Blindsided Page 15

  Chelsea had been calm the whole time she was telling him this, but he sure as hell hadn’t been. He’d been so pissed, he’d wanted to pulverize the rock they were sitting on. Filled with impotent anger, he’d almost thought he could. The only high point in the story was when Chelsea had kicked the khaki-wearing bastard in the balls and run from him.

  And run from her mother, who had introduced them and accepted Brandon as a member of the family. She’d run away from school, dropping out in her sophomore year, and run around the world trying to forget about the whole thing, trying to feel strong and in control again. Eventually, running like that was the only thing she knew.

  That had been her breakthrough at the spa in Arizona, she had said. That the whole time she’d been wandering the world, desperate to feel in control again, she’d been running. She had packed her bags for her first trip a week after he had tried to rape her and she hadn’t stopped for more than a week at Christmas since. Hadn’t felt safe stopping for longer. The month in Arizona and the weeks in Seattle had been tortuous, she said, always a low level of panic gnawing at her.

  The panicked looks on her face at odd times? She was sitting still and helplessness seeped in. The crying in the middle of the night? That was the memories she’d never dealt with, made worse by the stress of traveling, the lack of sleep and nourishment. Christ, this was a mess. He wanted to hold her and tell her she didn’t have to run anymore, but he wasn’t naïve enough to think that his words would be enough.

  Nate had had to let go of Chelsea at that point, afraid he would crush her, afraid his anger would seep out his pores and flood her. The effects of one prep school prick had made this woman’s life a type of hell. There were good parts, sure, but jesus, no one should work themselves into the ground that way.

  Once he’d gotten a grip on his anger, Nate had marveled at Chelsea’s ability to step outside herself and see what she was doing. That was something he hadn’t figured out until he was much older. He realized that he hadn’t actually thought about their age difference since the first days. Either she was very mature, or he was very immature. Whichever it was, their age difference didn’t seem to matter very much.

  What did matter was that he wanted her to feel safe again, wanted her to relax. He wanted to stop her, to protect her from the demons in her head. That was a laugh, he thought as he opened the door and let them back into the house. Him protecting someone else from their demons. What was even stranger was that he actually thought he could do it.

  ###

  Chelsea sunk down in Nate’s huge bathtub, letting the bubbles close over her head. The water blocked out noise and light and Chelsea felt her whole body relax. Reveling in the unfamiliar feeling, Chelsea surfaced only when she ran out of oxygen. She felt lighter than she had before she had told Nate, not traumatized, as she had been expecting.

  On the way back to the house, Nate had been silent, closed off from her and inscrutable. At first, she thought she had overburdened him with her story, but when he looked at her, when he had touched her, it was with great tenderness. When she had begun to shiver on the walk back to the house, he had wrapped her in his sweatshirt.

  When they got back, Nate had brought her upstairs and wordlessly drawn her a bath. He had dumped some bubble bath in and lit some candles. Then he had simply held her in his arms for a long moment before kissing the top of her head and leaving the room. Just the way he held her made her feel cherished and protected.

  Nate was different from all the other men she’d met. She couldn’t imagine telling any of her other bad boys about her past. Her memories were so painful that she never allowed herself to relive them, never mind say them aloud. But she had spilled it all out to Nate, had just curled up on a rock and let herself be lulled by him. Because Nate had made that rock seem like the safest place on earth. Wherever the circle of his arms was, that was a safe place.

  And if that was the case, how on earth was she going to leave here on Saturday and return to the rest of the unsafe world?

  ###

  Nate lit a cigarette and stared out the window for awhile. Then he picked up the phone and called Sean, the drummer of Blindside and his best friend since they had been street rats trying to find food on the streets of LA.

  “Sean, it’s Nate.”

  “What’s up, man?” Sean asked, “Are we going to go on fucking tour again or what?”

  Sean still lived in LA, still liked living the rock star life, god only knew why, or where he got the energy. He, Sean and Bill, had all grown up together, but Sean had stalled somewhere along the way.

  Nate bit back a nasty retort. He was not in the mood for this conversation

  “We have a show tomorrow.”

  “That’s not answering my fucking question. One show a year is not a tour and you know it.”

  “Look, I need you to find someone for me,” Nate said, taking a drag on his cigarette.

  “Then let them book us some dates,” Sean grumbled.

  Nate held his tongue.

  “Okay, fine, give me the name.”

  After assuring Sean they would tour in some indefinite future, Nate hung up the phone and stared out into the darkness. What was he doing? He had given up this sort of vengeful bullshit. But this wasn’t the same as getting into a street brawl over some sort of insult and he knew it.

  She had turned his world upside down and he was terrified. Terrified and inextricably drawn to the bathroom where he’d left her to soak in a hot bath. Calling Sean had helped his anger, but he still riled up and sure as hell to be sent out of control by her. He wasn’t sure that he could see her naked right now and be able to stick to his plan. Wasn’t sure, but still found himself headed towards her.

  She had trusted him with the information, and it was his fight now. He hoped she had realized that when she had told him the bastard’s name.

  ###

  Chelsea had been lulled nearly to sleep by the warm water and soft light. It was only eight, but she felt like it was the wee hours of the morning. When Nate appeared in the doorway, her body reacted quickly and completely, despite her sleepiness. He was shirtless, the flickering candlelight the planes of his muscles into stark contrast. Warm and wet, Chelsea had never felt more feminine or pliant compared to Nate’s masculine hardness.

  His features had softened somewhat since he had left the room an hour ago. For a moment, he didn’t come in, just leaned in the doorway and stared at her. The bubbles had long since dissipated and her body was fully visible under the water. Chelsea watched in fascination as his body reacted to the sight of hers. His eyes darkened, lids closing halfway. Feeling languorous, she closed her eyes and stretched, arching her back and pulling her arms over her head. She heard Nate’s sharp inhale from across the room and smiled to herself.

  When she opened her eyes, it was to see Nate standing in front of her, taking off his pants. Was he giving in? And all it took was a simple stretch. Chelsea’s whole body reacted in eagerness and need as Nate stepped into the tub, positioning himself between her legs. He stretched himself out and swiftly pulled her on top of him, water sloshing all around them.

  Beneath her, he was lovely contrasts, hard muscles beneath smooth, slippery skin. Her nipples hardened to nubs as she brushed them against his chest, reveling in the coarseness of his chest hair against the sensitive points. Nate’s hands slid over her body, possessive and demanding. He molded her to him, all the while staring into her eyes, searching for something.

  Sliding one hand under her hair and cupping her neck, he pulled her up his body and kissed her gently. His lips teased hers with their light touches, his tongue remaining chastely in his mouth. The touch of his lips sent heat racing down her body, muscles clenching in anticipation and soon she was scrambling up his slippery body, urging him towards more intensity. Despite her wriggling, her frustrated noises, Nate kept the kiss light, tender.

  As Chelsea felt she was about to explode with need, Nate opened his mouth and consumed her with his kiss, slidin
g his tongue along hers. The feeling was so intense after such teasing that Chelsea felt an orgasm building in her, her body tightening like a bow string. Nate’s other hand gripped her ass and pulled her against his erection and she moaned in delight as she felt it burrow between her legs to where she needed it most.

  Spreading her legs, she straddled him, rubbing him against the length of her cleft. She broke their kiss to sit upright and stared down at him. His eyes were heavy with desire and his hands roughly stroked her stomach finally resting on her breasts. He took one nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rolled it lazily, studying her reaction. She moaned and arched her back. She was so close, and she couldn’t believe that Nate would pull away now, stupid agreement or not. She needed him in her, needed to slide down his length.

  Chapter 10

  Tony couldn’t believe how hot it was here. The sunlight had been reduced to a dim twilight and it was still in the high nineties. The second he and Jen had stepped outside the cool air conditioning of the Albuquerque airport, he had felt like the Wicked Witch with a bucket of water dumped on her.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Jen said as they made their way to her car. “I hope this means you’re making a real effort here, and not just toying with me. I hope you’ve decided to be mature and give Santa Fe a real chance.”

  Tony resisted his urge to make a snide comment. He couldn’t stand the businesslike tone Jen had adopted with him ever since he revealed his plan to come visit her and check out Santa Fe for himself. He knew she was just protecting herself from being hurt again, but it still irritated him. They had known each other too long for her to hide behind brusqueness. He would rather she exploded at him than keep this up. Besides, speaking in full sentences with her seemed foreign after their years of condensed conversation.

  “I think you’ll like Santa Fe,” she continued as she opened the trunk.

  Tony wordlessly dropped his small carry on in and then shut the lid with an angry thud that Jen chose to ignore. She kept right on talking, sounding more and more like a Realtor than his girlfriend.

  “The schools are excellent, and weather is fantastic,” she said, emphasizing the part about the schools.

  Their continued stubbornness was quickly running through their years of fertility, and Tony knew that Jen’s biological clock was not only ticking but the alarm was ready to go off.

  “Is it always this hot?” Tony asked grimly.

  Raised in New England and living in the gloomy Northwest, desert heat made him feel oppressed. He was sure the sun would be bright and obnoxiously strong when it came out in the morning.

  “Tony,” Jen said, “It’s July. It’s hot everywhere.”

  Before he could respond, Jen hurled herself into the driver’s seat of the car and slammed the door.

  Tony sighed and rolled his eyes. They had to make it through this.

  “Besides,” Jen continued the second he got in the car, leaving him little time to be thankful the seats were cloth and not vinyl or leather, “It’s about ten degrees cooler in Santa Fe than in Albuquerque, and we get snow in the winter. It’s really beautiful.”

  Jen paused for a moment and started playing with the steering wheel in a gesture Tony recognized and his heart fell. She fiddled like that when she had something to say that she didn’t want to say.

  “If you’re going to just dismiss Santa Fe before you look at it, if you’re just going to complain about the weather and everything you see, then you should just go back to Seattle now, Tony. I can’t wait anymore. I can’t keep doing this.”

  Jen shifted in her seat and turned her big brown eyes to Tony. Her hands went still in her lap.

  “This is it, Tony. Now or never. I don’t know how many more clichés I can throw at you to make you understand. We either have to do this now, like real adults, or we can’t have anything to do with each other. I’m tired. We’re getting older, too old for this. It used to be romantic, a great love affair across time and space, or something. Now it’s just masochistic. I can’t do it anymore. I won’t.”

  Jen’s tone was pleading, but firm and he understood the underlying frustration. He felt it too, but until now, he couldn’t see his way around it.

  He thought a few minutes before saying anything, allowing the air conditioner to have an effect on the heat of the interior of the car.

  “I promise I’ll give it a fair try, Jen, I do. But I need to know that if I really don’t think I can live here, that we can come up with some other arrangement. I love you, and I want to be with you, and I want this to end as much as you do. But we both need to be willing to compromise. I will move to Santa Fe in a heartbeat if I think we can make a life here. But, please Jen, don’t give me an ultimatum like that. Don’t make me choose you or a place that makes me happy. We’ve done that for too long. I know you can’t be happy in Seattle, but if this makes me just as unhappy, are you willing to find somewhere new we can agree on?”

  Tony was glad the words were out. All those thoughts had never found their way out of his brain before, and he suddenly felt more clear and focused than he had in years.

  Jen nodded, and Tony could see that tears were beginning to form in her eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her with a newness and passion gripping him. When he pulled away, they were both near breathless.

  “We will work this out Jen, somehow. I promise,” he said as he stroked her cheek, drying her tears with his thumb.

  Once again, she said nothing, but her nod seemed more assured this time.

  ###

  This was it, Nate thought. Their agreement was busted. Chelsea straddled him, it was warm and wet everywhere, and he didn’t have the willpower to stop the woman he loved from sliding him inside of her. He wanted to make love to her, really make love to her, so much.

  “I still want to wait,” she said quietly as she pulled away and sat up.

  He was shocked to hear it, and his body protested, but his heart was glad. She’d been struggling with the whole no sex thing since the beginning. Did this mean that she shared his feelings? It was still too early to say it out loud. He was so inexperienced when it came to actual love that he was scared to admit it, scared of what power it would give her over him.

  She brought his right arm up and studied the swirls of pattern, design and color she found there, the light touch of her fingertips nearly overwhelming him with desire. The look on her face was so serious, so intent. He almost made a joke about her never seeing a man with tattoos, but he didn’t want to break the spell that had fallen over both of them. They seemed to be suspended in time, floating through the cosmos in their own little bubble.

  “What’s this one?” she asked in a quiet voice, her fingers tracing the outline of the god on his upper arm.

  “It’s Shiva,” he answered quietly, “Indian god of destruction. When he dances, the world is destroyed. The legend is that he has already destroyed the world many times over and that we are living in a universe that had been remade, over and over again. I got it as a reminder.”

  “A reminder of what?”

  “Of the destructiveness of my anger.”

  “If Shiva destroys the world, how does it get remade?”

  “His wife, Shakti remakes it.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Chelsea said, letting her fingers linger on it for a moment more before she moved on, up to his shoulder, his neck.

  “Didn’t these hurt?” she asked, a wince evident in her voice as she touched the leaves that ran from his collarbone almost to his ear.

  He couldn’t see what she was referring to, but he could tell by her touch on his body. His tattoos were more a part of him than anyone understood, and he thought of them as revealing what was already there, rather than obscuring his flesh. Not that he’d ever told anyone that. It sounded way too new age-y.

  “They did,” he said, “But not too bad. I’m used to the pain of tattoos. It’s more of a sting than anything else.”

  Then he found himself telling her how he felt a
bout his tattoos, how he considered them an unseen part of himself. If she could share what she had in the woods, he could tell her his hippie dippy ideas about tattoos. He just let it pour out. It seemed important that she knew that they weren’t about maintaining some stupid image.

  Chelsea didn’t laugh or smirk, or look at him like he was crazy. She studied his face for a moment after he spoke, then moved her eyes along his body, making her mind up as her eyes roamed his painted skin.

  “I think you’re right,” she said as she picked up his other arm and started studying those tattoos with the same interest she had shown to the others. “I can’t imagine you without them, actually. You wouldn’t be, well, you.”

  He smiled. Acceptance. Finally.

  “Exactly.”

  He had so many, they intertwined and overlapped, colors swirling and lapping at each other on his hot skin. She bent her head to kiss the one on his wrist that said “Death is the only release” in heavy gothic script.

  “Turn around,” she said, and he did, spinning in the big tub so his back was facing her.

  Her little fingers ran over his skin, raising goose bumps. He heard her take in a sharp breath and knew what she was looking at.

  “What’s this?” she asked as her fingers gently touched the white, strained skin.

  “Knife fight. It just missed my kidneys.”

  “A knife fight?” she asked, her voice sounding distinctly odd.