I throw on my clothes. I have to get to her. I have to get to her right away.
I send another text:
WHERE ARE YOU CHARITY?
But there’s no response.
I stare hopelessly at the last picture message she sent.
There has to be some clue — something that will help me find her.
And then there in the background, so small I nearly miss it, are three playing cards pinned to the wall. Three aces.
I grab the keys to my bike, then run for the door.
The room is spinning. The music is pulsating. My head is throbbing.
This is it! I think. I’m finally out in the world, having fun, not cooped up in the library with my dusty old books.
And everyone here has been super kind, too. In fact, I haven’t bought a single drink all evening. And I’ve had quite a few drinks …
But best of all? I’ve shown Chase that he’s not the only one who can do what he likes.
Because tonight, Charity Lindley is going to do whatever she wants. Including drinking on a Tuesday.
Fuck boring old Professor Lane and his class tomorrow morning. I’m gonna dance my ass off tonight, instead.
It was so easy. All I had to do was Google ‘biker bar New York’ and here I am: The Three Aces. It’s so much fun. I’m making new friends, and one of them’s even promised to take me out on his bike later to show me the stars.
I grab my beer bottle and head to the dance floor …
Oops.
I stumble slightly, my legs buckling underneath me for a moment. I’m not used to these heels. And maybe I’ve had a little too much to drink, too.
I’ll slow down a bit, make sure my next drink is a water.
And as I stumble, my legs wobbling their way across the dance floor, I feel an arm grab around my waist to steady me. It pulls me closer. Closer to him.
It’s the biker guy from earlier.
“Hey!” I say. “Hank, right?”
“You can call me whatever you want, baby,” he smiles back, pulling me even closer to him.
It’s too close; it’s too much now, and it’s only when I try to pull away that I realize just how tight he’s grabbing me.
“Hey,” I say again, trying to gently slip back out of his grip, “why don’t we go to the bar? Get a couple more of those tequila shots?”
But he holds me firmly in place as he says, “I’ve got everything I want right here.”
“Actually, I think I just need to go to the ladies’ room,” I say.
I know we’re in a crowded bar, but this is starting to make me feel uncomfortable. I can’t help feeling a little scared, too — like I don’t quite know what I’ve got myself into.
“Bullshit,” he growls. “You were in the ladies’ room five minutes ago.”
“Please,” I say, unable to keep up the pretense any longer. “Just let me go. You’re scaring me.”
“Good,” he leers, one hand now moving to my ass.
This is too much. I came here for a good time, not to get felt up by some sleazy stranger. I don’t care whether or not I cause a scene anymore. And I’m ready to scream, or maybe smack him across the face with my free hand, when all of a sudden, someone beats me to it.
A figure, as if from nowhere, appears behind him, pulls him off me, then punches him square in the jaw, sending him stumbling backwards into some tables, beer bottles smashing everywhere.
When this kind of thing happens in movies, the whole place goes silent for a moment, the music goes dead, before the room erupts into a brawl. But tonight, nobody even bats an eyelid.
I guess they must be used to this sort of thing …
“What’s it gotta do with you, asshole,” the guy roars, pulling himself up from the ground and lurching back in for another punch.
And that’s when I see who it was that leapt in to save me.
Chase.
Ducking the blow, he pushes the guy backwards sending him once more into the tables with an almighty crash, before shouting, “Just leave it, man. You don’t want this.”
And this time, the guy stays down.
“Fucking bitch,” he murmurs, shooting an evil look at me.
“Come on,” Chase says, turning to me, “I’m getting you out of here.”
At first, I’m too shocked to say anything. I just let him lead me out of the bar. I’m half dazed and half drunk, but as soon as we get outside, as soon as the cold air hits me, I seem to sober up in a flash.
“What the fuck are you doing, Chase?” I snap.
“Charity, are you okay?” he says, concerned and ignoring my question.
“Yes, I’m okay,” I reply. “Although to be honest, I was better before you came in and caused a bar brawl.”
“I saw what was going on,” he says. “That guy was gonna hurt you …”
“That guy was a drunk idiot, and yes he was a bit touchy-feely,” I say, “but I can handle myself, Chase. I had this one.”
“I don’t like the thought of anyone hurting you, Charity.”
And if I was shouting before, well, I lose the plot totally now. As we stand there in the parking lot, I start screaming at him.
“No! Stop! You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to turn up and be my knight in shining armor after everything you’ve done. For one thing, I don’t need it. I’m a grown up now. I can look after myself. And for another? You’re no prince charming, Chase. You’re a bad guy. You’re bad news. And I don’t want you in my life anymore.”
And then I stop.
Because he’s standing in front of me, hanging his head in shame.
I stand there for a moment, looking at him, silently. I was ranting, and now I can’t think of anything to say.
Eventually, he looks up at me and says, quietly, “You’re right. It’s true. I don’t deserve you. I’ve hurt you in so many ways. I wish I could go back and change the past, but I can’t. I just want you to know how much I regret the way I’ve behaved. I know I don’t deserve another chance with you, but please, at least let me see you home.”
It’s funny seeing a man usually so tall and imposing suddenly looking as vulnerable as a lost puppy dog. And besides, I really don’t want to get home on my own after tonight.
“Come on then,” I say. “Let’s find a cab.”
§
“Wow, so this is where you live,” he says, looking around my apartment.
He might not deserve a second chance, but he at least deserves a cup of coffee. After all, he did pay for the cab.
So here he is, in my tiny apartment.
“It’s not exactly the penthouse suite,” I say, as I fill the coffee machine.
“Actually?” he says with a smile. “I don’t own the penthouse. That’s three floors up.”
“Yeah, you’re really slumming it,” I reply, unable to stop myself from smiling too.
Even after everything I said to him tonight, I’m glad he’s here.
We take our coffees through to my bedroom.
“Gabby’s probably asleep,” I explain in a whisper. “She’s got a big exam tomorrow and I don’t want to wake her. So we’ll have to steer clear of the living room. My bedroom’s on the small side, I’m afraid …”
“Wow, you’re telling me,” he says with a grin, when he lays eyes on my single bed.
“Oh yeah,” I say, blushing slightly. “I guess it is kind of embarrassing for a twenty-seven year old woman to have a single bed. But this room is so small. And besides, it’s not exactly like I make a habit of bringing guys back here …”
“In that case, I’m honored,” he says.
“Okay,” I add, “if I’m being totally honest? You’re the first.”
“To firsts,” he says, proposing a toast by holding out his coffee mug towards me.
“To firsts,” I say, smiling, clinking my mug against his, then both of us taking a sip, our eyes locking in the half-light of my room.
And maybe I’m still a little tipsy from all that tequila ear
lier, but he’s right here in my bedroom, and I want him so bad I just lean in and kiss him.
This time, I’m the one in control — the one calling the shots. I can tell that he’s on his best behavior, making no sudden moves, waiting to see how far I want to take this.
And although I’d promised myself it would just be a kiss, I can already feel things heating up between us, as if the more we touch, the more hungry we become for each other.
I break the kiss just long enough to put my coffee mug down on the little side-table, then lead him to the bed, urging him down onto it with me.
It’s silly, but I feel just as nervous and excited as a teenager, as we fall back side by side onto my little single bed, kissing once again, his hands in my hair, mine urgently fumbling now with the buttons of his shirt.
Soon I’m running my fingers over the toned muscles of his chest, tracing the smoothness of his skin, his kisses becoming more urgent as I run my fingertips downwards, towards his pants, as if to urge me onwards.
I can tell he’s enjoying this, too, but still he’s holding back, letting me make the moves, perhaps because this is in my apartment.
Soon I’ve unbuckled his belt, his tongue pushing further into my mouth, his breath becoming heavy as I slowly unbutton his jeans, button by tantalizing button, my fingers slipping now under the waistband of his briefs, then finding his hot hardness — telling me that he is definitely just as into this as I am.
I pull his cock free, stroking it as we kiss, feeling it grow even harder in my grip, and then I break the kiss, catching his eye for a moment, a wicked little smile on my lips, before I turn my attention to the place between his legs, lowering my face towards it.
At first I kiss him there gently, teasing him, enjoying the way his breathing grows faster and his hips thrust urgently, but keeping my kisses light and gentle, running my tongue up and down his shaft, feeling the heat and hardness of him, the smooth silk of his skin, and massaging his balls with one hand as I slowly stroke him with the other.
Then, when he can take it no more, I finally let him slip between my lips, feeling him fill my mouth completely, continuing to stroke his shaft as I suck him, his breathing and the way his hands are moving gently into my hair telling me that I’m doing it just the way he likes.
“Stop,” he whispers breathlessly, and when I look up he’s smiling. “I don’t want this to be over too soon,” he grins.
I crawl back towards him for another kiss, straddling him now, pushing my mouth against his, feeling the hot hardness of his cock brushing me through the thin silk of my panties, grinding myself against him.
Finally, I can’t take it any longer. I reach between my legs, pulling my panties to one side as I guide him easily inside me, moaning softly as he stretches me so wide.
His hands move to my ass now, urging me to take more of him, and ever so slowly he starts bucking his hips, holding me in place on top of him as he thrusts, each time pushing even deeper, each time causing the sweet flashes of electricity to increase inside me, fluttering and radiating out around my body as he takes me, both of us trying to keep quiet so as not to wake Gabby, our shivering breath and the soft creak of the tiny bed the only sounds in the room as he fucks me, growing faster now, harder and harder, plunging himself deep inside me.
I reach down between my legs, working my clit a couple of times, just enough to throw me over the edge. I fall forwards as I come, stuffing my tongue deep into his mouth, feeling his final thrusts before he too climaxes inside me, filling me with his warmth.
I wake up in an unfamiliar bed. I feel a jolt of panic, for just a second. It’s always like this — every time I wake up in a strange bed, I remember my past. The years of running around with gangs. Of never staying in the same place for more than a few weeks. Of cutting and running from motels in the middle of the night.
But although I am in a strange bed, I’m not with a stranger. Because when I turn around I see her there. Charity, dressed simply in a white t-shirt and blue jeans, makeup-free, towel-drying her hair.
She hasn’t noticed I’m awake yet, and for a few moments I watch her as she gets ready. She leaves her hair half-damp, and then looks at herself in the mirror, concentrating hard as she puts on her makeup. Not much; just a slick of mascara, a whirl with some brushes of powder, and a smear of lip balm. She seems so calm, so focused on herself — it’s like the Charity I remember, all those years ago, engrossed in a book or sometimes just her own thoughts, out there on the porch of the beach house.
I used to watch her there, too, sometimes. I’d park the bike a little way away from the house, so as not to disturb her. Sometimes it felt rude even to walk past her. Like she was in her own private world. She was so beautiful, even back then. I could see the woman she was going to become — the woman I’m here with now.
Charity was always going to make something of her life. How could she not? Always reading. Always thinking. And her dad always encouraged her. I used to long for a life like that when I was younger. For parents who gave a shit whether I did my homework or not. For a mom who didn’t come home wasted every night. She told me I was never gonna amount to anything. And even now, with all my money, I can’t help but suspect she might have been right.
I suppose that’s what scared me about Charity. I could see her goodness, her kindness, how smart she was, and how much I was going to hurt her.
I could watch her like this all morning, but just then she turns around, sees I’m awake, and it’s back to reality.
“Morning,” she smiles.
“Good morning to you, too,” I reply. “Aren’t you supposed to be hung-over?”
She blushes slightly.
“I know I was wasted last night, but the thing is, I’m a lightweight. So I never drink enough to really feel the effects the morning after. And a good thing, too, because I’d love to stay and chat but I’ve got work to do at the library this morning.”
I’m literally stunned. I’ve never had a woman do this to me before. The other way round? Sure. I’ve quietly gotten dressed, leaving someone wrapped naked in my sheets, made a quick escape while telling them where the coffee’s kept. So I suppose at least I know how it feels now. And how it feels sucks, and I’m not gonna let her get away with it.
I wrap the sheet around my body, swing my legs out of bed, and move over to her. I don’t need to go far — her room’s so small. I’m gonna get her back in bed, right this second …
“Hey,” she says, as I wrap my arms around her slender waist. “Not so fast, mister.”
She takes my hands from around her, and sits me back down on the bed.
“I said I’ve got work to do,” she scolds.
“As do I,” I counter. “But right now, I want to be in bed. With you.”
I reach up and pull her close, kissing her. She kisses me back, and she’s mine for a moment, but I can’t celebrate my victory for too long before she pulls away once more.
“No, no, no, no, no,” she says, shaking her head.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, worried that I’ve gone to far, that I’ve upset her somehow.
“Nothing’s wrong,” she says. “It’s not like that.”
She sits down on the bed next to me and sighs, putting her head in her hands, her long hazelnut hair, still-damp, falling forwards and covering her face.
“Listen, Chase. Thank you for looking out for me last night. I know I didn’t exactly seem grateful at the time, but I appreciate it. I really do. And afterwards, back here? All this?” She gestures to the bed. “It was fun. But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t do this again. You’ve hurt me too much, Chase. And I take responsibility for that, too. I’ve let you hurt me. I got caught up in the memory of who we were as teenagers. Not the reality of who we are now. I mean, just look around you, Chase. My entire bedroom is smaller than your walk-in shower. I’m looking for love, and you’re a playboy. I need to let you go. Finally …”
She looks at me sadly, then leans in and kisses me gently on
the cheek.
“But I … I …” I stammer.
“No,” she interrupts. “Don’t say anything. You’ll only convince me to change my mind.”
Quickly, she stands up, grabs her bag and jacket, and heads to the door.
“There’s coffee in the kitchen, let yourself out,” she says before the door slams shut.
Ouch.
Let yourself out?
That’s my line.
And it turns out being on the receiving end of it really hurts. Why couldn’t I say anything? Why didn’t I make her listen to me? There were so many things I should have said.
I slowly gather my clothes, then start to get dressed.
I know I should go, but for some reason I don’t want to leave her room. I want to stay here, somehow nearer to her.
I look at her bookshelves: the well-worn paperbacks that she’s read and reread over the years.
And she was right of course. Everything she said about me was true. Chase Parker is a playboy. Or at least, he was a playboy, until Charity Lindley came back into his life.
I take one last look at her things, at the life she’s built, then walk out the door.
“No really, Charity,” Professor Lane smiles, “your last draft was excellent. You’ve made great progress, and I’m so pleased to see that you’ve finally tackled Wuthering Heights.”
“Thank you,” I reply. “I was really nervous that you wouldn’t like my new chapters. But you were right. My argument doesn’t stand up without reference to Wuthering Heights. It’s Emily Bronte’s classic. I was stupid not to include it from the beginning. I guess I just had some stuff to work through with the text …”
He laughs. “Let me guess? Trouble with your own Heathcliff? You wouldn’t be the first student I’ve had who maps their first love onto Bronte’s hero.”
You have no idea, I think, blushing.
“Kind of,” I smile back, desperate to change the subject. “Although I was always more of a Mr Darcy girl myself.”
At this, Professor Lane tuts and shakes his head. “All these romantic heroes from books ruining it for the rest of us! Us regular guys just can’t compete. Anyway, back in the real world, I think you’re nearly there, Charity. Once you’ve written the conclusion, I think you might be done. And after that? Well, it’s just a matter of a close reading to pick up on any errors, make sure all your footnotes are in order, and then I’ll be happy to submit this one. You’ll be Doctor Lindley in no time.”
Claiming Chase: (A Second Chance Stepbrother Romance) Page 11
