Blindsided Page 4
She urgently needed to explore his skin as well. Pulling up his shirt, her fingers found the hard muscle of his chest and stomach. As her hand drifted lower, to the waistband of his jeans, Nate stopped her and pulled her hand up to his mouth, breaking off their kiss. Chelsea looked at him, bewildered, her mouth throbbing pleasantly from the intense kiss and the gentle scratching of his stubble. She had dissolved into need. All that mattered was getting him naked, getting herself naked.
“Slow down, sweetheart,” he said.
His eyes blazed fiery blue, the hardness poking tantalizingly against Chelsea’s bottom told her that taking it slowly was taking a good bit of effort on his part.
“I don’t want to slow down,” she said.
It was almost a whine. Every bit of her wanted him. A growing emptiness inside her needed him, was readying for him.
He put both hands on her shoulders, his thumbs gently brushing her collarbones. He unbuttoned her sweater, revealing lace covered breasts. Chelsea felt her nipples stiffen as his gaze struck them and the heat in his eyes went up another notch. He brushed the hard nubs with the back of his hand and smiled when she gasped.
“Slow is better,” he said.
His smile was replaced by the street sexy grin. The seductive pull was too much to resist and she felt compelled to kiss the grin off him.
Slow was not better. Nate’s hard body was taut beneath her hands, muscles coiling as she stroked him. She couldn’t still her hands if she tried. They moved of their own accord, seeking out every inch of his hot, painted skin, expressing her urgent need to know his body, if only for one night.
He pulled his mouth away from hers yet again, and this time he held her head in his hands. She stared at him with growing anger, heart pounding in her ears. Did he have any idea what he was doing to her? Her skin was about to rip off of her body, expose her completely, and he kept stopping.
“What now?” she said.
He was making her crazy. Was he just playing with her? She was about to sob with desire, yet he had the self control to pull away.
“I have to tell you something,” he said, “It’s important.”
He stroked her thighs and even through the denim, she felt the heat of his hands.
“Fine, anything, whatever,” she said.
She bent her neck and buried her face in the sinew of his neck, inhaling the hot male scent of him. Darting her tongue out, she licked the sun tattoo she found near his collar bone, tasted the saltiness of his skin. She’d never felt this before, this need to consume a man. Anything to get him inside her. He gasped for breath and tightened his hold on her hips. At least he wasn’t completely immune.
“Chelsea, I don’t know what you have in mind here,” he said through gritted teeth, “But I don’t do one night stands anymore.”
Chelsea pulled her head back quickly, eyes wide. His words had the same effect as plunging her through a hole in the ice of a frozen lake.
Chapter 3
Well, he should have expected that. Nate sucked on his cigarette, trying to keep a handle on his emotions. He was hurt and angry. Years of overuse had made his anger the strongest and it sucked up all other feelings, making a mess of his thoughts. Fists clenching and releasing as he struggled with his temper, he stared out the window at the pathetic VW sitting in his driveway.
Of course she only wanted a one night stand. She was probably just bored, looking for a way to kill time. Groupie or not, that was still all she wanted from him. Most guys would kill to be thought of as a sex machine and nothing else, but he could tell them it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
This was why he didn’t let anyone into his house. This was why he hid away in his little cottage and kept to himself. Because the alternative was to feel like this.
Struck with a force of temper he thought he had squelched, Nate punched the wall to release some of the sharp edged feelings. It was an asinine, infantile thing to do, but at least the pain in his fist brought him back to reality, brought his brain back into control. He hadn’t wanted her here in the first place, he reminded himself, and his instincts had been right. So she’d leave and get on with her life and he could get on with his. Fine.
Only it wasn’t fine, and it wasn’t that simple. She had grabbed a hold of something inside him. Even his anger didn’t make her hold any looser. He’d wanted to talk to her. Okay, he’d wanted to fuck her brains out, but after that, he wanted to talk to her. He found her fascinating in a way he hadn’t know was possible. Hell, the fact that he even wanted her around was weird enough to warrant some consideration.
God, if she could have seen her face when he dropped his bombshell. Her face had paled, instantly losing its aroused flush, green eyes going wide with shock and frustration. After staring at him unblinkingly for a few seconds, she had slid off his lap and run into the house without a word. Run into his house as if she owned it. It should have made him angry. Instead, he had been stabbed by melancholy. It looked so cozy to have a woman using his house as hers.
Lost in thought, he didn’t hear Chelsea come into the kitchen until she stood beside him, apparently unperturbed by the anger rolling off him. She was wearing one of his t-shirts and her hair was towel dried. She refused to meet his angry stare even as she pulled one of his cigarettes from his pack and lit it. Watching her, his anger released its hold a tiny bit. It had been easy to be mad when she wasn’t in the room, but her light, powdery scent was working its way through his nose and into his brain. Geezus, he couldn’t think when she was around. Her pink tongue darted out as she nervously licked her lips. Then she did that amazing straightening thing with her spine and turned her head up to face him.
“I found this shirt in the bathroom. I hope you don’t mind if I borrow it. My sweater is soaked,” she said, her voice barely quavering.
Nate could imagine how he looked, jaw tight, eyes cold. It was a wonder she could even look at him. He only hoped that she hadn’t seen his juvenile show of temper.
“That’s fine,” he said, barely forcing the words out.
“Thanks. I’m. Um,” Chelsea started, her spine sagging a little as she came up blank.
She didn’t seem to know how to salvage this situation, and he was in no mood to help her. To make matters worse, their chemistry hadn’t gone away just because their heads disagreed. His body still wanted to touch hers and he had to keep a tight grip on himself to stop from stroking her bare arms. He was curious about how she was going to explain herself, her sudden cooling of affections. At least he had his erection under control now. After her mad dash from the car, he been unable to move, legs cramped, fully erect and stunned.
Chelsea blew out a breath and started again, “I guess I owe you an explanation.” Her tone was business-like, distant.
That reignited his temper like gasoline on embers. She was acting like they were strangers, which they were. Very intimate strangers. But he didn’t want to be reminded of it.
“Don’t try to tell me that we were moving too fast, sweetheart,” he said. He turned to face her, blasting her with the full force of his anger and frustration. “You were perfectly okay jumping into bed with me until you found out I don’t do one night stands. So I guess I’m just not the type of guy you imagine yourself dating, huh?”
This whole rejection thing sucked. No wonder other guys went through so much shit to avoid it. This was his first taste and he couldn’t say he liked it. His love life had always been the only thing he could pretty much guarantee going his way. Even as a street kid, girls had flocked to him. As a teenager, girls had snuck him into their bedrooms after their parents had gone to bed. This was the first time he hadn’t gotten exactly what he wanted.
“Why are you so against one night stands?” she asked.
She glanced up at him again and those frigging eyes just melted him. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to start feeling sorry for her for having to put up with him, but no matter how beautiful, he wasn’t sharing that particular piece of information.
“You’re changing the subject,” he said.
He looked out the window, but the image of Bunny the Wonder Rabbit didn’t help him avoid his feelings of protectiveness. Damn it. He’d always had a weakness for redheads, and now he’d let her in when he knew he shouldn’t have.
“I, I can’t have anything but one night stands,” she said, her voice barely audible.
Well that certainly wasn’t what he expected to hear.
“Why?” he asked.
“Not with guys like you,” she said, then faltered.
He didn’t give her a chance to finish that thought as his anger found new strength.
“Here we go with the Guys Like Me bullshit,” he said.
He leaned towards her, his voice barely more than a growl, probably proving whatever point she thought she had. Acting like an animal was never a good way to woo a woman but he couldn’t help it.
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
###
It was obvious that he was used to people shrinking before his anger. Chelsea could almost feel herself giving in, making herself a smaller target as she backed away from him. His face had contorted with anger. Underneath was pain, but the anger was keeping it suppressed. She hadn’t stopped to think how many times people discounted him because of his appearance. But that wasn’t her fault, she reminded herself as her own anger flared in response. He didn’t have to get tattoos and play in a rock band. That was his choice and she’d be damned if she was going to let him get away with martyring himself for it.
“You know damn well what that means. I don’t believe you’re that naïve,” Chelsea growled back at him.
Her ire surprised him and he took a step back. Good. Keeping him off balance was a good tactic. Then he wouldn’t notice that no matter how mad she was, or how badly behaved he was, she still had to work to keep her hands off him. She would like to throttle him, except throttling would lead her to hugging him, which would turn into a kiss, and she already knew what his kisses did to her. Then she’d be a useless puddle of mush who’d agree to anything.
“Let’s say I am that naïve. Let me in on the secret. Tell me, babe, what kind of guy am I? I’ve been around myself for thirty eight years, but I have no idea. I’d like to hear your take on it, since you’ve known me for,” he paused and made a big show out of looking at the clock on the wall, “A little over an hour. Let’s hear it. Who am I?”
Nate’s tone had mellowed somewhat, but the change didn’t seem to mean a lessening in his anger. In fact, she suspected the opposite was true. Chelsea filed that information away for the future, then wondered why she bothered. At best, their future would consist of stifling silence while she waited for Tony to come rescue her from this infuriating, albeit edible, man. She decided to stop censoring herself and just let him have it.
“You’re a bad boy, Nate. You know it and I know it. A rock star! Come on. You know what that means. You drink, you get into fights. You mess around with women and you break their hearts. That’s who you are. Bad boys aren’t relationship material, Nate, and guess what? You’re the bad boy all the rest of them look up to. I used to fool myself into thinking it was all worth it, but it’s not. Not for me. I’ve been down that road, and it sucks. So it’s one night stands and that’s it. Okay?”
There’s no possible way you can break my heart in just one night, she thought but didn’t say. Even after such a short period of time, she could tell that he had the power to break her heart. She needed desperately to keep that information to herself. Giving him even a small amount of power over her would send her panic into overdrive.
Shaking, Chelsea stood up and walked to the window. She hadn’t meant to say even this much. The pain of her past relationships all but boiled off her. Yup, she’d had her share of bad boys, and they’d done their share of damage. Not as much as a certain boy in a suit, but the cumulative damage was intense and having one of them glowering over her demanding an explanation was bringing all her pain to the fore. She took a deep breath and tried to keep her emotions from telegraphing themselves to Nate. Staring at Nate’s beautiful gardens wasn’t helping her resolve to keep him in his bad boy box, so she turned and looked back at the man himself. His tattoos and muscled body helped her keep a grip on her bad boy label.
“No, Chelsea, it’s not okay,” Nate said. He stubbed out his cigarette and his body was menacingly still. His blue eyes blazed at her, but now she could see a flicker of something beneath the anger. Longing and lust still mingled with the harder emotions etched on his face. At least she wasn’t alone in the throttle versus kiss conundrum.
“I’m not like those other guys, and I won’t be clumped in with a bunch of assholes you dated. I’ve changed. I’ve grown up. I’ve definitely aged out of the boy category, for one thing. So I have some tattoos, and I have a bike, but give me a chance here. I’m more settled, more sensitive.”
It was that last word that ignited Chelsea’s temper all over again. Sensitive, the bad boy’s excuse for everything.
“Don’t give me this bullshit!” she yelled.
She knew she must look crazed, but she couldn’t help it. Damn him, he pressed all her buttons, good and bad.
“Don’t start on the tortured poet crap, okay? You have no idea what it’s like to deal with you guys. You just walk away when it suits you. You have all these soulful songs, you have these grandiose feelings, angst and pain. You cry and I feel sorry for you. I want to cradle you and care for you, do anything to help put the broken pieces back together. But then, guess what? When it’s over, when it all falls apart, I’m broken, too. You’re perfectly happy being in pieces, but I’m not. I’m not happy being broken.”
Chelsea didn’t know when she had started crying, but her cheeks were wet, and she was sure her eyes and nose were red. How attractive. Perhaps this was the best thing she could do. Ranting like a mad woman at a stranger with whom you shared merely chemistry had to be a good way to get their lust to dissipate. Men hated it when women cried and he was surely going to just walk away.
Instead, he crossed the space between them in two long strides and wrapped his strong arms around her, pulling her into his hard chest. Her head fit in against the planes of his pectoral muscles as if they had been made as a pillow for her. Oh, why did he have to make it so difficult for her to just hate him?
###
I must be out of my freaking mind, Nate thought as he held Chelsea’s shivering body close to him. He wanted her to stop crying, wanted her to stop reliving whatever pain she had felt with those other guys. Guys who had apparently ruined it for him. He easily transferred his anger to them. He could see her point. He’d probably broken his share of hearts when he was younger, sorry as he might be about it now. Maybe she was right to be careful with her heart, but damn it, he wanted a chance with her. His eyes fell on Bunny and he leapt at the opportunity to take her mind off her tears.
“Why don’t we go out and see if we can get your car running, sweetheart,” he said gently.
She went still in his arms, and he thought she leaned against him a touch more heavily. He tightened his hold reflexively. God, he loved holding her, smelling the soft scent that rose up from her hair.
“You’re still going to look at my car?” she said finally, her words muffled by his shirt, but reverberating up his skin.
“Yeah, I’m still going to look at Bunny,” he said with a grin. Bunny. It was such a girl’s name.
“Thanks,” she said. She picked her head up off his chest, but stayed snuggled in his arms.
He let himself hold her a moment longer, then pulled away. He had to get down to business, or he was going to have her in his bed, despite their differences of opinion on one night stands.
A few minutes later, tools in hand and Chelsea in his wake, Nate walked out to Bunny. He had no idea what he was going to find under the hood, but it couldn’t be good. The parts that weren’t primer gray were rust and the tires were nearly bald. He shuddered thinking about h
er driving blithely along the road in that thing. The brakes were probably crap and there was no ABS, no airbags… he had to stop thinking about it.
Pushing aside thoughts of this woman traveling alone in this tuna can, he popped the hood and peered at the engine. He had to hold back a laugh when he caught his first glimpse. It had been so long since he looked at anything besides big pony car engines, he had forgotten that old VW engines had more in common with go-karts than American muscle. Only Chelsea’s hopeful face peering over his shoulder kept his smart ass mouth in check. She looked so hopeful, so worried. For some reason, she truly loved this little shit box.
Usually, the rest of the world disappeared when he got his head under a hood, but Chelsea was much too close for that to happen. He was horribly aware of every little move she made, the way her hips moved when she shifted her weight, the way her thin arms swam around in his shirt. She was a damn distraction.
Sighing, he started poking around. A blown head gasket was her main problem. Hell, the thing hadn’t been blown so much as disintegrated. It looked like had been torched, then blown up by a small grenade. That explained her current dilemma, but it wasn’t the car’s only problem. Her hoses and belts were falling apart, the rubber melting under the strain. He grimaced when he saw that several of them were held together with electrical tape.
“Did you put electrical tape on your radiator hose?” he asked, not wanting to hear the answer.
“Yeah, it was leaking,” she said.
Nate squeezed his eyes shut and swore under his breath. It was a wonder she hadn’t been broken down before this. Who put electrical tape on a leaking hose?