She turned a heartbreakingly sad smile on him, one he’d bet she didn’t realize looked so empty, and shook her head. “Can’t say I have.”
That stunned him. And saddened him. So deeply saddened him his heart sank in his chest. He was trying to find a response when Quinn called through the house.
“Liv?” She was on the same floor, but somewhere deeper in the house. “Everything is in the fridge or on the counter.” Her voice grew closer. “But I’m going to have to run out to another market to get you more organic eggs. The one I went to didn’t—”
Quinn turned into the foyer, her hand on the doorjamb, and stopped short. “Oh.” Her gaze jumped between them, then back to Tate and immediately shadowed with guilt. “Mr.—”
“Tate, please,” he said, voice gentle, adding a smile.
She relaxed and returned a slight smile. “Tate.”
Barefoot, wearing shorts and a tank top with her hair in a braid, she looked beautiful and young and fresh, and even the thought of seeing the same side of Olivia tugged at Tate’s heart.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know Liv was bringing anyone over.”
Olivia glanced at Tate, then to her sister she said, “Tate asked to come over so he could talk with you—”
“Quinn, is that Olivia?” Their mother’s voice floated down the stairs. The women’s gazes locked and Tate witnessed—or maybe felt, he wasn’t sure—a hell of a lot of silent communication between them.
Olivia, standing at the bottom of the stairs, broke Quinn’s gaze to look toward the voice. “I’m home.”
“Oh, great. How did your talk with Tate go?”
Olivia shot a death stare at Quinn, who crossed her arms and looked at the floor.
“What did he think of your menu suggestions?” their mother prodded.
Olivia glanced at Tate, but she was putting puzzle pieces together.
When Olivia didn’t answer, her mother called again. “Olivia?”
“I loved them Mrs. Essex.”
Tate’s answer pulled both Quinn and Olivia out of whatever silent war they were battling.
“Mr. Donovan?” Footsteps sounded on the stairs and as soon as Teresa cleared the second floor, she bent to peer over the banister. “Well, hello.”
He grinned. “Please call me Tate. I was just dropping Olivia home and wanted to come in and tell you myself that I’m completely comfortable with Olivia handling the catering at the banquet.”
“How thoughtful of you.” She continued down the stairs and moved forward to shake his hand.
“Your home is absolutely beautiful,” he told her.
She beamed and her daughter’s blue eyes twinkled back at him. “Thank you. We love this place.”
“It shows.”
“Well,” Olivia said, “I’ll just let you three talk. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Olivia’s eyes met his for a second before she moved into the other room, but he couldn’t quite read her thoughts. Tate slipped into socializing mode, something he didn’t love, but had learned for the publicity part of his career. He did his best to soothe any nerves the two women might have over his commitment to the project, glossed over the “menu choices” he and Olivia had allegedly been discussing. Somehow their orgasmic menu of fingering, oral sex, taking her hard and deep from behind and multiple orgasms probably weren’t what Teresa and Quinn wanted to hear.
Quinn remained quiet, responding only when Teresa cajoled a response.
Teresa’s phone rang. “Oh, dear, I’m sorry.”
“Perfectly fine,” Tate told her. “I’m headed home.”
She shook his hand and answered her phone as she wandered down the hall and into another room.