziness had started to fade as Tate snapped at the bar manager and spoke to the police on the phone. Thankfully, she’d been too busy dancing to drink more than a few sips of the tainted cocktail.

Now, with bathroom business handled, the bar’s manager verbally eviscerated, and Chen and Elle nowhere to be found, Rosie couldn’t let go of Tate. Partly because she was still spooked by the thought that someone in the room meant her harm, but mostly because she needed Tate to know how little she believed her own hurled words.

It didn’t dawn on her until later that she may have jeopardized the hotel contract. Her foremost concern had been that she’d accidentally trampled whatever had sprung up between them.

But during the sobering conversations, Tate hadn’t let go of her hand. Then again, he also hadn’t looked at her.

Relieved tears started to escape in the Uber on the way to the jet. She was so glad to be out of the club and safe with Tate, but she wouldn’t feel right until he looked her in the eye and wrapped those strong arms around her in real forgiveness. How could she have let him think she felt anything other than safe with him?

They climbed the steps to the jet in silence. Inside, under the harsh light near a bench seat, Tate brought her around to face him. He cupped her cheek. “Are you all right? Truly?”

“Right now I’m just sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I hurt you,” Rosie whispered. Her muscles began to relax under his touch. He was painfully handsome, even when upset. Chiseled from stone but so much warmer. Golden, not ivory. She could see the ridges of his pecs peeking through the unbuttoned collar of his black shirt.

“You gutted me, but I understand. Elle mentioned some…trauma with your last boyfriend.” He had to grind the words out through clenched teeth.

Rosie nodded and his face crumpled. He seemed to feel her pain like it was his to share. She pressed her body against his in gratitude.

“Hold me,” she whispered. “Please.”

Sighing, his arms went around her. His smooth cheek rested against hers. She breathed into his body and let his solid presence erase the lingering dizziness and unease. But as they stayed locked together, the mood started to shift. His body started to feel less protective and more full of promise. His hard planes became more apparent. The way their bodies fit together beckoned to places deep inside Rosie. Their scorching kiss at The Saloon floated into her mind. They could burn again, this time without the chance of getting caught. She moved slightly to see if the shift shone in his eyes, too.

Tate shook his head when her gaze met his. He took a step away from her. “Don’t look at me like that, Rosie. Not right now.”

She moved closer, feeling more clear-headed by the second. “I think I’m okay, Tate. Just a touch dizzy. Please. I’m sorry and cold and in dire need ofyou.”

Tate’s hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks as if that was the only way he could keep from touching her.

Rosie moved closer still. “You really don’t want to touch me?”

“There’s only one thing I want more than to touch you, and that’s for you to trust me. Right now is not the time.”

He was probably right.

But he did allow his gaze to sweep across her body as he attempted to increase the distance between them. The intensity of his gaze pulled at her nipples. Heat bloomed between her thighs. Or maybe he was wrong, andthiswas right.

She leaned against him, the softest parts of her connecting with the hardest parts of him. “I regret what I said to you earlier. You make me feel safe. I can’t remember a time when I’ve felt safer.” She whispered the words against his ear.

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