DOTTY (The Naughty Ones Book 3) (43 page)

Remy

I want to slap his face and rage, scream—something that will show him how much I hate what he’s doing as he stands there staring at me, his face an impenetrable mask but for the anger I seem to have inspired.

I’m so mad right now I can’t stand it. I want to hate him for being this guy, the same shark I saw in that cage. I want to hate him so bad.

I do, but when I teeter on my aching leg the infernal man does the exact opposite of what I expect. He strides forward, sweeps me up into his arms and takes to the stairs, his long legs eating up the distance to the master bedroom.

I feel my muscles groan in relief when he gently lowers me to the mattress. My leg feels the immediate relief of pressure, though it’s still thumping from my clumsiness downstairs.

“Here.”

I open my eyes to see Chase standing over me holding a glass of water and two pills.

“No.”

His eyes flare in annoyance, obliterating the small concern I think I glimpsed there. He tries to give me the pills and fails again.

“Christ. Just take the Goddamned pills, Remy. You’re in pain,.” he says through gritted teeth.

“No.”

I’m not doing this to be contrary or spiteful. I have yet to take one pain pill since the abduction, and I just can’t get over that hurdle of fear no matter how hard I try.

I feel safe here with Chase—crazy violent displays in the cage not withstanding—and I should feel secure enough to be knocked out by two harmless pills. Nonetheless, every time I so much as think about taking them I feel fear choke me.

I actually feel on the verge of a panic attack at the thought of being unconscious and helpless, and no matter how I try to convince myself that I’m okay, I can’t get past it.

“Fine.”

He stalks back into the bathroom and I hear him slam the medicine cupboard before he comes back with the water and places it beside the bed.

“At least drink the water. You’re white as a bleeding ghost.”

I obey, if only to wet my dry throat and distract my frazzled brain, draining the glass and lying back with a sigh. Chase closes his eyes for a brief beat and stalks to the bedside.

“I’ll undress you and help you get comfortable.”

“I’m fine.”

Okay, that is just spite because I know there’s no way I’m getting undressed and into my night wear without half killing my leg.

“Fuck. Just shut up and let me do it.”

He ignores my puny struggles and strips me down to my underwear before lifting me and placing me beneath the sheet. His eyes are hot, banked pools of flame by the time my semi-nudity is covered and I grimace, shooting him a glare.

“Forget it.”

He smirks, a truly gleeful expression tilting his lips and stands back arms folded.

“I’ll take you whenever and wherever I want, and you know what, Remy? You won’t be able to resist me because you want me as much as I want you. We may not be compatible right now but we both know that the minute I touch you, your body belongs to me. I have the click in my jaw to prove it.”

I blush, as mortified as I am angry because I can deny it all I want, but we both know it’s true. My body is a slave to Chase. All it takes for me to want him is the sound of his voice.

Even now, as confused and angry as I am at him I see his t-shirt stretching over his arms, and the way his shorts adhere to the hard ass I love to lick, and I feel myself go all hot and gooey inside and outside.

This time though, instead of getting all itchy with need, I feel a slow lethargy infuse me and—

“What did you do?”

He comes in and leans closer, his lips feathering gently over mine.

“You’re in pain. Let the medication work. Please.”

Oh Goddammit. I’m fighting it even as I feel my eyes start drifting shut and I absolutely hate that instead of being pissed at such a huge betrayal, all I see is the concern and relief in his eyes, the combination making me feel warm and grateful.

“Scared,” I whisper from behind slack lips and closed eyes that refuse to open.

I hear rustling, and then the bed dips before his arms envelop me, pulling me into the safe, comforting strength I’d reviled just moments ago.

“Sleep, babe. I’ve got you. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

***

I spend the next week alternating between regret and feeling vindicated about pulling away from Chase and a deeper connection. The morning after our…showdown I guess, he’d woken up, showered and dressed in a three-piece charcoal business suit that I still drool over just remembering.

I’d been rested and gloriously pain free then and in a good enough mood to turn on my side and attempt an apology. It went something like this.

“Chase.”

He turns to me, his eyes taking in my sprawl and the way the sheet rides up my leg where the cast sticks out and I swear I see not only desire there but a flicker of affection.

“What?”

So cold again that I feel a measure of uncertainty but forge ahead anyway, needing to explain to him that I’m not against his…hobby. I was just so stunned that a man I’d debated Utopian Ideals with had the capacity to not only beat a man so badly, but one of his best friends.

“I just wanted to say—”

“Save it. You don’t have to say anything. Or you don’t have anything to say that I want to hear. I’m going to work. Hensley will be here, and I’ve hired a nurse to see to your needs.”

Nothing more is said and I watch him walk out as if he doesn’t give a shit. His behavior is at odds with the sensitive man who held me and rocked me as the sedative—not pain pill—took me under.

That’s how it’s been all week. Hensley comes over and watches me while a nurse bustles around. She’s a complete waste since Hen carries me to the bathroom and back. Chase won’t listen so I stopped saying anything.

In fact we don’t speak. At all. He comes home and we eat a silent dinner before he takes me upstairs and gets me ready for bed. Then he forces me to take a pill and goes to shower. I’m usually knocked out by the time he comes to bed.

Each day is an excruciating repeat of the day before.

Well, besides today when I remembered what he'd said about my job and called the center.

So yeah, today is different because I am so mad I’m vibrating. According to the receptionist, I sent a letter of resignation. On top of that, the mayor decided that with budget cuts, the staff needed to be ‘reviewed.’

I am officially unemployed and without any options. All I have is Chase. He runs my life, even calling the nurse to ensure that I eat and that I’ve taken the shot the doctor prescribed since she still can’t get me to take the pills.

I only accept the shot because Hensley has no problem pinning me down and forcing the thing into my arm.

So yeah, today I’m angry, but more than that, I feel guilty. Brick made an appearance and after a long talk, I know that I made a huge mistake.

I saw Chase fighting and attributed it to him being a violent person. Brick explained that his fighting is as much a discipline as a rush for him, and that for someone with his skills, Chase is capable of doing a lot more damage.

That made me think, and I am ashamed to admit that his strength freaked me out not because of him, but because it reminded me of the helplessness I’d felt when I’d been hurt in high school.

When he’d pinned Brick and kept him immobile, forcing him to tap out, I didn’t see a man who was taking care to secure a victory without hurting his friend. I saw those dark shadows and felt their arms subduing me, making me helpless.

I have a choice to make now. I can either save my pride from further let downs—since every time I try to talk to Chase he reminds me my opinions don’t matter—or I can just go ahead and give him my apology and try to tell him why I reacted the way I did, not that it’s any excuse or justifies my judgmental attitude.

I’m going to try the latter I decide—not because I’m expecting anything because at this point I don’t expect a thing—but because he deserves to know that he’s not the one I find lacking.

It’s me.

Chase

“So after this comes off everything is fine?”

The doctor smiles at me ruefully and goes on with examining Remy, his gray beard not effective enough at hiding his amusement. I twist my lips and incline my head, acknowledging my behavior but helpless to stop it.

It seems that no matter how angry or disappointed I am with Remy, I can’t stop caring about her. I hold her at night when she takes her medicine and whimpers in her sleep, the nightmares a nasty reminder that—while I feel hurt and let down—I had failed her at one point too.

“Yes. The cast is off and I’ve examined the new scans and X-rays. The break healed well and with the pins your leg should be good. Not as good as new, as we've before, it can and probably will cause some pain at some point, but it has healed well.”

Remy nods and smiles at the doctor, thanking him and his team for doing a fantastic job.

I thank him too, though I let him know that I am not pleased with the thin scar that now graces her shin or the tiny red scar on her knee.

“Oh hush, Chase. It’s perfectly fine. One little scar won’t kill me.”

No, but I fully remember what almost did and the fact that that scar will always be there is a reminder of that harrowing ordeal. Not only for her and Liv, but also for those hours of fear and self-loathing that Gabe and I endured.

Now we’re in the car and driving home and I have the intense urge to talk to her, anything to erase that sad, beaten down look off her face. I know why it’s there. I feel like shit about what I did, but every time I consider rectifying it, I think
what if she goes back to work and finds a way to leave me
?

What if somehow I lose her because I know Remy, and even being alone—as I pointed out to her—she’ll come up swinging and just forge her own path.

And she will leave me.

I can’t have that. As fucked up as it sounds, even being this angry doesn’t make me want her any less and I’d rather live a lifetime with her, unhappy and sniping at each other, than live a day knowing that she’s not mine.

That, of course, is all due to my messed up mind having already staked a claim there and, well, I’m not the kind of guy to just give up and let something go. No, I fight and find a way to change things and make them what I want.

So I’ve decided to make Remy into my perfect ideal.

I just hope she’s capable of being what I want after she showed me her true colors.

I hear her sigh in the passenger seat and feel her turn.

“Okay, so I’ve been trying to talk to you for a couple of days and you won’t let me.”

“So you think now that I’m driving you can ambush me,” I muse, feeling a grin tug at my lips.

For whatever reason, Remy and I will never be the perfect match. But I still find it terribly amusing that she and I are so alike in so many ways. The woman is stubborn and strong and so crafty in the way she handles things.

She’s got the right idea about biding her time and waiting to ambush me, unfortunately I’m not new to this game and I’m most certainly not ready to hear what it is she wants to say. I’m afraid she’ll say something I won’t like—something that I can’t forget and no amount of effort on our parts will repair it—and I’m not willing to risk it.

“You should know that I am not interested in what you have to say to me. I told you, Rem. You and I are going the distance. Do I love you? No. Do I think we will ever be that married couple who can’t live without each other?”

I laugh scornfully and keep my eyes on the road, feeling secure when I see Brick’s SUV pull in behind us.

“Chase, I—”

“But we can make what we have work. We’re great in bed together and we have the same goals. We both want a family.” I cut in, hating the hitch in her breath. “You will be a good mother and what’s more, you will be an asset as my wife. With your breeding, my image will be perfect.”

She gasps at that and I feel like ten kinds of foolish at having said it. I know that a lot of her need to get out of her marriage stemmed from being considered window dressing instead of an individual.

I can no longer afford to see her that way. I’m going to forge ahead and make her understand her role. I need her to or I’m afraid I’ll lose the objectivity I’ve found and say and do things that I’ll regret.

“Chase, this is not—”

“You know you want me, Remy,” I say, gripping the wheel tighter.

“Yes. I can’t deny that. I wanted you from the moment you opened your front door, even knowing that it was wrong. I fought it all the time, waited for my divorce decree and I can honestly say, even then, I knew I was in way over my head,” she whispers softly, her body turning away from me as she settles her gaze out the window and stares at nothing.

“Then we have something to build on,” I insist quietly, taking a deep breath when she doesn’t immediately deny it. “You know we can find some measure of happiness together.”

“You took everything I had. So slowly I didn’t see it until it was too late,” she whispers forlornly, her shoulders slouched and defeated when I look over at her. “You know how much my job means to me.”

Yes I do. But at this point I need to have everything to settle the roiling in my gut, and if that means taking her only means of escape, I will do it and keep breathing, albeit not that easily.

“I have something to keep you occupied.”

She stiffens and I thank God we’re pulling into the drive. I’m pretty sure that saying anything more to her while I’m operating a vehicle—and she’s free to attack me—won’t be in anyone's best interest.

I pull into the garage and turn the car off, sitting quietly.

“What would that be Chase? Would you like me to lick your boots? Be your disposable sex slave? Oh! How about just storing me away in the cupboard till you have need of my services,” she hisses, releasing her seat belt with a thwack.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re overwrought. Now just listen. I would like you to take over one specific charity, something that I usually do myself but can’t manage with all the work that needs doing on the new housing projects.”

She flounces out of the car and I almost grin at her mulish expression.

“You— Why won’t you just listen to me!” she yells, throwing the door open, storms in and makes her way to the kitchen.

I follow, enjoying the view of her snit from behind as her ass jiggles in the designer jeans I personally picked out for her. Indeed, there is no lessening of my libido where she is concerned. I’ve reasoned that our marriage should work splendidly in that department.

“Remy.”

“No! I have something really important to say to you and you just need to listen, Chase. Please,” she begs, spinning at the table and gazing at me with longing and a need I refuse to meet.

She had me lock, stock and fucking barrel and she discarded me like garbage. I will never give her that opportunity again. Ever.

“What is it, Rem? Would you like to reiterate how hard you had it growing up? I heard that one already, and I have to say, I feel not one ounce of pity for the poor-little-rich-girl routine. Is it that you want more because you lived a decade in a farce of a marriage and can’t do it again? Not my problem. You chose the life that you had every step of the way. I gave you more and you were all too eager to throw it back at me so now you take what I am willing to give you,” I snarl, feeling some small satisfaction when her eyes cloud and go glassy.

“You don’t understand,” she whispers. “And because you don’t, and won’t even bother trying, I’m sorry but I’m gonna have to leave. I’ll brave the streets and whatever is in store for me.”

Okay, I have to admit I did not see that coming.

Thank God I’ve planned for many contingencies that I hadn’t even thought of, or I’m afraid I might lose this battle. The woman’s chin is up, her shoulders squared and I get the impression that she really would walk out of here, penniless and without options just to prove a point.

“You can’t leave.”

I sound so calm but inside I’m raging. Just as before, I’m offering myself to her and she’s declining. Once again it’s as if the work and effort I put in means nothing to her. Well fuck that.

“Yes, I am and you can’t stop me.”

“Well, actually I can, Rem, and you want to know why? Because, as my wife, you are bound to me.”

She laughs, the sound a hoarse crack that seems ripped from somewhere deep. The sound echoes off the kitchen walls and hits me with its derision and I harden myself against her next words.

“I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on the planet! You’re immovable and mean. You won’t get off your fucking high horse and listen to me for even a minute. I can’t live my life with someone who couldn’t give a shit about me. I won’t marry you.”

I feel a smile curve my lips a second before I leap across the room and drag her close to me with my hand behind her neck, my lips an inch away from her trembling mouth.

“We’re already married, babe.”