Chase Me (Paris Nights Book 2) (15 page)

Now, of course, he was playing the clown.

“All I’m asking is that you tiptoe out of the room and keep the blinds drawn, okay? Unless you’re wearing pink peekaboo panties, in which case it’s okay if you wake me up.”

“What are you even doing in my apartment at all?” And in her bed? The last she remembered was the couch, and she couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the fact that she’d apparently fallen asleep so deeply with him there that he’d been able to lift her body and carry it into another room and she’d never even noticed.

“I couldn’t just leave!” He acted as if she had impugned his honor. “You needed your sleep. And I had no way to lock the deadbolt behind me.”

“That didn’t stop you last time.” Not that she was bitter about him sneaking out of her apartment while she was asleep last time
at all.
She’d knocked her alarm clock and journal to the floor in her scramble to turn it off that morning, before it ruined
his
morning, and then she’d realized…oh.

Oh.

He wasn’t even there.

And that had
not
been a letdown. Not at all. It had been exactly what she’d expected. This morning, now. This morning was
weird.

“You had a much lower chance of having drawn the attention of crazy people last time! I thought the knob lock would be enough to hold off the hordes of attackers for three hours.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for not overstaying your welcome.” But her mouth turned down despite herself.

For no good reason. She’d been entirely relieved that morning, of course. Nobody wanted to face the consequences of a wild hook-up the next morning.

Nobody. Definitely not Vi.

Chase rubbed his eyes with one big hand and then slowly lowered it and studied her a second. “Hey. I had to get to work.”

“Yeah, security has really crazy hours,” she said dryly.

“Says the top chef.”

She found herself biting back a smile.
Damn it.
If only she wasn’t so susceptible to his complete inability to be crushed or defeated by anything.

The man would be
hell
to live with. He would
never
be willing to lose an argument.

Not that she was
in any way thinking about living with him.
She knew he was just bullshitting her about the marriage thing, and anyway, who wanted to live in Texas? They had rattlesnakes there.

“Past tense top chef,” she said. “Thanks to you.”

“Honey,
nobody
can make you a past tense but yourself. And you know it damn well. That’s part of what makes you so beautiful.” He blew her a kiss.

“I need to buy more soft objects.” That kiss made her want to throw something at him, but somehow…she wanted the something to be soft and cuddly. A cute, fuzzy stuffed animal, maybe.

Mentally she kicked herself.

“Or a black lace thong,” he said out of the blue. “Possibly you could wake me up if you were wearing a black lace thong.” He examined her hips with a gimlet eye.

“
Oh, purée
,” Vi muttered.

“Or those black cotton things you were wearing the other night. Or maybe even plain white cotton. That would probably be okay.”

She definitely needed to buy more soft objects to throw.

“Or whatever you’re wearing now. Let me see it to make sure.”

Vi struggled not to laugh or, even worse, drop her hands to play with her zipper.
Stop it, Vi.
“I’ve got to get to work.”

Maybe she could climb in through that window before the inspection teams came back.

Do something adventurous to claim her life back.

Because after that she had to face the hotel owners. The two people who had hired her, who had supported her as she took the restaurant in a completely new direction, who had ignored all controversy in their firm belief she could do it. A flamboyant female chef in a field so dominated by males its sexism was its own legend, she could take Au-dessus all the way to the top. Three stars. Nothing to hold her down.

“I could be quick,” Chase said plaintively.

Vi snickered. “I’ve never had any doubt of
that.
”

His eyes gleamed. Oops, she had challenged him. Scruffy and tousled, he straightened from the wall.

“No,” Vi said.

He scowled. “Damn it, hot sex was one of my primary motivations for getting involved with you, you know.”

Vi started to laugh. It just bubbled out of her, far too much of it for his ridiculous sense of humor, but once it started, it felt too good to stop.

“Later, I fell in love with you for your mind,” Chase said soulfully, trying to gaze deeply into her eyes.

Vi doubled over.

“Also your spirit,” Chase murmured. “So fine.”

Vi waved his nonsense away with her splinted hand. “I’ve got to get to work.”

“Half a sec.” Chase rubbed his hand over his hair to half-straighten it, yawned, and then, in that one blink of an eye, no longer looked sleepy at all. “I’ll drive you.”

Vi stiffened. “I drive myself.”

“Sorry, honey.” Chase crossed the room in a couple of strides and took her splinted hand. Lifting it, he kissed the visible tip of her constrained fingers. “Not for another three weeks you don’t.”

Vi froze. She’d thought about all the challenges she’d have cooking. She’d actually cried—not that anyone better ever find that out—in the shower as she tried to wash her hair. But still, somehow, in her vision of herself, she was cutting through Paris on the back of a powerful motorbike, in charge of herself and her destination.

She stomped her foot hard and began to curse. A long, colorful string.

“Wow,” Chase said admiringly. “You’re better than some of those Legionnaires I’ve worked with. Do you want me to teach you some Spanish words to mix in?”

“I want my life back!” Vi yelled.

“You know, you might want to consider another place for hitting a man than his chin, if a little boxer’s fracture is going to throw you off your stride so much. I know the chin always attracts amateurs, but it’s a great way to break your pinky if you haven’t had training in how to properly throw a punch.”

Vi made a sound like a growling dog and stomped off, grabbing her leather coat.

She couldn’t pull it on over her splint, because the sleeves were too tight.

She threw it on the floor and cursed some more.

Chase smiled at her as if she was some vision from heaven. “You are just all energy, all the time, aren’t you? Here.” He held out his own leather jacket.

“What are you going to wear?”

He shrugged. “You?”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Well, you will wrap your arms around me and hold on tight to protect me, won’t you?” he asked, big-eyed and anxious.

“You idiot. You know perfectly well that won’t help if we get in an accident. Your skin will get ripped right off if you’re not wearing leather.”

“So will yours,” Chase said calmly, pushing the jacket at her.

Vi folded her arms. “No.”

He gazed at her a moment. His own eyes narrowed. Unstoppable force met immovable object.

Chase picked her jacket up off the floor, produced a lethal folded knife out of nowhere and sprang the blade, then sliced up half the sleeve. Vi gasped. “Here.” He handed it to her. “Now your hand fits. Satisfied?”

Vi grabbed the jacket to her like a wounded child. She loved that jacket. She loved it so damn much. It made her feel sexy and strong, able to handle anything. When she had it on and the handlebars of her bike under her hands, she felt as if she could go anywhere, be anyone, do anything—a limitless potential that made it clear that she was doing and being exactly what she had always dreamed of doing.

Tears welled up in her eyes before she even knew they were coming. “You—damn—
bastard
!” she yelled to cover them.

Chase looked at the way she was clutching her jacket, looked at his knife, looked at her face—and suddenly was absolutely horrified. “Honey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Just to get your way!” she yelled. “Just to win against me. You
ruined
it!” She needed that jacket to face this day. She
needed
it.

This horrible, fucking day, where everyone would be talking about her, everyone bashing her, journalists hovering around her, inspectors blocking her out of her kitchens. She
needed
it.

“I didn’t realize it meant so much to you,” Chase said hurriedly. “It’s your special gear, isn’t it? That you made sure was just perfect for you? Honey, I’m
sorry.
”

“You would have known if you
asked
!” Vi yelled. “Before you did it! If you’d
asked
if it was okay if you
destroyed something of mine
!”

He looked down at his knife, shamefaced.

“I could have worn my damn denim jacket for a few days! I could probably have taken off the splint long enough to get my hand through! I could have bought another jacket to use for a while! I could have done all kinds of things that it was
my choice to do or not do
, but you’re the damn man, so obviously you got to ride right over
me
!”

Like he’d ridden over her
life
, damn him. And wouldn’t even admit he’d done it.

“Damn it.” All that stubborn will had folded into remorse. “I’ll buy you another one.”

Oh, yeah, like she could just open up another restaurant in Texas or Washington? Since he’d smeared Au-dessus for some freaking operation he wouldn’t admit to?

“What, do you think just any leather jacket will do? That you could find in a store in
July
? Do you think the problem is that I can’t afford to buy my own damn clothes?”

“No,” Chase said, big shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry.”

“I hate you,” Vi said. “And you’re not driving my motorcycle, and you can get the hell out of my apartment. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

***

Riding the Métro to the hotel was miserable. All of her strength and belief in herself got crushed down there, until she was reduced to one of the masses that crowded into the cars, no better or more special than any of the other eleven million people in the city. Some guy sang songs behind her about her butt, and she couldn’t even hit him, because she needed to have at least one functioning hand for the rest of the day.

It was horrible to face her meeting with the owners feeling so small. A knot swelled in her throat like it was absorbing too much water, all those tears she couldn’t possibly let herself shed again. Not here. Not now.

She fought down the sting in her nose and at the backs of her eyes. She swallowed down the knot.

She took a hard breath.

And then she lifted her head and just faked it—overdoing the aggression, overdoing the performance of confidence, overdoing everything. But at least doing it, as she made herself stride in.

And down the street, hiding in a doorway, Chase’s heart squeezed tight and he kicked the wall because he couldn’t actually figure out how to kick himself.

Chapter 13

“Yeah, you screwed up.” Jake flexed his shoulders, balancing upright on a narrow chimney, gazing at the rooftops of Paris. The sun was angling down in the afternoon, and it was actually a pretty nice day. Maybe Paris in July wasn’t always rainy and cold?

“Fuck, yeah.” Ian hauled himself through the skylight and found a balancing point on the narrow point of the roof, also pausing to take in the view. Elias was out ahead of them, moving like a black panther across the rooftops. A little light urban jungle training, since they still had no word to move on Al-Mofti.

“I know,” Chase said. “I
know.
I can’t believe I fucking did that. What the hell?”

“I would have kicked your ass so bad.” Jake shook his head, vicariously pissed off already. “If you’d ruined my gear like that.”

“I
know
.” Chase winced into himself. “
Fuck.
”

“I mean, seriously.” Jake grabbed the clay chimney tops, vaulted over them, and ran along the ridge of the roof to leap without pause across a narrow gap to the next one. He glanced back. “Seriously kicked it.”

“I
know
!!” Chase leaped after him, slid down the zinc slope of the roof, landed on a flat rooftop below, rolled and came to his feet. A couple of pigeons scattered. Ian dropped beside him. In the distance, they could see the Eiffel Tower and Notre-Dame. Behind them the Sacré-Coeur. The sounds of the city echoed up from the street, the noise of cars amplified by the particular acoustics of the straight buildings.

“And right when she needed it,” Chase said, low. “When she was facing the worst day of her life. I wish we didn’t have to delay the ‘test results’ for the salmonella so long.” Yeah, if they could just catch that bastard Al-Mofti, all kinds of things about the world would be better.

“That’s the worst day of her life?” Jake’s freckled nose crinkled. “Having to deal with getting blamed for some bad eggs or something?"

“She’s a civilian,” Chase reminded him. “Their lives are different.”

“Yeah,” Ian muttered, heartfelt.

“Plus, it’s her rep,” Chase said. “It’s like she lost a weapon or…I don’t know, was a
coward
or something. It’s bad. It’ll follow her for all her career. It could even
end
her career.” A pit opened in his stomach even saying it. Because she clearly loved her career.

What if he had fallen that time he was hanging upside down and slipping in BUD/S and broken his arm? He would have been out, his whole life derailed, and he would never have become who he was.

Knowing what was at stake, he’d been able to draw on one last desperate burst of strength to make it over the top.

Making that moment the wrong analogy. Succeeding had, in the end, been under his control.

So it was more like his old swim buddy from BUD/S, Kev, whose chutes had gotten tangled in a HAHO jump and who had gone into a spin, probably lost consciousness—God, Chase hoped so—and plunged twenty thousand feet to his death.

Oh, fuck.

Sometimes, it would be really, really nice if some of his personal analogies for a ruined life didn’t involve an actual
ruined life.

“I kind of like it,” he said low. “That this is the worst thing that could happen in her life. I’d like to keep it that way, you know? Makes me feel as if we’re fighting for a reason.”