Taken_by_Chance_ARe_June14

by Chloe Cox

  “Honey, are you trying to become the neighborhood cat lady shut-in?”

  “Um…” Lena looked around. She hadn’t turned on the overhead light and the sun had passed mostly overhead while the curtains were still drawn, so she was, technically, sitting kind of in the dark. By the window. Crouched behind the closed curtains. “Not on purpose,” she said.

  “This is too much, Lena. You have got to get out of here, have some fun, get your mind off things. At this rate by the time you step out into the sun you’re going to burst into flames like a damn vampire.”

  Lena snapped her fingers. “You still have my Buffy DVDs! I’ve been looking for those.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I know,” Lena said. She could feel the heavy weight in her chest start to twist again, tightening around her ribcage, making it hard to breathe. She was not in a good place.

  “You know it’s not good for you to get out there. Avoidance is never good.”

  “I just can’t go through that yet,” Lena said softly. “As soon as I step out there, it’ll just…all over again. What he did. All those questions, all the stuff they’ll say about me. Remembering how he used me. I just…can’t.”

  Thea came over to join her on the window seat and took Lena’s hand gently in her own.

  “Then you’re going to kill me,” Thea said.

  Lena slowly turned her head to stare at Thea in horror. “Oh my God, what did you do? What did you say to Chance Dalton?”

  “Oh, you mean that gentleman across the street whom you eyefuck every morning?”

  “Thea!”

  “Oh come off it, I know you’re not a prude,” Thea said, suddenly serious. Lena flinched at the word ‘prude,’ and that didn’t escape Thea’s notice, either. “And I know you’re not going to let that scumbag Richie determine how you feel about yourself or your sexuality. Right?”

  Lena closed her eyes. Sometimes she’d prefer to have a best friend who was somewhat oblivious. Thea had a tendency to see straight to the heart of an issue and head right for it, preferring to be blunt over tactful. She used to say that the older you got, the less inclined you were to waste time dancing around the stuff that mattered, but Lena had a suspicion that she’d always been like this.

  Lena didn’t feel quite ready for it at the moment.

  “Please just tell me what you did.”

  “First, I only did it because I care about you.”

  “Stipulated. Go on.”

  “And second, I don’t know exactly what I did.”

  “Thea…”

  Thea shrugged. “Well, he was very eager to help. He seemed genuinely offended by this whole situation, which I think speaks to his character, does it not?”

  Lena groaned. “Offended by the situation” could mean many different things. It could mean that he’d check out the story and decide she was just a cheap whore, just like everyone else, or worse, that she leaked the story herself for publicity.

  Which, in this town, wasn’t a crazy assumption. But it also wasn’t Lena. Maybe she’d never been a good fit for this place. Or for this career.

  “He said he had an idea to help get you out of here,” Thea went on, her voice mellowing. “No idea what, though. And he gave me his phone number.”

  “…What?”

  Thea cackled. “So I could check up on him, honey. Old fashioned, in a way. Strange for a man who runs a sex club, don’t you think?”

  “Honestly, Thea, I have no idea what to think about anything. I am incredibly tired of thinking. I just…oh crap.”

  Lena was peeking out the window again, and this time there was something new: a black vintage muscle car with a white racing stripe, a Mustang or a Challenger or something, rumbling up the narrow side street to come to a halt directly across from her window, on the far side of the street.

  She also saw that the photographers were back right outside the gate, waiting. None of them bothered to turn around and look at the car that sat idling, the massive engine audible from across the street.

  But Lena did. And she saw Chance Dalton get out, look right at her, and wink.

  Without thinking, she waved back. And she laughed. First time in two days she really felt like laughing. The man was just…incorrigible.

  And gone.

  As soon as he saw her wave, he jumped back in the car and drove out of sight, and reality came crashing back down on Lena in a crushing wave. Nope, she was still stuck here, still in this situation, still with a ruined image that no one would ever take seriously again, if they ever had. Still humiliated, still violated, and with what remained of her professional dreams in ruined tatters.

  Then Thea’s phone rang.

  “You didn’t,” Lena said.

  Thea looked down. “Of course I did. And it is him.”

  “Jesus.”

  Lena’s heart was pounding, but really, why? Why was this making her any more anxious than she’d been since the photos had been published? She was such a mess.

  But Thea was already talking.

  And handing over the phone.

  “He wants to talk to you.”

  Lena felt a little queasy and her hands felt cold, the way they did when she got really upset. Her body was an absolute coward, and her mind was a little disgusted with it. Her mind, in fact, was starting to reach the limit of its patience with this whole thing. She had been in L.A. for ten years. She had thicker skin than this.

  “Hello?” she said into the phone. Thea did a triumphant little fist pump.

  “Hey, Lena. This is Chance. Thea tell you about me?”

  “Briefly.”

  “Good.” She could tell he was smiling, even over the phone. Confident bastard. “Lena, I’ve got a question for you. That gate out in front of your house—does it open outward or inward?”

  Lena felt like she was hearing things. “What?”

  “Outward or inward?”

  Lena felt her mouth open and close, open and close, like a fish. What kind of bizarre…?

  “You ok, Lena?”

  “Fine,” she said. She had to close her eyes and visualize the gate. “Inward. What is this about?”

  “Excellent,” he said. “It’s about the fact that I hear you’re trapped up there by a bunch of idiots with cameras, that correct?”

  And now Lena felt ridiculous all over again. Silly. Childish. On the one hand, she was shattered. On the other, what a silly set of problems to have.

  “Well, not physically trapped or anything,” she said, feeling worse by the second.

  “Don’t do that,” the voice over the phone said. It was gruff without even trying, amazingly male. She couldn’t help but listen. “Don’t belittle this bullshit. My cousin Lola was in a situation like that not too long ago. I know how bad it can be.”

  Lena’s mind latched on to this, grateful to have anything to think about besides her own embarrassment: he meant Lola Theroux, the woman who ran the original Volare club back in New York. She’d just married the owner, Roman Casta, and it had even gotten press coverage in L.A..

  Ok, maybe he did know what he was talking about.

  “So Lena,” that voice said, “I’m going to help you get out of there. All you have to do is say yes.”

  Every defense Lena had acquired in the past ten years in L.A. went on high alert. That, and she was trapped up here because of the wounds inflicted by the last man she’d trusted—a guy who turned out to be using her for something, like the rest of them.

  “Why would you want to help me?” she snapped.

  There was a pause, one of those silences that seemed to hold more weight than others.

  “Watch your tone,” he said, his voice rumbling just like that engine outside. It penetrated something deep inside her and flipped some kind of switch. She felt…different. Good. She didn’t know what was happening. “And to answer your question, Lola would kill me if I didn’t.”

  Why did she get the feeling that was the truth—but not all of it? More troubling was the
fact that she just wanted to believe him. She knew Volare had a reputation for ruthlessly protecting the privacy of its members, and she knew Chance had dodged every opportunity for self-promotion since he’d arrived. None of that should matter. She didn’t know him. And she’d just learned that, even with a guy you thought you knew, you could never be sure.

  But something about that voice…

  “Damn it,” she said.

  “I’m taking that as a yes,” he laughed.

  “Listen, Mr. Dalton—”

  “Chance.”

  “Chance, it’s a nice thought, but these guys will be gone as soon as something else interesting happens. They’ll forget all about me. Really.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But don’t you want to give them a giant middle finger first?”

  Lena was struck momentarily speechless. She’d had no idea how much she wanted exactly that. Had no idea how much she wanted to break free of this whole bullshit situation, how much staying inside, trapped, broken by what Richie had done, had made her feel so much worse, like a powerless victim. Like she had no control over her own life or what happened to her. She hadn’t once articulated to herself that what she really wanted to do was give them all a giant middle finger—metaphorically—until Chance Dalton showed up.

  “Yes,” she said. “Actually, yes. Hell yes.”

  “That’s what I like to hear,” he laughed. It was an amazing sound.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “Don’t worry, it’s probably legal,” he said. The sound of the engine gunning came through loud and clear over the phone. “Look out your window, then come downstairs.”

  chapter 2

  “Probably legal?”

  But Lena was holding a dead phone. He’d already hung up, and she could hear the dull roar of the massive engine approaching in the distance.

  “Anything I should worry about?” Thea asked. She looked entirely too pleased with herself.

  “No idea,” Lena said. She peeked out the window again with no clue what to expect. Surely the guy wasn’t a maniac or anything? No. No, that was just her battle-hardened distrust of people trying to convince her to never talk to another man ever again.

  Right?

  The way he’d told her to watch her tone, like if he’d been here, he would have actually done something about it… The thought sent warmth flooding through her.

  The photographers were gathered outside the gate again, so that if she wanted to leave, she’d have to run their gauntlet. Just Lena’s luck to be a tabloid fixation during the one week of summer when nothing else was happening, and these guys had nothing better to do. All of them looked bored and annoyed, except for that skinny one. That one…that one gave her the creeps.

  The sound of the car was getting closer.

  A few things clicked for Lena in the remaining seconds. One, if this was a jailbreak, it implied that she would be…breaking. With Chance. Leaving with him. Getting into his car. The thought set off a scattered storm of conflicting emotions and thoughts. There, in her gut, was…excitement? And now her mind was freaking out about how stupid and insane that was, even given the laundry list of rationalizations she had at her disposal. He was well known. He’d given Thea his number.

  And he’d made her laugh. This guy who she’d never met, really, going out of his way to make her laugh about a situation that just a few minutes ago had made her cry.

  He made her feel like she was capable of doing something.

  His voice had held the promise of something darker, something sterner. Something sexual.

  Holy crap, he was driving into the group of reporters.

  “Thea!”

  Lena yanked back the curtain so her friend could get a good look. Immediately Thea started laughing. Chance’s car, only partially visible over the top of the wall in front of the house, was slowly but inexorable pushing the reporters away from the gate. It was almost gentle, which seemed to infuriate the photographers more than anything. They were embarrassed by how impotent they were against gentle nudges from a car, bumping against it and squawking in fury.

  It was amazing.

  The skinny one in the fedora slammed on the hood of the black car, right in the middle of the white racing stripe, and Chance actually stopped. There was a pause, and then the photographers all seemed to start shouting at once, as though stopping the car were an admission of weakness or defeat. Chance let them get all worked up, then kicked the car into gear and nudged some more.

  She could just picture that mischievous smile.

  Lena had tears of laughter on her cheeks when she figured out what he was doing. He’d driven the car up as close as possible to the wall around Thea’s house, where there would be a sidewalk if the street was big enough for one, and he’d pulled up so that the passenger’s side door lined up perfectly with the gate. That’s why he’d asked about which the gate opened. All she had to do was go out, open the gate, and get in the car. The photographers wouldn’t get close enough for a shot.

  “That’s kind of brilliant,” she whispered.

  Chance honked the horn. It was now or never.

  “You going?” Thea asked.

  Right then, Lena decided to stop thinking so much.

  “Screw it,” Lena said. She grabbed her phone, kissed Thea on the cheek, and ran down the stairs, just in case all her reservations and fears tried to catch up with her.

  Lena should have known the guy in the fedora would have figured it out, too.

  She ran down the short path from the front door to the gate, elated now rather than scared, and eternally grateful to Thea for putting in such a high wall around the property. As soon as she opened the gate, Chance leaned across and opened the passenger’s side door.

  She was just sliding in when the photographer with the fedora saw what was happening and jumped on the hood of the car, his camera aimed directly at Lena’s stunned face.

  Chance was out of the car almost too quickly for her to process the information. Lena saw a strong, tattooed arm reach out and grab the photographer’s belt, and then the photographer was flying backwards off the hood while his flash discharged uselessly at the blue Los Angeles sky.

  Lena blinked. Chance had his back to her—a very broad back, his t-shirt clinging to muscles she didn’t even know existed—one hand holding up the photographer off the ground so his head didn’t crack on the asphalt like a melon, the other seizing the camera.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Chance barked.

  He dropped the photographer, gave the others a fierce glare while they huddled across the street, too late to get the shot, and got back in the car.

  “Christ, what an asshole,” Chance muttered. He removed the memory card from the camera, put it in his pocket, and then tossed the camera to the pissed off photographer, now hatless and lying on the ground.

  “You ready?” Chance said. It was the first time he’d looked directly at her, close enough to touch her.

  And oh God, those eyes.

  Those arms.

  Those dimples.

  Holy shit.

  He grinned at her, that devilish, beguiling, totally disarming grin, muscles roiling underneath tats that looked almost alive while he flexed his fingers on the steering wheel, and Lena felt her heart begin to thud. She had goosebumps. Her mouth was dry.

  And oh God, she was wet.

  He didn’t wait for an answer, but peeled off down the street, eyes smoldering.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Chance wasn’t prepared for what she would do to him up close.

  Goddamn.

  The woman was smoking hot in just jeans and a white tank top, no makeup, tussled black hair pulled back from her face without any regard to appearance. She’d looked at him with those hazel eyes, laughing and grateful and looking like she had a secret, all at the same time, and he’d gotten half-hard.

  Which was going to make it difficult to keep his hands to himself. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t touch her
. Wouldn’t take advantage of a woman in an obviously distressed situation.

  But Jesus, he wasn’t a saint.

  Far from it.

  And she’d responded when he’d told her to watch how she talked to him. If she was a true sub, he didn’t know if he could hold out.

  “So where do you want to go, jailbird?” he said.

  When she didn’t answer, he looked over at her and his heart dropped to see that the joy had drained out of her face. She’d been happy, no doubt about it, and she’d obviously found the whole thing funny, just like he did, like they were on the same wavelength. And all that had an incredible affect on him: the need he’d felt to beat the crap out of those photographers had faded, replaced by…her. Just her presence.

  But now she looked worried. The Dom in him wouldn’t allow it.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  They were driving at a much more reasonable speed now, just cruising around Venice. He still didn’t know Los Angeles too well, but he’d gotten the hang of Venice Beach and Santa Monica. Either way, he was determined to take her anywhere she wanted to go, and protect her for as long as she needed him to.

  “Tell me,” he ordered. “Jailbreaks don’t work too well if they scare you.”

  She waited a little too long before she spoke. He could practically hear the gears turning in her head.

  “I’m just still trying to figure out why you’re helping me,” she finally said. “I mean, I can think of a few possible reasons, but I don’t like any of them.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Can’t a guy just be nice?”

  “Not in my experience,” she said. She was winding herself tighter by the second.

  Somebody had really done a number on her. It pissed him off.

  He tossed her his phone and turned the car around.

  “Call Thea if you want. Call anyone in there.”

  “Where are we going?” she said.

  “Back to Volare. We’ll go in the other side. I can drive right through the gate—no one’ll see you. You’re welcome there as long as you want, and you can decide what you want to do,” he said, keeping his voice level. Last thing he wanted to do was spook her even more.