Claiming Chase: (A Second Chance Stepbrother Romance) Page 5

  And damn, she was hot, sitting there in my office, her eyes flashing up at me, angry and determined.

  So when she insisted on dinner tonight, I just couldn’t refuse.

  I could have any woman in New York that I wanted. And yet, I’m sitting here, nervous as a school kid waiting to pick up his first prom date.

  I flag down the waiter and order a scotch to steady my nerves.

  Pull yourself together, Chase.

  And as I wait, I make three rules for tonight.

  Number One: Answer her questions honestly and succinctly. I can keep the details to myself. She doesn’t need to know everything.

  Number Two: Be a gentleman. You’ve really changed. Show her just how far you’ve come.

  Number Three: Go home alone. Do I really need to explain that one? I don’t need to complicate my life any further. Not for a fuck. If I want that, I’ll make nice to Aubrey Grant later on tonight.

  I look up from my drink and there she is, pushing open the glass door of the restaurant. She looks just as beautiful as always. It’s like she’s glowing from inside with goodness, with purity. I don’t deserve a girl like her.

  “Good evening, Chase,” she says with a smile as she reaches my table and takes the seat opposite. “Aren’t you slumming it, coming to a place like this?”

  “I might be able to afford to eat in the top restaurants,” I say, “but I don’t think I’ll ever be truly comfortable in them. At heart, I’m much more of a dive bar kind of guy. So maybe I’m making an effort for you, here tonight.”

  You’re flirting with her, Chase. What the hell are you doing?

  I try to remember my rules, but already I can tell that tonight’s gonna be even harder than I thought.

  “I need you to tell me something I don’t understand,” she says. “How did Chase Lowe become Chase Parker?”

  “Wow, you don’t waste any time do you?” I say. “I thought we might reach the appetizer at least, before you started grilling me.”

  “Eleven years, Chase,” she replies, quick as a flash. “I’ve wasted enough time.”

  “Okay, okay,” I sigh. “The last time you saw me? I was on the road to ruin. And I’m not gonna lie, after I left, I was kind of lost for a while. Drink. Petty crime. That sort of thing. I moved around, a new city whenever the heat got too much. I made some bad decisions. Some I’ll never be allowed to forget.”

  At this, to illustrate my point, I take off my navy suit jacket and roll up the sleeve of my crisp white shirt, to show her a tattoo on the inside of my forearm: a large skull and flame design, emblazoned with the motto Live Hard, Ride Fast in cursive.

  “More tattoos? Hardly surprising, Chase,” she remarks. “What’s more surprising to me is the suit that’s covering them. How did that happen?”

  “I was down in Miami,” I begin. “About six years ago. And I was with a real rough crowd. Gun running, drugs, the whole nine yards. I was getting tired of it, tired of it, Charity. The constant moving around. The never knowing. I’d been telling myself that this was fun, that this was a real way to live, for so long, but I’d just been denying myself the truth. Then, my good buddy, Freddy — he was found in a back alley, with six bullet holes in his chest. It could have been anything. A drug deal gone wrong, a case of mistaken identity, who knows? But I wasn’t prepared to stick around to find out It was a wakeup call.”

  I look up at her. She’s listening intently to my story. I thought she’d be kind of angry at me, but all that’s in her eyes is sorrow — sorrow at what I’ve been through, and it gives me the strength to continue.

  “So I got on my bike. And I promised myself that it was gonna be for the last time. I was going to go somewhere. I was going to settle down. And I was going to become someone. Not just another crime statistic. I was really going to be somebody. So I chose New York, of course. Where better to start again?”

  I take a slow sip of my scotch, savoring the smoky taste, before continuing.

  “I was tired of Chase Lowe. So I decided to be someone else. I saw the name Parker on the side of a removals van, and it seemed appropriate. And Chase Parker was born. He got a job in the mail room of Morgan Stanley, and worked his way up. It’s the classic all-American story of a boy done good.”

  “You make it sound so easy,” she laughs, eyes sparkling now.

  “It wasn’t,” I reply. “Let me tell you. My first six months here, I was practically homeless. Showering at work, staying late because I had nowhere else to go. Luckily they thought I was keen.”

  “Lucky you,” she says.

  “Yes, lucky me,” I say. “But what about you? Where has Charity Lindley been for the last eleven years?”

  “Nothing as exciting as biker gangs and gun crime, I’m afraid,” she laughs. “In fact, it’s a pretty short story. I was fifteen going on sixteen when you left. So I spent the first two years finishing up High School. And then I went to Smith College, where I spent four years without speaking to any boys, practically. Then I spent a year teaching abroad in Barcelona, which sounds way more exciting and exotic than it was in reality. Then I came back to the States to do my postgraduate studies at Columbia, and I’ve been here ever since.”

  She throws up her hands and smiles, sheepishly.

  “So there you go,” she says. “It’s a life lived mostly in libraries, but it suits me just fine.”

  She says she’s happy. But when I think of this beautiful passionate woman, and how much of life has passed her by, I know that she can’t be truly happy. Not really.

  “Come on, get up,” I say.

  “What?” she says, confused. “But we haven’t even ordered yet.”

  “Get up,” I repeat. “We’re getting out of here.”

  I have no choice but to follow him out of the restaurant.

  I guess I was too nervous to eat anyway.

  “Just tell me,” I say. “Where are we going?”

  We turn the corner and he flags down a taxi. He’s a perfect gentleman as he holds the door for me, so that I can get in first, but then he leans in and gives the driver his address.

  “A little presumptuous?” I say, in the joking, playful tone of a refined Victorian lady. But I’m serious. Does he really think that this is the way to get me into bed?

  “Trust me,” he replies with an enigmatic smile. “This isn’t what you think.”

  “Well, what is it then?” I plead.

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” he says. “It sure ain’t the library.”

  §

  “You don’t really expect me to get on that thing, do you?” I say as he hands me the helmet.

  “Sure,” he smiles back, just as warm and playful for a brief moment as the Chase I knew back then could be. “Why not?”

  I look first at the helmet, then at the huge red motorbike in his private underground garage.

  “Because I’ve never been on a motorbike before,” I plead.

  “Oh, honey,” he says, smiling. “I think there’s a lot of things you’ve never done.”

  He’s got me there, I think.

  “Don’t worry,” he continues, gently. “You’re in safe hands. I’ve been riding bikes since I was twelve years old and I’ve never had a crash yet.”

  I have a flashback: back to a moment eleven years ago.

  I was lying on the front porch, sunning myself, drinking lemonade and reading a book. I heard a noise, and looked up to see Chase, disappearing down the path on his beat up old motorbike.

  Oh, how I longed for him to take me with him back then.

  And my mind’s made up.

  “Okay,” I say, “but if I want you to stop, you’ll stop?”

  “You mean like a safe word?” he teases, a playful expression flashing across his face.

  I can see what he’s getting at. He must think I’m a complete innocent. And fair enough, I might not have needed a safe word back at Smith. But I still know what it means.

  “Penguin,” I say.

  “What?” he says,
momentarily taken aback.

  “Penguin,” I repeat with a smile. “That’s our safe word.”

  “Penguin,” he says quietly to himself, nodding. “Let’s go.”

  §

  In no time at all, we’ve left the city behind, and we’re out on the open road. It’s exhilarating, and I’m surprised that I don’t need to use the safe word.

  I can’t ignore the sensation, too.

  I mean, here I am, my arms thrown around him, the bike purring beneath me, throbbing and growling, right there between my legs.

  Once I finally get over my nerves, I’m able to relax, and even enjoy myself. And do you know what? It’s just as I imagined, back when I was a teenager. Although I’m guessing Chase’s old bike wouldn’t have been quite this comfortable.

  The only problem is the noise. I hadn’t factored on it being as loud as this. It’s so loud we can’t talk to each other, so God knows what use the safe word would be — even if I screamed it at the top of my lungs, I doubt he’d hear me anyway.

  The open road is so empty. I realize it’s been months since I was out of the city. I’ve spent so long in Manhattan, I’ve gotten used to spending my whole life surrounded by people, on the cramped D Train, the crowded sidewalks … Even the parks are busy.

  But here, there’s not a soul around. Just me, Chase and nature, night air whizzing past us at a hundred miles an hour.

  I want him so much right now. I squeeze my arms around him, extra tight, while the bike buzzes between my thighs, stimulating me, sending flashes of electricity all around my body. But before I can let go and enjoy the sensation I feel us slowing down, then pulling in to the side of the road.

  And just like that, the bike comes to a stop in a beautiful, totally secluded little wooded area.

  Chase removes his helmet and turns around to face me.

  “This is where I come when I need to think,” he says, climbing off the bike. “Come on.”

  I remove my helmet too and follow him.

  He leads me through the trees to a meadow, where he sits down on the grass, beckoning me to join him.

  “This is beautiful, Chase,” I exclaim as I take my place beside him.

  “It gets better,” he says with a grin. “Lie back.”

  And with that he takes my hand, and I lie back, and the sky is a riot of stars. I gasp. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them like this — so bright, so clear.

  “Living in Manhattan,” I say, “you forget that all this is above you. It’s just so quiet here, I can hear my heart beating.”

  I pause, feeling a fleeting sadness. Places like this always remind me of my dad.

  “Dad would have loved it here,” I say, softly.

  “Well, we should bring him here then,” he says.

  “No, you don’t understand,” I say. “He died.”

  Chase falls quiet, and stays like that for a long time, processing the information.

  “When?” he asks finally in an almost whisper.

  “About four years ago,” I say. “It was quick. A heart attack. He didn’t suffer.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “He was a good man.”

  “Yes, he was,” I say. “And I know he wouldn’t want me to get upset. I know he’d want me to enjoy the beauty of a place like this. But it’s not what I expected from you. I always thought you were more of a city kind of guy?”

  “Sure, I love the city,” he says, “but sometimes I need to escape. People wonder why I keep a motorbike in Manhattan. But it means that in forty-five minutes, I can be out here, just me and my thoughts.”

  He pauses.

  “I’m so glad you like it here,” he says. “I took you here because I really wanted you to see it.”

  We’re lying facing each other now.

  And it’s funny that in all my fantasies about Chase over the years, it’s always been him kissing me. But right here, in the most romantic moment of my life, it’s me that makes the first move.

  I lean in and gently kiss him, my eyes closing.

  And now, this isn’t a fantasy. Chase isn’t some bad boy teenager. He’s a grown man, and he’s real, and he’s here with me. Because I had no idea what the real Chase was going to be like. I’ve never really thought about the man that the boy would become. The man holding me in his arms.

  He seems so different from the silver-tongued seducer who tried to pick me up the night of that fundraiser. He could have me right here, on the grass, under the stars, if he wanted.

  But he’s holding back, I can tell.

  His kisses remain tender, and his hands gently cup my face instead of straying over my body, the way a part of me wants them to.

  Our eyes are both closed, as if lost in the sweetest dream, and then, in unison, we both open them.

  I’m trembling slightly as he whispers, “Will you do me the honor of coming home with me?”

  “Of course I will,” I smile.

  The apartment that seemed so lifeless these past few days suddenly feels like home, now that she’s here with me.

  We haven’t spoken a word since we arrived here. We don’t need to. We understand each other so completely.

  And once in my bedroom, I sweep her up in my arms and place her gently on the bed. Then I take a step back for a moment. I just want to look at her.

  God. She’s perfect.

  If she’s at all concerned that her hair’s been messed up from our bike ride, then she shouldn’t worry. It makes her look even hotter. Her slim, pale legs are crossed at the knee as she lies back, resting on her elbows, smiling up at me. But it’s that look in her eyes — that glow that is unique to her and her alone, that glow of goodness but tinged now with something else too … with desire.

  “What are you thinking?” she asks me.

  “Can’t you guess?” I reply with a slow smile.

  “Show me,” she says, her eyes glinting. “Show me what you’d like to do to me …”

  And the way her eyes are locking onto mine, it’s like I’m no longer in control of my actions. It’s like she’s drawing me towards her on the bed. She uncrosses her legs, parting them as I move myself over her, pushing down on her, feeling the way her slim body trembles slightly as I touch it. She’s so nervous, even though she’s pretending not to be, and it’s turning me on more than ever.

  I kiss her, but this time it’s not the soft tender kisses of before. This time it’s hard and passionate, and she responds beneath me, parting her legs, her hands sliding down my back then cupping my ass through my pants, as if urging me to fuck her.

  But I’ve got a few other ideas first.

  I pull away from her kiss, causing her to look puzzled for just a half second. But then I answer her with another kiss, this time on her neck, my head filled with the delicate scent of her perfume.

  I feel her shiver beneath me, moaning gently as I flick my tongue against her skin, while I let my hand stray between her legs now, slowly working it up the silky-smooth skin of her inside thigh, before my fingertips finally touch against the silky fabric of her panties.

  I can feel heat through them. She’s obviously just as turned on as me. And as I work my fingers up and down over the warm cleft of her pussy through her panties, I begin to feel her wetness too, seeping through the fabric, as she trembles beneath me, her arms wrapped around my neck, her eyes closed, her pretty lips parted as she sighs and moans.

  I slip down even further, until I’m kneeling at the foot of the bed, right between her legs.

  Our eyes lock and I can tell she wants this just as much as me, but she’s nervous too, shooting me a shy, embarrassed smile, blowing a few strands of hair from her face, propped up on her elbows, her chest heaving now from her heavy breathing, the skin of her neck and chest flushed a delicate pink, her hard nipples straining against the dark blue fabric of her dress, as if begging me to suck them.

  But I turn my attention once more to that place between her legs, reaching up to hook my thumbs beneath the waistband of her panties
then pulling them quickly down her thighs, causing her to gasp.

  I cup her ass, pulling her closer to me as I push my mouth towards her hot wetness, feeling her shiver again as I lap at her with my tongue.

  She’s so fucking sweet. Sweet and wet.

  As I work my tongue in circles around her clit, I bring my fingers to her opening working first one then two so easily inside her, enjoying the soft sound of her moans as she bucks her hips, urging me deeper inside her. I can feel her clit growing too, and I suck it right between my lips, causing her to cry out in a long low moan, trembling, like she’s right on the brink of letting go.

  “Please, Chase,” she moans. “I need you inside me … Please …”

  And this is all the encouragement I need.

  In a flash I’m back on my feet, tugging open my pants, my cock springing free — so fucking hard and ready for her.

  I can’t help but smile, my stomach flashing with excitement at what we’re about to do.

  I unbutton my shirt, then step out of my pants and briefs, feeling her hungry eyes travel my naked body, taking in my toned physique, plus the many tattoos I’ve accumulated since she last saw me.

  Then I turn to the drawer nearest the bed, pulling out a package of condoms and quickly tearing one open with my teeth, slipping the thin translucent sheath down over my thick, throbbing, rock-hard cock, while she waits for me, legs spread, skirt pushed up around her waist, eyes smoldering, sprawled out on my bed.

  “Take off your dress,” I say as I turn back to her. “I want to see you. I want to see all of you.”

  She does just as I ask, pulling the simple blue dress up over her head, then throwing it to the floor. She reaches behind her back, her trembling fingers unclasping her bra then letting it fall free, uncovering her beautiful breasts. Fuck. They’re just as perfect as I remembered. Her nipples are small and rock hard, pointing up at me, and I feel my cock twitch as I imagine what it will be like to take them between my lips.

  She shuffles backwards a little way on the bed, then lies back on the pillows, offering herself to me.