Keeping Allie (Breaking Away #3) (16 page)

A tiny little troubled thought scratches its way to the surface. Aren’t I supposed to me more traumatized? Isn’t it a little too easy to kiss and touch and be kissed and touched like this?

But Chase is making it safe. He’s not pushing. He’s also not standing on the sidelines waiting, though. I know damn well he wants me, too. 

That makes me feel even safer.

He pulls back, breathing hard, and looks down at the mess at our feet.

I look down, too. “I’m sorry,” I say. But not really. The kiss is worth the mess.

“No problem, babe. You taste better than anything we could get here.”

He looks at me.

I know what he wants to taste on me.

My pulse quickens and I’m hot and wet, wanting and willing. I shouldn’t be, but I am. I want to replace all the horrible touches with good ones from Chase. I want to swap out the sights and scents that give me terrible flashbacks with new ones of him and me, together and loving. 

I want to be the same girl he brought here nearly three months ago, that innocent young woman who delighted in playing barefoot in the waves.

Experience won’t let me. I can’t undo what’s been done. But we can replace it. Make it better.

The scars will always be a reminder.

But they don’t have to hold us back.

As if he’s reading my mind, Chase pulls my burned arm toward him. I wince.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Not much. It’s just...so ugly.”

Dipping his head down, he presses his lips to the waxy skin. I flinch and start to pull away. His grip becomes steel. Peppering the skin with kiss after kiss, Chase stays right there, his eyes open and looking at me.

I squirm. This is just too raw.

But I stay in place. I have to face this. Conquer it.

“It’s not ugly, Allie. Nothing on you is ugly,” he says fiercely. He’s bent down slightly, the V of his button-down shirt pitching open a little. I see a sprinkling of chest hair and the edge of his dragon tattoo. 

I want to touch him.

My hand decides before my mind can. I slide my fingers under the flat cloth. He startles slightly, then closes his eyes, just breathing. I splay my hand, every cell of his hot skin mine.

Mine.

I want to be
his
.

“Where do you live?” I ask, my voice dark and suggestive. I know exactly what it sounds like I’m asking.

And so does he.

His thumb caresses my scar on my arm. “You sure you want to see my place?”

I smile.

“Okay then.” He picks up the teddy bear from his bike and slides the helmet off, handing both to me. A little girl, maybe three or four, walks by with her mom and dad at that exact moment. She tips her face up. 

Light brown eyes. Jet-black hair. A wide smile. She could be mine and Chase’s daughter. My chest tightens a little, and then it’s like a hundred butterflies release at once, all made of my skin.

I hand her the bear. She grins at me. I look at her mom, who gives me a quizzical look.

“We won it and she should have it,” is all I can say before Chase guns the bike engine and we’re off, the little girl screaming “thank you!” while I grab Chase and hold on for dear life.

The ride to his place is surprisingly short and just plain old surprising. He takes me out of town and up along I-5. We slow down near a rest stop. I figure maybe he needs a break, but then I see the row of tents and recreational vehicles. He takes the bike down to a near crawl.

We stop in front of a pop-up camper.

“What’s this?” I ask, amused.

“Home sweet home,” he says, hiking the bike up on its stand.

I take off my helmet. Maybe I didn’t hear him quite right.

“What?”

He smiles, the grin so dazzling it’s like the moon just came out. I look out over the ocean. The thin pink line is gone, and now the horizon is a muted grey. It’s a dark night. No moon.

Just the blazing light of Chase.

“I live here. For now. Can’t stay more than a few weeks at a time, but that’s all I need. I’ll just move it when I have to and rotate. Mark says it’s not good to stay in one place for too long.”

“You have an oceanfront home?” I say, gaping.  

Oh, the laugh that booms from his gorgeous body. He looks down at the small fire pit, over to the cooler, and then at a small charcoal grill. “That’s right, baby. Nothing but the best. This is my cliffside mansion.”

I match his grin. “It’s as good anything a Hollywood movie star could own.” 

He laughs and unlocks his front door, reaching inside. He grabs two camp chairs, unfolding them and making them face the ocean. “You have too much tact for your own good.”

“I have to. I wait tables for a living.” I frown. “How do you move a pop-up with a motorcycle?” 

He laughs again. “I’m about to sell my bike and buy a truck. Mark got me set up here. It’s all good.”

We settle in to the chairs, his hand holding mine. We look like an old couple, the wind blowing our hair back, the gentle night waves crashing quietly in the distance. The sound lulls me. Soothes me.

“What made you decide to live here?” I ask.

“Mark. He said I need to be a nomad. Just in case.”

“In case...what?”

He tenses. “In case our dad tries to find me.”

“Your dad? I thought you were hiding from El Brujo.”

He frowns. “No. Remember? El Brujo doesn’t care about me. And your mom made it okay between me and Loogie. We had to fake my death so I could leave the Atlas gang. Dad said he’d kill me if I ever tried to get out.” He gives me a sad smile. “I had to beat him to it.”

I let out a low whistle. “You did tell me. Sorry -- it’s a lot to take in. So this is all to escape Galt.”

He nods. “And Frenchie.”

My turn to tense. He looks at me, frowning. “Sorry,” he says. “Don’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“It’s a little hard to avoid them when it’s all I can think about.”

His body ripples with a single tremor, as if I’d hit him with a giant rock.

“God, Allie, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

He stands and offers me his hand. I take it and stand, too, his arms wrapping around me in a huge hug. “Yes, I do,” he murmurs in my ear. “I need to apologize every day for the rest of my life for what happened.” 

“Stop it!” I insist. “You saved me. You and Mark and Mom. I was doomed before I even met you, Chase! Can’t you see that? Jeff had me sold off long before that day in the bar when we met.”

“I know.” His face is shadowed but I know he’s troubled.

“How about this,” I say, pressing my cheek against his warm chest. Strands of my hair float out in all directions as the wind changes course. “We stop apologizing and we start living.”

“And loving,” he answers, pulling me away, then dipping down for a kiss.

This kiss is more dangerous than the one at the pier, or in the park next to Sunrise Cafe.

Because this kiss is right here, next to Chase’s place.

He’s so solid. So warm and delicious, his mouth loving mine, teasing and laving, our lips dancing as we kiss. Chase pulls back and breathes, his hot breath tickling my nose.

“You going to invite me in?” I ask.

He makes a sound in the back of his throat that makes my heart start to race. “You realize if I do that, this could lead somewhere very, very naked.”

“Is that a promise, or a threat?” I ask.

“I will never threaten you, Allie.”

I break away from him and open his door, running up the three small steps and into the tiny little trailer. I’m laughing as I hear him call out to me, making sounds of disapproval. I want this, though. I’m so tired of being afraid. Whatever my mind wants to put into my head—I can take it. I’m a big girl. I’ve been through so much.

It really is time to face those demons. I can do it with Chase, or without Chase.

And now I have a choice.

My
choice.

I choose making love with Chase on my terms.

Right here and right now.

I find the wall light and turn it on just as he pulls the door open and leaps up the steps with one giant lunge.

“Allie, I—”

The camper has two popups on either side for two big beds. One is dark, but the other one is canopied by strings of Christmas lights looped over the bed, which is covered in beautiful pink sheets and sprinkled with rose petals.

“Oh!” I exclaim, surprised. “You were, um...prepared.” I hold back a laugh. Apparently, we were both thinking the same thing.

Then again, this is Chase. He’s a guy. When do guys
not
think about sex?

“I wanted to surprise you,” he says from behind me. My back is pressed against his chest and his arms are around my waist. He’s a wall of warmth. The ocean’s waves make a steady soundtrack in the distance. It’s so hypnotic.

He turns me around, his hands on my shoulders, eyes serious. “I don’t want to scare you off. If this upsets you, I—”

I put my fingers up to his mouth. His lips feel like soft leather. Like velvet. I put the tip of one finger in his mouth and he uses his tongue to pull it in, suckling. It’s like it’s attached to a string that pulls on the very essence of my core, drawing me closer to him.

“I want you to be my first,” I whisper.

“I don’t want to be your first,” he says softly. 

I jolt. “You don’t?”

“I want to be your
only
, Allie.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I reach down and pull off my shirt, unhook my bra and stand there, topless. It’s like ripping off a bandage. I’d rather just show him my new, scarred body and get it over with. His eyes watch me attentively. As I reach down and undo my pants, I slide them over my hips and slip off my shoes, but leave my panties on.

“Your turn,” I say. I don’t smile.

Chase shakes his head. “You have to undress me, Allie. You have all the control here.”

“I do?” I squeak.

“You do until you drive me so far out of my fucking mind with lust and love that I start begging, honey. But we’re not at that point yet.” He reaches for my hand and puts it on his jeans fly. “Are we?”

All the words are caught in a giant tangle in my throat.

My nipples tighten as I unbutton his jeans and slowly, tooth by tooth, unzip his fly. I pull his jeans down over his hips and—
oh!
 

He’s commando.

He kicks his shoes and jeans off. My hands shake as I unbutton his shirt. He’s radiating heat and arousal, and I’m absorbing it. My body breathes him in. I feed on his desire and his craving. As I pull his shirt off, I reach down and kiss the dragon tattoo, then the winged wheel. His hands reach down and he cups my ass.

“You are divine,” he whispers. He lets go and sheds the rest of the shirt. He’s naked. Glorious and beautiful.

My eyes fill with tears.

Chase stretches out on the bed, his arms up under his head. His muscles in his arms and legs flex, his abs a bumpy terrain of sculpted steel. He is just so beautiful to watch. Almost too beautiful to touch.

He looks at my hips and says, “Off.” The order comes out with a breathy hitch and his erection twitches, as if it said the word and not Chase. I slide my panties off and he frowns. 

I knew it.

I’m ugly.

I scramble to pick up my clothes but Chase sits up and is on his knees, suddenly in front of me, holding my waist with his cheek pressed against my belly.

“Your hip. What is that?” he mumbles into my navel.

“The three little circles? The scars?” I ask.
Don’t make me look
, I think.
Don’t make me remember.
 

“Are those what I think they are?” he asks, pulling back and looking up at me with eyes filled with pain and sympathy. And something else.

Revenge.

“What do you think they are?” I whisper.

“Did someone burn you? Are those cigarette burns?” he asks in a voice that sounds like he’d rather say anything in the world than that.

“Yes.”

A low moan of pain and suffering, like Chase is wounded, pours out of him. He grasps me, hard, his stubble visceral and distinct against my other hip.

“Those animals,” is all he can say, over and over as he kisses the scars. Gently, with an aching sweetness that makes me love him even more, he lays me on the bed and systematically finds every scratch, every scar, every burn on my body.

He kisses each one.

And then he does it a second time, but this time he says “I’m sorry” every single time.

By the time he’s done I’m squirming with want and crying with love at the same time. How he elicits such complex emotion from me is a mystery.

A mystery we’ll have to spend the rest of our lives figuring out.

“I’ll get them, Allie,” he finally says, lying next to me, dangerous and strong. “I’ll get every single one of the bastards who touched you like this. Who hurt you. I’ll hunt them down and I will kill them.” 

I know he means it.

And I know he’ll do it.

“We’re not gonna talk about them right now. We’re focusing on you,” he whispers. “What you want. What you need. How you want me to touch you. How you want to touch me.” 

I shiver with anticipation.

“You cold?” he asks, his mouth closing in on my nipple.

I shiver again. “No,” I answer, my fingers slowly exploring his back, his shoulders, the back of his neck as he places wet kisses all over my breasts.

“If you are,” he says, his mouth on my belly, “I can think of a few ways to warm you up.”

Some part of my brain wants to sabotage this. It keeps recalling images from my nightmares. Just as Chase gets me relaxed and aroused, it’s like an ice bucket challenge of pain and taunting. Chase senses it and pulls back, his hand lightly stroking my thighs.

“What is it, baby?” he asks.

“It’s—I—nothing,” I say.

“Allie,” he says. Just my name. Nothing more.

“I can’t stop thinking about my nightmares,” I say slowly. Haltingly.

“Nightmares?”

“About...you know.”

“Oh. And when I touch you, it makes you think about them?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” He slides up and curls his arms around me, holding me snug and tight. He strokes my hair, pushing it off my flushed face. Something in the moment just shifted from arousal to comfort and I like it and hate it all at the same time.