Chasing the Runaway Bride (Bliss Series Book 3)

by Michelle Jo Quinn

  The quiet nights in my bed were the most difficult to take. I couldn’t even crack open a book without remembering him doing the same thing just a few days ago.

  On day four, when I stumbled—due to lack of sleep, too much booze, and not enough Nica time (curse you, Levi)—into work, I thought I’d hit the end of it. No more suffering. I slapped my head until I was awake enough to go through my day. Without Nica around, I’d have to rely on Jewel to tell me which meetings I had to attend and which events I needed to prioritize.

  With a cup of freshly-brewed coffee in my hand, I joined her in her new office, and found her with Gerard oohing and ahhing over her computer monitor. I walked around and checked out what they were fawning over. They were photos from Nica’s wedding.

  “Are these the ones for the magazine?” I asked, sipping coffee. They were magnificent. Nica would not be disappointed.

  Without taking her eyes off the screen, Jewel answered, “No, Alex just sent them.”

  Lucky I hadn’t taken a sip of my coffee again or it would have ended up all over Jewel’s desk. A high-pitched ringing blasted in my ear. And it came with the shooting pain on the right side of my face. I’d dislocated my jaw when I was twelve, and it hadn’t been the same since. Every time I’d get stressed, the tension spread on my face. I walked out of there without another word, gripping the coffee mug hard, and at my resolve harder.

  What would Nica tell me? Relax? Get over it? No, she would ask me why. Why was I so hung up on not starting or continuing any semblance of a relationship with Alex. And if I didn’t want it, why was I being so hard on myself?

  I wasn’t ready to explore the answers, yet. Most likely, I would never be ready.

  My phone buzzed on my desk and it pulled me away from unwelcome memories. Nica’s selfie popped up. I snatched it and answered right away, ready to give her a hard time for even calling me during her honeymoon, even though I secretly delighted she did.

  “I don’t want details, Nica. I don’t want to know if Levi wears boxers or briefs,” I said as I accepted her call, bypassing the pleasantries.

  Her laughter blasted in my ear. “Right now he hasn’t got any.”

  “Spare me, please.” But I couldn’t help but laugh with her. The first laughter I’d let out since Alex had left. I rubbed my temples, expelling thoughts of him. “Why are you calling me if your husband’s naked?”

  “Just want to know how you are.” There was a pause. A pause was never good, not with Nica. This wasn’t a random call.

  “I’m fine, Nica.” Although, I wanted to scream and bash my head against the solid wood desk in front of me. If I opened the can of worms I’d hidden for so long, more questions would follow, and there were answers I wasn’t willing to bring to the surface. My phone buzzed against my ear twice, signaling I’d received a text message. I ignored it. “Anything else? I have work to do.”

  She laughed again. Boy, she was one happy camper. When her laughter trickled down, she said in a hushed tone, “Alex is leaving today.”

  Ah, so now we had the reason why she called.

  “So?” I bit my lip to keep from letting any more bitterness out. If she were with me, and we had my emergency kit (aka booze and chocolates), maybe I’d be more forward.

  “Nothing. I thought you should know.” Right. ‘Nothing’ was a loaded word to Nica. Nothing meant everything to her.

  “Well, thanks for telling me. Everything’s fine here.” I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose. I could feel another headache coming. “You just keep your legs open for your husband and don’t worry about us. Bye, Nica.”

  I hung up. Bad idea. Nica would read something from it. I never ended a call like that with her. I hoped she wouldn’t call back. My phone buzzed twice, again, and I decided to read my messages.

  Bad idea number two.

  They were from Alex. His beautiful face, sleepy eyes and mussed up hair on a pillow smiled at me from my cellphone. I didn’t know how he’d got my number or when he programmed his number into my phone. His message was simple but it gripped my chest.

  I’m sorry I left.

  What could I say to that? Apparently, something genius:

  How did you get my number?

  He responded immediately. My heart twitched. I pounded on my chest, cursing the damned organ.

  I’ll tell you when you say you forgive me.

  Was he serious? I had nothing to say to him. Nothing I would be willing to admit. I tightened the hold on my phone and dropped my head on my desk. Why was this happening now? Why with someone like him? I’d been free for ten years.

  I thought it would be easy. He seemed like a player to me, with his bad-boy swagger and his panty-dropping smile. He could charm pennies off a poor man. I’d met enough men like him, but none had affected me like Alex had. I hadn’t let any man affect me in such a way. Not for a long time.

  The younger me would have run as fast as possible the moment he had entered the room. But the younger me did not exist anymore. What was left of her were painful memories, which had branded into my brain and chipped away a corner of my heart.

  Beyond the physical, I knew what I craved. And counting the physical, I hungered for it even more. Alex. I thought I could erase my past but it turned out, I’d only put a Band-Aid on it. Stupid me.

  Before I could stop myself, I sent Alex a message:

  You’re forgiven. Now leave me alone.

  What he said after threw me off balance.

  For now, I will. But when I return, I’d like to take you out to dinner.

  After the way I’d acted he still wanted to...date me? Maybe he was as crazy as me. Two peas in a fucking pod. I fought the urge to reply back, and instead, I stared at my phone, trying to read the invisible message.

  I managed to survive the weeks after without any repercussions. Nica returned from her honeymoon and announced her pregnancy, which she’d been keeping from me since her wedding. I berated her for not telling me right away, even though I understood her reasoning. It was something she needed to share with Levi for a while before they became overwhelmed with other people’s reactions to the news. Perhaps I was too involved in my thoughts because it hadn’t registered that Nica hadn’t touched a drop of wine on her wedding day. My best-friend radar needed tuning up.

  A week after, Alex came back as well. He made good on his promise to ask me out for dinner, but we never did go out. Dinner meant more. Dinner meant serious.

  Since then, every time he was in San Francisco, he would send me a text message to meet him somewhere. I was the first person he’d contact, and secretly it thrilled me.

  He never came to my apartment, and I never invited him back there again. I was fine seeing him at a hotel, where we’d have explosive, mind-numbing sex for as long as our bodies would allow. Yet, every single time after, guilt would eat at me, and I’d lash out at him. Sometimes he’d argue back; other times he would stay quiet and just let me yell.

  It was unhealthy; we both knew it. As sick-sounding as it was, I’d look forward to the arguing as much as I did the sex. But I’d always known I was built with a few missing gears in my brain. In between, we had a great time. He would make me laugh, and he’d make me pensive. He would challenge me in so many ways. Sometimes, he’d make me jealous by showing me photographs of women he’d had “sessions” with, although I’d never admit it.

  There were the few times when we would talk about the places he’d been and what had brought him there. And as the skies darkened and the moon appeared in the sky, he’d close his eyes and succumb to sleep. I would leave as soon as I felt the heaviness in my own eyes. Staying over would mean too much. More dangerous than having dinner. I wasn’t ready.

  Let me share a secret. Hannah was my second name, my secret second name. Hannah meant “favored” or “grace”. Grace, meaning effortless beauty or charm of movement.

  My second name did not suit me. I had zero grace, and I lacked charm. What I did have was a wicked body. An ass
that wouldn’t quit (thanks to my fabulous trainer, Diego) and boobs which stayed perky (it also helped to have connections with people in the lingerie business along the western coast). And I wasn’t ashamed to use them.

  But boy, did it suck at times. More like, all the time. I supposed it was my fault. Nica had warned me time and time again that it would bite me in the ass.

  I tried using my brain.

  I hungered for knowledge, thirsted for facts. I absorbed clues, hints and wisdom, even from the most bizarre sources. That was me. I was a curious sort. For years, I’d been told that knowledge was power. Well, that was true enough. But I also learned, the hardest of ways, that some men, if not most, disliked smart women. So I had to be wily. And I discovered most men responded better to hot women. It wasn’t fair. It was unjust.

  Non-secret number three: I was a hypocrite.

  Women hated me for how I looked. Men hated me for what was in my head. Put two and two together, and what have you got? Me. A Diva. Queen Bee. I had a reputation. Like anything else I’d worked hard for, I cared for that reputation. Women thought I was a big bitch. Men thought I was an easy lay. Neither of them were right at all.

  The only person who truly knew me was Nica. But there were things even Nica didn’t know. Some secrets were meant to be buried, hidden in the dark for decades, never to surface into the light. Other things I wanted to keep because they were too much fun.

  Case in point—Alexandre Laurent, who just sent me a message.

  Room 505. Half hour.

  His damned text message was enough to wet my panties.

  I stared at my phone for a good minute or two. My mind had often told me not to reply. To stay put. To resist. But the rest of my body rebelled and screamed, “Alex, oh, Alex!”

  The vibration of my phone had me jumping. It almost hit the pavement, but thank goodness for quick reflexes, I caught it before that happened. Nica’s drunk-ass face from her bachelorette party appeared on my screen. She’d asked me to delete and change the picture, but what kind of best friend would I be if I did that?

  “Yeah?” I answered with little flourish.

  “Did you get it?” Good ol’ Nica. Business as usual.

  “You know it.” I swung my leg over my bike, ignoring the salacious looks I was receiving from male passersby. Apparently, biker chicks were hotter than hot.

  “Oh, thank God. I was worried there for a bit.” Nica sucked in a deep breath and released it in a heavy sigh.

  “You doubted me? I’m hurt.” Even though I knew she couldn’t see me, I placed a hand on my chest.

  “Pfft. I didn’t doubt you could get it. I was worried about what you had to do in order to get it.”

  “Relax. He only asked for a blow job.”

  “Chase!”

  Imagining how red she would be right now, I guffawed into my phone. “I’m kidding,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I just made out with him for five minutes.”

  “Oh gross, I think I’m gonna be sick.” Veronica made a heaving noise. What else was new? At a little over six months pregnant, we thought she’d be over the whole morning sickness thing. We guessed wrong. “Tell me you’re joking about that too, Chase.”

  I shrugged. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

  “If you have to ask me that, it means yes. Just come back so we can start the morning meeting. And brush your teeth before you come in.”

  “Got it, boss.” I should brush my teeth, because Nica was right. I did make out with Stefano. I didn’t enjoy it...much.

  From any vantage point, Stefano resembled a Greek god with thick, jet black hair, hazel eyes, and teeth as white as the pearly gates. Not that I’d seen them—the gates, not the teeth. I was more likely to see the underworld’s welcoming committee.

  As beautiful as Stefano was, he sucked at kissing. If he had been searching for my tonsils, he had completely bypassed them. I’d cringed as an extra gob of spit had made its way into my mouth. And those perfect teeth I’d mentioned? They’d knocked against mine while he’d gone further in for the search of my epiglottis.

  But I needed something from Stefano, aka DJ Beatzz (never forget the extra Z, unless I wanted to be banned for life from any event he was spinning at). DJ Beatzz was the hottest deejay in town, and I had to connect with him for a rather important and impromptu event. Thanks to my best friend’s six-page spread in a popular wedding magazine, our company, Bliss Events Designers, had evolved into something über-popular. We’d been commissioned to plan a Hollywood’s starlet’s party, and the twenty-year-old princess wanted DJ Beatzz.

  So there I was, choking on someone else’s tongue. Stefano was a self-professed playboy, and I was just his type. After a sickeningly long make-out session, and a little boob-grab, I’d gotten Stefano to comply.

  He had wanted to do more. If my phone hadn’t vibrated—and I hadn’t been able to use that as an excuse to escape—he’d probably thought he could get to third base. Not in this lifetime.

  My phone buzzed again. Another text message sent. Nope, not just a text message. My throat became parched when I opened the photo Alex sent.

  What was it about him that turned me into...this? A wanton woman. I didn’t pine for men. I didn’t go all gooey-eyed for anyone. But Alex had superpowers, I was convinced. And he freely used those powers on me anytime he damned well wanted. I cursed him as I stuffed the phone in my jacket pocket, put my helmet on, and rode my bike to see him.

  The San Francisco hotel where he’d asked to meet was in full swing, considering we’d been getting fabulous weather. I narrowed my eyes, taking stock of the place to make sure no one I knew was around. I knocked a knuckle on the wooden counter when I approached the front desk.

  An energetic girl who could barely look over her station smiled at me. “How may I help you, ma’am?”

  I squinted at her and growled. Ma’am? She had to be kidding, right? Leenda—her name tag told me—stepped back and her eyes widened in fear.

  “Anything for Chase?”

  Leenda gulped before she spoke, “May I have your room number?”

  “Five-oh-five. Last name Laurent,” I said, remembering his message, and my stomach flipped.

  Dear Leenda focused her attention on the screen in front of her, and opened a couple of drawers before handing me an envelope with my name scrawled on top. I snatched it and muttered a quick thanks.

  “Have a nice day!” Leenda piped up behind me.

  If the girl only knew what kind of day I intended to have. Ugh, what am I thinking? I warred with myself. I shouldn’t be doing this. How could I let Alex think I was this wanton woman, ready at his beck and call?

  Simple. I was a wanton woman, ready at his beck and call. He knew it. I knew it. I hated that he knew. I even hated it more that he knew I knew he knew, because he’d found it fascinating. The bastard.

  Before heading to the elevators, I turned right and entered the hotel’s bar. I nodded at the good-looking bartender without taking a seat. “Double scotch. Neat.”

  “Got it, beautiful.” He returned a couple of seconds later with my drink. I heard a chuckle come from him as I guzzled it down, and slammed the glass on the bar top. “Want another one?”

  The liquid burned my insides, but it served two purposes: get rid of Stefano’s flavor in my mouth, and get the butterflies in my stomach drunk enough to settle. I shook my head and handed him a twenty. Then I dashed to the elevators, stepped into the first doors that opened and listened to the thrumming of my heart.

  I pulled the envelope out of my back pocket as I stood in front of room 505’s door. The key slid in, the red light turned green, and I turned the handle. In three seconds flat, I was pulled in and my back was instantly pressed against the wall beside the door.

  His hands were all over me. So were those luscious lips. Alex muttered accented words as he nipped at and licked my ear, my chin and my throat. I couldn’t understand what he was saying. My eyes had shuttered as soon as he attacked me. But I knew, I knew, he wa
s naked, hard and ready.

  Fiery lips claimed mine. And Alex was the king of kisses. If I could ask to do one thing for the rest of my life, it would be to kiss Alex for eternity. He was that good.

  “What took you so long?” he rasped against my swollen lips. He didn’t seem to want an answer, but another question came, “Have you been drinking?” He kissed me again, and tasted me. Really tasted me. “Scotch. That’s my girl.”

  That sobered me up...a bit. “Wait, wait, wait.” I raised my helmet, wedged it between us. I opened my eyes and looked at him. Yup, he was in all his naked glory. The man had no shame. Not that he had anything to be ashamed of. Nothing. At. All.

  “What’s wrong? Too rough?” he asked, with that sly grin of his. He shrugged. “I thought you’d like it.”

  I inhaled deeply and let the air slowly whoosh out of my mouth. “You can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep doing this.” I waved a hand between us, still using my helmet as a shield, pushing him further away.

  Alex chuckled and shook his head. “Doing me?”

  I threw my helmet at him, but he caught it, and chuckled again. “Shut up!” I rolled my eyes at my weak words. “You can’t just text me whenever you’re in town and...” I searched my addled mind for the right word. “Horny!” Wow, A-plus, Chase!

  He dropped the helmet on the bed behind him, and stepped closer to me, with his arms up into a surrender. “I’ve been in the Serengeti for weeks, Chase.” He dropped one hand and held his hard length. “I can’t let this go to waste now, can I?” Then he started stroking.

  I closed my eyes and uttered an expletive. Alex was all over me again, trapping me between the wall and all his hardness...

  His hand continued to stroke, as the other snaked up my neck and threaded through my hair. Alex gave it a gentle tug, making me tilt my head to him, and opening my mouth to receive his tongue.

  A four-letter word garbled inside his mouth as my hands moved and covered his. He let me do the work, using both of his hands to run all over my body, cupping my ass, squeezing my boobs, exploring, exploring, exploring.