by T. J. Kline
Gracie sighed, as if exasperated with him, and closed her eyes before lying back down again. Standing, taking one last deep, cleansing breath, Chase grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it from the tap before searching the shelves for aspirin. Coming up empty, he made his way to the guest bathroom. Still nothing. Heading back into the hall, he eyed her bedroom door.
Desire hit him in the chest again. He wanted to go back to her room but, in spite of the pep talk he gave himself in the kitchen, he wasn’t sure he could keep her at arm’s distance once he was near her. In the end, logic and compassion won out. She was going to have a horrible hangover in the morning and the thought of her in agony, even of her own doing, got his feet moving.
Chase stepped into the doorway and relief flooded him. Bailey was already under the duvet with a fist tucked beneath her chin, sound asleep. Her lashes fluttered slightly on her cheeks as she dreamed. She was angelic and a part of his heart withered knowing she could never be his. She deserved far better. Someone more like Hot Doctor.
Forcing himself to look away from the vision she presented, he moved into her bathroom, toward the sink, and opened the cabinet. He struggled for anything that might get his mind off the beauty lying only feet away from him. Spotting a bottle of Tylenol, he dropped two pills into his hand and returned to the bed, squatting beside it and setting the glass on the nightstand.
“Bailey,” Chase murmured, brushing the hair back from her cheek, letting his fingers test the smooth skin. She groaned softly in protest. “Come on, you need to take these before you fall asleep.”
She didn’t even open her eyes as she shoved the covers back and sat up with one hand to her temple. “Oh, my head.”
Holy crap!
She was completely naked. Seeing her in her underwear coming out of Julia’s pool had been torture, but unclothed, she was a sensual masterpiece. Chase couldn’t help but stare at the glorious curves that unveiled themselves to his eyes as the sheet fell away, and he barely kept his mouth from dropping open. His skin immediately turned feverish. He swallowed past the longing that lodged in his throat as his body protested his own clothing and he tried to remember why he wouldn’t make love to her. His hand shook and he almost dropped the Tylenol. Obviously, she’d had every intention of taking their relationship to new levels.
“I . . . I know. Here.” He took her hand and slid the pills into her palm, reaching for the water glass.
It took every ounce of self-control he had just to keep his eyes focused on her face. Just touching her palm had every part of his body screaming for release. He held the glass to her lips as she placed her hand over his to take a sip.
“No more,” she begged, pushing his hand away.
“You have to drink it all.” She opened one eye to glare at him, either forgetting her state of undress or not caring. Chase forced back the grin that threatened as she took the glass and downed the water before sliding it only partly on the nightstand, where it proceeded to fall to the carpet.
“There. Happy? Now go away, Chase,” she muttered.
He didn’t answer but picked the glass up from the floor as she jerked the sheet up to her chin and flopped onto her pillow. Chase brushed back the hair that had fallen over her face again. She was already asleep, or passed out, but as far as he was concerned, it was a blessing in disguise. After seeing her body exposed in all its splendor, sleep for him was bound to be elusive.
What he really needed was a stiff drink. And a cold shower.
Chapter Eleven
“SHIT!”
Chase woke to the curse and the sound of running feet before he heard the unmistakable sound of Bailey tossing her cookies. He rubbed at his face, trying to wake up fully, as he hurried, barefoot, into her room. “Bailey?”
The only answer he received was the groan of agony from her bathroom.
He didn’t hesitate and walked inside, reaching for the washcloth on the counter and wetting it with cool water in the sink. Chase pulled her hair back from the side of her face, holding it with one hand and laying the damp cloth over the back of her neck as Bailey braced her forehead on her arm at the back of the toilet seat. His eyes fell on the tattoo covering her shoulder, an intricate piece of artful swirls and lines creating a phoenix. It was new, and he wondered what it symbolized. She turned her head slightly and opened a baleful eye at him.
“Oh, God,” she groaned. “Go away.”
“I’m not going to leave you like this,” he insisted.
“Get out of here. I don’t have any clothes on.” She tried to tug her hair from his hand and scooted on her knees closer to the toilet, trying to hide her body against the porcelain bowl.
“Bailey, you’re practically curled into a ball. I can’t see anything,” he pointed out. Standing up, Chase slid his flannel down his arms and placed it over her bare back before holding her hair again. “There, now you’re covered.”
He saw her bite her lip, torn between being stubborn or allowing him to help her. The next wave of nausea made the decision easy as she once again dry heaved. When the worst had passed, Chase helped her stand to her feet, trying not to notice the way she clutched his shirt closed, or to visualize the curves he knew were hiding beneath the soft flannel. She edged to the sink and rinsed her mouth out, bending over just enough that he caught a glimpse of the lower portion of bare cheek, sending his libido into overdrive again. Dragging his gaze from the sight of her rear, he wound one arm around her shoulders, careful not to hit the tattoo as she stood and he tried to help her back to the bed.
“I’ve got it.” She waved him off, rocking backward slightly.
“I’m sure you do.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she warned weakly, swaying as she took a step away from him.
Chase wasn’t about to wait for her to fall and scooped her into his arms. It didn’t escape his notice that she didn’t fight him but, instead, laid her head against his shoulder. Settling her back on the mattress, he pulled the sheet over her, knowing there was a good chance she’d be sick again.
“Need anything else? More water?”
“No,” she whispered, refusing to look at him.
This was a side of Bailey he’d never witnessed. He’d known she had a vulnerable side but doubted she’d ever allowed anyone so much as a glimpse of it, until now. Chase could also see it embarrassed her. He wasn’t about to make this any more difficult for her than necessary. Chase walked around to the other side of the queen-sized bed and sank onto it, curling his body behind hers, one hand resting respectably high on her hip near her waist. Who was he kidding? There was nothing respectable about what he wanted right now.
What I want and what I will allow are worlds apart, he reminded himself. He’d hidden his attraction to her for years. He could manage another night.
She stiffened against him and he worried that she could read his thoughts. “What are you doing?”
Chase heard the quiet hesitancy in her voice and wondered if he shouldn’t leave. If he was making her uncomfortable he would just go back and sleep on the couch again. It would be the smart thing to do, but he’d always been a fool where she was concerned.
When he didn’t answer, she turned her face toward him, trying to see him over her shoulder. “Chase?”
“Close your eyes and go back to sleep. I’m only here in case you get sick again.”
Chase wasn’t surprised when she hesitated. He expected an argument, even waited for her to try to kick him out of her bed. What he hadn’t expected was the soft sigh he heard as she surrendered to his embrace. It was only a few minutes before her breathing evened out and she completely relaxed in his arms, once again asleep. At least one of them would be able to sleep.
His body throbbed with need, his pulse beating in time with the growing ache. Chase’s fingers twitched, wanting nothing more than to trace the lines of her curves, to feel her body come alive under him, but he forced himself to remain still, to be content to savor this one moment, because once the dawning l
ight of morning came, he had no doubt he’d wake to find a pissed-off hellcat in bed with him.
“WHAT THE HELL?” Justin’s voice boomed from the bedroom door. “I’m going to kill you.”
Bailey was jerked from a sound sleep by her cousin’s irate voice reverberating through her already pounding head. Chase bolted upright in the bed, shielding her as Gracie jumped from the floor onto the bed between them and Justin, growling low in her throat. Bailey started to sit up when she realized the shirt she was wearing was gaping open. Pulling it closed around her and slipping a few buttons closed quickly, she stared at Justin standing in the doorway and rubbed her temples. This was not the way she’d planned to begin her Sunday morning.
“Shut up, Justin. My head is pounding enough without all your shouting.”
Justin’s scathing glare shot from one to the other before locking on Chase. “I told you to talk to her, you son of a bitch, not sleep with her.”
“I didn’t. I mean I did but nothing happened,” Chase muttered, running a hand over the top of his head before scrubbing at the stubble covering his jaw.
Bailey looked at him, trying desperately to remember what had happened last night, and a faint memory in the back of her mind made her believe he was lying. He wasn’t looking at her and his eyes never left Justin’s face. What the hell was Justin doing here anyway? She couldn’t even think straight with the insane pounding in her head. Clenching her jaw against the pain, she pointed at the door.
“Get out, Justin. This is my house, and I didn’t give you a key,” she ordered.
“It’s Lyssa’s house,” he pointed out, turning his attention back toward Chase. “If nothing happened, why the hell is she wearing your shirt?”
Chase swung his legs over the side of the bed and rose slowly. “Because she—”
“Get out!” Bailey interrupted, jumping from the bed. She was damned if she was going to give Justin the satisfaction of butting into her personal life again. And he certainly wasn’t getting answers before she did. “I pay rent, at least through the end of this month, and as my landlord, you can only come in with twenty-four hours’ notice.” She shoved him toward the door, shutting and locking it behind him before leaning her back against it. “So, I guess that means I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Chase gave her a lopsided grin that made her stomach do circus-worthy somersaults. “That’s probably not your smartest idea. Do you really think he’s going to leave?” he asked quietly.
As if on cue, Justin banged a fist on the door. “Bailey, we need to talk, now.”
“Good-bye, Justin,” she yelled. “And, if you don’t leave now, I’ll call in sick to the clinic tomorrow, and you know what Mondays are like.” It grew suspiciously quiet from outside the door.
Finally, Justin’s voice carried through the door. “This discussion isn’t over.”
Bailey didn’t miss the ominous note in her cousin’s voice, but Justin was the least of her worries. She’d just woken up naked in bed with Chase.
“Yes, it is. Now go.” She never took her eyes from Chase, even when she heard the front door slam shut. Reaching behind her, she unlocked her bedroom door.
Chase leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees, his hands hanging between his thighs, his gaze on the floor. “I’m surprised he left.”
Bailey crossed her arms, still leaning back against the door. “I’m surprised you stayed.” Chase looked up, his green gaze locking on hers. She could see the trepidation in his eyes and wondered what he had to be so worried about, unless he’d been lying to Justin. “Why did you? It’s not like this is the first time I’ve been drunk.”
His eyes shuttered and he shrugged, irritatingly nonchalant for a half-naked man who’d just been woken by an angry, hulking bear of a man. “You were sick.”
“And?” She ran her hand through the tangled mass that used to be her hair. “What happened last night, Chase? Why am I wearing your shirt?”
He rose from the end of the bed and walked toward her. Bailey’s heart began to race as she tried to piece together fragments of what could either be memories of the night before or fantasies of things she’d dream of happening. Everything was too muddled and fuzzy to be certain. She remembered going to dinner with Blake and that they’d already had a few shots when Chase showed up. She vaguely remembered getting up to sing.
“Did I sing last night?”
Chase ran his thumb over her cheekbone and she felt the oxygen rush from her lungs. “Yep,” he confirmed. “But I didn’t stay long after that.”
She frowned. “Then how did you get here?” Chase cut his glance toward her, waiting for realization to dawn. “You were spying on me?” He gave her a guilty grin, covering his mouth slightly, making him look deliciously wicked, and she tried to will her heartbeat to slow.
“Not exactly. I was . . . making sure you got home okay from your date.”
“Oh,” she said, nodding in mock understanding and letting sarcasm color her tone. “So, spying.”
He dropped his hands and tucked them into the pockets of his jeans, her eyes following and catching a glimpse of the unmistakable bulge in the front of his pants. She bit her lip, wishing she hadn’t looked because now her entire body heated in response.
“How’s your head?” he asked, changing the subject and drawing her gaze back to his face. “You were pretty sick last night.”
“Pounding like the high school’s drum line at the homecoming game.” She looked up at him through her lashes, trying to hide the embarrassment at what she suspected happened between them. There was no use beating around the bush when it would come out eventually. She sighed and resigned herself to just come out and ask him. “Are you going to tell me what happened or are you going to keep changing the subject?”
Chase shrugged again and reached for the knob. “Nothing happened, Bailey. Just like I told Justin.” He moved past her and headed down her hall, into the kitchen, while Gracie ran ahead, whining. Chase led her to the back door and let her into Bailey’s small fenced yard.
“Then why am I wearing your shirt?” she pressed on, chasing him down the hall and coming to a quick stop when she caught up. He ignored her question and went to the sink to fill the coffeepot with water. “And why don’t I have anything else on?” she asked quietly.
Chase set the pot down, bracing his hands against the counter, and let his head fall forward in defeat. “Bailey, just let it go. I promise you, nothing happened. Just trust me.”
“Really?” She didn’t believe him, not for one second, but it wasn’t for lack of trust. Chase was a gentleman, a grown-up Boy Scout. It was her whom she didn’t trust. Even looking at him now, bedraggled, scruffy-jawed, and sleep-deprived, she wanted to strip the man’s clothes off and drag him back to her bed to do wild things to him. And she was stone-cold sober. She couldn’t imagine what she might have said or done with her inhibitions dulled by who knows how much whiskey she’d actually put away last night.
“Really.”
She crossed her arms, furious that he would lie to her face. “Then why do you look so guilty? Why do you look like you wish you could be anywhere but here right now? Why do you look like you just made another mistake?” Bailey turned and stormed back to her room, slamming the door, making her head pound with the same force as her racing heart.
“BAILEY?”
Chase knocked on the door before trying the knob. It barely moved and he knew she’d locked him out of her room. He heard the distinctive slam of dresser drawers only moments before the shower came on. If that stubborn woman thought a locked door was going to keep them from having this out, she was sadly mistaken. Returning to the kitchen, Chase rummaged through her drawers until he found a few hairpins and made his way back to her bedroom.
Why the hell couldn’t she just forget about last night? Just trust what he was telling her and let it go? He didn’t want to discuss what happened when he arrived last night. Telling her how she propositioned him would just make things more awkward
between them, especially since she didn’t seem inclined to ever let him off the hook for calling kissing her a mistake. Chase just wanted to go back to the teasing friendship they usually shared. The one where he could watch and fantasize about her from afar with no one any wiser. The one where he didn’t feel like a traitor to his best friend. The one where he didn’t question his own doubts about his emotional state and wish he could go back to a time when he could have loved her.
He knew he was lying to himself. He’d wanted Bailey for far too long. Now that he’d tasted her lips, felt the way she curled into him, he knew he couldn’t go back. What he wanted was to unlock this door and join her in the shower, to make love to her until she forgot about leaving and he could forget he’d be betraying his best friend. Hell, Justin already thought he was. If he realized Chase didn’t just want a romp in the sack with her, that she meant the world to him, that he wanted her to stay even more than Justin did, maybe then Justin would understand.
He wiggled the hairpin in the knob, twisting it until he heard the click of the lock mechanism as it flipped. He returned to the kitchen, poured a steaming mug of coffee, and topped it off with two spoonfuls of sugar and creamer from her refrigerator. Chase carried it into her room and left it on the nightstand, deliberately averting his eyes to avoid looking into her bathroom, regardless of how desperately he wanted to take in those curves again.
Last night had been a test of his willpower, like nothing he’d ever experienced. Knowing she wanted him, seeing her, touching her, holding her in his arms while she slept. Just the memory had the power to stir his body into a raging tornado of need. He wasn’t about to make it worse by thinking about her in the shower, wet and soapy . . .
Damn it!
He hurried out of her room, shutting the door behind him, and grabbed a cup of coffee for himself before letting Gracie back inside. She immediately dropped to his feet, laying her head across them, as he sat on the couch. Chase dropped his head backward against the cushions and let out a long sigh. Gracie whined quietly in sympathy before rising to settle her head on his knee, offering her compassion. How the hell had he gotten himself into this mess? Even worse, how was he going to get out of it?