by Lily Cahill
He knew it was a lie even as he thought it.
Chase wheeled back around and tore away. Running always helped. But it wasn’t helping now. The frustration of it knotted his muscles and made the hangover roar back into his brain. Chase roared to match the pain and stumbled to a stop. Through the trees, he saw the cabin. He wasn’t ready to go back, to face her. Chase grunted and slammed his shoulder into a massive fallen log. He strained, and the log shifted, scraped along the dirt. Chase’s claws bit deep into the ground, his muscles screamed, but still he pushed. He shuffled back, snorted, then rammed him shoulder into the log again. Finally, the log pitched forward and rolled down into a gully, splintering against rock.
Yet still, all the exertion did nothing to wipe Emily from his mind. This was useless. What he needed was some food and sleep. He shifted back into his human form and strode back into the house.
“Hey, in here,” Bret called out when Chase slammed the door.
Drew poked his head around the corner, one eyebrow crooked. “What happened? That new publicist grabbed her stuff and left. I thought we were supposed to meet?”
Chase hooked a hand around the back of his neck. He was still naked save for his dark jeans. “I think I scandalized her.”
Drew groaned. “Dammit, Chase. Were the women still in there with you?”
The disappointment in Drew’s face made Chase bristle. He pushed past his older brother and padded into the kitchen, where Jax and Tiff sat at the kitchen table. “Jesus, Drew. Save it. We can’t all be dried up old grandmas like you and Jax. I have a life, whether you agree with it or not.”
Chase grabbed a tumbler down from the cabinet and sloshed whiskey into it.
He felt Drew watching him. “Fine, then we need to talk about Derek Craven.”
Chase grimaced. He didn’t particularly want to talk about that either. In fact, he didn’t want to talk about a damned thing. He wanted to drink until he forgot how to talk … forgot about Emily.
“The Swanns are not happy about the conclave’s judgment,” Drew continued.
Chase shrugged. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be too jazzed about my relative going to what amounts to a shifter labor camp either.”
“That man kidnapped my wife,” Jax growled.
Tiff laid a hand on Jax’s arm. “Derek is troubled, Jax. I don’t think he’s a monster.”
“I happen to agree with Tiff,” Drew cut in, his eyes still on Chase. Drew often looked to Chase, as the second oldest, to back him up when it came to family decisions, but Chase wasn’t interested. When Chase didn’t respond, Drew turned to the others. “But it just drives home that Uncle Mac can’t rule in our stead for much longer. The stability of the Western Clans depends on one of us taking up the helm. A Hart has acted as chieftain for—”
“Hundreds of years, blah, blah, blah,” Chase droned. God, he was so sick of hearing about clan business. They were rock stars now. They’d given up the clan the minute they’d left Montana.
Drew stilled. “We don’t all have the luxury of not giving a shit, Chase. If you could just try ….”
Chase swirled the amber whiskey in his tumbler then held it up in a mock toast to Drew. “This is me not giving a shit,” he snarled. Without acknowledging his brothers or Tiff, Chase tipped the drink back into his mouth and poured another.
Chapter Three
Emily
EMILY COULD BARELY THINK STRAIGHT. The encounter with Chase was running on a loop in her mind, complete with the woman’s moans and Chase’s astonished look. God, how was she supposed to turn this band around when she had such a jerk to deal with?
Emily threw down her bag onto the bed at the Wyndham Pryce Hotel, fuming. Such a jerk. Such a hot jerk.
She was pretty sure that was what made her the most infuriated. Chase Hart was incredibly good looking. He was at least six inches taller than her, a specimen of hard muscles and sharp angles. Emily should know; she’d seen him naked, after all. Emily shifted uncomfortably, all too aware of the heat kindling between her thighs at the memory of Chase’s body.
And he’d run after her, just the dark jeans tight on his hips and butt, the glory of his chiseled torso and broad shoulders nearly distracting Emily from her righteous anger.
He was all wrong, she told herself, even as the heat in her core grew. He was practically the opposite of her boyfriend, Asher. Asher was the quintessential New York man—well-groomed, well-dressed, well-versed in society. And Chase … the only thing she expected was that he was well-endowed.
His head was shaved. What little hair he had was as dark as the thick beard on his face. His steel gray eyes snapped with confrontation. Both arms were covered shoulder to wrist in tattoos, bright, retro-style ink that featured more than one pin-up girl. Emily hated tattoos. Though she didn’t hate them as much as Chase’s eyebrow piercing. And that was saying nothing of his despicable behavior. Four women! Who brought four women back to his place?
“Enough,” Emily said out loud. She couldn’t waste any more time thinking about Chase Hart … or, at least, thinking about him in a non-business sense. Emily pulled out her laptop and set up in the little desk alcove near the patio door.
She needed something big, something monumental, to announce the return of Wild Harts. Emily stared at a blank page, trying to brainstorm. But her mind felt wrung out, used up.
And it was definitely all Chase’s fault.
Emily pushed away from the desk and grabbed her phone. She pressed a button to call Asher and stood up, pacing and ready to vent.
“Hey, babe. Can’t really talk—”
“He’s a monster, Ash,” Emily cut in. “I have to try and get good press for this band, but the drummer is such a complete and total asshole that I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Asher paused, and it sounded like he was rummaging through a drawer. “Talk to your dad,” he finally said, his voice a bit muffled and distant. “I bet he’d be able to pull some strings and get you on a better assignment.”
Emily hissed out a sigh, her shoulders tight. “You know I don’t want to rely on him for this. I need to prove myself. I need to—”
“Listen, babe,” Asher interrupted. “I’m meeting the guys at that new sake bar. You know the one. I really can’t be late. Drake McMannis is going to be there.”
Emily fought the urge to roll her eyes. Asher spent more time talking about impressing Drake McMannis, a hedge fund manager who Asher wanted to work with, than he spent trying to make Emily happy.
“Asher, Drake can wait. I could really use some comfort right now.” She hated how she sounded almost pleading, but what else was a boyfriend for than to help her in a time of need? All she needed him to do was listen.
“Go for a run,” Asher said. “That always helps. Just don’t eat your feelings, Em. You’ve got a gala dress to fit into in a couple weeks.”
Emily hung up a few minutes later after listening to Asher gush about Drake and his latest multi-million dollar acquisition. She flopped backward onto her bed, feeling worse than before.
The little dig about her weight was especially annoying. Asher knew her family history, he knew all about her mother and the years of eating disorders and addiction. Emily had worked hard to be at a point where she was confident and happy with her body. So she was a little curvier than your average Upper East Side socialite. She was also willing to bet she was a lot healthier than the girls who starved themselves or turned to pills to keep weight off.
As much as she hated to admit it, though, Asher had been right about one thing: running would help. She’d started running in late high school when her mom had gone through an especially hard period with her disorder, and Emily hadn’t ever stopped.
She stripped down and tugged on her running pants, a faded old Harvard hoodie, and her running shoes. She stretched on her patio, then jogged onto the packed dirt shore trail behind the hotel. Within minutes, her mind had calmed and she concentrated only on the pound of the surf and her shoes on the tra
il.
She’d figure out a solution to handling Chase. She had to.
Emily woke up refreshed the next morning and spent most of the day sitting outside near the ocean and fleshing out some solid ideas for positive publicity. The ex-pat British hotelier and his lovely wife Winifred had even given her a pretty great idea for placing a story. When she drove up to the cabin for an after-dinner strategy meeting with the band, Emily was feeling confident and excited about getting to work.
She’d sensed that she’d dressed up a bit too much for the first meeting, so tonight she’d pulled on some dark skinnies and a boho-inspired tunic. Maybe that would put everyone more at ease around her. One thing Emily had learned quickly her freshman year at Harvard was that if she wanted to be known for herself and not her last name, she had to dress down. At least a little bit. She’d always have her grandmother’s etiquette lessons and sartorial sensibilities tucked into the back of her mind.
Drew answered the door with a small smile, which from him was a triumph in and of itself. Yes, Emily thought, rebranding him as the strong and silent type could work well.
“I’m glad to see you came back,” Drew said, leading her toward the table where Bret and Jax were already sitting. Chase, she noticed, was leaning against the kitchen counter with a whiskey in his hand. She made a mental note to get the guy to drink some water.
Emily met Chase’s eyes. “I don’t go running away because someone throws a fit. I know how to do my job.” She said it all lightly, and with a smile, but Chase rolled his eyes and collapsed into an empty seat.
Emily perched at the edge of her chair and spread out the tabloids in front of her.
“This, gentlemen, is your problem right now. Go on, flip through them, you’ll barely find more than a cursory mention of the band. The story about Wild Harts right now is the partying and the women.” Emily looked up and met Chase’s glare. “And that is going to change.”
“Darling, you’re not the first one to tell us to tone it down,” Chase drawled. “So maybe stop being such a priss and step down off that high horse of yours.”
Emily felt her cheeks flare hot and gritted her teeth. “My name is Emily, not darling. You might not remember the names of the women you sleep with, Chase, but you’re going to remember mine.”
Around the table, the brothers reacted. Jax broke into a laugh that he tried to cover with a cough, and Drew and Bret shared a significant look. Chase nearly growled, but instead tipped back his drink. He pushed to his feet, not stopping his chair from scraping over the tiles, then sauntered over to the counter to refill his tumbler.
“A water for me, please,” Emily said over her shoulder. “And maybe one for yourself, too.”
Emily didn’t wait for his response, but turned back to her tablet and pulled up her initial publicity plan for the band. Her chest warmed to see Jax, Drew, and even Bret lean in close to read it.
“Underground shows?” Drew said.
Emily nodded, not quite acknowledging Chase when he sat down across from her and slid a glass of water her way. She took a sip and smiled at him in thanks, though he hadn’t gotten a water of his own.
“To test out the new material. I’m using some indie band ideas here, but since you’ll be recording in Brooklyn, it gives you guys the perfect chance to play new songs. And I can drum up interest by making it almost secret, more exclusive.”
Next to her, Bret was nodding. “I like that idea. And with how … um … different the new stuff is, it could be helpful.”
Emily didn’t miss the way Bret and Jax looked at each other. There was some tension there.
“A new sound?” This was the first Emily had heard of it.
“Not quite so surface,” Jax explained. “I wrote a lot of the new music, and it’s veered away from the old party sound a bit.”
Emily nodded again, new ideas firing in her mind. “So deeper, more mature, am I understanding you correctly?” When Jax nodded, she smiled wide. “That works perfectly with another idea. I have a contact at Glamour, and I’d like—”
Chase snorted out a mean laugh. “Glamour? Yeah, I don’t think so.”
Emily looked evenly at Chase. “You wouldn’t be involved with that one, Chase. This would be only focused on Jax and Tiff. It’ll help dispel the tabloid feeling to your media coverage.”
Chase shook his head and sat back, so Emily continued. “And the biggest get I’m hoping for is to score an interview with Nina Marten.”
Jax’s eyebrows shot up. “She’s notoriously picky about her subjects.”
“Yes,” Emily conceded. “But those she chooses to cover get huge play in the media.”
Across from her, Chase’s eyebrows had arched upward as well. His silver eyebrow ring glinted in the overhead light. “And what makes you think you have any chance getting us an interview with her. I did some research of my own, you know. This is your first solo gig at Epoch. You’re barely out of business school. Just because Daddy called in his connections at the label to beg a job for you doesn’t mean you know fuck all about what you’re doing.”
“Chase,” Drew snapped.
Emily’s stomach churned and her entire face felt like it was on fire. “I …. My father didn’t …,” she stammered. Her face burned hotter.
Dammit.
Emily grabbed her glass of water, but it trembled so hard in her hands that she set it back down. She hated Chase in that moment. It went beyond annoyance, beyond frustration. She hated him. And that hate made her stomach calm, made her mind clear. She was not about to let some entitled rockstar ruin her shot at proving herself.
“Chase, I don’t know what I did to piss you off, but you’ve got to get the hell over it. Like it or not, whether you think I earned it or not, I am your publicist, and I am going to work my ass off to turn this tabloid bullshit into something real, into something that equals sales. You can either work with me, or you can shut the hell up and let me do my job.”
Emily stood tall, even though her knees shook and she felt a tiny bit faint. She’d never snapped at someone like that before. She left the tabloids and print-outs of her media strategy on the table.
“So, guys,” she said forcing a smile onto her face and confidence she wasn’t feeling into her voice. “That’s it for tonight. I’m going to start working on my pitch to Nina, unless there are any more concerns, and you guys work on finishing this record. We leave for Brooklyn in a little over a week.”
The table was silent. Emily shouldered her bag and let herself out. She was shaking so badly by the time she got to her rental car that she could barely open the door.
“Emily!”
Emily’s shoulders sagged and she had to lean against the car for support. After a second, she turned around to face Chase. He stopped short just a few feet from her and sucked in a breath.
“Emily,” he said again, her voice low in his throat. “This isn’t working. We obviously don’t mesh, you and I. Why don’t we make this easier on everyone. You could get a different assignment at Epoch.”
“I’m not quitting, Chase.”
Chase closed his eyes for a moment. “It’s not quitting, it’s moving to something that’s a better fit. Wouldn’t you prefer that over spending the next months fighting?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Emily said with a shake of her head. “All my life, I’ve worked my ass off only to wonder if what I achieve is because of ….” She stopped. Why should she tell this to Chase? So he could use it against her in front of the other guys and humiliate her again? “Never mind,” she said, turning away.
Chase’s hand was suddenly there, warm on her arm, yet it sent shivers spreading up and down Emily’s skin.
“Just think about it, Em,” he said, his voice a deep whisper. “I’m practically begging you here.”
Emily looked over her shoulder and up into Chase’s eyes. They were stormy gray, and the darkening sky overhead cast long shadows around them. It almost felt like they were cocooned in it, blanketed in an intim
ate dark. Emily shook away the thoughts and let a small, half-smile tug at her mouth. “You could try being nice to me.”
A matching smile spread across Chase’s lips. “But it’s too much fun to tease you.”
Emily stared at this impossible man, at his steel eyes and dark beard, at the way his hand still curled around her arm. The pads of his fingers moved softly against the tender skin on the inside of her elbow, almost on purpose. But Emily knew that couldn’t be right. His head tilted, regarded Emily, and the look lighting up his face made an all-too-familiar ache bloom deep inside her.
She felt something tugging her closer, reeling her in to Chase. She wanted to feel his body aligning with hers, wanted to feel the drumbeat of their hearts in sync. It was insane, these thoughts she was having.
But no, they weren’t thoughts. They didn’t come from her mind. It was her body compelling her toward Chase, and a deep wellspring of need that demanded her to kiss him, make love to him.
“Chase,” she whispered.
And the spell was broken. Chase’s eyes snapped wide for a moment, and he stepped back. His hand fell from her arm, and he shoved it into his pocket.
“Please, Emily. Just think about leaving. It’d be best for both of us.”
Then he disappeared up the cabin steps.
Confusion and humiliation and desire churned within Emily on the drive back to her hotel. Without thinking, she changed into running clothes and set out onto the shore path under a high, full moon.
The whole way, she felt eyes on her, a presence accompanying her. But she never saw another soul.
Chapter Four
Chase
BEGGING HADN’T WORKED. CHASE GROANED and threw an arm over his pounding head as he heard Emily walk into the house, chatting with Tiff.
The ache behind his eyes sharpened, and this time it had nothing to do with all the whiskey from last night. He heard light footsteps, then a teasing scent of summer-ripened oranges wafted over him. Emily. He knew it was her without even looking. God, this was bullshit. It was like his very soul was aligned to her at all times—where she was, her emotions, her needs. How could Jax stand being mated?