Blindsided Page 7

  Affection? What the hell had she gotten herself into? She pulled away a little and unwrapped her arms. She took a few steps back and leaned against the counter, putting some distance between herself and his strength, his overpowering charisma.

  “Yeah, I can’t do that sort of diet,” Nate said with a grin. He leaned over, easily closing the gap between them. He kissed the top of her head, sending her heart rate galloping. “If you’re on a low carb diet, I’m not sure what I’ll feed you. I pretty much live on pasta.”

  “No, it’s okay. Pasta is pretty much found on every continent in the world. I eat it all the time,” she said with a forced grin. Pushing the thoughts of affection away, she grabbed the two containers Nate had taken from the fridge. “Here, I’ll microwave them.”

  She didn’t want him to see how their ease together affected her. Sleeping with him was one thing, but caring about him, kissing his rib cage and thinking his incompetence in the kitchen was cute were entirely out of her safety zone. It amazed her that he was completely helpless to feed himself. Even she could make pasta. It wasn’t all that complicated. In some men, this type of shortcoming might have annoyed her, but in Nate it was an interesting quirk. Because it made him human, or because she was falling for him and willing to overlook his flaws? Chelsea didn’t know the answer to that.

  ###

  The night had gone by way too fast. Nate had never been so unhappy to see the sun rise as he was that morning. It wasn’t fair. Even in the dim light, Chelsea’s hair shown a deep red, her skin creamy and smooth against his sheets. She lay on her stomach next to him, her eyelids twitching as she dreamed. Nate stretched carefully, not wanting to wake her. He liked watching her sleep and more opportunities.

  When he had made his offer, he had known that it was possible he would want to call it off after one night. Nope. After what they’d done last night, Nate wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his hands off her for the week of self imposed celibacy he still hoped for. He’d try, but the woman was remarkable. She gave herself up completely, dropping her masks and walls as she gave into him, into her body’s needs. Her pleasure had been his pleasure, and he had spent the night reveling in making her come, watching her abandon reason and thought. Waiting six whole days would be torture.

  Torture, assuming of course that she agreed to stay. She had told him upfront that she would walk away in the morning. He hoped like hell that she wouldn’t, that her appetite had been whetted as his had. But she had been so adamant. He should probably start coming up with ways to convince her not leave.

  In a very short period of time, Nate had become used to having her around. Last night, between rounds of mind blowing sex, they had talked and laughed about nothing and everything. He’d never experienced that in his life. His post coital conversation was usually more along the lines of women asking him to sign parts of their bodies in magic marker. They always had a magic marker with them. It was kind of creepy. The very last groupie he’d slept with had brought a tattoo gun with her and wanted him to tattoo her ass. That had really solidified his decision to give up groupies for good.

  Instead of producing any writing implements, Chelsea had told him stories. Stories about her crazy, overbearing mother making her go to three fittings for her graduation dress, about her travels to places he’d never heard of and her brother, Tony. Nate had even shared his own stories, which was definitely new territory for him. Most people he talked to had known him most of his life. Sean and Bill, the other members of the band, and Bill’s wife Maddy, had all grown up with him. They had been there when most of his stories took place. Some of them were less than pleasant, though he hadn’t told Chelsea many of those last night.

  For several moments, Nate battled his urge to kiss her awake, but that would lead to something else. He should let her sleep, he knew, but he couldn’t stop staring at those lips, luscious and full, slightly parted in slumber. He had just resolved himself to hurtling out of bed and into a cold shower when her eyelids fluttered open and her big green eyes found him. She smiled lazily.

  “’lo,” she muttered. She lifted one arm and let it fall back to the bed. “Limp,” she observed with another half smile.

  “Not really,” Nate said with a grin and a pointed glance downwards. He wasn’t sure he was capable of being in that condition around Chelsea.

  Her eyes glittered with amusement, and her body seemed to perk up a bit as she rolled to her side. He ran his hand along the deep curve of her waist before letting his hand rest on her rounded hip. She curled both hands under her head and stared at him.

  “Do you always wake up at the crack of dawn?” she asked through a yawn.

  “Hell, no,” Nate said with a grin, “Sometimes I don’t go to bed until dawn. But I like looking at you.”

  She made a noncommittal noise and edged closer to him until her face was touching his chest. Taking a deep breath, she rubbed her nose against him. Nate tightened his grip on her soft flesh, desire ripping through him.

  “You smell so good,” she whispered.

  She peppered his chest with kisses, and Nate sighed. Last night they had been animalistic, discovering each other in with furious passion. Now the mood was more relaxed, more intimate. Nate let his hand wander over her body, enjoying the feeling of soft skin under his calloused fingers. Goosebumps sprang up in the trail of his fingers, and she moved against his touch. Her breath became deeper, and when she looked up at him, her pupils were dilated, lids heavy.

  He brought his mouth down to hers, letting his lips just barely touch hers. Her lips opened in response, and at the touch of her tongue on his lower lip, Nate groaned. In the early morning light, everything had a slow, dreamlike quality to it. Moving his hand lower, Nate gently tipped Chelsea’s hips so she was lying on her back beneath him. He fit himself between her thighs, gently prodding her damp curls with the head of his penis. She was wet and still soft from the night’s festivities.

  He slid his tongue into her mouth and his penis into her sheath in one smooth motion and she writhed against him, once again shucking her mask in a rush of pleasure. He drove into her in a steady pace, varying his tempo and angle to bring her to climax. When she came, she grabbed his shoulders and pulled herself up to him, crushing her breasts against his chest. He felt her heart beating as if it were trying to escape her chest. His heart beat adjusted to match hers, and for a moment, the walls of their skin seemed to slip away. Nate’s eyes opened wide at the new feeling, scared by its unfamiliarity. Then the pressure undid him, and soon he was mindlessly pounding into her while she cried out again.

  ###

  “I guess we should get up,” Nate said a few hours later.

  The sun had risen completely, bathing the room in golden light. The brick red walls shone richly against the paleness of the sheets. Chelsea felt like she could stay there forever and nuzzled her head deeper into Nate’s chest. Okay, not forever. Even snuggled in Nate’s strong arms, sated from an evening of intense orgasms, anxiety fluttered dark wings in the corners of her mind. Besides, forever didn’t figure into any bad boy fling, no matter how much he protested about being different.

  Had he known that they would have had such a wonderful connection, somehow guessed that walking away in the morning would be no simple feat? How? He barely knew her, she barely knew him. Suddenly, she felt trapped, familiar panic welling up from deep inside, driving away the residual languor.

  “What’s wrong, babe?” Nate asked.

  He rubbed her back gently as he stared up at the ceiling.

  “Nothing,” she lied quickly.

  Even with her mind lurching towards a panic attack, her body didn’t want to leave his. Her hands clutched at his skin as if clinging to him would help fight her rising heart rate and constricted breathing. They wanted different things, needed different things, Chelsea thought. That was no reason to feel so trapped. She ordered herself to breathe deeply and eventually regained some control.

  Nate made a non-committal noise, then gently sl
id his arm out from under her. Her body protested the loss of warmth while her mind sighed in relief and ratcheted her anxiety down to a manageable hum. She had to reconcile her body, her mind and her emotions before this got any more complicated.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” he said. He faced her only long enough for her to see a fleeting sadness he quickly hid behind a grin.

  ###

  Nate turned the water off but didn’t get out of the tile stall immediately. It had been all he could do to get out of bed. He’d been toying with the idea of just holding her tight, using his superior strength to keep her with him, which had bad idea written all over it. Her body had stiffened and he’d known right then he’d lost her. She was going to walk away, just like she’d said.

  He was at a loss for what else to do to make her change her mind. She wanted a good boy, someone who’d never so much as looked twice at a bike or hot rod. But she was about 20 years too late to make him look like anything but what he was; a reformed street hood with a temper and an attitude. Maybe at some point, he could have passed for something else, but tattoos covering half your body made a person look fairly stereotypical.

  The longer he stood in the shower, dripping and thinking, the more pissed off he became. His pain easily succumbed to the heat of anger. It was easier to deal with and he gratefully let his mind run over the reasons he should feel mad, not hurt. She was so open minded about everything but him. In traveling, she accepted cultures for what they were. She ate bugs and wore traditional costumes, but she wouldn’t even give him a fucking chance because he had a few tattoos. Okay, more than a few, but what the hell?

  He toweled off briskly, his movements jerky. God damn it, he’d make her see that she was wrong. He didn’t care what she thought she knew about him. Tossing the towel into the hamper, he all but stormed back into the bedroom. Maybe naked wasn’t the best state for this confrontation, but he was too pissed to care.

  When he saw her, asleep in his bed, completely dead to the world, his anger dissipated and he realized with a lurch what he’d almost done. Proved her right and made it all but impossible for her to see him as anything but the asshole she assumed he was. Christ. He rubbed his eyes in frustration. If he didn’t get a better hold on his temper, fast, he really was going to lose her, and it would be his fault. Finally, something he could control in this whole mess. It wouldn’t be easy, but at least it was something.

  If he managed to keep her around, he wanted to find out why her body took advantage of any horizontal time, but right now they needed to get going. Sighing, he brushed her hair back from her forehead.

  “Sweetheart, time to wake up,” he whispered against her forehead.

  She stirred, kissed him, went back to sleep. Shit.

  “Babe, come on. Why don’t you get in the shower and I’ll go make some coffee for us, ok?” No response.

  It took a few tries, but eventually, Nate got Chelsea up and in the shower and even moving under her own power. She had scowled at him a bit when he had taken the blankets away from her, but she eventually struggled up to sitting, then standing, eventually wobbling towards the bathroom. He couldn’t follow her into the bathroom. He didn’t trust his self control where a naked and soapy Chelsea was concerned.

  ###

  Chelsea washed slowly, luxuriating under the streams from the multiple shower heads. Clearly, being rich and famous had its perks. Her body felt lean and sleek after a night of pleasure. She could practically feel the glow of her skin and wondered if other people would be able to tell. Tony, for instance. She still hadn’t gotten in touch with him, and by now he would be worried. She’d have to call him before she left to let him know she was okay.

  Leaving. That was the first thing. As soon as poor Bunny was fixed, she would have to be on her way. On her way back to the uncomfortable bed, the closed-in feeling with no distractions. At least here, she had Nate to keep her from thinking too much. Nate had a wonderful way of keeping her body occupied and her mind blank with sensation. Still, she would leave, would serve the remainder of her damn sabbatical at Tony’s and then head back out to her work. It would be short sighted to think that distracting herself with great sex would make her feel any better in the long term and she couldn’t bear the broken heart she was sure a sustained relationship with Nate would hold.

  Work. There was more distraction in work than in bed. Hotels, bunkhouses, airplanes and buses crammed with people. There was still excitement and relief there, but also a sense of exhaustion. She knew she needed to slow down, her body had told her as much, but she wasn’t sure if she was able. Her mind didn’t wander when she had three articles to write on the way to her next destination. It simply didn’t have the time. And no matter how over deadline she was, she never had a broken heart over a story. So work won hands down over Nate as an appropriate distraction.

  All of this was still several hours away. Sure, the name was ‘one night stand’ but Chelsea had every intention of making it at least a full day. She wanted one last time with Nate, still hoping against all evidence to the contrary that one more time would remove him from her system once and for all. Even if it was a quickie against the newly fixed car, she wanted him again before she left.

  Chelsea threw on her jeans and hunted around to find something suitably enticing. She found one of Nate’s ribbed undershirts and slipped it on. She thought she looked pretty cute and was interested in seeing what Nate thought. She stopped mid stride when she heard Nate’s voice coming from the kitchen, apparently talking on the phone. Feeling silly and a little creepy, Chelsea couldn’t resist eavesdropping. She stopped short of the entry and listened.

  “You remember last week, when you were trying to convince me to go to some club or something with you and Bill, to meet a girl?” Nate paused, waiting for an unheard answer, then continued, “I told you that unless someone landed in my lap, I was never going to meet anyone, because I was tired of it. Well, yesterday, I was sitting in my den, banging my head against the wall writing this new song… What? No, I haven’t played it for Bill yet. Yes, of course I will. Geezus, Maddy, could I finish my soul baring here?”

  Nate’s voice was filled with teasing and humor, the banter he shared with this Maddy person speaking of a long intimacy. A stab of jealousy stabbed Chelsea, surprising the hell out of her. Crap, she thought wearily. This was even worse than she had thought, which meant it now qualified as an all out disaster.

  “Anyway,” Nate continued, “I went into the kitchen for a drink of water and there was this girl waltzing up my path. And before I got mad, before I got defensive of my little fortress, I thought, ‘Someone listened. She dropped into my lap.’” Nate’s voice sounded sheepish at this last part, as if he didn’t want to admit to this kind of irrational thinking. Maddy must have made fun of him for it, because he responded with a snort and “Fuck you, too, little miss I met my soul mate when I was thirteen. Give me a break here. I’m entitled to my moments of cheesiness, too.”

  Chelsea debated with herself. She really should go in there before she heard any more of this. He was thinking way bigger than she was. Even if she agreed to this bizarre weeklong dating plan of his, the end would come in three weeks when she left for Korea, the trip that marked the end of her sabbatical. He apparently felt some sort of trippy connection with her, saw her as a fulfillment of a wish. They got along, the sex was amazing, but he had feelings she could never share. Chelsea pulled herself together and took a few steps towards the kitchen when Nate continued.

  “What’s she like? She’s beautiful. Redhead. Yes, I know I’m screwed.” Chelsea stifled a laugh. What was it with men and redheads?

  “She’s a travel writer, but she’s got some sort of sleep problem. No, not like narcolepsy. She’s exhausted all the time. I don’t know why. Yes, probably so I can protect her. Stop laughing, Maddy. Oh, god, don’t tell Bill.”

  Nate let out a loud sigh and Chelsea almost gave away her covert position by laughing at poor Nate. Apparently, his friends enj
oyed poking at him. She missed having friends. She could use some advice and ribbing right about now, too.

  Her humor disappeared when she realized her exhaustion was noticeable to others. Great. Chelsea let out a sigh of her own, then clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle it. She hadn’t intended for her rest break to become a fling and certainly hadn’t intended to drag this poor man into her problems. A man who had hero issues, apparently. She was the wrong one for that particular neurosis. Not only wasn’t she a damsel in distress, but she had problems no man could fix.

  “No, I’m not sure it’ll go that far, Maddy. Really. Because she’s too good for me,” Nate said, his voice sad.

  Chelsea let her back slide down the wall and dropped on her butt. She just couldn’t hold herself up anymore. Her little tirade about bad boys had affected Nate more than she had intended. Worse, she had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t even true. If anyone in this whole messed up situation wasn’t good enough for the other, it was her, not him. She ran around the world, doing her own share of heartbreaking, being selfish when it suited her. Bad boy or not, when she left, she would be doing him a favor. She would hold onto that idea when it was time to tear herself away from him. Maybe it would make it easier.

  ###

  Nate’s garage looked like a spread in Bad Boys Weekly. A classic black Mustang that looked like it ate sedans for lunch sat next to a flame licked Harley. The chrome shone brightly on both, twinkling enticingly. Ah, Chelsea thought, the allure of a bad boy’s vehicles. Deadly.

  “Bike or car?” he asked.

  If she was getting the bad boys out of her system, she might as well go whole hog. Pun intended.

  “Bike,” she said, even though she could feel the cord around her throat begin to tighten. She wanted everything that was Nate, but couldn’t let herself have it. That road led places she didn’t want to see again.