It was then that Wes was walking up, apparently done with parking the car, and pocketing his keys.
“Something wrong here?” he asked, sensing the tension.
“Yeah. Fucked your brother over, woman,” Doug laughed throatily. “Next thing you know, you’ll find his dead body on the–”
We never found out what he said next, because the next thing I knew, Eva’s small fist was in his face.
He took a step backward from the impact. “Bloody hell, woman! Fuck!” he covered his face as his features twisted in pain.
“Don’t you ever talk about my brother like that.”
She was nursing her fist but I could see it had reddened and it was starting to tremble. Abruptly, she turned around and ran towards the car. We all followed.
I wasn’t used to seeing her in this state. I was starting to resent her brother for what he did. Sierra put an arm around her.
“Let me see,” Sierra said.
“I’m fine,” Eva replied calmly.
“Evie, I think I’m seeing bl–”
“I said I’m fine!” Then to our horror, she started crying. “I’ll just p-put some ointment and b-bandage on it when I g-get home.”
The hiccups started. Kate, ever-prepared, passed her a bottle of water.
Wes, frowning and a little unsure of what to do, passed her the tissue box.
“Is anyone going to tell me what the hell just happened? I walked into a man who looked like he wanted to strangle you,” he nodded to Eva, then turned to us, “And you guys looking like you wanted to castrate the guy. Were you planning to start a riot?”
“Ha. Funny,” I chucked the box at him.
“We can’t tell you,” Haley said quietly as she patted Eva’s back soothingly.
“Why the hell not?”
“Because,” Haley replied, lips pursed.
“Because?” Confusion swept through his face.
“Because!”
“They c-can’t tell,” Eva finally spoke, her voice a little shaky. “I made them promise.”
Disbelief colored his expression. “You? You made them promise?”
Then he looked at Sierra, as if he didn’t quite believe the trouble came from Eva.
Sierra glowered at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He looked reflective, then he simply shrugged. “Never gonna understand women. Never gonna try.”
* * *
When I returned home, it was midday. I felt like making something to eat.
Chase finished early today, and his car was parked out front, but he wasn’t at home.
I opened the fridge door. We had… Leftover roasted chicken, orange juice, some onions, tomatoes, mayonnaise, a block of cheese, and rainbow cake. Plus we had sliced bread and bread rolls from the bakery.
I decided to make a chicken roll. I was in the middle of grating carrots, when I heard the front door open.
He was rolling his neck as he came in wearing a wife beater and sweatpants, a gym towel over his shoulder.
He stopped short when he saw me.
“Didn’t know you were here,” he said, surprise flitting across his face.
His clothes clung to him, and I was still kind of staring.
Last night flashed back in my mind.
“Sherr? Baby?”
Huh?
His voice pulled me out from my daydreaming, and I realized I’d been staring.
“Just came home ten minutes ago,” I said, and I cursed myself because it came out breathy.
Why did I have to be such a dork? I needed a hole to come open up in the ground and swallow me. I averted my eyes and went back to my carrots.
But not before I saw his lips curl up, and the smile touch his eyes. He pulled out a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Keep looking at me like that and you won’t get to eat your chicken roll,” he warned.
“This is your fault,” I accused, slicing cheese thinly.
“Uh-huh.” I heard the fridge door shut, and the crunch of a bite of apple.
“You scramble my brain,” I further explained.
What the heck was I saying?
It seemed I only amused him more, because I heard a rumble of laughter deep in his chest. I flicked a small slice of cheese at him. He managed to stifle it, but I could see laughter still dancing in his eyes.
“Making fun of me,” I mumbled, a little miffed.
I removed my toasted bread roll from the grill press and sat it on the plate. Then I took the tomato and–
Suddenly, an arm went over my stomach, just below my breasts, pulling me back towards a warm, hard chest.
The tomato tumbled down the chopping board, and stopped just before it reached the edge.
I felt heat rolling off him, and the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing.
“Umm, Chase?”
Without moving, he acknowledged, “Yeah.”
“My chicken –”
As he bent his head down, he kissed my shoulder. My heart squeezed.
“Every time I see you here,” he murmured against my shoulder. Another kiss. “Every time I see you here… It does something to me.”
My pulse sped rapidly.
How did he do it? How on earth did he affect me this way?
He was a whirlwind. He took you and swept you off your feet, and there wasn't a damned thing you could do about it. I don’t know if it was something I loved or hated about him. I decided in that moment that it was both, because you couldn’t really feel one way without knowing the other.
“Really?” I whispered, unable to fully believe that this was really happening.
“Really.”
I turned around, wanting to face him. Needing to. I put my hands on his neck, and felt tears sting my eyes. “Chase, I– thank you.”
“What for?”
“Gee, I don’t know,” I swiped away a tear. “Maybe for giving me a place to stay. For taking care of me. I–”
The next thing I knew, his mouth was on mine, and even though it was sudden, the kiss was tender, exploring.
I moaned against his mouth. His hand tugged at my shirt, and I slipped it off my head. One hand pulled off my hair tie, until the waves of my hair spilled out.
When he kissed me again, it was hungry. Demanding.
Then he expertly undid the clasp of my bra, sliding it down my arms while removing my panties. His arm pushed everything to the side on the counter, and he lifted me up. I laid back, the cold of the granite, contrasting with the heat of his touch.
One hand roamed over my skin, until it reached and grazed over my nipples, and he rocked against me. He kissed my neck.
His head bent down over me, his tongue circled my nipple, and he sucked it deep.
“Chase.”
My hand was on his head as I pulled him closer.
He lifted his head up, and said, his voice low, “Fuck. So sweet.”
I put my legs around him, pulling us closer until he slid in. As fiery as we ignited, he slowed as he lowered, as if committing the moment to memory. It started out slow and teasing, until he went faster, more desperate. His thumb went to my clit, rolling it at the same time as his thrusts, and I clenched hard against him, coming. It seemed to go on for a while, until he groaned against my throat as he came.
We stayed there, unmoving. For a while, there was nothing but the sound of our breathing.
He grazed his knuckles over my side.
“Whatever I have is yours. No,” he said firmly when I looked away. I lifted my eyes back to his, and the look he gave me made my breath catch. “Those things you thanked me for… Undone me, baby. I need you to believe it’s yours, whenever you want it. Because when you said that I had you, it also goes the other way.”
Was it really that easy? No, more than that, was it really mine?
I remembered, sitting on our porch as a little girl, being told that anything too good to be true probably was. During my parents’ divorce I had to struggle through that. I was
finding that that belief was slowly being eroded by something far more potent, something far easier to sink into and grasp.
Because he made it easy.
He made it so easy for us to be together, and I was fast realizing what that meant.
* * *
As I came back from the bathroom, a picture frame on a side table caught my eye. I noticed it because among the others, it was the only one that was placed facedown. Curious, I walked to it and lifted it up… and I nearly dropped it.
It was us. I remembered this photo. We took it when we were in one of the rented convertible cars, just wanting a night or two outside town. I was laughing as he kissed my cheek, and snapped the shot.
I heard the doorknob twist, and I was dragged back to reality, and quickly put the frame back down.
But he saw.
“You still have it,” I whispered.
His eyes were on the frame, then they went to me. “‘Course.”
“I have mine too,” I admitted, plopping back down on the bed. “It’s stupid. Even when we broke up, I carried it in my wallet, like if I just looked at it, I’d be brought back to that moment. I didn’t want to lose that.”
“Close to you, and everywhere you go,” he mused as he stalked towards me. “I like that.”
I picked at the threads on the corner of the blanket.
“There’s a reason I kept mine, baby. And because that reason’s still there, never going to throw that away,” he nodded towards the frame. “I thought about it. I never could make myself do it.”
“Me too,” I said softly in wonder that he’d felt the same thing, that it was as important to him as it was to me.
He stepped closer to the table and lifted the frame until it sat up, his gaze lingering on the photo.
Then he pulled his gaze away, and turned to me, his eyes filled with resolve. Then he bent down, and pulled something from underneath the bed.
“Got something for you,” he said, pushing a plain folded gift bag towards me.
"What's this?" I held it up, curious. It looked bulky, but it was fairly light as I held it.
"A gift.”
I peeked, just a little. "There's a lot here, Chase," I said, surprised. Then thinking he might've forgotten, said, "It's not my birthday.”
He rolled his eyes. "I know. May fifteen, I haven't forgotten."
"Then why–"
"I missed three.”
He missed three birthdays, so he was giving me presents?
Before I knew it, my eyes stung with tears. “I don’t have anything for you,” I told him, my voice thick with emotion. “Why are you trying to make me cry?”
He stroked my hair, and I leaned against him, my cheek on his shoulder. “I don’t need anything. You told me what it was like at home, with your mom, her head all over the place. I haven’t forgotten that.”
Maybe he had some super photographic memory kind of powers. He had great memory, even with the flowers, even with my quirks. “Do you remember everything?”
A smile touched his lips as he answered, “Only when it comes to you. Open it.”
I parted the bag open carefully.
My hand touched something soft. To my surprise, as I pulled it out, I realized I recognized it. It seemed like it was so long ago when I last saw it.
“You– You won this,” I said, stunned, holding the festival scarf with the panda prints. Panda prints! “During the festival. You cheated, but still.”
“I wanted to win it,” he admitted, “because I wanted to give it to you.”
The next one was an awesome vintage-style notebook, and every couple of pages sprinkled with daily inspiring quotes.
I loved stationery. Put me in the middle of a stationery shop and I would probably impulse buy a little of everything. I had to limit my trips for that reason.
The last was a small, square-shaped flat box.
My heart stopped. Was this…?
"Chase–"
“Not a ring,” he said, nudging it closer. “Open it.”
I lifted the lid, and found a gold necklace with a small circular pendant. It was a small cluster of diamonds.
With a sudden intake of breath, I whispered, “Chase…” I couldn't keep the awe from my voice with the way it glinted from the light of the lamp. “This– It’s too much.”
“Take it. I’ve had it for a long time, Sherr.”
Realizing what that meant shot straight to my heart. “You kept it?”
“It's not a ring. I’m not asking for anything more than what we already have. ”
"I know," I replied softly.
I dropped my head on his shoulder again.
"Talk to me."
"I... We had that.” I looked down at my lap as I talked. “And then we didn't. Just like that, gone so fast."
“I fucked up,” he said. “I should’ve waited. But if I learned anything, baby, it’s because you can lose something the next second that I’m fighting to keep this.”
And with those words, I felt all my defenses crumble. Obliterated, each one. He kicked them down, like they were nothing. I’ve never felt more exposed.
Then I realized I was wrong.
Because my heart didn’t melt just every time he kissed me, but with every word, with every action, and everything he did with care.
“Thank you,” I whispered, and with those two words, I felt his grip on me tighten.
* * *
Half an hour later, still unable to sleep, I shifted slightly to face him in the dark.
"Can't sleep? This a habit now?" he mumbled, his voice rough from sleep, amused.
Honesty. He needed that from me. I mustered up the courage to tell him.
"I'm afraid I'll wake up," I whispered against the dark, "and it would be just another dream."
He squeezed my shoulder at my admission.
He didn't say anything for a while, and I thought he'd fallen asleep, until he said, "Not a dream, baby.”
He moved to kiss my forehead, an arm going to my back, sliding down until it reached the curve of my hip. The warmth lingered even as I drifted off, and I could almost swear I fell asleep with a smile.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Random act of craziness
I woke up to the smell of coffee.
When I was old enough to want to drink coffee regularly, I claimed it as my one true love. What better thing to soothe you, to wake you up when you needed a jolt of common sense?
He stood barefoot in the kitchen, him reaching to crack open an egg, and on top of the stove a skillet.
And it gave me an odd feeling.
Here he was, doing something so domestic, it made me melt inside. It reminded me so much of the past, and of what could’ve been if I’d given a different response back then.
We’d been through so much.
It was scary, and huge, and overwhelming, especially with everything I learned from last night. In a way, it was also very new.
“Morning, beautiful,” he said with a smile when he saw me.
Sitting there, the warmth of the sun streaming through his window, thinking that with the state of my hair this morning I was far from beautiful, I was stunned by a new realization.
It was magnified when he pushed a fresh cup of coffee in front of me, even further when he grinned at me.
Two simple words and a smile, and it changed everything. He hadn’t even given me a chance to build my walls back.
This infuriating, but sweet and thoughtful man was sexy as hell and a little bossy at times, but he cooked for me, he made sure I slept well, and he gave me a place to stay when I needed it the most.
Add to the growing list that I’d fallen in love with him all over again.
He saw them all. All my flaws, my insecurities, everything I was, laid bare.
And he didn’t give a damn. He didn’t care that I apparently snored, that I wanted (needed) extra pillows to sleep, that I moved a lot in bed when I slept, or that my hair was messed up in the mornings, because to him
it was beautiful.
I’m fighting to keep this.
He’d let me go back then, but he’d never stopped waiting for me.
And I found, in those mere moments, I needed to make the conscious decision to let go. It wasn't something that was going to happen overnight, but it was a step. More than selfishness to protect myself, more than pride, I wanted to keep him in my life.
Trust was earned. It was scary and huge for me, but it was precious. And if I learnt anything in the past two years, it was that if something was important to you, to keep it in your life, you had to nurture and protect it. That was just the way it went.
Because I didn't just have him to forgive. To move on, I also needed to forgive myself. I was often harsh on myself because I’ve made mistakes that I wished I could undo. But it was time I stopped looking back.
“Chase.”
He looked at me in silent question. I don’t know what he must’ve saw swimming in my eyes, because he turned the stove off and went to me. “Sleep good?”
He took my hands and linked them with his, rubbing a thumb over my hand absently, his gaze intense on me. He lifted it up and pressed his lips over it.
My heart beat wildly on my chest. “Yeah. You?”
“Of course,” he said it like it was ridiculous to think otherwise.
My heart was filled with something overwhelmingly huge, something I couldn't name. I had to let it out.
"Chase–" I stopped. Then I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
I could do this. Somehow, I felt like it was vitally important to get the words out, and get them right. "I want fight to keep this too. Or at least, I want to try,” I said earnestly.
His eyes shot to mine. I don't know what he saw in them, but a smile stretched wide on his face. “Fuck. Early morning surprises.”
Then the next thing I knew, his hand was buried in my hair, his tongue dove inside my mouth, licking, tasting. I kissed him back with the same hunger, my hand on the warm skin of his shoulder, then glided up to his neck.
When he pulled back, he touched his forehead against mine. “I’m going to finish so we can both eat.”
* * *
My phone rang, and I pulled it out of my pocket.
Truce or Dare (Sweet Fortuity Book 1) Page 16
