Billionaires, Bad Boys, and Alpha Males (49 page)

“That’s none of your business.”

“Oh, really?”
 
He crossed his arms over his chest.
 
“It’s none of my business that you
threatened to sue me for pain and suffering a few hours ago, and yet now you
seem perfectly fine to just start gallivanting around in your car?
 
That seems like something the jury would
be interested in, don’t you think?”

She glared at him.
 
“I’m not going to sue you, okay?
 
So consider yourself off the hook.”

She tried to move around him, but he shook his
head.
 
“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“No
what?”

“No, you’re not going anywhere.”

“You can’t tell me where I’m going.”
 
She went to move around him again, but
this time, he put his hands on her shoulders.
 
His grip was strong, and electricity
zinged through her.
 
“Lindsay,” he
said softly.
 
Her insides melted,
her resolve disintegrating.
 
The way
he said her name filled her with an ache.
 
She suddenly had the urge to rest her head against his chest and just
let him take care of her.
 
“You’re
not going anywhere.”

She nodded, the exhaustion overtaking her out
of nowhere.
 
She was too tired to
fight, too tired to protest.

His strong arms led her across the lawn and to
his house.
 
As soon as the door
opened, the smell of something delicious and spicy hit her nose.
 
Her appetite roared to life.
 
She remembered that chicken parm he’d
cooked for her all those months ago, remembered it like it was yesterday.
 
She’d always been the type of person who
associated memories with food.
 
Cotton candy from family vacations on the Jersey Shore,
 
popcorn from all the movies she went to
with her sister Jamie.
 
And now
chicken parm would always be connected to Chace, to their night together.

She hadn’t eaten it since.

“You hungry?” he asked.
 

She nodded, but he wasn’t waiting for an
answer.
 
He was already pulling two
plates down from the cupboard next to the stove and piling them with
pasta.
 
He pulled a tray of chicken
out of the oven, slid a breast onto each plate, then topped the whole thing
with tomato sauce.

He laid a fork on the side of each plate, then
sat down across the table from her.
 

Maximilian came trotting out from the other
room, and licked her hand.
 
Lindsay
gave him a pat on the head, and he flopped onto the floor and did a happy sigh.

She took a bite of the food, and just like
that, she felt her energy coming back.
 
The tomato sauce was spicy and comforting, the pasta and chicken
perfectly cooked.Chace was staring at her, watching her, making sure she
ate.
 
Being under his gaze like that
made her nervous, so she glanced around the kitchen.
 
It was a direct contrast to the kitchen
in his old apartment.
 

That kitchen had been all old wood, refinished
cabinets, and warm orange paint.
 
This kitchen looked like it had recently been renovated.
 
The stainless steel appliances sparkled
under the recessed lighting, the dark cabinets were set off by sleek granite
countertops, and the floor and backsplash were a slate gray tile.
 
It was very modern, exactly like
something you’d see in a magazine.

“Nice kitchen,” she said in an effort to make
conversation.

“Thank you.
 
I redid it when I moved in.”

“Was it a fixer-upper?”
 
She was interested, mostly because she
knew that at some point, the kitchen in her little house was going to need to
be ripped out and redone.

He shook his head.
 
“No.
 
I just didn’t like the look what was in
here.”

“Oh.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes.
 
Lindsay wasn’t sure what to say, how to
act, what to do.
 
Part of her wanted
to get out of here, hated herself for being weak enough to agree to let him
take care of her like this.
 
But the
other part, the part that seemed to be winning right now, didn’t care about any
of that, just wanted to prolong any interaction she was having with him.

“How’s your wrist feel?” Chace asked.

“It’s a little sore,” she admitted.

He nodded, then got up from the table,
returning a minute later with a bottle of ibuprofen.
 

“Take it home with you,” he said.
 

She opened her mouth to protest, but he gave
her that look again, the look that said he wasn’t messing around.

“Okay.”

“How long do you have to wear the splint?”

“Two days. Then I can take it off and start
using my wrist for short periods of time.
 
The doctor said I should be completely better in a week or two.
 
It wasn’t that serious of a sprain.”

Chace nodded, then stood up and cleared the
plates off the table, stacking them neatly in the sink.
 
He crossed the room and pulled a wine
glass down from one of the sleek cupboards, poured her a glass of red from a
bottle he uncorked, then set it down in front of her.

“Thanks,” she said gratefully.
 
She took a sip of the liquid, letting it
slide down her throat and warm her belly.
 
How did he know exactly what she needed, exactly what was going to make
her feel better?

“Is your wrist going to get in the way of your
writing?”

She shook her head.
 
“No.
 
I mean, obviously I won’t be able to
write for a couple of days, but it won’t mess up any deadlines. I’ll just have
to do double duty when I’m better.”
 
She shrugged.
 
“Not a big
deal.”

He nodded.
 
“Good.”
 
He was sitting on
the other side of the table again, still looking at her with that watchful
gaze.
 
She took another sip of her
wine.
 
Thoughts swirled through her
head, mixing together to create a confusing hurricane.
 
He’d kissed her last night.
 
He’d shown up at her house this
morning.
 
He’d driver her to the
hospital, had taken care of her when she needed it, had fed her and given her
medicine.
 
But why?
 
What did he want from her?
 

“Aren’t you going to have any wine?” she asked.

He shook his head.
 
“No.
 
I don’t drink.”

She snorted.
 
“Since when?”

“Since I started to have a little problem with
alcohol.”

“Oh.”
 
Well, that made things awkward.
 
What was she supposed to do now?
 
Ask him about it?
 
That would
be weird.
 
But it was weirder not to
say anything, wasn’t it?
 
She tried
to think of a good way to respond, but nothing came to her.
 
She took another sip of her wine.

“You don’t have to be all awkward about it,” he
said, rolling his eyes.
 

“I’m not all awkward about it,” she lied.

“Whatever.”
 
He shook his head.
 
“Anyway, I think you should stay here
tonight.”

She almost choked on her wine.
 
“You think I should
what?”

“I think you should stay here tonight.
 
You shouldn’t be alone in that house.”

“Chace, it’s a broken wrist, not a broken
back.
 
I’ll be fine.”

He shook his head.
 
“That house is a death trap.”

“It’s not a death trap!” she protested.
 
“It has character and charm.”
 
She looked around the kitchen and raised
her eyebrows, as if to say, ‘and that’s more than I can say for this place.’
She thought she saw a flash of sadness pass over his face, but a moment later,
it was gone.
 

“You have boxes all over the place,” he
said.
 
“All I need is for you to get
up in the middle of the night, trip and hurt yourself.
 
I’ll wake up to the sound of you screaming
for me to come and rescue you.”

“First of all, I would never scream for you to
come and rescue me.
 
I would call
someone.”

“What if you didn’t have your cell phone?”

“I’d crawl to it.”

“You can’t move.”

“I’d wait until tomorrow.”

“Why, are you expecting someone tomorrow?”

“Well, no, but – ”

“Exactly,” he said, sounding satisfied.

She shook her head. “Why are we talking about
this?
 
It’s not going to happen.”

“You’re right.”
 
He stood up and took her now empty glass
of wine to the sink.
 
“Because
you’re staying here.”

He was looking at her with that stare again,
only this time, he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his
chest.
  
He narrowed his eyes
slightly and bit the corner of his lip, like he was trying to decide what to do
with her.

She blushed, remembering him kissing her in her
kitchen last night, the touch of his fingertips as he’d skimmed her sweater
down over her skin.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said
quietly.
 
The mood in the room had
changed, going from light to more serious in what seemed like an instant.
 
Suddenly, she was aware that she was alone
here, with Chace, in his house.
 
Her
face flushed and her pulse quickened.

“Why?” he asked.
 
He licked his bottom lip.
 
“Are you afraid of what might happen?”

She shook her head.
 
“What would I be afraid of?”

He was next to her in a second, wrapping his
arms around her waist, pulling her up and out of her chair.
 
“I don’t know,” he whispered into her
ear.
 
His breath was warm
 
against her skin, and she shivered.
 
“You tell me.”

She raised her chin and tried to speak.
 
“I’m not afraid,” she said.
 
But her voice sounded unsure, even to
her.
 
“But I have things to do at
home.”

This seemed to amuse him.
 
“Oh, yeah?” he asked.
 
“Like what?”

“I need to have a shower.”
 
She knew it was the wrong thing to say
as soon as the words were out of her mouth.
 

“A shower, huh?”
 
He paused, tilted his head to the side,
thinking.
 
“I have a shower
here.”
 

She swallowed.
 
Her body was charged with electricity,
her breath starting to get caught in her chest.
 
Her heart pounded.
 
She wanted to take a step back from him,
but there was nowhere to go – he had her boxed in, the chair behind her.

“I can’t….I mean, I need to use my own shower.”

He put a hand on her wrist, turned it over,
inspecting it.
 
Her skin burned
where his fingers touched.
 
“You
can’t get your wrist wet,” he said.
 
“You’re going to need help.”

She swallowed again, tried to muster up the
strength to shake her head.
 
Speaking wasn’t an option.
 
She’d lost her voice, lost the energy to say anything.
 
She took a deep breath and tried to
gather her thoughts.

He kept his hand on her wrist, then leaned in
closer to her.
 
“Lindsay,” he
whispered.
 
“Let me take you
upstairs.”

She nodded, and he took her hand.

***

He led her right to the bathroom.
 
Everything was remodeled in here, too --
cool marble counters and travertine tile, a free standing shower and a Jacuzzi
tub.

He shut the door behind them, then leaned
against it.
 

“I don’t have any pajamas,” she said, raising
her chin and forcing herself to meet his gaze.