Authors: Jennifer Dawson

Take A Chance On Me (22 page)

BOOK: Take A Chance On Me

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Chapter Twenty-Two

Mitch sat in the back booth of his crappy bar and took another swallow of beer. His fifth. The alcohol had done nothing to quell the anger burning a hole in his stomach.

“Just hear her out.” Across from him, a calm Sam spoke, using the casual tone that grated on Mitch’s every last nerve.

“What is she up to?” Mitch narrowed his eyes. God, this day had gone to shit. After his fight with Maddie, he’d come here and spent the day in his dark, miserable office scouring the Internet and obscure legal references for ideas on how to handle the aftermath of his father’s scandal.

It had been depressing business that had only increased his bad mood. Maddie’s escapades around town were the icing on the cake.

“Don’t worry about it.” Sam scrubbed a hand over his blond-stubbled jaw.

“Fuck you, Sam.” Mitch had had about enough of his vague, cryptic shit. He slammed the bottle on the table much harder than he should have, and foam spilled over the top. “I’m not in the mood.”

Sam shrugged and returned to the paperwork in front of him. “All right, then.”

Several minutes passed and Mitch waited for the ragged edges of his frustration to melt away, but it didn’t happen. If anything, without Sam to snap at, his aggravation increased.

Hell, after this morning, he’d half expected her to hightail it out of town, but as usual, she hadn’t done what he expected. Instead, she’d made her way from one end of the town to the other—stopping at the garage, visiting Charlie at the police station, and, strangest of all, taking his mother to buy flowers.

She was getting into trouble. He could feel it.

Sam rifled through papers, the sound distracting Mitch from his thoughts. Mitch glowered at the invoices and blurted, “I hate this place. Every time I step in here, I want to hit something.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“I think we should consider a partnership,” Mitch said. Sam did half the shit anyway.

Sam cocked his head to the side and studied Mitch in that annoying way he had. “Things will be clearer after everything goes down.”

Logic dictated that he shouldn’t believe in premonitions, but he’d given up on that when he was twelve and Sam warned him not to play baseball one summer’s day. Mitch hadn’t listened and had ended up with broken arm, ruining the rest of his summer. “What’s going on?”

“I thought you weren’t in the mood,” Sam answered with a smirk.

Mitch practically growled.

Sam held up his hands in surrender. “All right, this is what I’ll tell you: it’s supposed to be this way.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You need to let it play out,” Sam said, getting a faraway look on his face. “Stop trying to control everything.”

Control? Fuck. His hand tightened on his glass, threatening to shatter it to pieces. He had control over nothing. “What good are you if you won’t tell me anything concrete?”

Sam shrugged. “Sometimes things need to play out a certain way, and this is one of those times.”

Mitch couldn’t help rolling his eyes, but Sam kept talking, ignoring the sarcasm.

“You’re getting in the way, stopping the natural progression. If you knew the game, you’d only make it worse.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” His aggravation grew by leaps and bounds. How was this helpful?

“It means I’m not going to tell you shit, because if I do, you’ll screw it the hell up.” Sam peered at him, his blue eyes knowing and filled with an inner understanding that eluded the rest of them. “Despite being an asshole at the moment, it’s time for you to have some happiness, but that won’t happen until you give in.”

Happiness seemed too far out of reach to be a tangible outcome. And how could Sam say this was his fault? What bullshit. His head pounded along with the too-fast beating of his heart. The panic he’d kept at bay by immersing himself in research all day threatened to boil over. He felt completely helpless, with no clue which way to turn.

Sam chuckled. “You’re not supposed to, dickhead.”

Startled out of his tumultuous thoughts, Mitch blinked. “What?”

“The path is never clear to the one who’s on it.”

Mitch snorted and took a sip of his beer. “Where you do get this stuff? A fortune cookie?”

“Nah, I get them off the Internet.” Sam grinned. “There’s a list.”

Mitch laughed, a hard bark. “Well it’s annoying as fuck.”

“That’s why I do it.” Sam went back to looking at his paperwork.

Silence descended over the table once again, and Mitch watched the Cubs lose while Sam did whatever it was he did.

Mitch downed the rest of his beer and shook his head, admitting what he’d known deep down since the scandal broke. “It’s not going to work out.”

“It depends on you,” Sam said, not looking up.

“How does it depend on me?” Mitch asked the question but he didn’t expect an answer.

“Stop fighting it and you’ll find out.”

Sorry he’d even asked, Mitch slid from the booth and walked to the bar to grab another bottle of beer.

A hand clamped over Maddie’s mouth, jolting her awake in an instant. With her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears, the strangled scream died in her throat. A large figure loomed over her. She gripped the hand at her mouth, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Maddie, it’s me.” Mitch’s whispered voice had her going limp with relief.

He let her go, and she sucked air into her burning lungs, willing her heartbeat to slow. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” The word was gruff and raw. “I didn’t want you to scream.”

With her vision adjusting to the darkness, she said, “You left me.”

“I know.”

She wanted to be mad, to work up some righteous indignation, but she couldn’t. Every time she remembered that look on his face, it died away. She slid up the back of the headboard. “I stayed.”

“Good.” He stripped off his shirt and undid the button of his jeans. “I need you. Now.”

“What—”

“Later.” His tone was sharp.

Maddie reared back. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, he grabbed a handful of her nightshirt, yanked her to him, and covered her lips with his.

She gasped in surprise, and he took full advantage, angling his head to devour her like a starving man. Her thoughts scattered, fragmenting into a million little pieces as his kiss consumed her with raw, unchecked intensity.

He tore away. Teeth scraped along her jaw and over her neck. Pleasure throbbed between her legs as he nipped and licked.

She should stop him or slow him down so they could talk, but then he bit her throat, right over her pounding pulse, and she lost her ambition to do anything but sink into him.

He ripped the nightshirt over her head. With rough hands, he cupped her sex, rubbing his fingers over her cotton-covered clitoris. She moaned, slithering down the headboard and onto the mattress, parting her thighs to give him better access.

He growled, a low sound from deep in his throat. He grabbed the strings that held her panties together on either side of her hips and ripped, leaving her bare.

She started to pant when he stroked his fingers through her moist folds. God, she was so wet. So hot.

This was wrong. They had important things to say. They needed to talk.

His thumb brushed the bundle of nerves, and she bowed off the bed. “Mitch.”

He delivered a hard, almost punishing kiss, then pulled away to grip her chin. Her eyes fluttered open to meet his stark gaze.

“Are you going to tell me what you’ve been doing today?”

She blinked, fighting her way back from the drugging lust to focus on his question. “Errands.” It was not a complete lie; they were errands. Kind of.

He got on the bed and straddled her naked body, making her very aware of her vulnerable position while he was fully clothed. “What were you doing at Charlie’s?”

She couldn’t tell him the truth.

“I’m waiting.” Mitch’s voice was like the blade of a knife.

“I got a parking ticket.” It was her first lie, but he’d lied too, so they were even.

“You’re lying.” He shook his head, dropping his hand from her chin. “And you know what? Right now, I don’t even care. Right now, all I care about is sinking into that hot, tight pussy of yours so I can fuck the hell out of you.”

Instinct warned her to step back. To stop this and force them to deal with everything left unspoken between them, but she couldn’t. She needed to wait until she could answer his questions. Then, maybe, he’d understand.

Instead, she followed his lead and reached for him. “Yes, please.”

The following morning, after Mitch had finally satiated his desire to claim Maddie in every physical way possible and become saner, he asked Maddie again about the day before. Like the night before, she refused to comment. Instead, she looked guilty and avoided the questions by giving his mother her undivided attention.

Mitch had no choice but to take matters into his own hands.

The first stop on the list had been Gracie, who’d been coy, full of smiles, and ultimately unhelpful. Sam had been there, watching him in that speculative way of his, probably filled with some mystical bullshit that would only confound Mitch. Gracie had pushed him out the door with a plate full of pink frosted cupcakes and a “Have a nice day.”

Now, he opened the door to Tommy’s garage and spotted the mechanic sitting in his glass-enclosed office with his attention fixed on a computer screen. Mitch scanned the rest of the place, relieved that Mary Beth was not in sight. Good. Tommy was always more forthcoming when his wife wasn’t around. He pushed his way into the office without knocking, and Tommy whirled around.

When he saw Mitch, his mile-wide shoulders relaxed. “Hey.”

Mitch didn’t see the point of preamble. “I heard Maddie came for a visit yesterday.”

“That’s right,” Tommy said, returning to the computer screen with rapt attention.

“Why?”

Several seconds ticked by. “To pay her bill.”

“I already paid you.” The trained lawyer skills that he’d abandoned long ago stirred. He crossed his arms.

Tommy scratched his head, his face glowing slightly from the monitor. “Yeah, that’s what I told her.”

“And?” Mitch pressed.

The chair under Tommy creaked as he swiveled back and forth. “End of story.”

“I don’t buy it.”

“You don’t have to.” The female voice behind Mitch made his stomach sink.

Mary Beth skirted around him, putting her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “She came to pay her bill, we told her you’d already taken care of it, and she left.”

Mary Beth’s cool blue eyes were implacable, unreadable.

Mitch felt like a dog whose fur had been rubbed the wrong way. “What are you hiding?”

She smiled, a bright, cheery expression. “Nothing, but for the record, Counselor, I told her how you bailed on Luke’s case.”

Mitch ground his teeth and spat, “I didn’t bail. I’m doing the right thing.”

“Ha! By being a coward.”

There was that fucking word again.

“Shit!” Mitch dragged a hand through his hair. Why was this concept so hard for everyone to grasp? “Do you want your nephew defended by someone who’s going to be disbarred?”

One blond brow rose up her forehead and she huffed. “I want Luke to be defended by the best lawyer I know.” She pointed straight at him. “You.”

“You’re crazy.” He glanced at Tommy, appealing for help, but saw nothing but speculation behind the feigned dumb-jock look. “You don’t know the first thing about my skills as a lawyer.”

Mary Beth huffed. “Sam told me you were the one.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Mitch yelled.

Why was it that after three years of numb solitude, living on the fringe of this town, everyone now felt they were free to meddle in his life? “Are you going to tell me what’s going on or not?”

“Not.” Mary Beth’s chin shot up.

Mitch wanted to roar, but he kept his composure, clenching his hands into tight fists. He looked at Tommy. “You?”

Tommy shook his head, and once again, his wife laid her hand on his shoulder: the picture of solidarity.

“Fine.” Mitch stormed out.

Ten minutes later, he sat in front of Charlie, frustration clawing at him like a caged jungle cat. “What the hell do you mean, nothing?”

Charlie’s hard black eyes narrowed. “I mean, nothing.”

“You’re full of shit.” Mitch got up from the plain wooden chair and started to pace in the small, cluttered space. Charlie, more than anyone, should be on his side, but that wasn’t happening. “Something is going on.”

“Relax,” Charlie said, leaning back in his chair with a small smile on his face.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Mitch pointed at him. “And why are you grinning?”

“Maybe you should concentrate on your real problems,” Charlie suggested mildly.

“The list of my real problems is growing by the hour.”

“Fix the most important one.”

“And what would that be?” He was irritated that no one would tell him what was going on.

Charlie studied him and Mitch snapped, “Don’t try that cop shit on me.”

“Fine.” Charlie shrugged. “You can go now.”

Mitch jerked to a stop. “That’s it?”

“I’ve told you everything I’m going to.”

“You haven’t told me anything.”

“Your point?”