Catching Chase

by Michelle Windsor

  Catching Chase

  Michelle Windsor

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Sneak Peek of Losing Hope

  About the Author

  Also by Michelle Windsor

  Copyright © Michelle Windsor 2020

  Michelle Windsor asserts the right to be identified as the author of this work.

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, distributed, or sold in any printed or electronic form without direct, written permission from the author. Please do not participate in piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

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  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictionally, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  For my husband, Doug.

  For teaching me to love the game.

  And for your endless love and support.

  Prologue

  I give a final wave as I step away from the podium at the front of the room, then make my way over to the steps leading off of the stage. I’ve just completed the last presentation required of me at my company’s annual conference, and could not be more relieved. It’s been a grueling four days of interaction as I tried to impress present and hopefully new clients with our products, and now I’m looking forward to some much needed downtime.

  I weave my way out of the room as quickly as I can, only being stopped twice along the way to answer questions, heaving a sigh of relief when I reach the exit doors and push through them. I head in the direction of the elevators, my heels echoing across the tiled lobby floor when I hear my name being called.

  “Megan?” I’m not sure if I’m the Megan in question, so I plant the toe of my shoe and spin in the direction of the voice. I freeze in place when my eyes connect with the person calling out my name.

  “Megan! It is you.” My heart rate accelerates, my pulse thundering in my ears so loud I can barely hear what he says next. “I almost didn’t recognize you with your short hair.” He’s reached me now, and I still haven’t uttered a word. I just stare at him in complete shock, a frown tarnishing his perfect lips as he points to himself. “It’s Jasper. Please tell me you remember me.”

  I finally gather my senses and offer him a smile. “Of course I remember you Jasper.” I lean forward, my fingers gripping his bicep in a loose hold as I brush an awkward kiss against his smooth cheek. I’ve never been this close to him when he’s clean shaven. “I was just surprised to see you.”

  His hand sweeps against the blunt ends of my locks, just grazing the top of my shoulders. “Besides the hair, you haven’t changed a bit.” My hand releases his arm as I step back, my eyes fixating on his as my brain tries to catch up with my pulse. “What are you doing in Boston?”

  “I’m here for a conference.” I swing my gaze around the room, trying to find an exit strategy. “What about you?”

  “I’m in town for the marathon. I’m meeting a couple of the guys for lunch.” He shakes his head, sweeping a hand over the broad smile that’s lighting up his face, like he’s trying to either hide or contain his joy. “I can’t believe it’s really you. What’s it been? Three years?”

  “Almost four.” I respond immediately, knowing exactly how long it’s been. “Look, Jasper, I have to run, but it was lovely seeing you.”

  His brow creases at my obvious attempt to cut things short, not giving me the satisfaction as he tries to extend our reunion. “How long are you in town for? Do you want to have dinner tonight and catch up?” He glances for a moment at his feet, which are shifting back and forth in place, then continues. “I’ve wondered about you a lot over the years.” He meets me in the eye, his tone becoming quiet. “There are things I’d like to say and explain.”

  My heart catches in my throat as I swallow down the feelings lodged there. I force a small smile to play on my lips. “Unfortunately, I’m heading up to my room now to gather my things to check out.”

  “Can I convince you to stay?” His palm is against my cheek before I can react, the memory of his skin against my own sending a jolt of pain to my very core.

  I take a step back, his hand falling to his side as I shake my head. “I’m so sorry.” I retreat another step. “I already have an obligation that can’t be changed.”

  “Oh.” His brow creases again as his lips curve downward. “Well, are you still in New York? I really would love to see you now that I’ve found you again.”

  “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” I walk away from him, trying to be as polite as I can without breaking into a run in an attempt to escape. “I’m sorry, but I really do have to go.”

  Unfortunately, he’s not giving up that easily, and follows after me. “Megan, wait.”

  I pause mid-stride, closing my eyes in the hope that I can erase what’s happening right now, opening them when I feel his hand wrap around mine to stop me. “Did I do something wrong?”

  I turn to meet his eyes; his beautiful, unique eyes, and respond in a whisper. “No.”

  “Are you married?” He glances down to my hands, bare of any rings, then back to my gaze.

  I can’t help the short guff of laughter that tumbles from me at the irony of his question, releasing his hand. “No.”

  “Then what is it?” He pleads, wanting answers that I don’t want to give. That I can’t give. Not now. He’s three years too late.

  “Momma!” A voice I know better than any other calls excitedly from behind me, spiking the anxiety I was already feeling into near panic. Goosebumps prickle over every inch of my skin as I realize what’s about to happen. Little arms wrap around my legs seconds later in a hug, his sweet voice muffled against my thigh as he says Momma again. I’m frozen like a deer caught in headlights, unable to look away from Jasper as his face displays several emotions in a row; surprise, shock, confusion, and then anger as they meet mine again. I lift my son to rest him on my hip, his eyes a mirror image of the man staring at us both, realization dawning across his features as his fingers splay over his gaping mouth.

  In that same moment, my mother appears beside me, a little out of breath, but not so much that she can’t chastise the boy in my arms. “Chase Montgomery Lewis! How many times do I have to tell you not to run away from Grandma like that?”

  Jasper’s wide eyes ricochet to mine. “His name is Chase?”

  “What’s going on?” My mother’s head snaps back and forth as she tries to understand what’s transpiring, a gasp bursting from her when she sees the resemblance between Jasper and Chase.

  I nod, blinking rapidly to try and stop the tears that are threatening to spill from my water-rimmed eyes. How is this happening right now? And why? Why now after all this time?

  Chapter One

  Three and a half years earlier…

  I step out of the Uber onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel I’m staying at, pausing to tilt my face up to the sun. It’s only seventy degrees, but much more plea
sant than I’m used to in January. I smile through the heat warming my cheeks, knowing from a conversation I had earlier with my office, that it’s snowing in New York. You can bet I didn’t register one complaint when they asked me to come to Los Angeles for the week.

  I hum out a contented sigh, open my eyes, then turn to push through the revolving door into the lobby, my heels screeching to a halt as I absorb the sight before me. Men. In suits. Lots of them. All large in stature. Before I even have time to blink to make sure I’m not dreaming, a hard body slams into me from behind, a yelp of surprise bursting from me as I fly forward. Every one of those well-dressed men turn their heads in my direction when the folders I’m holding spill out of my arms and scatter across the marble floor in front of them.

  “For Christ’s sake Chase, don’t you look where you’re going?” One of the men in the lobby shakes his head, stretching his arms out to point in my direction. “Look what you did to this poor woman.”

  It’s then, when the heat from his response blows against my neck, that I register the strong fingers gripped around my waist, tightening as they shift me into a stable position. “I obviously didn’t expect anyone to be standing smack in the middle of the doorway asshole.” His hold releasing as he moves beside me, his gaze locking onto mine, his voice lowering. “Pardon my language.” This clearly directed at me and not the other man, as his attention stays focused on me. “Are you alright? I’m sorry about that. I didn’t see you.”

  Jesus, Joseph, and Mary. This man is gorgeous. And has manners to boot. I blink twice, making sure I haven’t walked into some kind of dream. I nod and hum out something resembling “uh-huh”, too tongue tied by surprise and his beauty to speak any real words. My cheeks heat and in an effort to hide my embarrassment, I bend to begin retrieving my scattered files. He follows suit, sweeping papers into a neat pile, his fingers brushing against mine, startling me again, my eyes darting up to his. I feel my head tilt as the most unique colored irises I’ve ever seen lock onto mine, leaving me mesmerized. They remind me of the caramel squares I used to eat as a child. The ones often found at the grocery store, individually wrapped in clear cellophane, that you could buy in bulk. The thick, dark lashes framing them are in such contrast to the light color, it’s difficult to say with certainty if they are hazel, brown or gold. The dark flecks of green and brown scattered around his pupils actually provide a shimmering effect when he blinks, dazing me further.

  One side of his mouth quirks up in a smile, dimples somehow appearing, even though there’s a thick beard lining his face, my heartbeat stuttering in response as he speaks, his voice lower this time. “I really am sorry.”

  I finally snap to my senses and say something to the poor man. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have been standing in the doorway. So, I fear I’m the one that actually owes you an apology.”

  I move to push myself off the floor at the exact same time he leans forward to help me up, our foreheads meeting in the middle with a hard thunk, stars appearing in my vision from the impact. I slap a hand over the spot where we collided and let out my second yelp of the day as I straighten, glaring at him as I do. Laughter rings loud from the hoard of men watching our every move from the lobby, a few comments thrown out referring to smooth moves and what a jackass my would-be-gentleman is.

  “What in the hell is wrong with you?” I hiss. I’ve had enough and finally lose my patience. “Are you always this much of a klutz?”

  His brows shoot north, his entire body jerking back in shock. “I’m the klutz?”

  “First you run into me, and then you smack your head into mine, so yes, I’d say you’re lacking the basic motor skills that usually keeps one in their own lane.”

  One of the men in the crowd lets out a low whistle then laughs. “Guess she must have seen you play in last week’s game, eh Chase?”

  He points in the direction of his friend. “Shut it, White.” His glare shifts to me, the files he’s still holding thrust toward me. “Here.”

  I snatch the pile from his outstretched fingers, add them to the stack I’m holding, then stride purposely away in the direction of the elevators.

  “You’re welcome.” His voice booming over the noise my heels are making against the marble floor, sarcasm lacing every syllable.

  I halt, then whirl around, my eyes squinting at him in disbelief. “You’re welcome?” I take several steps needed to close the gap between us, my blood boiling in my veins as I approach. “Are you kidding me right now?” His mouth opens to speak, but before he can get a word out, I seethe between clenched teeth. “You slam into me, spill my files everywhere, then smack your head into mine, all while your little frat brothers watch on the sidelines, and you expect me to say thank you?”

  His mouth quirks up in a lazy smile, his head shaking once back and forth before he speaks, quietly, so only I can hear him. “Well aren’t you just a little spitfire?”

  “What did you call me?” I splutter, taken aback by his response, so completely opposite of what I was expecting.

  His reply comes only after his lips form a wide smile, his caramel gaze practically sparkling with mischief. “You’ve got one fiery little temper on you.” I stare at him, not sure if it’s because his eyes have put me into some kind of trance, or because I’m just not sure how to respond. Either way, it doesn’t matter, because he keeps speaking. “My mom always said never argue with a girl with spitfire spirit. Now I understand why.”

  I squint suspiciously at him, trying to figure out what his angle is. One minute I want to strangle him, and the next, I find myself looking at his lips wondering what they would feel like against mine. And what kind of guy quotes his mother for God’s sake? “Yeah, well, your mother was right.”

  “I know.” He smile grows broader. “Which is why I’m not saying another thing.”

  “You’re weird.” I state, matter-of-factly, my eyes traveling the length of his well-dressed frame before looking him in the eyes again. “Even if you are cute.” Before things get even stranger, I give him one final shake of my head, turning my back to him as I finally make it to the elevators. As the doors slide together, I look up, a reluctant smile breaking free when I realize he’s still rooted in place, still watching me. When the doors clunk together, I roll my eyes and laugh out loud. “Weirdo.”

  “Hi Jim.” I greet the bartender as I plop into one of the stools surrounding the near empty hotel bar. It’s not the first time I’ve stayed at this hotel on business, and not the first time I’ve visited his bar. It is the first time however, that I’ve been down this week, so when his eyes light up in recognition as he smiles back at me, I admit it’s nice to be remembered.

  “Hello to you too Megan.” He moves to stand in front of me, handing me a wine menu. “It’s been a little while.”

  “Yep.” I nod, opening the little black folder to browse the white wine section. “About six weeks or so.” I look up and give him a warm smile. “And I think, if I’m lucky, this may be my last trip here for a while. I’m doing the client’s product implementation and training this week.”

  “Ah, lucky for you perhaps, but not me.” He shoots me a quick smile. “You’re one of the prettiest guests to brighten my bar.”

  I glance down at the worn jeans and white t-shirt I changed into after going to my room, then back up at Jim. “Not sure how that could possibly be true, but thanks.” I give him a gracious smile, my fingers playing with the long, braided plait sitting over my shoulder. I should probably cut it. The blonde, wavy locks have grown almost to my waist, and as much as I love it, it’s also always in my way. If it’s not piled on top of my head in a messy bun, or in some kind of ponytail, it gets caught in zippers, or stuck under my body when I sleep, or worse, spills into whatever food I’m eating when I lean forward.

  “Believe it.” Jim states, bringing me back to the here and now, instead of the ‘hair now’ thoughts I’m pondering. “Just a drink with me tonight, or do I get you for dinner too?” He flirts playfully as he slide
s a maroon cocktail napkin across the dark wood of the bar in front of me.

  “You get the whole package tonight, Jim.” I smile coyly, playing along with him. “I’ve had dinner alone in my room the last two nights and could use some good company.”

  “Could I try and include myself in that mix?” Jim’s attention transfers to the deep voice over my shoulder, one brow quirking up as the interloper continues. “At the very least, maybe buy you a drink to apologize for earlier?”

  His movements are slow as he gauges my reaction, the muscled cords of his arms flexing as he eases himself into the stool beside me. I think he’s prepared to spring up and away if I utter the slightest negative response. I feel my head nodding in approval though, my lips betraying any kind of rejection I may have tried to feign. I take a second to appreciate his looks again, no less appealing now that he’s out of the suit he was in earlier, and in a simple pair of dark jeans and t-shirt. And even though I hate to admit it, he looks even more delicious dressed like this. It doesn’t hurt that the tight cotton he’s wearing molds perfectly to his chest, the bumps lining his abdomen prominent when he leans back into the stool.

  I nod my permission, then swivel my stool to face Jim. “I’ll take a champagne please.”

  “Your usual bottle of Veuve?” His eyes gleam devilishly as he responds. Because this is a running joke between the two of us. I only ever order a glass, even though it’s my favorite, always commenting that a bottle is too expensive, but smart enough to know that if this guy is apologizing for something, he’s going to make him pay.