When he returned, he grabbed my hand, and asked, “Where is it?”
I stopped short and pulled back, remaining glued to the paved ground. “Where’s what?”
“Your motorcycle. I’m taking you home,” he bit back.
“No, you’re not.”
“Stop acting like a child and show me.”
“I’m not showing you anything!”
Alexandre might have had enough, for he strong-armed me, his whole body flush against mine. He spoke in a gravelly, dark voice, which made me quiver. “You will do as I say. You’ll show me where your motorbike is and tell me where you live, or I will...” His lips were inches from mine. I could almost taste his unique flavor through his breath. Even with the rain pelting us, his scent overpowered my senses.
“You’ll what?” I challenged him, tilting my head up slightly so that I could read his eyes. My stomach flipped at what I saw in them. He was burning me with something I’d forgotten existed, igniting dormant desires. I felt my knees buckle, and at that moment, I was grateful he had wrapped an arm around me, or I would have collapsed to the ground. “It’s around the corner.” I gave in after swallowing the thick lump in my throat.
Alex let me go, but kept hold of my hand, muttering in French. We trudged through the rain until we got to my baby, my classic Harley. He swung a leg over it, while I stood aside, quirking an eyebrow.
“Do you even know how to operate this?”
“Just get on before the rain turns heavier.”
It didn’t matter. I was already all sorts of wet. He handed me the black helmet. I didn’t bother arguing with him about not having one for himself. The ride would be short. I could’ve run to my place in less than half an hour, or taken a cab if I wanted, but I didn’t want to leave my baby out on the street in the rain. What I wanted was something else, something I didn’t understand.
I settled behind Alex, snaking my hands around his waist, and groaned as I discerned taut, muscular abs under his shirt. The Harley rumbled between my legs, and I held on tighter to Alex. I stiffened and kept distance between us. While we rode, I tapped his shoulders instead of telling him which turns to take. Somehow he understood and got us to my apartment in one piece.
Once my motorcycle was parked in the carport, I ran up the steps, jingling my keys in my hand. The problem with him driving me home was that he needed a way back. “Come on in and I’ll call you a cab,” I offered, avoiding eye contact.
I made a silent promise to myself not to rip his clothes off. But when I turned around he hadn’t followed me up the steps.
“No need. I’ve got a ride back.” He jerked his head to the side just as Levi stopped his car. These bastard brothers were going to hell. Why did I feel like I’d been played? “We better head back to the restaurant. Veronica’s waiting all by herself.” His subtlety at making me feel guilty wasn’t all that subtle.
My keys dug into my palm. My teeth gritted. I didn’t risk speaking for fear I’d beg him to stay. Beg him! I did not beg. I unlocked my door and slammed it as soon as I walked in. A deep exhale came out as I sagged against the steel door. What had gotten into me?
Nica’s words rang through my head: “He’s here for less than a week.” If I could avoid Alex and all his sexiness, I could spend the rest of my years in San Francisco unscathed and untouched. I could live with that.
I managed to stay clear of Alex the first week he was in San Francisco.
Jewel took him everywhere. The first day they were due to meet, she sought me out and asked for suggestions. At first, I’d shrugged, and told her to consult the great Google. But she said she wanted things to be perfect for Alex, after all, he was perfect. And single. So was Jewel.
Once I tamped down that alien feeling of envy, I relented and listed spots to check out in the city. They returned to the office in the afternoon, laughing, having a ball. It turned me sour. Well, more sour than usual. Annoyed as hell, I left the office as soon as I could.
That night, sleep evaded me. While still in bed, I found myself thinking of other places I’d take Alex. I’d compiled a list for Jewel every night since, and each morning I’d hand it to her and warn her that the list was for her eyes only. Some of the places I’d written down were my secret, favorite parts of the city.
One in particular was The Wave Organ on the Marina, where I found myself every time I wanted to be alone. In a city as big and as populated as San Francisco, there were still places you could lose yourself. I felt like I was opening myself up to another person, someone who didn’t even know I was doing it. And I wasn’t talking about Jewel.
Every time Alex and Jewel returned from their outing, you would think I’d make myself scarce, like a sane person would. No, I waited for them to come back and chat about their day. Either I was in my office, with the door slightly ajar so their voices would carry, or I’d make myself leave my office and walk to the small kitchen, where they perched on the stools, looking over photos Alex had taken. Not once could I get myself to ask to check them out.
Whenever I was around Alex, there was a constant prickle on the back of my neck, like someone was burrowing into me with his eyes. Sure enough, when I’d glance over at him, he’d be staring fixedly at me, as though he’d just broken through the wall I’d built through the years, and could see everything.
I felt exposed.
There was a secret message written in the air. The current of desire was so thick it nearly choked me.
It was a silent game we played, to see who would surrender first. Secretly, it thrilled me and gave me something to look forward to. But the only time I’d ever make a move was in my dreams. In the light of day, I grasped at all my strength and forced myself to stay rooted in place, letting him think he would never get to me. I thought I’d won, until he left for France.
On the first night, knowing I wouldn’t see him the next day, tightness bloomed in my chest. Still, I refused to admit I missed Alex.
“It’s just heartburn,” I lied to myself.
For the next few months, his visits were infrequent. Oftentimes, I’d hear he’d been in the States when he was already gone. But I would always know when he was around. Every fiber of my being felt him, and those heated glances had seared themselves into my mind.
Without another word or touch, I’d connected with Alex.
It scared the ever-living crap out of me.
I would have been able to ignore it if it weren’t for Levi and Nica’s wedding, when everything else went to shit. To say I couldn’t recall how it all came about would be a complete lie. Everything began with a simple...
“Look...and tell me you don’t want that.”
“Want what?” I narrowed my eyes at the couple across the way.
“That. Love, marriage. What Levi and Nica have. They’re so lucky.” I glanced at Jewel, noting the silly, dreamy look on her face. She sighed, wrapped her arms around herself and swayed on the spot.
Jewel, much like Nica, was a hopeless romantic. They believed in crap like true love, love at first sight, and soul mates. Yadda-yadda. It was a load of Grade A turd, if anyone asked me.
And yet, my gaze slid past the newlyweds on the wooden floor, swaying to their first dance as Mister and Missus, and I spotted the Troublemaker. He’d been flush against the photographer from a wedding magazine that wanted to cover Nica’s big day. He openly flirted, and they laughed, drank together, ate at the same side of the long table during dinner. Not that I’d paid much attention. I had managed to bag the interest of the only other eligible man in the wedding.
Out of fifty guests, half were women. Ninety-nine percent of the men were married, balding or gay. Since I was the Maid of Honor, I was expected to hook up with someone at the end of this. Those were the unwritten rules. Thankfully, Alex wasn’t the only single man here. There was also that guy standing at the bar. If I could only remember his name.
It sounded like Jerry or Barry. Or was it James? Franklin? Franco? Shoot. No, I recalled noting that he resemble
d James Franco. Well, the James Franco lookalike had gotten me a drink, and he was back at the bar again, re-filling my glass. I’d drink anything to survive this night. Not that I didn’t love Nica; I did. I’d give her my firstborn if she asked, or steal someone else’s for her since I had no intentions of ever having a child. And admittedly—not out loud—Levi wasn’t bad for her.
What tortured me was witnessing Alex and Miss Big Shot Photographer practically necking in front of all of Nica and Levi’s guests. Had they no shame? I scoffed when missy pie threw her head back and laughed at whatever inane thing Alex had whispered in her ear.
James Franco lookalike slid right back in front of me, blocking my view of Alex and his…whatever-she-was, handing me a tumbler containing two shots of scotch.
Jewel gave me a questioning look when I, in the most saccharine voice I could muster said, “Thanks…darling.” (I really should try and figure out what his name was). I knocked back the liquid, letting it burn down my gullet, before I grabbed James’ arms, and dragged him to stand to my right. I sent a quick side-glance across the dance floor, and as soon as Alex looked our way, I pressed my lips onto James’ mouth.
I felt him melting underneath me. Wait, that wasn’t right... He was supposed to be getting harder, not... swooning? Was James swooning over my kiss? I inched away from his lips, and stared into his eyes. Sure enough, he had a glazed look on him.
Questions filtered in my mind. Did I even ask his name? What else was I missing? I scrutinized his features. Wait a dog-gone minute...
“How old are you?” I asked the swooning James Franco. There was something amiss.
“Seventeen. I’ll be eighteen in three months,” he drunkenly answered.
“Ah!” I let go of his arms, and he fell backwards.
The music ended, and the guests applauded the newlyweds. The only people who’d paid attention to seventeen-year old James Franco and me were my friends, Jewel, Mateo and Gerard, who’d helped the little swooning boy up from the ground.
My eyes darted back to where Alex was—checked if he was still flirting and was relieved to see he’d left. However, that relief was short-lived when I spotted him a second later, guiding the photographer toward the main house. Everyone else was outside, waiting to get down to the dance floor. Alex and his twit would be alone in that big house. It didn’t take a genius to posit what they’d be doing there, possibly in one of the bedrooms or bathrooms, all by themselves.
“Chase, what’s wrong with you?” Jewel lightly slapped my arm.
I growled at her, but my wrath had no effect on Jewel. She knew me too well. “Did you see what you did to the poor boy? I thought he was gonna piss his pants.” She nudged her chin toward the young— too-young—James Franco, being consoled by Mateo and Gerard. Were those tears I saw in his eyes?
I should go apologize, but what I said instead was, “He shouldn’t be drinking anyway. He’s underage.”
“You just kissed him.” Jewel propped a hand on her hip. “And he wasn’t drinking. He’s had juice all night.”
“I—” wasn’t thinking. I was jealous. I was trying to prove a point to someone who didn’t even notice me “—need another drink.” I headed to the bar and ordered a drink, which easily turned into more than one. I downed each one quickly, trying to drown the green-eyed monster in my gut.
Jewel was right to ask what was wrong with me. Ever since Trouble with the capital ‘A’ walked—no, freaking strutted—into my life, I’d had nothing else to think about but him.
Nica hadn’t said a word to me prior to her wedding, even though I knew she knew. Best friend vibes.
Whatever occurred inside the house with the photographer happened fast, embarrassingly fast. I sniggered internally, but only to quell my jealousy. Alex emerged with the photographer, laughing, their arms hooked together. As soon as they hit the dance floor, Alex let her go and danced with Nica, Nica’s mom, Lily, and her sister, Maggie. And practically every woman after that. He even pulled one of the hired servers to the floor. I watched it all from the safety of my almost drunken stupor.
“You need to ease on the booze, girl. I can hear your liver screaming for mercy,” Gerard, ever the drama queen, told me with the flamboyance of a showgirl.
He and Mateo decided to take a break from dancing and hydrate, joining me by the bar. Mateo peeled the wineglass from my grasp and exchanged it with a bottled water. “Drink this. Did you even eat anything at dinner?”
“Yes, Mom, I did.” I rolled my eyes at Mateo, but uncapped the bottle and took a sip of the water. Truthfully, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten this drunk. I hoped not to turn into one of those blubbery women I’d seen in the weddings I’d been to.
Gerard cleared his throat, taking my mind off my unfinished thoughts. “Drink up, bitch.” He pushed the water to my lips, and it trickled down my neck.
“What the hell, G?” I’d just grabbed cocktail napkins off the bar and dabbed at the cool liquid when I felt it—the prickle. I looked up to Gerard and Mateo, who were staring and smiling at something past my shoulder. I decided to wait and not turn.
“Fancy a dance?”
Breathe, Chase, breathe.
It shouldn’t have mattered that his voice could cause my stomach muscles to tighten, or the neurons in my brain to cease all synapses. But it did.
My eyes widened, and I continued to stare at Gerard as he twirled his finger, signaling for me to turn around. No freaking way! But I did, because Alex was behind me, and my body—the traitor—did everything it could to get closer to him, without my permission.
The first thing I noticed up close was how he filled out the suit he wore. For a globetrotting photographer, he had a body I could stare at…not that I would. Never… I didn’t have to. When it came to Alex, I was hyper aware of everything about him. I knew if I flipped his right arm over and pulled up his sleeve, I’d see a script-like tattoo, which ran from his wrist to his inner elbow. If I took another step, I’d smell leather and mint and not the suffocating scent of cigarettes.
But none of it mattered. He wasn’t good for me, no matter what my brain tried to make me believe.
You’re no good for him.
“What?” I asked, schooling my face to something neutral—and that was a challenge all on its own.
Alex freaking smirked and brushed his dark hair with a hand. “I’ve danced with just about every woman here...”
“And me,” Gerard butted in. I cocked my head to the side and sent him a warning glare.
“Yes, and you. Excellent moves.” Alex’s teeth sparkled. Flirt.
“Thanks. You too.” Gerard was outright flirting back. I’d be worried if I didn’t know Alex was as straight as, well...Levi. Wait, no! I wasn’t worried. Gerard was married, and his husband was snickering away behind me.
Alex returned his focus to me, and continued, “Well, as I was saying, I’ve partnered up with everyone that counted, except you, Chase.”
“No.”
Gerard gasped, and I sneered at him when I turned, showing Alex the back of my head. I gulped down the water and reached for my wine.
Alex did not relent. “C’mon. You’re the maid of honor. I’m the groom’s brother. We have to dance at least once.”
Without looking back, I replied, “I said no. I don’t dance.” Breathe, sip some wine, swallow it down, and push all the jitters away.
“Everyone dances,” Alex retorted.
Gerard nodded. “Mmm-hmmm. Everyone.”
“Shut it, G,” I muttered under my breath, and then the little hairs on my arms stood as Alex closed in. I could feel the heat of his skin. I could smell that intoxicating scent.
And felt his hot breath on my ear. “One dance. One song. One hand.”
What the snit? “One hand?” Now, I was curious. “What do you mean one hand?”
Alex was so close to me that the vibrations of his voice trembled against my coal-hot skin. “Dance with me and I’ll only keep one hand on you at all times.�
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I scoffed. No way!
“This I have to see!” It was Gerard who said it. I sent him another warning glare but he pouted, and mouthed, you owe me.
Eff-to-the-uck. He got me there. Gerard and I had been friends for so long and the number of favors I’d asked from him all these years had piled on. He’d never asked for his markers, and this shouldn’t even count. But I knew it did. And if I didn’t agree to a dance with Alex, Gerard would make me suffer. I begged Mateo silently, but he just smiled and half-shrugged.
I knocked back the wine I had in hand, and agreed, “Fine. One dance, one song, one hand.” I pointed a finger, bared my fangs at Alex, and narrowed my eyes at him. “If even a single digit of your other hand twitches my way, it’s over.”
Alex widened his lips, from ear to ear. He was enjoying this, the jerk. I made a note to step on his feet every chance I got. He offered a hand to me, and with a bit more hesitation, I took it. While we made our way to the dance floor, my hands shook. I caught sight of Nica with Levi talking to some guests. They looked at us with shameless smiles.
I remembered watching the two of them dance at Jake and Sandrine’s wedding. They could have set the entire tent on fire, the way they moved together. Of course, it was the night that had changed everything for them, and in a way, for me.
I’d never been a fan of change. I was comfortable with my life.
Once we were on the floor, the big band switched from a fast beat to a slow ballad. Alex turned to face me, but I kept my gaze lowered. In my five-inch heels, we were almost the same height. Alex snaked his right hand around my waist, kept his left hand behind his back, and we swayed. I didn’t recognize the song—it was in French—but Alex knew it by heart. And while he moved he sang it to me, his stubbly cheek pressed against mine. With a light grip on my waist, he tugged me closer, placed one of his legs between mine, and led me gliding around the floor.
I closed my eyes as his fingers whispered over my bare back, tickling the nerve endings along my spine. My heart was beating wildly by the time his hand left my lower back and stroked up the side of my ribs and down along the length of my arm. With a flick of his hand, he raised my hand up and ghosted his knuckles along the outside of my arm. Then he clasped my hand and somehow, made me twirl.
Chasing the Runaway Bride (Bliss Series Book 3) Page 2