Last Second Chance

by Caisey Quinn

  Drake had probably never seen Van turn down a single thing. Not women or drugs. He wasn’t the type to deny himself anything he wanted. Since he’d been in SCR, he’d turned down both.

  And he hadn’t jungle fucked Stella like his dick had wanted to when she’d been tied up and helpless. He’d slowed down and given her what she needed instead of what he’d wanted.

  A realization set in, surrounding him and separating him from his drummer.

  He was different. He felt different. Somewhere between the hospital where Sid had told him he was going to rehab and this moment with Drake, he’d changed.

  “Yeah, I’m fucking with you.” Van reached out and tucked the baggie in his waistband beneath his shirt. If he didn’t get rid of them, Drake would just take them. And while he couldn’t control what anyone else did, he could at least get rid of the junkyard shit Vanessa had probably bought from one of her tweaked-out junkie friends.

  Drake laughed as he stood. “You had me for a minute there.”

  Van forced a chuckle and they both stood. “Take care, man. See you in a few weeks.”

  Van didn’t go straight back to his residence once his visitors were gone. He went to the restroom and flushed the pills. A slight twinge of pain as they swirled down the toilet forced him to realize that what Dr. McLendon had said was true.

  He was an addict. And temptation wasn’t ever going away completely. But he had a choice. He always had a choice.

  It felt good to make the right one for once in his life.

  Stella took a deep breath and headed into her small office Monday morning. She hadn’t seen Van since he’d left her place on Saturday afternoon.

  She had no idea what the protocol was for their unique situation. It wasn’t like he could call, as he’d pointed out.

  As much as she tried not to think about him while she checked and responded to emails, her body seemed determined not to let her forget. He was a ghost in the room with her, his hands teasing their way up her thighs, his ink-covered arms wrapping around her, those eyes gleaming as a self-congratulatory grin spread across his face.

  Every time she tried to become absorbed in the words on her computer screen, a slow steady throb would begin, reminding her of what he’d done. The more he invaded her thoughts, the more severe the ache for him became.

  If uncontrollable lust wasn’t bad enough, the questions plaguing her made it nearly impossible to do her job.

  She wondered if he was thinking of her, if he was ever going to let her reciprocate, if he was going to fuck her like he’d promised. She blushed at the memory of how she’d begged him.

  She’d just clicked on a staff-wide updated policy memo when her searing memories went ice cold. The attachment was a very detailed list of discretions for which employees could be terminated.

  Inappropriate relationships and interactions with clients was first on the list.

  She was pretty certain that letting Van Ransom tie her up and make her come on his tongue would be considered inappropriate. She was also fairly sure that it wasn’t a coincidence that this less than friendly reminder was being sent out.

  With the exception of Miranda McLendon, Stella had overheard nearly every single female employee plotting her way into Van’s pants. Even Miss Roberta, one of the custodial staff members who was well into her seventies, had mentioned how much she’d like a piece of him. Which had made Stella grin. But the rest of them treating screwing him like a competition made her feel sick. Was she the only one he was messing around with?

  She wasn’t sure she had the right to ask, but she was damn sure going to. And if the answer was anything other than a solid yes, she was done.

  Realizing she was setting parameters on her forbidden relationship that wasn’t even technically a relationship, Stella propped her elbows on her desk and dropped her head into her hands.

  This was her problem. This was what she did. Tried to fit everyone and everything into a box with her rules and guidelines. Kept things neat and compartmentalized. She was pretty sure Van Ransom was not going to fit into any box or abide by any of her rules. He’d already broken them all, and she’d loved every second of it.

  Per the instructions of the email she walked to Dr. Ramirez’s office and did her best to focus on the task at hand. A checklist, one about client comfort and preferences that she’d modified for him.

  Knocking softly on the door, she heard voices coming from inside Dr. Ramirez’s office, so she waited until the current occupant stepped out.

  Her eyes met Jesse Ramirez’s dark ones.

  “Well, hey there, Stell. Look at you all cleaned up. I barely recognized you without the riding boots.” He winked, and she smiled in return.

  “Hey, Jesse.”

  She opened her mouth to ask him if he’d checked Mother Maybelle’s eyes lately because she’d noticed them looking a little glassy, but Dr. Ramirez called out to her before she could.

  “Miss Chandler? Come on in.”

  “See you at the barn, Jess. And hey, Mother Maybelle’s eyes looked a little hazy to me yesterday. Maybe check her out?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jesse answered with a nod. His fingers miraculously appeared on her upper arm, encircling it without her having seen him reach out to her. “And um, about that fraternizing situation we talked about?”

  Stella’s heart slammed into her ribcage as she fought to keep her face expressionless. She’d read somewhere that the heart was a wild thing, that’s why ribs made a cage. It made total sense in that moment. Her heart was ready to take flight.

  “Yeah?”

  “Just…be careful, okay?”

  Stella nodded as he released her arm and walked away. She wanted to ask if he meant be careful because he’d just told his dad what he’d seen or be careful because he was privy to some information about Van that she wasn’t. Her mind threatened to race off with her worries, but Dr. Ramirez effectively distracted her.

  “Did you bring the notes on the checklist?”

  “Yes, sir,” Stella answered, handing him the folder with the notes as she stepped into his office.

  She straightened the skirt of her navy dress and sat in a plush leather chair across from him. Dr. Ramirez took the folder and scanned its contents. Fidgeting with the buttons on her cream-colored cardigan sweater, she waited for him to reveal that he knew everything, that he was disappointed in her, and that she was fired. A career in crime was definitely out for her. She felt like her every transgression was displayed on her face in Technicolor.

  Instead, he pulled off his glasses and smiled warmly at her. “This will do just fine, Miss Chandler.” He handed the folder back to her. “The goal is to have all of these completed by the end of the week. Probably best to go in order of client surname.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, standing. “I’ll get them back to you as soon as possible.”

  One week. There were nearly sixty clients currently at SCR—one who she was especially nervous about asking some of the questions on the checklist. But this was the job. She’d signed up for it, sought it out before she’d had any idea that she would encounter the enigma of a man that was Van Ransom.

  On Thursday, Stella made it to the W’s.

  Van had helped out down at the barn Monday and Tuesday evening, but Jesse had been there as well. Other than a few sly grins, he hadn’t even really spoken to her.

  Which infuriated her.

  She knew it wasn’t rational. It wasn’t like she was waiting for him to ask her to the prom. But surely he didn’t go around tying up women and giving them violent orgasms like it was nothing.

  Surely it had meant something to him? Hadn’t it? Hadn’t she?

  Her birthday was coming up, and Miranda wanted to go out for drinks again. She liked the friendly woman, was excited to actually have a friend. But Stella was nervous. She was bursting at the seams and utterly terrified that she was going to pour out her every thought since Saturday on anyone who was willing to listen.

  Despite the lo
st sleep and painfully vivid fantasies that had plagued her, she was going to get through the checklist with Van if it killed her. Which it felt like it might.

  She was determined not to let him see how much he’d affected her. Logically, she should’ve been thrilled that he wasn’t doing anything that would have looked suspicious to Jesse Ramirez. But logic wasn’t a factor in the equation of how she felt about the mysterious man who had taken over her thoughts.

  Her stomach tightened as the butterflies in it began forming a mosh pit. Wiping her sweaty palms on her white wrap dress, she took a deep breath and knocked on his door.

  When he opened the door in nothing but a towel, droplets of water still clinging to his expansive and artful chest, she almost let out a hysterical giggle.

  Holy hell, she wanted to lick that water from his body. Dragging her eyes up to his, she tried not to notice that they were sparkling with amusement.

  “Have I caught you at a bad time, Mr. Walker?”

  The left side of his mouth quirked up. “I’d say you caught me at the perfect time, cowgirl.” He opened his door farther.

  Stella squared her shoulders. “There’s a checklist we need to complete. But there’s no rush. We can do it another time.”

  Van’s brow creased. “That’s too bad. I was hoping you were off the clock and looking for a good time.”

  A good time.

  That’s what it was then. Apparently that’s all it was. The questions buzzing like angry hornets in her head dropped dead immediately. She forced herself to accept it for what it was and ignore the stomach-plummeting disappointment it caused.

  What he called a good time had felt like so much more to her. Because she was naïve and obviously an idiot. Her chest felt strangely hollow.

  “Perhaps we should do this in the Atrium. Let me know when is convenient for you.”

  Just as she turned to leave, a warm hand gripped her upper arm. His grip was much tighter than Jesse Ramirez’s had been. Her eyes went wide as she took in his hand on her and the possessive glint in his eyes.

  “Not a chance in hell I’m letting you go when you show up on my doorstep looking like that.”

  She glanced down at the plain white dress and back at him.

  “You look like a virgin being offered up for sacrifice.”

  “I can assure you I’m not.” She focused on her breathing as she stepped inside. She hadn’t exactly been completely sober last time she was here. Nor had she paid much attention to the décor.

  It wasn’t quite as cozy as her bungalow. She passed through a small kitchenette and spotted a black leather couch across from a fireplace. Her eyes landed on a giant buffalo head above the fireplace.

  “That’s Dave,” Van informed her.

  “You named him?” She couldn’t help but grin.

  “He’s an excellent roommate. Never complains about noise and cleans up after himself.”

  “I see.” She bit her lip to keep from giggling.

  “Have a seat. Let’s get this checklist business over with so we can get to more important things.” He aimed a pointed glance at the table where he’d tongue fucked her nearly to death.

  Stella’s entire body flushed to the point of painful burning. Ignoring his insinuation, she lowered herself onto a kitchen chair. Fighting off the memory of him growling against her open legs when that same chair hadn’t provided him the access he’d wanted, she pulled out her folder.

  “Um, this shouldn’t take long.”

  “I have all the time in the world, cowgirl.” He eased onto the couch and she looked anywhere but at him.

  “You could, um, change. Or put some clothes on. I can wait.”

  “I’m good,” he said with a shrug as he stretched an arm with intricate tattoos wrapped around it onto the back of the couch. “Unless you’re uncomfortable?”

  Stella took a deep breath. She was as uncomfortable as it got. Her heart was racing, her pulse seemed to have sped to an astronomical rate, and the steady throbbing between her legs was causing her to sweat.

  “It’s like you’re torturing me on purpose,” she admitted, pointing her pen at him.

  His answering grin revealed that he was enjoying every minute of her discomfort.

  “Now you know how I feel when you strut around in those fucking heels.”

  Crossing her legs, Stella leaned back and focused on the checklist in her lap. “Let’s just get on with it, shall we?”

  “By all means.”

  Taking a deep breath in hopes of sucking in some courage, she read the first question carefully. “On a scale of one to ten, one being unsatisfactory and ten being ideal, how would you rate the accommodations here at SCR?”

  Van glanced over at Dave and then back to her. “Dave says a ten. We rate it a ten.”

  Stella circled the number ten and bit the inside of her cheek. He was nothing if not charming. Damn him.

  “On a scale of one to ten, one being—”

  “I got it, cowgirl. Read the questions and I’ll give you a number. Or better yet, circle all tens and take that fucking dress off.”

  “That’s not quite how it works, Mr. Walker.” She gripped the pen tighter so he wouldn’t see her hands shaking.

  “Oh, I know exactly how it works,” he said, leaning forward. “I know precisely how you like it, what makes you scream, and how to make you beg.”

  Her jaw clenched as her lust-fueled desires sparked to life. Bastard.

  “Question number two. How accommodating have you found the staff to be here at SCR?”

  His grin turned smug. Irritatingly smug. “Oh, I think I’d say I’ve found the staff to be very accommodating. Definitely a ten.”

  She narrowed her eyes. Did he mean her? Or the others? Were there others?

  “Question three,” she began through gritted teeth. “Upon arriving, did you feel your privacy needs were adequately met?”

  Van rubbed his fingers thoughtfully across the stubble on his chin. The stubble that had nearly rubbed her inner thighs raw.

  “Hm. Let’s see. Upon arriving, I bumped into a beautiful woman who has sufficiently invaded my mind every day since. And now she’s sitting here while I’m wearing only a bath towel. So I’m not sure what that says about my privacy being respected.”

  “You know what? We can do this another time.” Stella clutched her folder and stood.

  “Whoa, cowgirl. Wait a second.” He stood and reached for her, closing the distance between them in a single stride. His arms encircled her waist and pulled her backward to his bare chest.

  “Don’t,” she snapped, whirling around to glare at him.

  “Easy. What’s wrong, Stella Jo? I didn’t realize you were actually getting pissed or I wouldn’t have kept screwing with you.”

  Screwing with her. That’s what he’d been doing since day one. Everything he said poked at her exposed nerves and riled her inner turmoil all over again. The words she wanted to say, the questions she wanted to ask, wouldn’t make their way to her lips.

  “You’re mad at me,” he said softly. “Really mad. As in not just messing around mad.”

  “Rock star and a genius. Look at you.” She jerked out of his grasp.

  “Beautiful and pissed. Look at you.”

  She tossed him one last dirty look. She made it to the door before he said the words that stopped her cold.

  “You’re mad at me because I made you feel. Because I got to you and you fucking know it. What I don’t get is why. Why is that such a bad thing? Is it because I’m not one of your pretty boys with a Ph.D. and a diamond ring I can’t wait to get on your finger?”

  Listening to her own breathing in the silence that followed, she turned and faced him. She was a grown woman, for goodness’ sake. And not one who’d ever had a particular flare for the dramatic. She’d never stormed out on anyone before.

  “No. It’s because…because what the hell are we doing?” She huffed out a breath loudly in exasperation. “I’m not mad. And even if I am, it has noth
ing to do with what you do for a living or jewelry. I’m…confused,” she admitted. Their gazes locked as she exposed her secret truth. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. How I’m supposed to feel now. If I’m just supposed to be grateful for the experience and move on or if there’s more. Am I even allowed to want more? I mean, we’ve risked so much already and—”

  “Baby, you are allowed to want whatever the fuck you want.” Van took the folder from her and set it on the counter before bracing his arms against the door on either side of her. “Tell me what you want right now.”

  The simplest of words set his lips off in a sensual dance she couldn’t keep her eyes off of.

  “You know what I want.”

  He’d shown her. He’d known what she’d wanted, known even better than she had.

  “You’re going to have to spell it out for me, cowgirl. Women like you confuse the ever-loving fuck out of me.” His forehead rested on hers. “A lot of people want a piece of me. I need to know if you’re one of them and which piece you want. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

  His confession filled her with confidence. Letting her hands grab his deliciously defined hipbones, she shoved his towel to the floor.

  “I don’t want a piece of you, Van,” she said, pushing him backwards.

  His eyes widened as she advanced on him. “You don’t?”

  “Nope.” When they reached the couch, she pressed on his chest until he sat. “I want,” she began, lowering so that she could kiss the taut muscles that had been making her mouth water since she walked in, “the whole thing.”

  Dropping to her knees before him, she stroked his already fully erect length.

  “I’ve got a few more questions for you.”

  “Let’s hear ’em,” Van rasped out without taking his eyes from her hand on his shaft.

  “How many women have you tied up?”

  “You sure that’s on the questionnaire?”

  She frowned at him.

  He cleared his throat. “Um, ever?”

  She nodded.

  “A few.”

  Stella Jo thrust her bottom lip out in a fake pout. “Well, they do say practice makes perfect.”