by Elena Aitken
The blonde wrinkled her nose. “What’s a dermatome?”
Okay, maybe not the sexiest of the terms he could have pulled out. Then again, most of the actual terms for body parts weren’t all that hot. Plus, what he did know had come from undergrad anatomy and biology. He started med school in about a month. Maybe he’d learn some better stuff there.
As the words homunculus and brachial and carotid tripped through his mind, he thought, then again, maybe not.
He ran a single finger up the girl’s arm to her shoulder and she gave a cute little shiver. “A dermatome is an area of skin that’s innervated by the cutaneous branches of…” He looked at her puzzled expression and shook his head. “Never mind. Maybe we should talk about something else.”
“Or maybe we should stop talking,” she suggested.
That was a good idea. He didn’t need to be thinking about all of this right now. Medical school was going to consume all of his time, thoughts, and energy soon enough. He glanced over at Mitch Landry, the guy who’d—for some reason—taken Chase under his wing these past several days.
Mitch lived and worked along the bayou, helping out at Boys of the Bayou swamp boat tour company. The Boys of the Bayou was an airboat tour company that took people up and down the bayou as well as out on hunting and fishing expeditions. It was owned and run by Mitch’s cousins and he helped out with everything from fixing roof leaks on the building to keeping the boats running as well as miscellaneous errands and projects. Mitch could build or fix anything.
As far as Chase could tell, Mitch was living a life that was full of beer, fishing, beautiful women, and a big, boisterous family. Chase wouldn’t lie—he kind of wanted to be Mitch.
Too bad Chase’s sister, Juliet, had made him want to be a doctor since he was about eight. He’d asked for a model brain for Christmas when he was ten and it had come with a full-color book. He’d been hooked and his path had been set.
Which was fortunate. Otherwise, he would have ended up in business with their father like their older brothers had and likely would have turned into a giant, selfish dickhead like they had, too.
Medicine was an acceptable alternative in their father’s eyes, so Chase had mostly been left alone about his decision. And, mostly, saved from becoming a dickhead. Though Juliet had needed to intervene a few times in that regard. Hence why he was in Autre, Louisiana during the hottest part of the freaking year after his fraternity brothers had gone back home after their week trip to New Orleans.
Chase and his buddies had stolen an airboat from Boys of the Bayou and, not knowing the first thing about driving an airboat—or the fact that airboats didn’t have brakes—had crashed the damned thing into one of the tour company’s docks.
So Juliet, being Juliet, had dragged him back to Autre with a pledge to rebuild the dock. With her help. Not that either of them knew a damned thing about building a dock. But Juliet Dawson never let a little thing like lack of knowledge or experience stop her.
Much to Chase’s amazement, and relief, the Landry family had actually been very cool with them both and instead of treating Chase like someone who’d stolen from them and wreaked havoc on their business, they’d welcomed him, taught him about building, and a hell of a lot more. They’d taught him Cajun culture, Louisiana history, and the true meaning of family and friendship. In only two weeks time. He couldn’t imagine what they’d teach him if he could be with them for a month. Or a year. Or longer.
The blonde moved closer, sliding her arms around Chase’s waist and pressing her breasts against his chest. Automatically Chase’s hands found her ass. She put her lips against his neck. “Let’s get out of here.”
Five of the best words a gorgeous woman could say to a man.
Stupidly, however, Chase’s gaze again went to Bailey Wilcox.
Why? Why, why, why?
He only knew who she was because a couple of nights ago a few of her co-workers were here, too. Mitch knew them because they routinely patrolled the bayou. They’d all had a beer together and talked for a while.
Except Bailey. She’d just sat there, listening, chewing on her bottom lip, and sipping her beer. There was nothing about her that should have caught his attention. She’d been in her work clothes that night, too. She was pretty enough. In a natural, low-maintenance, I’ve-never-even-heard-of-Sephora way. But she was quiet, maybe even shy, and hadn’t said a peep.
Then she’d spilled her beer down her front.
On purpose.
For some reason, Chase had been watching her that night, too. He had no idea what it was about her that drew him, but if he hadn’t been watching, he wouldn’t have seen the way her glass “accidentally” tipped over, sending beer into her lap.
It had been right after one of her co-workers, a guy named Heath, had said something about his last hunting trip.
She’d shot up from her chair, made some bumbling excuse and apology, and then disappeared. Chase had gone after her a few minutes later, to see if she was all right. Or something. He still wasn’t entirely clear on what he’d been intending. It was beer, and she was a grown woman. He didn’t think she actually needed his help. And what was he going to do? Head into the women’s restroom with a towel?
He’d caught up with her at the front door. It was clear she was leaving. When he’d asked if she was okay, she’d frowned as if she had no idea what he was talking about and as if she wasn’t sure who he was.
“I’m fine.”
“You sure?” But why wouldn’t she have been okay? It was beer, not acid or even hot coffee. And she was clearly on her way home. She had her car keys in hand and, if he wasn’t mistaken, was holding them in a way that could easily make them a weapon if needed. Against him. He’d taken a step back.
“I’m completely sure.”
“You spilled that beer on purpose,” he’d pointed out. For some reason.
“Yes.”
Okay, so she didn’t lie. Or even act sheepish for getting caught faking a reason to leave.
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to leave and that seemed a lot easier than explaining all the reasons why.”
She gave Chase a look that clearly indicated his following her and asking her why she was leaving was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid.
Right. Got it. “So, yeah, okay. Have a great night.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Okay.”
On his way back to the table, Chase realized that he had been kind of an ass because he was very unused to women treating him as annoying or suspicious. He was pretty used to women treating him like they wanted to be around him and that having him follow them would have been welcome.
Bailey Wilcox acted as if she’d barely registered his presence.
Huh. That was…interesting.
And now tonight it was happening again. She was still reading and highlighting and Chase was ninety percent sure that she had no idea he was here. Hell, she probably didn’t even know the color of the bartender’s shirt.
Her hair was falling out of her ponytail, her glasses were sliding down her nose, and her baggy clothes gave no indication about any of her curves. She was little. Shorter than him. Slim. But those were the only physical details he could really discern.
Okay, so he’d also noticed the freckles that were sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. And that her eyes were a very interesting green-blue color. And that there was tiny bit of pink on the skin in the V of her shirt indicating a slight sunburn. And seriously, why did her hair not stay up in the ponytail? The ponytail holder had slipped at least two inches down, the ponytail hanging at a weird angle, long silky brown strands escaping to fall against her neck and cheek. She had one tucked behind her ear right now, in fact. Why not just put it back up? It was as if she didn’t even notice.
It also looked like someone had just held her head, or even that fucking ponytail, while kissing the hell out of her.
It was driving him crazy.
But none of it was any of his business.
She clearly didn’t want company, and it would a definite asshole move to go over there and insinuate himself into her evening.
“My roommate’s out for the night.”
Chase looked back down at the blonde. She was pressed up against him. Completely. How had he forgotten about her? But he’d been lost in thought about Bailey Wilcox. He shook the nerdy wildlife girl out of his head and grinned at… He was really going to need to figure out the blonde’s name at some point.
“Sounds good,” he told her.
It did. A hot one-night stand with this southern sweetheart? Of course that sounded good.
“Great.” She slipped her hand into his and started for the door.
Chase looked over to where Mitch was holding court to let his friend know what was going on. Unfortunately, before his gaze got to Mitch, it skimmed by Bailey again.
Who was no longer sitting and reading by herself at the end of the bar.
Now there was a guy leaning on the bar next to her. Very much in her personal space and clearly not taking the hint that she was busy and didn’t want to talk. She was frowning. Then she shook her head. The guy lifted a brow and reached for the folder she was working on, trying to pull it away.
Her frown deepened and she refused to let go of the folder. She said something to the guy that Chase couldn’t make out and then the guy put his hand down on top of the folder, leaning in slightly, and saying something Chase couldn’t make out.
What was not an asshole move? Helping a woman get away from an dickhead who didn’t know how to take no for an answer.
Chase had already let go of the blonde and started toward Bailey when his would-be date asked, “What’s going on?”
He looked back. “Sorry. Something came up.”
He didn’t want to go home with her.
That was definitely a shock. But he didn’t really have time to analyze it beyond acknowledging it was true.
“You’re not coming?” she asked, looking confused.
Yeah, he was sure she was confused. He doubted men said no to her very often. Or ever.
“No. I have…something else I need to take care of.”
The blonde narrowed her eyes. “Whatever.”
“I—” He had nothing else to add. And he was needed at the end of the bar. “See ya.”
The blonde shook her head. “Not as much of me as you could have.”
Chase actually chuckled at that. Touché. He turned and headed straight for Bailey and the jerk who was still leaning into her space.
Chase moved in behind her, put his hands on her shoulder, and said, “Hey babe, sorry I’m late.”
Bailey stiffened, obviously in shock. Chase stiffened—particularly below his belt—because…damn. She smelled fucking amazing. He wanted to know how she tasted now.
Fortunately, he was only part asshole, and he realized immediately that all of that was super creepy to be thinking when he was over here to help her get away from the other asshole who was likely thinking about how delicious she’d taste, too.
He straightened and met the other guy’s stare.
“Who are you?”
“Chase Dawson. Who are you?”
“Justin Banks.”
“Well, Justin, I’m going to need Bailey to come with me now.”
“Is that right?” Justin looked down at Bailey.
But Bailey had craned her neck and was looking up at Chase. Her expression was…befuddled. That was the best way to describe it. Chase grinned at her.
“You ready?” he asked.
Had his voice just gotten a little husky? It had. Not on purpose, but he did like the way her lips parted slightly at the sound.
Was she ready? Was he? He had no idea what this even was but, yeah. He was ready.
“I um…” She trailed off, took a deep breath, glanced at Justin, then back to Chase. “Yeah. I’m ready.”
“Wait a second,” Justin said. “You’re going with him?”
“Well, that’s really none of your business,” Bailey said, before Chase could cut in.
Chase watched Justin. His jaw tensed and he took a deep breath. “Bailey—”
He reached for her arm, but Bailey pulled away before he could touch her.
That was enough for Chase. He stepped around Bailey’s stool, pushing in between them. “Okay, that’s enough. She said it’s not your business.”
Justin gave him an annoyed look. “I need another minute.”
“No.” Chase stepped into the other man, backing him up, away from Bailey. “You don’t.”
“Look, man—”
Chase put his hands on Justin’s chest and pushed. “No. You. Don’t.”
Justin glared at him and shoved Chase back. “Relax. Just back up.”
“Um, no.” Chase realized sometimes his asshole side could be of use. He spent a lot of time with other assholes—his brothers, his friends back in Virginia—and he could recognize when one was thinking he was the biggest dick, or had the biggest dick, in the room.
“Listen, Chase, I don’t know what—”
Chase pushed him back again. “You don’t need to know anything except the way to the door.”
Justin looked over at Bailey. “You gonna say something here?”
Chase watched Justin but waited for Bailey’s answer.
“No, I don’t think I am,” she said. She sounded amused.
“Door’s to your left,” Chase said, tipping his head toward the exit.
Justin looked like he wanted to say something more, but instead he smoothed the front of his shirt, gave Chase another good scowl, then said to Bailey, “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Chase frowned. “Dude, fucking take a hint. No. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Leave her the hell alone.”
Justin shook his head. “It’s not quite that straightforward.”
Okay, enough was enough. Chase pulled his arm back, his fist balled.
But before he could swing, he felt small hands wrap around his biceps. “Chase. No. It’s okay.”
Honestly, her words might not have been enough, but Bailey Wilcox’s tiny, covered-by-baggy-clothes body was now pressed against his back and Chase suddenly couldn’t remember how to punch someone. Not that he’d done a lot of punching. But he had done a lot of pressing up against women and his brain automatically switched into that mode.
Clearly, he was still part caveman.
He dropped his arm. “Get the hell out of here,” he said shortly to Justin.
Justin gave him a smirk and then did, actually, move off. But he didn’t leave. He found a stool halfway down the bar and ordered a beer.
What a prick.
“Son of a—”
“Come here.” Bailey still had her hands on his arm and she started tugging Chase in the direction of the hallway that led to the bathrooms and a back exit.
Chase followed. Because he wanted to smell her neck again.
Yep, super creepy.
He was going to keep that totally to himself.
Chapter 2
Bailey stopped at the end of the hallway where there was a small alcove full of brooms and mops.
She dropped her hold on him and crossed her arms. “What was that?”
“I could tell you didn’t want to talk to him and I was helping you get out of an awkward situation.” Chase shrugged. “You were obviously busy and he obviously couldn’t take a hint. Or an outright refusal.”
She tipped her head. “That was…nice. I guess.”
He grinned. “No guessing. It was.”
“Are you flirting with me?” She looked puzzled.
Was he? He supposed he was. She was definitely not his type. But there was a little hint of challenge here. Could he make her smile? Could he make her flirt back? Could he figure out just what that scent on her skin was?
He moved in a little closer. “If I was flirting, what would you do?” he asked.
He was stereotyping her. Just because she didn’t dress up to go out to the local bar, wore glasses
, and brought a highlighter along while she drank beer, didn’t mean she wasn’t a sex kitten under it all. It didn’t mean she wasn’t doing all of this on purpose to keep guys from hitting on her…
Oh.
Yeah, that was very possible.
Chase leaned back.
“I would ask why,” she said.
“Because…” He trailed off. Which was maybe not the wisest way of answering that question. But why did people flirt? To convey attraction. To further a conversation into something else. As a prelude to more.
“I wanted to see if I could get you to smile.”
The arched eyebrows and the slight lean back told him instantly that was the wrong thing to say.
“Smile? Why do you care if I smile?” she asked. “I was perfectly fine sitting at the bar, going over those reports, being left alone. Just because I wasn’t smiling didn’t mean that I wasn’t completely content. Just because the erosion of the Louisiana coast and the plight of the freshwater animals and plants that live inside the barrier islands doesn’t make me happy, doesn’t mean that studying it and ways to combat the problem isn’t exactly where I wanted to be and what I wanted to be doing tonight.”
Chase stared at her.
Yeah.
She had a point. He needed to mind his own damned business.
Also, she was definitely a nerdy scientist. Not his type. Not someone he had anything in common with.
And he’d never wanted to kiss a woman more than he wanted to kiss Bailey Wilcox in that moment.
“Why would you be studying all of that in a bar?”
Stupid question. But it was better than, “Can I please smell your neck again?” which was the other thing that had occurred to him to ask.
She blinked, then frowned. “Because I was hungry and don’t cook. And this bar is the only one around here that has Ghost in the Machine IPA.”
Okay, they had two things in common. He didn’t cook either and Ghost in the Machine was his favorite beer. It was the best Louisiana beer he’d tried since coming here and topped all of his previous favorites, even from up north. But it sold out quickly and was hard to find.
“Good answer,” he told her.
“So glad you approve.”