Blindsided Page 8

  Nate wheeled the bike out and they climbed on. Nate stood on the starter and fell on it with his weight, his body moving gracefully. The bike roared to life between her legs and Chelsea wrapped her arms around Nate as they left the driveway with a spray of gravel.

  Chelsea rode clinging to Nate’s hard torso as they twisted down back roads. Leaves kicked up under the tires, flying out behind them in swirls before settling back to the tarmac. Chelsea buried her head deeper into Nate’s back, loving the warm scent of him, the sheer masculinity of his muscles under the softened leather. He was hardness everywhere, everywhere she touched was taut and lean and the epitome of the human male.

  Riding the bike was freedom and for a short time, she was able to forget all her problems and just enjoy the scenery flowing by her. Idly, she wondered if she could learn to ride and tie it into a story somehow, sell it to a magazine for motorcycle enthusiasts, or a women’s magazine. She had never tried to sell anything but travel writing, but she could expand her horizons, not be on the road so much. Chelsea tightened her grip on Nate’s torso, briefly indulging in a fantasy in which she and Nate had some kind of functional relationship. The cord tightened another notch and she pushed the image away.

  ###

  When Nate disappeared under the hood, Chelsea tried to make sense of her emotions. She called Tony, got no answer. After telling him she was fine, and she’d be back later that afternoon, she found herself at a loss. Being near Nate when she was trying desperately to work herself up to leave him seemed like a bad idea, but he pulled her like a magnet. Looking out the window, she saw him leaning over Bunny, his ass outlined in his tight jeans. There was no way she could stay away. She’d go out and hand him tools, like she used to for Tony.

  A few hours later, after some curses and some bored wandering on Chelsea’s part, Nate stood up and wiped his hands on a rag before slamming the hood. Not only had he replaced her head gasket, but he had insisted on replacing some of the deteriorating belts and hoses as well, claiming the would only lead to another breakdown in a week.

  Chelsea was distracted by the image of his dirty hands, strong and sinewy. Dirty because he was fixing her car, doing her a favor. Shit. She was so screwed. The last few hours had done nothing to calm her confused mind. She needed some space, some time apart from Nate’s charisma, but she didn’t want it.

  “All set, sweetheart,” Nate said, “Start her up.”

  Chelsea shook herself out of her hand admiring reverie and got into the car. Nate stood in the crook of the door, one long, tattooed arm thrown casually over it. God, it was hard to think with him around. His scent, his body, all of it added up to a tall package of distraction. With vigor more suitable for demolition work than turning the key in a 20 year old Rabbit, Chelsea started the engine, Pink Floyd blasting out of the tinny, paper speakers. With a jump, she turned it down to an acceptable level.

  Nate nodded in approval at the engine, then made a face.

  “What?” she said.

  “You listen to Pink Floyd?” he asked incredulously.

  “Yeah,” she said defensively, “What’s wrong with Pink Floyd?”

  “They’re, well, crusty. And overplayed. And way overrated. And this song came out before you were born.”

  “Well, I listen to Mozart too,” she said with a grin.

  She could fell herself growing flirtatious with him despite her best intentions of creating emotional distance. Instead of creating this distance, she stood and lined up her body with his, wrapping her arms around him, relishing his size. One last time.

  “Are you saying you’re not overplayed and overrated, Mr. Rock Star?”

  Nate grinned and wrapped his arms around hers and her whole body, instantly engulfing her in him. God, why did they have to fit so well? Her body was responding to his, getting soft and pliant to counteract his taut hardness.

  “I never said I wasn’t overrated, babe,” he said.

  He slanted his mouth over hers and gave her a kiss that could never be called overrated. Without removing his lips from hers, he picked her up, folding her legs around his hips, and carried her into the house.

  “I need to take a shower or I’m going to get you all greasy,” he said as he set her down on the bed.

  “No, it’s fine,” she said, gripping his arms and trying to tug him down on top of her.

  Greasy, dirty, grimy, she didn’t care. He could be coated in crude oil and she wouldn’t care. She just didn’t want him to stop kissing her, didn’t want this to end. When it ended, she would leave and she wanted to make the most of their time left. She didn’t want time to think, or to grow more attached. Pure, physical lust was all she could handle.

  “You could come with me,” he said with a grin.

  “Okay,” she said with relief. Nothing like sex in the shower to keep from thinking about what you were going to do in an hour.

  She tugged his shirt over his head, quickly getting rid of his pants while he laughed.

  “Calm down, sweetheart,” he said, “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “No, but I am,” she said.

  She ran her hands over his skin as if she was receiving oxygen through her fingertips. His nipple tightened as she licked it lightly with the tip of her tongue. She wasn’t even sure this level of need was fun. Her heart beat painfully fast and she thought she would die if their skin parted.

  “We’ll see,” Nate said, his mood darkening somewhat.

  Chelsea couldn’t respond. She had been reduced to one big ball of need and heat. Nate said no more about the subject, simply picking her back up and carrying her into the shower.

  He adjusted the water until it was almost too hot, but not quite. The intensity against her already sensitive skin was almost more than she could take. Leaning against the tile wall while the water ran over her, she felt Nate’s mouth on her nipple, one hand wandering over her body. He gripped her ass hard, pulling her towards him. His erection prodded against her clitoris, making her gasp.

  He roughly kissed her neck, his stubble lightly scratching her skin. Winding her fingers into the hair at the back of his head, Chelsea held herself up. She was so close to coming now, she thought she’d die if he didn’t take her now.

  Rather than doing as she wished, he moved his hand from her ass, sliding it down until he reached her wet folds. Toying with her slick flesh, he kissed her possessively before sliding his finger into her. Her muscles contracted as a small explosion took her and she groaned, the sound amplified by the small tiled space. She opened her eyes and stared up at Nate.

  His breathing was heavy and his eyes were nearly closed. Gone was the look of tenderness and kindness she had grown used to. He looked every bit the dangerous bad boy now, his features darkened by his thoughts. She knew her insistence that she would be leaving were driving his dark mood, but her body was enjoying the roughness too much to care. When he looked like this, it was easy to see him as just a street hood. It was everything she could have wanted. One last fling with him, and an easier emotional burden, all in one.

  She didn’t get a chance to thank him for easing her confusion. He turned her around and entered her swiftly from behind, knocking her forward slightly. She cried out as she felt the full length of him enter her. It was so much deeper at this angle, his penis hitting spots inside she didn’t know existed. Nate’s hands ran over her wet body until one hand found her clitoris and started an assault on that front as well.

  Suddenly scared by the enormity of what she was feeling, Chelsea leaned back to Nate for comfort. As the unstoppable wave of her orgasm hit her and took her under, she realized too late that when she leaned against him, he held her tenderly and in that moment, she felt safe.

  Chapter 6

  “So, I guess I’ll go now,” Chelsea said.

  She stood at the end of the bed, staring out the window at the afternoon sun. This time it had been Nate’s turn to fall asleep in a sex induced stupor. When he woke up, it was to the image of Chelsea putting her shirt
on. That alone saddened him. This morning she had worn one of his undershirts, looking damn cute with the flimsy material clinging to her body. He had liked it. It made him feel proprietary, which he had no right to feel. He knew that, but he had liked feeling it anyway. Her wearing his shirt made him feel like she was his and now she was back in her own.

  “You’re going?” he asked.

  He tried to keep his tone casual. His hurt would come across as anger, would slowly turn into the real thing. Any glimmer of hope he had left would be extinguished by his anger. It had been driving things away from him most of his life. Maybe it was time for that to stop, even if that alone wasn’t enough to keep her with him.

  “Yes,” Chelsea said on a shaky exhale, “That was the deal we made. I could leave. I told you I would. And now, I need to go.”

  Hell, no. Nate got out of bed and threw on his jeans that still lay rumpled on the floor. He knew he’d turned into an animal in the shower, but he’d been so desperate to hold on to her, all he could think of was driving her beyond her comfort zone, into something she’d never known. If her inability to move afterward was any indication, he’d succeeded. But it wasn’t enough.

  “Chelsea,” he said more sharply than he meant to.

  She turned and straightened up to face him. Luckily, she held up a hand to stop the angry explosion he felt nearly escaping.

  “Nate, I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you wanted. But this was your idea. I’m choosing this option. Just like I told you I would.” Her voice had an edge too. He wasn’t the only one here with an anger problem.

  “I know it’s what I said,” Nate said. He ran his hand through his hair, utterly frustrated. “But I thought you’d change your mind.”

  It was totally irrational and ridiculous. He knew that. But damn it, that was what he wanted. He usually got that. Of course, now that he wanted something desperately, she was running away. Looking at her, he could tell she’d already gone. Her face was closed, unreadable. His chest tightened with loss.

  “And you counted on that?” Chelsea asked. The edge in her voice grew sharper, but he chose to ignore it, forged foolishly ahead.

  “Yes! I thought you’d see reason.”

  “Reason?” Chelsea said coldly. Her eyes narrowed and Nate nearly swore. Bad thing to say. Before he could even wish for a rewind button, she lost her tenuous hold on her anger.

  “You were thinking with your dick, plain and simple. You’re up on some high horse about one night stands, but you wanted to fuck me and came up with some half-assed idea. And now you want me to see reason, meaning do your bidding, like I’m some sort of groupie who has no idea what she wants. Guess what, Nate? I’m not like them, and I’m a perfectly reasonable person with my own mind. So reasonable, that I see I made the right choice. The sex was good, Nate. Great, in fact. Thanks for that. And for fixing Bunny. I mean it. I thought we could make this a civil good bye, but I guess not. Good bye, Nate.”

  With that, she turned and walked down the hall. A moment later, he heard the door slam, a few seconds after that, the VW chug down the driveway. Nate never moved, nailed to the floor. She was right, she probably was doing the reasonable thing. That didn’t mean he had to.

  ###

  “Shit!” Chelsea screamed for what felt like the hundredth time in ten minutes.

  She’d made it down the driveway before bursting into tears of anger and pain. Her vision was impaired, but she’d be damned if she’d pull over. Distance between her and Nate had become on par with oxygen and she was determined to get it. He had called her unreasonable. How utterly ridiculous. It had been his stupid idea in the first place. Of course, she had jumped on it, thinking she could have her fling and not get hurt. It didn’t matter. Here she was, sitting in Bunny, crying and yelling, exactly what she had been hoping to avoid. Apparently, she couldn’t have contact with bad boys at all, no matter how casual. It all wound up the same. Just put her in a bad boy proof bubble.

  The look on Nate’s face wasn’t what she’d expected, though. He had looked hurt, shell shocked. She was used to indifference. Steve, her last bad boy before Nate, had played his Game Boy while she packed up her few belongings from the apartment they shared when she was in town. She’d seen anger on their faces, even laughter. Real pain was something new, and so much worse. Now, she had his pain and her own to deal with.

  No, she refused to feel guilty. He would just have to take responsibility for his own pain. She would not take on the hurt for both of them over what she had always wanted to remain a casual fling. Not that she’d ever see him again to tell him that, but at least it made her feel slightly better. Still, this probably wasn’t exactly the sabbatical the doctors in Sedona had been envisioning.

  She was lucky she had a two hour drive, or she’d show up at Tony’s looking like she’d been through the wringer. That was the last thing she needed. Then she’d have to share her misery, rather than just curling up and wallowing in it.

  ###

  “Tony,” Chelsea whispered savagely after yanking him through the first convenient door, which had turned out to be the linen closet. “What the hell? Why didn’t you warn me Mom was here? I could kill you.”

  “I tried, Chelsea. You didn’t answer your phone, so don’t blame me.”

  “My damn phone didn’t work. Why didn’t you leave a message? I would have liked to know this.” Chelsea forced herself to take a breath.

  This was not exactly the relaxation she had been hoping for. She had managed to drive the two hours back to Seattle by imagining sinking into her bed in the guest room and not thinking about Nate or any other stressful topic. But when she had opened the door, she had been greeted by a cloud of flowery, overpowering perfume. Just that scent was enough to make her heart race and her breath stop. Her mother. In Seattle. Heaven help her.

  The question was, why? Tony had negotiated that Chelsea would stay with him while recuperating. And how sad was it that Chelsea needed her big brother to negotiate with her mother for her? She was a twenty seven year old woman who turned into a small child when her mother was involved. Tony was her backbone when it came to Annabelle Spencer. The first time Chelsea had heard the term ‘force of nature’ used to describe someone, she had related. Her mother had many things in common with tornados and hurricanes. Devastation for one thing. Quite often a lack of sense for another.

  “Where have you been, anyway?” Tony whispered.

  “I told you in the message, my car broke down.”

  “Big shock. It’s Bunny. How many times have I told you that damn go kart wouldn’t...”

  “Save the lecture, Tony,” Chelsea said cutting him off.

  “Well, why did it take you overnight to have it fixed? Why didn’t they just tow it? I’ve been a little worried about you, sis.”

  Chelsea hesitated. She wasn’t ready to talk about Nate yet. If she ever would be.

  “I stopped at someone’s house. He fixed it for me. But we couldn’t get the part until this morning,” she said reluctantly. Tony would get it out of her eventually.

  Tony didn’t speak for a moment. All Chelsea could hear was their breathing inside the tight space.

  “You spent the night at some stranger’s house?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “Geezus, Chelsea! What the hell were you thinking? You could have been killed!” Tony’s voice rose to an alarming volume and Chelsea shushed him frantically. The last thing either of them needed was Annabelle to hear them.

  “It was fine, Tony. He wasn’t a mass murderer or anything.”

  Tony swore under his breath.

  “Okay, fine. You’re an adult. I just wish you had told me in your message where you were.”

  “Sorry,” Chelsea said. She truly was. She knew Tony worried about her, and didn’t want to give him more cause to do so.

  “Look,” Tony whispered, “I have to go back out there, or Mom will get suspicious and come looking. I’d prefer if she didn’t find us huddled in here with the frigging sheets, okay? So do what
you need to do to collect yourself, then get your ass back out there. She’ll be hell to deal with if you disappear for too long. You know that.”

  “Fine,” Chelsea whispered. Feeling vindictive, she couldn’t help adding, “Does Jen mind the cologne you wear?”

  “Jen doesn’t know what kind of cologne I wear,” Tony said, a touch defensively, “What’s wrong with it?”

  “You smell like a gigolo,” Chelsea said. She made a face that Tony probably couldn’t see in the low light, but she couldn’t resist.

  “A gigolo?” Tony said as he sniffed his shirt, “I thought I smelled…” he trailed off.

  “What?” Chelsea asked, nearly unable to restrain her laughter.

  “Manly,” Tony said with the sigh he always gave when he’d resigned himself to her teasing.

  “Oh, manly,” she said with a knowing nod, “Okay, off you go. Back to mom. I hope she enjoys your manly scent as much as I do.”

  Tony punched her on the arm and slipped out, leaving Chelsea alone to bang her head against a stack of sheets. She would get through this somehow. But it meant she couldn’t stay here, at Tony’s. She didn’t have to look in the guest room to know that her own things would be stashed in a corner to make room for Annabelle’s belongings. Besides the lack of a bed, just the thought of living in the same house with her mother was enough to drive her out of her mind. Tony would play intermediary the way he had always done, but she didn’t want him to have to do that any more. It had gotten more ridiculous every year since she turned 21 and maybe now was the time for it to end. But Chelsea was pretty sure she lacked the strength for that sort of undertaking.

  ###

  “Why don’t you do it like this, dear?” Annabelle asked as she rearranged the contents of Chelsea’s rucksack.