33
THEY DIDN’T SPEAK TO EACH OTHER ON THE WAY
to the safe house located about an hour from Kendall Falls, though
Kylie used Chase’s cell phone to call Trisha to ask her best friend
to check in on Quinn for her. After that, Kylie could have used
meaningless conversation as a distraction from the persistent
images in her head that had started with the nightmare. Blue
aluminum baseball bats, merciless attackers in ski masks, smashed
windshields. She desperately wanted it to stop. All of it. Even if
just for a few minutes. God, she was so tired. She just wanted to
curl up and lapse into unconsciousness for a few days.
Chase steered the SUV off a two-lane Fort Myers
street flanked by palm trees into a middle-class neighborhood. In
the middle of the first block, he pulled into the driveway of a
small, white stucco house with a tidy front yard and a large banyan
tree arching over the terra-cotta roof.
“It’s nothing fancy,” he said, “but it’s
safe.”
They walked up the front walk together, Chase
toting her overnight bag. They could have been a married couple
returning from a Caribbean cruise or walking into their new home
for the first time. Inevitably, she thought of the kiss back at the
police station. Nothing at all like Wade’s kiss, and Wade was a
pretty damn good kisser. Yet his mouth on hers didn’t shoot her
senses over the rainbow. Not like Chase’s did.
“Are you hungry?” Chase asked as he slid the key
into the lock and turned it.
“Starving.” It came out with more enthusiasm than
she’d intended, with guttural overtones, thanks to the clenching of
her insides, and she gave him a sheepish smile. “I can’t remember
the last time I ate.”
He grinned at her. “Then that will be one of our
first priorities.”
He gestured for her to precede him through the door
and hit a light switch. As she walked in, pleasant, lemon-scented
air greeted her. The décor was simple: relatively new beige carpet,
a used but decent overstuffed sofa in a generic teal-and-peach
pattern, midsize TV and a glass and wrought iron coffee table piled
with magazines. The day’s Kendall Falls News had been left
amid the magazines, next to a half-full cup of coffee, as if
whoever had cleaned had paused for a break with the newspaper
before taking off.
Chase set her bag down inside the door. “Looks like
Sam was able to get someone to prepare the place. That means there
are groceries. I’m thinking pasta, if that sounds palatable.”
She nodded, but she wanted a shower first. The
pungent odor of smoke clung to every skin cell.
“The shower’s down the hall,” he said. “And you can
have your choice of bedrooms.”
She picked up her bag and headed in that direction,
grateful that he’d read her mind.
The tiny bathroom probably hadn’t been renovated
since the house had been built in the seventies, considering the
aqua blue bathtub, sink and toilet. But it had a shower, hot water
and clean towels—all that she needed. She stripped and stepped in
and sighed as clean water splashed over her face. Thinking nothing
but “lather, rinse, repeat,” she washed away the aftermath of the
fire.
Afterward, she wrapped herself in a thin towel that
hit her at midthigh and ventured into the nearest bedroom, where
she dropped her bag on the floor by the bed. The small room had the
look of a middle-of-the-road hotel: cheaply decorated with a palm
tree print bedspread and a lamp with a square shade on the bedside
table. A white wicker chair sporting a flowery cushion sat in the
corner.
Sinking down onto the side of the bed, Kylie closed
her eyes—just for a minute—and then she’d pull on some clean
clothes and go check on the progress of dinner. Her stomach growled
at the thought, and she tried to decide which she wanted more. Food
. . . sleep . . . food . . . sleep . . .
Curling up on her side—just for a minute—she
thought groggily about what she wanted more.
Food . . . sleep . . . Chase . . .
CHASE MOVED AROUND THE SMALL KITCHEN,
IMPRESSED that the house had fairly new white appliances and
decent blond-wood cabinets. It was a typical rental property,
though: clearly lived in by people who hadn’t cherished their
surroundings because they didn’t own them.
The timer went off to signal the pasta was done,
and he dumped the noodles into a strainer in the sink. Steam rose
to the light overhead, and as he watched it, he thought about how
normal it seemed to make dinner while Kylie showered. They’d never
had a chance to do anything normal like cook together, always
either training, attending their respective classes or traveling to
the next tournament. Whenever they could snag free time together,
they spent it far away from either of their families, and therefore
not near any kitchens.
Once he’d pulled the garlic bread out of the oven,
he went looking for Kylie. He suspected she’d fallen asleep, but he
wanted her to eat something. She’d gotten pale and thinner over the
past few days, so he suspected she was eating as much as she was
sleeping.
Sure enough, he found her zonked out on the bed,
curled on her side and still wearing the towel from her shower, wet
hair soaking the pillow. The scent of vanilla soap floated on the
air as he took a moment to appreciate how peaceful and relaxed she
looked. She must have been sleeping so soundly she didn’t hear him
walk in, because she didn’t move, and her breathing remained deep
and even.
He hated to wake her, but he hated more how
prominent her collarbones looked under her skin. She had to have
been running on fumes since the discovery of the bat at the
construction site.
Perching on the side of the bed, he stroked a
gentle hand over her upper arm. “Kylie.”
Nothing. Not even a shift in her breathing.
He leaned down, careful not to jostle her. He’d
seen how easily she startled, and he didn’t want to alarm her now.
“Kylie,” he said, a bit louder than before.
She didn’t move, though a small smile curved her
lips.
He stopped before saying her name again, surprised
by the smile. What was that about? An unconscious reaction to the
sound of his voice? That’d be cool.
Smiling himself now, he grazed his fingers over the
dark strands of hair at her temple. “Kyylieee,” he whispered,
singsongy now.
She stirred under his hand, shifting onto her back
with a deep sigh. “Chase?”
“Dinner’s ready,” he said, voice still soft. “You
said you were starving.”
“Hmm.”
His smile grew. He loved her soft and sleepy and
out of it. Maybe it was sad, but that was when she was most like
she’d been when he’d fallen in love with her the first time.
Shaking his head, he caressed the back of her hand
draped over her stomach. “I made spaghetti,” he said. “And garlic
bread. You love garlic bread.”
“Mmm. Garlic bread.”
He laughed at the sensual moan, but it caught in
his throat when she ran a loose hand back through her damp hair and
breathed his name through barely parted lips. “Chase.”
His heart stuttered, and he held his breath,
watching her and waiting. This was a bad idea, sitting on the edge
of her bed while she was half asleep and gloriously naked under
that towel, smelling of soap and shampoo and everything that turned
him on. He should get up and leave right now. Right. Now.
But then the hand she’d sifted through her hair
dropped onto his thigh, and she bent one knee, shifting her legs
slightly apart under the towel and canting her hips up just a tiny
bit.
He couldn’t move, riveted by the sight of that
terry cloth sliding ever so slowly upward, revealing more of the
most gorgeously toned thighs he’d ever seen. Perfect thighs for
wrapping around his hips and—
Okay, he’d leave in a minute.
Closing his eyes, he savored the heat of her
fingers through his jeans. Not a thing sexual about it—she was
still out of it, not knowing what she’d done—but his body seemed to
think it was the sexiest thing ever. He held back his response,
concentrating on breathing evenly, until her breath hitched, and
her head arched back into the pillow, her lips parting on a soft
moan.
Oh, Jesus, she was having a sexy dream.
Blood rushed straight to his groin, tightening his
jeans to the point of discomfort.
Lowering his head and swallowing, he drew in a
slow, steadying breath and started to count backward from twenty .
. . no, wait, that wouldn’t do it. A hundred might work.
Around thirty-four, the throb began to ease.
That’s it. Time for Chase Jr. to go back into
storage.
Except Chase Jr. really didn’t want to go.
Chase Jr. wanted some attention. Needed some attention. And
just thinking about the kind of attention he wanted—needed—the kind
Kylie was getting in her dream, made Chase’s jeans too tight all
over again. Tighter than before. Damn it all to hell.
“Later,” he muttered through his teeth.
“Chase?”
He snapped his eyes open to find Kylie blinking and
bleary. The fingers resting on his thigh moved to rub at her eyes,
and he breathed an inward sigh of relief. That would help.
“What time is it?” she asked as she pushed up onto
one elbow and peered at him with sleepy eyes.
“Dinner time,” he said, rolling to his feet and
aiming for the door. Jesus, he sounded like someone had used
sandpaper on his vocal cords. Thank God, he could keep his back to
her. No need for her to see what a fucking teenager he was. “I’m
sorry I insisted on waking you up, but you really need to
eat.”
“Okay,” she murmured.
He glanced back to see her ease back down.
“Kylie.”
She opened one squinty eye but didn’t otherwise
move. And, hell, she looked so fantastic in that white towel, the
cinched ends emphasizing cleavage that begged for a tongue
dip.
He cleared his throat. “Seriously. You need to eat.
Half an hour, and you can crash again.”
He left her alone and returned to the kitchen, not
sure she would actually get up, but he figured it was up to her
now. She knew best what she needed more.
Meanwhile, he checked the cupboards for something
alcoholic to take the edge off his own need.