Claiming Chase: (A Second Chance Stepbrother Romance) Read online

  It’s almost too much to take. I’m grinding myself up against him now, the hard muscularity of his body crushing against the soft curves of my own.

  His leg has moved between my thighs, and I grind myself hard against it, feeling my clit throb hard, my fingers slipping between his legs now, registering with a shudder just how ready he is too — feeling the sheer heat and hardness of him through the soft cloth of his pants.

  And as I stroke the hot bulge of his cock with trembling fingers, his own hands have moved to my breasts, cupping them through the flimsy material of my dress, his thumbs brushing against my stiffening nipples, all the while our tongues flicking as we kiss, our breathing so hot and heavy.

  This doesn’t feel like a game anymore - this is just two people, desperate for each other, as desperate as if the world is about to end.

  I’ve just about unbuckled his pants, my fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his briefs, brushing first past the cropped fuzz of his pubic hair then curling around the thick, rock-hard shaft of his cock.

  He groans as I begin to stroke it, his tongue pushing deep into my mouth, and he presses me even harder against the wall of the room.

  I feel his hands move from my breasts to my legs now, urging me to throw them around his waist. I part my thighs wide, feeling the fingertips of his right hand grazing slowly past my knee and over my thigh, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake, before roughly pushing my dress back and up, right up around my waist.

  His hand slips between my legs then, causing me to groan and shudder, as his fingertips find the hot wetness right at the center of me, tugging my panties to one side as he works two fingertips so easily inside me, his other hand grabbing my ass, helping my thrusting motions as he plunders my wetness, the deliciousness of the sensation taking me back — right back to that rec room, back to the very last time I saw him, eleven years ago.

  What happened in that moment?

  Why did he leave me?

  What did I do wrong?

  So many questions, but all I know is that I’ve not been able to get that moment out of my head since ever since.

  I came here for answers, not for this. And all of a sudden I’m that abandoned fifteen year old girl again.

  I can’t be here. I can’t do this with him right now. I have to leave.

  I pull my hand from his briefs before pushing him off me, hard. He stumbles backwards, and it’s obvious for a moment that he doesn’t understand. He’s still looking at me, hungry, ready for the next stage, ready to push me onto the bed.

  But I shake my head, quickly tugging my dress back down over my thighs.

  I’ve thought about running into Chase hundreds of times in the past eleven years. And in my head, I’ve always got the perfect thing to say. And now it’s really happening, there are no words.

  Instead I just run for the door.

  What the fuck happened? Why did she just take off like that? No woman has ever done that to me before. I saw the look in her eye, felt the way her body responded to mine — she was hot for me, she wanted it just as much as I did. So what made her change her mind? Just who was she, and more importantly, how will I ever find her again?

  How could I have been such an arrogant prick?

  I didn’t even ask her name.

  I’ve asked my secretary, Alice, to cancel all my meetings today. I’ve spent the whole morning scouring the internet, studying photos of the fundraiser for some clue. But she’s not there. There are over fifty photos of the event on NYGoss.com, picture after picture of vapid socialites and business rivals pretending to be best friends. And she’s not there. Not even from the back — and trust me, I’d recognize that view.

  I’m starting to go out of my mind. Did I dream the whole thing?

  Alice is obviously worried about me. She’s not used to seeing me spend the morning on gossip websites. She’s told me to go home and get some rest, but there’s no way I can do that. How could I rest in that room? The room where she left me?

  Get a grip, Chase, I tell myself. What’s got into you? She’s just a girl. There are thousands of them in this city, all just as beautiful as her.

  I could snap my fingers and have a girl in here in seconds, just begging to take her clothes off for me.

  I’m Chase Parker.

  I can have whatever I want.

  And what I want is her … Damn it.

  I pick up the nearest thing to hand. And before I know what I’ve done, I’ve hurled my coffee cup across the room, where it smashes against the wall.

  “Mr Parker? Is everything alright?” Alice asks, running into the room, summoned by the commotion.

  “Yes, Alice, it’s fine. Go back to your desk. I think I might need to take the rest of the day off, after all.”

  Alice backs out of my office with a concerned look on her face, closing the door behind her.

  This just isn’t like me. I’m losing control. It’s not good for a guy in my position. One bad move, one risky investment, and I could lose everything.

  I shouldn’t be here.

  But I can’t go home.

  There’s only one thing that works for me at a time like this. I grab my jacket and the keys to my bike, just as the door opens again.

  “Alice,” I say, aggravated. “I thought I told you, I’m fine.”

  “No, Mr Parker,” she says, holding out a slip of paper. “This arrived for you just now. She said it was urgent.”

  She?

  “Thank you, Alice, that will be all,” I say, taking the paper from her, and watching, waiting for her to shut the door, once more leaving me alone, before I look at it.

  I’m sorry I ran away last night. It wasn’t how I thought things would go between us. But please meet me tomorrow at the Strand Bookstore at 2pm and I will explain everything, I promise.

  This note just arrived, I think.

  She was here, minutes ago. She could still be in the building right now. All it would take would be for me to run down to the elevators and I might be able to find her.

  But I don’t.

  Something stops me.

  I can’t talk to her like this. My mind is all over the place. I feel out of control and I might do something I regret. Now I know that she was real — that she wasn’t just a dream. And better than that, I know where and when to find her.

  I don’t need to make a fool of myself and run after her right now.

  What I need is to clear my head and get out on the road.

  So I pick up the keys to my bike and head for the door.

  It’s almost two o’ clock. I’m right at the back of the Strand bookstore, and I’m waiting for Chase. He’s not going to take me by surprise this time. I’m going to make sure I see him first. And when I do, I’m gonna do this right.

  For a start, there’s going to be no alcohol. I don’t know what I was thinking, drinking like that. I was only ever supposed to have one glass, to steady my nerves. But when he thrust that champagne flute into my hand, all my sensible planning went out of the window.

  I’m going tell him straight. I’m going to tell him my name. And if he can’t remember the past? Well, then I’ll just have to jog his memory a little.

  As I wait, I stroll between the aisles, keeping an eye on the entrance, waiting for him to walk in. And not for the first time, my mind returns to the question that’s been bugging me all weekend long: does he really not recognize me?

  Am I really so different now? I mean, sure, my figure has filled out a little. I’ve grown a few inches taller, and cut a few inches off my hair. I certainly don’t wear it in those childish braids any more. I wear a little bit of makeup, not much, and I wouldn’t be seen dead in those dorky clothes – I take pride in my appearance now. But even so, am I not still me?

  My mind wanders, and as I trail my fingers across the spines, I settle upon a volume that takes my fancy. A beautiful edition of Wharton’s The Age of Innocence. My concentration gone, I slip the book from the shelf and begin leafing through the
pages.

  “Seen something you like?”

  The voice makes me jump.

  I turn around and he’s there. Once again, I’m taken aback by those sapphire blue eyes. This time he’s dressed casually, in a shirt and jeans. And he looks a little more like the Chase I remember, the Chase I knew …

  God damn it, I think. I let my mind drift for two seconds and he manages to sneak up on me.

  “I love this novel,” I manage to say, stumbling over my words.

  “I don’t get much of a chance to read,” he replies. “Think you could recommend me a good book?”

  “Sure,” I say. “We’re in the right place. What sort of things do you like?”

  “Adventure? Excitement?” he offers. “Anything with a good story …”

  “Challenge accepted,” I say with a smile, as I begin to scan the shelves and tables once more, this time with purpose. “Let me think,” I say, as I wander through the aisles, Chase following closely behind.

  What book would suit him?

  Once more we seem to be playing a game.

  I scan the titles:

  Vile Bodies? Too physical …

  Pride and Prejudice? Too obvious …

  Lolita? Don’t even go there …

  And then I stop when I see it. The perfect book.

  “Here you go,” I say, handing it to him with a wry smile.

  “Heart of Darkness?” he says. “Thank you … I think.”

  “No, no,” I say. “It’s got everything. Excitement, adventure, madness. You’ll love it.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” he says.

  We head over to the registers, and he pays for the book. With a platinum AmEx card. I can’t help but notice it.

  “Meeting here was a great suggestion,” he says. “If I’m honest, I’ve not set foot in a bookstore in years. But how about we go somewhere else. Don’t you have some explaining to do? Let me buy you a drink.”

  “How about we go for a walk instead,” I say.

  I mean it this time. I’m determined to stay in control of this situation.

  “A walk,” he says, like nobody’s ever suggested that to him before. “How quaint.”

  I lead the way, taking us in the direction of Washington Square Park.

  And as we walk, I know I should probably start explaining myself. But I need to wait until we’re in the calm of the park, until we’re sitting down. So instead, I keep the conversation neutral, and talk to him about Joseph Conrad.

  “Heart of Darkness is a total classic,” I say. “It’s been an influence on everyone, from D.H. Lawrence to Philip Roth. I’m not going to pretend it’s an easy read though.”

  “Maybe I’m tired of things being easy,” he says, quick as a flash.

  It’s hard to keep the conversation neutral with him. There’s no denying the tension between us right now. It’s positively crackling in the air. I feel like it must be totally obvious to everyone that walks past us.

  “From what I can tell,” I reply, “it’s not like you’ve taken an easy path in life. I mean, your job must be really hard, right?”

  “Maybe it’s not my job that I’m talking about,” he says.

  God damn it, Chase, I think. Give a girl a break.

  Soon enough, we’ve reached the park.

  I find a quiet bench and we take a seat.

  “Go on then,” he says, the very moment we’ve sat down. “Explain.”

  I take a deep breath.

  “Okay …” I begin. “The party. The fundraiser. I went there for you. I went there to meet you.”

  I watch the confusion begin to register on his face. He remains silent and I’ve got no choice but to carry on talking.

  “There were things I wanted to tell you,” I say. “Things from a long time ago. But then everything got out of hand and I didn’t get a chance. I didn’t expect things to be like they were between us …”

  “What do you mean?” he says, his eyes searching mine.

  He’s going to make me say it, isn’t he?

  “The spark. The electricity. The tension.”

  He pushes closer to me.

  “I knew it,” he says. “I knew you felt it too.”

  And I feel it again, right here, right now. I feel it building within me, threatening to explode once more.

  “It scares me,” I say. “It’s like I have no control when I’m with you.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” he says.

  And all of a sudden, his mouth is pressing against mine, and he’s kissing me, and I’m kissing him back, and I can feel the sparks flying around us. It’s like the whole world melts away — just him and me. And now he’s putting his arms around my waist, pulling me closer to him, closer, closer, and it’s like I want to just fuck him right here on this bench …

  “No,” I gasp, pulling away. “Not like this.”

  “What?” he says. “What’s wrong?”

  “You haven’t even asked me my name,” I cry out.

  “What is your name?” he practically shouts.

  “Charity Lindley. My name is Charity Lindley.”

  “Charity Lindley. My name is Charity Lindley.”

  The words pierce my heart like a knife.

  “You can’t be,” I stammer.

  But as I look at her, I know she’s telling the truth. The girl has become a woman, but it’s Charity Lindley alright. The girl I knew for one short summer. The one girl I could never have. She’s still got that same slim, girlish figure, except now with added curves. I remember her lounging on the porch in a baggy old t-shirt and denim cutoffs, hair hastily thrown up in a scruffy ponytail. But that face — that hasn’t changed. The girl-next-door, so ordinary to so many people, but so beautiful to me.

  Of course it’s her. I guess I knew it all along, deep down.

  “I am Charity Lindley,” she spits angrily. “But who’s Chase Parker? What happened to Chase Lowe?”

  “Chase Lowe was in with the wrong crowd,” I say quietly. “Chase Lowe would be in prison by now. Or dead in a ditch. I had to cut him loose to survive. I had to succeed, so I had to become someone else. I chose Chase Parker.”

  “Why?” she says.

  “No reason,” I say. “I just picked the first name that came into my head. Something anonymous. Something that had nothing to do with my past. But Jesus, Charity. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Jesus, Chase,” she snaps back, tears now brimming in her eyes. “Why didn’t you recognize me?”

  I think back — to that moment I first saw her at the fundraiser. So strange and yet … so familiar. On some level, I always knew who she was. But how can I explain to her the ways I’ve had to forget her to survive?

  “You have to understand, Charity,” I sigh. “That person I was? I buried him. I doubt I’d recognize myself from back then. So much has changed. But it’s better this way. I’m not the person you think I am. Not anymore.”

  She’s silent now, staring at the floor, her hands folded between her knees, the tears spilling down her cheeks.

  I’m doing it again. Hurting her. The one thing I promised myself I’d never do.

  “What do you want from me, Charity?” I say quietly.

  “I don’t know anymore,” she replies. “I guess I just wanted to understand.”

  I could soothe her pain. I could just tell her my story, and give her what she obviously desires so much. But do I even know that story any more? The truth is, I’ve buried that all so deep that there are no details, just flashes, images, a forbidden desire, a night flight … There is no understanding.

  And if I try to explain, if I stay here any longer, I could end up hurting her even more. And I’m not going to do that.

  “I’m sorry, Charity,” I say. “I can’t give you what you need.”

  And then I do it again.

  I stand up and walk away.

  I leave her there, alone, crying and confused.

  “Is everything okay, Charity? You seem a little distr
acted.”

  “I’m fine, I must just be tired,” I smile back.

  I know Professor Lane is just trying to help, but there’s no way in the world I can talk about this with him. I mean, he’s great with books, but he doesn’t exactly live in the real world.

  “Okay, well get some sleep,” he tells me. “And try to turn off your phone. I have a daughter about your age, and she just can’t seem to concentrate from one minute to the next with the infernal bleeping it makes.”

  I laugh. I’m already made to feel like a freak for not even having a Facebook page, so there’s no real danger of that taking up too much of my time.

  “I’ll try to remember that,” I say, gathering my books and pushing myself up from my seat.

  “I’ll need to see your next ten thousand words by the time of our next meeting,” he says gently as I make to leave his office. “And remember my advice, Charity. I really think it’s a glaring omission not to look at Wuthering Heights as part of your thesis. I know you’ve said you don’t like the book, but this is about literary analysis, it’s not a popularity contest, and I really think the novel’s inclusion would strengthen your argument.”

  “Thanks, Professor Lane,” I say, pushing open the door and stepping out into the quiet corridor. “I’ll think about it.”

  §

  I walk slowly up the pathway, towards the imposing Roman columns of Columbia’s Butler library. Once inside, I take my favorite seat, tucked away in a quiet corner of the main reading room. I pull out my laptop and books, and try to start making the corrections that Professor Lane and I discussed in our meeting.

  But it’s no good.

  I can’t concentrate on anything. I haven’t been able to concentrate on anything in days. This is just not like me. Whenever anything bad happens in my life, I’ve always been able to escape into books. When Dad died, it was the only thing that kept me going.

  But since that moment in the park, I can’t study, I can’t even relax with a trashy paperback. It’s like the words and letters swim around the page in front of me. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to read.