Blindsided Read online

  “How can you be so restrained?” she asked, her voice nearing a whimper.

  That was what he’d reduced her to. Whimpering. She tried wriggling her hips against him again, but it wasn’t working. He still her held tightly and gently.

  He raised his eyebrows at her and grinned. It was taking some obvious effort, but he was doing a much better job of keeping sex off his mind then she was. Suddenly, she felt foolish. He clearly didn’t want her as much as she wanted him. No wonder he’d thought up this whole stupid exercise. He was probably bored, needed something to keep him occupied for a week. Stupid, stupid girl.

  “You don’t want me as much as I want you,” she blurted out.

  Nate arched an eyebrow, then settled his hips between hers. He pressed his male hardness against her sensitive mound just long enough to make her gasp. She tried to clench her legs around him to hold him in place, but he pulled himself up again, resuming his grip on her legs.

  “Babe, if that’s what you think, you’re very wrong. I want you more than you will ever know. I’m just older than you, my libido isn’t ramped up like yours.”

  “But you’re a guy,” she said.

  No need to tell him that her libido wasn’t exactly what most people would call ramped up. She wasn’t a virgin or anything, far from it, but before him, she hadn’t had sex in almost a year, and hadn’t cared too much about the fact. With him around, everything was different. With him, she didn’t want to go longer than a minute, and she had promised him a week.

  “You’re supposed to be unable to get your hands off me,” she said, “Unable to resist my feminine wiles.”

  “Ah, feminine wiles,” Nate said grinning down at her. “Well, for the record, I’m trying very hard not to get my hands all over you. It’s not easy for me. I want you Chelsea, I want you bad. But I want to get to know each other, which we’re not going to do if all we do jump in bed every time I want to get inside you. We’d never leave the bed, trust me.”

  He stood up and offered her his hand. Without his heat on top of her, the ground suddenly felt cold. Chelsea took his hand and stood up. She could feel her eyes blazing at him. She wanted him so bad, she could taste it. Desire had taken over all her faculties and all she could think about was him, getting inside his clothes, burrowing against his skin. She didn’t care if it took an hour or a year, she wanted to try to get her fill of him. To hell with Korea.

  Nate derailed that alarming train of thought by saying, “We need to get out of here. Go someplace public.”

  ###

  Nate stopped in the kitchen and looked around for inspiration. He was feeling a bit crazed and most of his attention had gone to the growing pressure in the front of his pants.

  “Right,” he said, realizing that he sounded something like a drill sergeant, “First, you have to go put on some of your own clothes. You look way too cute swimming around in mine.”

  She stood in front of him in a pair of his blue work pants and an old Blindside t-shirt. Some girl had given him the latter as a joke that he still didn’t really get. It had his face screen printed on it, contorted as he wailed into a microphone. The image of Chelsea’s breasts rising and falling beneath his open mouth was almost too much to bear and he wondered what the hell he had been thinking when he had given it to her to wear. He ran his hand through his hair and tried not to look at her, tried not to imagine the softness of her skin rubbing on the inside of his clothes.

  Suddenly, a tinny version of the 1812 Overture broke through the air and the sexual tension. What the hell? Chelsea looked just as surprised as Nate felt, but she moved to her purse and took out her cell phone.

  “Now it works,” she said under her breath as she opened the phone and the Overture stopped.

  Nate was slightly disappointed. He kind of wanted to hear little warbling cannons.

  “Hi Tony, what’s up?” she asked the phone. Then her face paled and she sagged against the counter.

  “Oh, hi mom,” she said, her voice noticeably less enthusiastic.

  Nate had very little experience with women’s mothers. As Chelsea had pointed out, he was not the type that women took home to meet their mothers. He had always thought of that as something of a blessing. He didn’t have the best of luck with parents, least of all his own.

  “Oh, yeah, the spa’s great,” she said.

  The dichotomy between her bright voice and panic stricken face was unsettling and Nate moved towards her, wrapping one arm around her waist. What was going on here? He’d seen women get annoyed at talking to their mothers, and Maddy often ardently refused to answer the phone unless she had an hour or more, but panic usually didn’t figure into the mix.

  “Oh, the cranial reflexology was great,” Chelsea said.

  Some of her tension had eased now. Nate could feel the muscles in her neck begin to soften. He couldn’t resist putting his lips against the nape of her neck, flicking his tongue out to taste her soft skin. She softened more, her voice getting more relaxed. Interesting. He was glad he could relax her, but what the hell was she talking about, cranial reflexology? Spa? Last he’d checked, he wasn’t running a spa out of his garage.

  Nate stiffened as he realized what Chelsea’s lies really meant. Hell, it had been a long time, but he knew that look of panic. He’d seen it in every one of his early girlfriend’s eyes when they got caught with him, the boy from the wrong side of the tracks. So she’d told her mother she was at a spa, rather than telling her she was with a man like Nate. Rationality tried to butt in and tell him that perhaps Chelsea would have lied to her mother had she been staying with any man she’d only known for two days, but suddenly, he wasn’t feeling rational.

  He pulled away and walked across the room. Keeping his temper in check grew harder and harder the more he thought about it. Anger was much easier, much more comfortable than reason. The voice of reason, faint and getting fainter, reminded him that he wanted desperately to prove he’d changed, but it was all getting lost in the familiar red cloud. Was this what she left Tony to explain to her mother? His sister’s taste in inappropriate men?

  “I’m not sure when I’ll be back to Tony’s, Mom,” she said, “You might be gone. I know, I want to see you too. But it’s really relaxing here. No, how could I forget the Australian Incident, Mom?”

  Chelsea had sagged back against the counter and held her head in one hand. Part of Nate felt sorry for her, but most of him was furious. His fury had all but consumed his pity for her, along with everything else. How could she stand here, in his kitchen, and let him see exactly how she thought of him? He still wasn’t good enough to take home to mom, even though he had long since outgrown his teenage hood days.

  “Ok, I’ll talk to you later,” she said into the phone before folding it up and putting it on the counter gingerly, as if it might bite.

  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and blew it out. Nate wasn’t sure if he wanted to hug her or shake her, but at least he knew enough to not go over there and find out. Better to keep his distance when he felt like this.

  “You lied to your mother about me,” he said.

  His casual tone barely concealed his anger, a piece of silk over a razor. Chelsea registered it and her eyes flew open. She stared at him warily.

  Her tongue darted out and licked her lips, and despite his anger, or perhaps because of it, Nate felt a spike of desire go through him.

  “Yes, I did,” Chelsea said.

  She moved cautiously across the kitchen, and Nate backed out, needing to put space between them. She seemed to understand his unspoken need for space and stopped in the middle of the floor.

  “You’re mad at me,” she said.

  It was her statement of the obvious in such an incredulous tone that undid him. She not only lied about him, but expected him to understand and accept that she was ashamed of him. To keep from exploding, Nate gripped the door jam with one hand. His knuckles turned white and he could feel a vein popping out in his forehead. Before he could stop his action
, he kicked the door frame, anger driving down his leg, the pain racing back helping him feel more in control even as he was losing it. He must look terrifying, and he saw the beginnings of fear in Chelsea’s face. She took a step back.

  “You could at least try to deny it,” he said quietly.

  “Why? You heard me. Then I’d just be lying some more. It’s not like I’m proud I’m twenty seven years old and still lie to my mother,” she said.

  She took a tentative step towards him, then moved two steps back when he leaned forward and nearly growled his words at her.

  “Maybe you should just go, Chelsea. If you can’t even admit to your mother you’re here with me, then you shouldn’t be here.”

  Chelsea looked completely baffled and her look made it past his stubborn fury. As his anger began to subside, he could see that Chelsea’s was beginning to rise.

  “Not everything is about you, Nate Stone,” she said quietly, her quiet words every bit as intense as his loud ones. “You think I lied to my mother because of you, right?”

  “Are you saying I’m wrong, Miss Spencer?” he said, unable to remove the sneer from his voice.

  Now she advanced on him, but there was no way he was backing away. He was still mad as hell, though that voice of reason was beginning to imply that he might not have a right to be.

  “I lied to my mother because I lied to her earlier, before I left Tony’s. She’s the reason I can’t stay there. I can’t stand to be in the same house with her, so I made up some lame story about a spa. Now I have to stick with my story. Why did you think I lied, Mr. Stone?” she asked.

  Her green eyes blazed at him and her lips were tight. She was in his face, on her tiptoes and just inches from him.

  “Because you’re slumming it and you don’t want your mother to know,” he said.

  The words came out quietly as the rest of his anger left him, leaving him feeling simply foolish. She was right, he had assumed it was all about him.

  Her face softened, but she stayed on her toes, her face so close he could feel her breath. Just a fraction of an inch brought her lips to his and before she kissed him, she said, “Maybe I’m not the one you need to convince that your bad boy days are behind you.”

  ###

  Chelsea pulled a shirt out of her bag and slowly put it on. She was distracted by the earlier scene in the kitchen. Nate had been almost terrifyingly angry when he thought she was lying to her mother because of him. She laughed bitterly. If only Nate was the problem. The irony of it was that she would happily tell her mother about Nate, if it was a relationship not a fling. If she wouldn’t be leaving for Korea in three weeks, she’d bring Nate over to her mother right now. Hell, maybe she would anyway. She’d show her mother what a real man, a good man, looked like so that maybe her mother would get it right next time.

  Despite Nate’s very obvious temper, every minute she spent with him made it harder for her to right him off as just another garden variety asshole. Nate was much more than met the eye, and to write him off as a bad boy with a bike would be doing him an injustice. That didn’t mean that she wouldn’t do her best to convince herself of that very thing when it was time to leave, but there it was.

  Loathe though she was to admit it to him, she could finally admit it to herself; past aside, wasn’t who she’d assumed he was, not anymore. Bad boys didn’t care that you never brought them home to meet your mother. In fact, they considered it a bonus. But Nate’s anger had hidden real hurt. She’d only known him a few days and she could see that.

  Scary as his flash of temper had been, his steely eyes and the kick to the door jamb, it was obvious that he had controlled it. Everyone got angry, some people had more fiery tempers than others. Chelsea knew it, and she also knew that keeping it under control was the important thing. Nate had done just that. He hadn’t put a hole in the wall, hadn’t roared off and gotten in an accident, hadn’t struck anyone. She couldn’t have forgiven him that, not in a lifetime. Blaming him for his anger wouldn’t be fair. If he had been right, if she’d been lying to her mother out of shame, he had every right to be angry.

  She was angry at herself as it was. This whole damn thing was snowballing, just like it always did with her mother. She told one lie as a quick fix to get out of an uncomfortable situation and the next thing she knew, she was telling her mother she was getting imaginary spa services at an imaginary spa. It was no wonder she kept leaving the country. If she couldn’t get away from herself, she could at least get away from herself as she was around Annabelle.

  Chelsea brushed her hair over her shoulders and took a deep breath. She studied her reflection for a long moment, wondering what Nate saw in her that inspired him to go to such great lengths. Her long copper hair was her best feature, but even on a good day, she thought her body was nothing special. Boobs, waist, hips. That was pretty much it.

  She’d never been all that fond of mirrors, even as a teenager, but now she wanted to look good. For Nate. It had been a long time since she had been involved with anyone who made her want to look good, to put any extra effort into her appearance. She put on some lip gloss and mascara, and shrugged. At least her slight vanity gave her an excuse linger, to give the intense atmosphere that had grown between them time die down a little.

  God, it sounded so barbaric, but being angry at Nate, having him angry with her, had turned her on. She had wanted to dig her nails into his skin, scream out as they used their anger to fuel passion. When she had encroached on his space, had gone up on tiptoes to try her best to intimidate him despite their size disparity, she’d been hoping he’d just toss her up on the counter and ride her mindlessly. Chelsea let out another shaky breath. Nate angry, Nate happy, Nate sad. She wanted him any way, any day. Ridiculous.

  ###

  When Chelsea reappeared in the kitchen in her own clothes, Nate immediately questioned his sanity. Why had he thought that her own very feminine, very form fitting clothes would be better than his gigantic ones? She wore a little, bitty t-shirt and low slung jeans. The two had no more than a passing acquaintance with each other, since they were a good two inches apart. Her belly button was stretched taut, surrounded by smooth, pale skin. He swallowed.

  Her eyes were still wary as she stared at him, trying to gauge his mood. They stood at opposite ends of the kitchen and eyed each other carefully. Residual anger hung in the air between them, unspoken, potent. It didn’t make him want her any less. Actually, it made him want her more, sexually and otherwise. She hadn’t backed down in the face of his barely controlled anger. In fact, she had been fearless, in his face. He admired that, liked the way it brought him back to himself, reminded him to exert some frigging control.

  What she’d said right before she kissed him had dumbfounded him, driving his anger out. The truth of her statement had struck him deeply. He still wasn’t sure what to do with it, with what it had made him feel. Incisive and precise, her comment had made him feel deeply understood. It was unsettling in a way he’d never imagined.

  “I’m ready for public when you are,” she said.

  She blessed him with her blazing smile, lighting up the whole kitchen, house and immediate area. If her face could be trusted, that smile had obliterated the remainder of her anger, and his along with it. They’d had their first real fight, he realized somewhat belatedly, and neither one had walked away, despite their complete lack of ties.

  Scared and exhilarated by that thought, Nate said, “Let’s go.”

  ###

  “So, Mr. Courtship, what are we doing tonight?” Chelsea asked Nate.

  His arm was slung over her shoulders in a pose of casual possession. Rather than making her angry, it made her feel happy and protected, wanted. They were walking down University Street away from the Seattle Art Museum. They had thought a museum would force them to keep their hands to themselves.

  It hadn’t worked terribly well. Their chemistry was unbelievable, so strong it survived unabated in the quiet sanctity of the museum. Chelsea did not, as a
rule, frequent museums unless it was part of a story. She just wasn’t that artsy, and once she’d gone to a few museums, she was unable to grasp the difference anymore. It was aesthetically pleasing sensory overload. It didn’t make it any less draining, just more culturally enriching. As it was, Chelsea preferred to immerse herself in the culture she was visiting, to soak up its sounds, tastes and textures.

  She’d gotten her fill of tastes and textures in this one, though. The taste of Nate’s mouth, textures of hard skin under cotton. A tour group had nearly discovered them making out in a darkened wing surrounded by Chinese artifacts. A minute later, the art students would have seen something a hell of a lot more interesting than a thousand year old pitcher. Nate’s hands had been edging their way down the front of her jeans to inspect the wetness he’d created with his kisses, and her hand was already wrapped around the hardness in his jeans. The memory made Chelsea giggle, but she still ached with longing and need.

  “How about dinner. We’ll call it our real first date. It’s classic and I’m starving,” Nate looked at her with barely concealed lust and Chelsea’s stomach did a little flip. Looked like he was still thinking about their interlude, too.

  “Like a twin set,” Chelsea said inanely.

  “Huh?” Nate asked.

  “It’s a sweater set, a classic. According to my mother, every woman must have at least four twin sets, two in winter weight wool and two in a summer fabric, like cotton.”

  Chelsea affected her mother’s snootiest voice while saying this, then started laughing, a little alarmed at how good her impression of her mother was. If she didn’t watch it, she was going to end up just like her mother. A truly horrifying thought.