Claiming Chase: (A Second Chance Stepbrother Romance) (14 page)

Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him.

That’s all I can think as I storm down the street, away from the bar.

How dare he? Does he think he owns me or something? I’ve been searching for him for
eleven years
. Eleven years I’ve waited for answers. I’ve kept my life on hold for eleven years because of him.

And then, just as soon as I finally move on, as I make peace with who he is and decide to get on with my life, to find true love, not whatever the hell it was I had with Chase, just then, of course, he turns up. Of course
now
he won’t let me go.

How did he even know where I was tonight?

He’s probably paid somebody to follow me. I wouldn’t put it past him.

I had the
whole
of the internet to choose from, and then
any bar
in New York. And I still manage to pull a needle out of a haystack. An old buddy of Chase’s.

What’s your problem, Fate? What did I do to piss you off? What did I do to deserve this great cosmic joke?

I throw out my arm to flag down a passing taxi, but the driver doesn’t see me and it races on down the street away from me.

God damn it
, I think, feeling the anger rise up inside me.

I guess I’ll just have to walk; it’ll probably do me good anyway. I need to walk this off — my anger, my frustration.

I wish I could be left alone with my anger, but typical in this city, even at this time of night, the streets are thronged with people; people I have to weave in and out of.

My mind casts back to the exhilaration I felt on the back of Chase’s motorbike. The freedom of that open, empty road. The way my cares and worries seemed to just dissolve, as we rode away from the city and into the beauty of the countryside, where the sky was filled with stars. 

Why does he deserve all that beauty?

He probably conned his way up the corporate ladder, and now he’s got the money to buy freedom.

I don’t even have the luxury of going home to cry on my own. Gabby will definitely hear me through the paper-thin walls our apartment, not to mention everyone else who lives in the building, too.

I thought I’d let go of everything. Of all the pain that Chase has put me through. But seeing him tonight has made me realize that I’m not over just how
unfair
this all is.

He can abandon me like so much rubbish. And he’s still the one with everything. All he does is take.

So, why don’t I take a leaf out of his book?

I should learn from him.

Being Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes has got me nowhere in this world.

Maybe it’s time I had a little fun.

Maybe it’s time to be a bad girl, for once …

Just one more kilometer.

I’ve been pushing myself harder and harder at the gym, these last few days. But I know what I’m really doing.

If can run far enough, maybe I can out-run the memory of her. But she always seems to be just around the corner.

If only I could make her understand. If only she would listen to me.

But the way she looked at me, in the bar the other night? I know I’ve blown it.

And I know I deserve it. Or rather, that I don’t deserve her.

God damn it. I wish I had more practice at this. Other guys would know what to do. Other guys have practiced those corny romantic gestures.

But is that even what a girl like Charity wants?

I mean, sure, Aubrey Grant would come running back to me after what I did to her if I sent her a dozen red roses. But Charity means more to me than a stupid gesture like that.

Maybe I should just go find her again; wait for her outside her college, or find out where she lives … But she made it so clear she didn’t want to see me again, I feel like I have to respect her decision.

I push the thoughts from my head, as I push my body even harder on the running machine, hitting my target and running through it.

Just one more kilometer.

I watch myself in the mirror as I run, the sweat running down my face, my body straining, as I push myself, harder and harder, trying to out-run my thoughts … My feelings …

Just then, I hear my cellphone chime from its resting place on the running machine controls in front of me. And I’m about to ignore it – but then I glance down at the glowing display: Charity.

Without breaking my stride, I pick up the phone and read the message:

Hey Chase. I guess I never thanked you. I’d waited so long to ride on the back of a motorbike, and now I’ve got a taste for it. You’ve been a great teacher. ;-)

The message throws me off my pace, and I have to quickly slow down the machine to a stop, then read it all over again. And again. And again.

Teacher? What the hell is she implying?

I can’t help it. I get the feeling that she’s playing some sort of game with me — messing with my head.

And I know I should just ignore her, not give her what she wants. But I’d been so desperate for her to reach out to me, and I reply before I can stop myself:

Charity, we need to talk. Where are you?

I stare at the display of the phone, willing it to bring me more news of her, each second feeling like an eternity, as the sweat cools on my brow and I slowly catch my breath.

And after a few more moments waiting, I decide to take a shower. I feel like I’ll just go mad if I stay here, staring at my phone like this.

Sure enough, as soon as I’ve finished, I towel myself down, then check my phone to discover another message:

Wouldn’t you like to know?

And this time, it’s accompanied by a photo, too. A selfie of Charity, an empty shot glass in her hand. She must be in a bar — and sure enough, I can see beer bottles on tables in the background. And she’s smiling, her eyes flashing out of the picture at me with a mischievous glee. She looks like she’s wearing a tiny, sleeveless vest and more makeup than I’ve ever seen her wear before.

She’s obviously looking for some attention.

This isn’t the Charity I know. This is the exact same kind of behavior I’d expect from any one of those spoiled brats I meet every day in this city.

I expected more from her. Maybe she isn’t worth it after all. But she does deserve an explanation from me still, so I text back:

Listen. I’m sorry about everything. There’s plenty of beer at my place. So if you’re drinking, why not come round here and we can talk?

The next response comes quickly, just moments later. And when it does, I wish it hadn’t:

Sorry honey! Busy with my new friend.

And again, it’s accompanied by a photo of Charity. Only this time, she’s not alone. This time, she has her arm slung around a burly, bearded biker guy. He’s leering at her with a filthy look in his eyes, his mouth curled into a grin, while again she stares out at me from the photo, taunting me.

What are you doing, Charity? I know this isn’t what you want …

And I feel a cold rush of dread as I realize that this isn’t the selfish behavior of some spoiled brat. It’s the pain of a girl who’s been hurt badly. And
I’m
the one who caused that hurt.

I rejected her so cruelly, not once but twice.

No wonder she’s behaving like this.

I know Charity. She always sees the best in people. And I don’t think she knows just how dangerous a situation like this can be for a girl like her. She can’t see the filthy look in that guy’s eyes — especially when he’s plying her with shot after shot of alcohol.

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 earlier, 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.