Page 51 of Twisted Tate

My pussy clenches. This man could have me on my back in three seconds and he knows it.

“We should go inside.” My voice comes out breathier than I intended.

“We should.” But he doesn’t move. His eyes drop to my mouth, then lower, tracing down my body with an intensity that makes me want to squirm. “If you look like you need to be reminded when we’re inside, I won’t hesitate to spread your legs, baby girl.”

He pulls back and opens his door like he didn’t just make me wet with a few sentences. I take a breath and remind myself that I’m about to meet his father and make some fucked-up plans.

I love him for trying to keep me calm, in a manner of speaking, through it all. Fuck. I love him for so many things.

He opens the door of his McClaren for me and gives me his hand to pull me out. I grab him and push him back against the car kissing him as hard as I can. I hope he knows what I’m trying to tell him, even without saying the words, not until the time is right.

“Fuck, baby girl.” His body is hard beneath mine, and he grips my ass pulling me closer. “I don’t know how I’m going to get anything fucking done.”

“We’re waiting for you in here.” Fox appears on the steps waving us toward the door.

“Fucking cockblocker,” Tate mutters as he clasps my hand and pulls me with him.

The inside of the house surprises me. I expected cold and formal, which is the way my house felt growing up. But there are photos on the walls and fresh flowers on the entryway table. Huge paintings of each of the Sinclair sons run up the walls along the double grand staircase. There is also a painting of a beautiful woman after Thorne’s. I assume that’s Sloane Marsh, Whitney’s daughter. Along the other staircase, there is a painting of Dane and Whitney and another of Fox and Ivy.

I’ve never known a family quite like theirs in my world. Tate watches me stare at the portraits and squeezes my hand before pulling me through the foyer into a room with couches placed around a huge stone fireplace.

Fox takes his seat beside Ivy on one of the couches. They all left the cabin before us. Then Tate had decided he needed his head between my thighs again before we could leave.

Ivy catches my eye and gives me a small nod, and some of the knots in my stomach loosen.

Then I see the man who stands near the fireplace and everything in me goes tight again.

Dane Sinclair is exactly as intimidating as his reputation. He’s tall, broad, and built like a man who could still kill with his bare hands even pushing fifty. It’s easy to see where his sons get their good looks and strength. Silver threads through his dark hair, and his green eyes are the same shade as Tate’s—the same shade as all his sons. He’s watching me approach with the expression of a man who’s deciding whether I’m worth the trouble I’ve caused.

The woman at his side is a bit more welcoming. She’s blonde, blue eyed, and gorgeous. Whitney Sinclair. I remember the gossip about her auction three years ago. The whole Raven world talked about how much Dane paid for a widow who couldn’t even give him more children.

Knowing what I do now about the Sinclairs, I understand why he paid it.

“Dad.” Tate’s voice is steady, but I feel the tension in his arm as we move closer. “This is Reese.”

Dane doesn’t move. His gaze sweeps over me once, then lands on his son.

“You want to explain why I’ve spent several days lying to the Council?”

“I think you know the basics of it by now.”

“Son, this is not how we do things.” Dane’s voice could cut glass. “You went dark for days. You ignored my calls and put this family at risk without telling me a goddamn thing.”

“And I’d do it again.” Tate pulls me closer to him. “I would think you of all people would understand that.”

The room goes still. Fox’s jaw tightens. Thorne, slouched in the corner with his phone, stops pretending to scroll.

Dane’s eyes narrow. His gaze drops to where Tate’s hand now rests possessively on my hip, then to the way I’m pressed against his son’s side. I watch him put the pieces together.

“I see.” The words come out rough.

Father and son stare at each other. I don’t know what’s passing between them, but I can feel the weight of it.

“You should have told me.” Dane’s voice loses some of its edge, but not all of it.

“It wouldn’t have mattered.”

“Like hell it wouldn’t. Do you know what I’ve been dealing with?”