Blindsided (15 page)

Her eyes were still wary as she stared at him, trying to gauge his mood. They stood at opposite ends of the kitchen and eyed each other carefully. Residual anger hung in the air between them, unspoken, potent. It didn’t make him want her any less. Actually, it made him want her more, sexually and otherwise. She hadn’t backed down in the face of his barely controlled anger. In fact, she had been fearless, in his face. He admired that, liked the way it brought him back to himself, reminded him to exert some frigging control.

What she’d said right before she kissed him had dumbfounded him, driving his anger out. The truth of her statement had struck him deeply. He still wasn’t sure what to do with it, with what it had made him feel. Incisive and precise, her comment had made him feel deeply understood. It was unsettling in a way he’d never imagined.

“I’m ready for public when you are,” she said.

She blessed him with her blazing smile, lighting up the whole kitchen, house and immediate area. If her face could be trusted, that smile had obliterated the remainder of her anger, and his along with it. They’d had their first real fight, he realized somewhat belatedly, and neither one had walked away, despite their complete lack of ties.

Scared and exhilarated by that thought, Nate said, “Let’s go.”

###

“So, Mr. Courtship, what are we doing tonight?” Chelsea asked Nate.

His arm was slung over her shoulders in a pose of casual possession. Rather than making her angry, it made her feel happy and protected, wanted. They were walking down University Street away from the Seattle Art Museum. They had thought a museum would force them to keep their hands to themselves.

It hadn’t worked terribly well. Their chemistry was unbelievable, so strong it survived unabated in the quiet sanctity of the museum. Chelsea did not, as a rule, frequent museums unless it was part of a story. She just wasn’t that artsy, and once she’d gone to a few museums, she was unable to grasp the difference anymore. It was aesthetically pleasing sensory overload. It didn’t make it any less draining, just more culturally enriching. As it was, Chelsea preferred to immerse herself in the culture she was visiting, to soak up its sounds, tastes and textures.

She’d gotten her fill of tastes and textures in this one, though. The taste of Nate’s mouth, textures of hard skin under cotton. A tour group had nearly discovered them making out in a darkened wing surrounded by Chinese artifacts. A minute later, the art students would have seen something a hell of a lot more interesting than a thousand year old pitcher. Nate’s hands had been edging their way down the front of her jeans to inspect the wetness he’d created with his kisses, and her hand was already wrapped around the hardness in his jeans. The memory made Chelsea giggle, but she still ached with longing and need.

“How about dinner. We’ll call it our real first date. It’s classic and I’m starving,” Nate looked at her with barely concealed lust and Chelsea’s stomach did a little flip. Looked like he was still thinking about their interlude, too.

“Like a twin set,” Chelsea said inanely.

“Huh?” Nate asked.

“It’s a sweater set, a classic. According to my mother, every woman must have at least four twin sets, two in winter weight wool and two in a summer fabric, like cotton.”

Chelsea affected her mother’s snootiest voice while saying this, then started laughing, a little alarmed at how good her impression of her mother was. If she didn’t watch it, she was going to end up just like her mother. A truly horrifying thought.

“I see. And are there such wardrobe rules for your brother?” Nate asked.

His voice was filled with affection and Chelsea’s heart almost burst with joy at seeing it there. Despite spending two days together, without sex, Chelsea was feeling more infatuated with him, not less. It was an odd feeling, one she had never felt before, and it made her uneasy. Nate had shown a sensitivity to art that she had never mustered. He considered each piece and had insightful things to say about them, pointing out things that seemed obvious once he said them, but never would have occurred to her on her own.

“Don’t be silly,” Chelsea intoned in her best Annabelle voice, “Men do not need to be dressed appropriately to be taken seriously. They are men. They are therefore taken seriously by everyone important.” Chelsea dropped back to her normal voice. “Which of course means other men. I guess that since they all have penises, they all respect each other automatically. Don’t ask me where that logic comes from.”

“Your mother just keeps getting more and more interesting,” said Nate.

“I know, doesn’t she,” Chelsea said with a sigh. “You should meet her.” A thought struck her.

Chapter 8

They pulled up outside Tony’s condo and Nate killed the engine. He really didn’t’ think this was a good idea, but he didn’t know how to tell her that. Chelsea’s emotions had been running high and he didn’t want her to do something she would regret.

“Are you sure you want to do this, babe?” he asked. “You ran away from your mother two days ago because you weren’t up to handling her, and now you want to come back?”

“Dumb I know, Chelsea said, “But yeah, I really do. I’m sick of lying to her, I’m sick of Tony having to be in between us.” She paused and stared at her hands for a moment, working her bottom lip with her teeth. Nate fought the urge to lean over and take her lip between his own teeth. She turned to face him and said, “Besides, I want to show you I’m not ashamed of you.”

Nate was touched, warmth flooding through him. She was going back into what, to her at least, was a lion’s den, for him. It wasn’t worth it for that, but those other reasons seemed pretty damn important.

“I believe you, Chelsea. Don’t do this for me. But if you want to stop lying to your mother, we’ll go in,” he said.

The whole situation had put him so out of his depth he wasn’t even sure which way was up anymore. The past twenty years had given him no experience draw on. He’d heard men complain about the complexity of women before, but hadn’t actually grasped it until this instant. With a two decade handicap on most guys, he would probably never understand women, but it might be easier if he stopped trying. He just hoped this didn’t come back to bite him in the ass.

Chelsea leaned over the middle console and planted a chaste kiss on his mouth, but the taste of her wound him up. Growling, he pulled at her waist and in a second had her on his lap. Damn it, she was so little and sexy and easy to move around, even if she was complicated and confusing. The one taste of her was not enough, and he deepened their kiss, exploring her, teasing her, knowing all the while that he was dooming himself to frustration. Exploring her that way just made him want to keep on going and toss her in the backseat. He was fairly certain they would fit in the backseat of the Mustang. It would be uncomfortable, but it could be done. Damn his rules. He’d damn near had her backed against a display case in the museum, and now this.

Chelsea was squirming on him, applying delicious pressure to his cock with her round little ass. He groaned and tore his lips away from hers.

“What good is going out in public if you keep wriggling like that?” he asked, nearly panting.

Her lips were red and swollen and her eyes were dilated. He rested his forehead on hers and let their breathing return to normal.

She nuzzled his neck with her nose, which did little to help his erection, which had slowly begun to sink away when it realized there was nothing for it to do.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Nate said, “Let’s go. I’m a man, I need food. If we put this off much longer, I’ll eat my own foot.”

Nate took a few extra minutes walking to the door, giving his erection time to go away. It was never a good idea to meet a woman’s mother with a raging hard on, and if Chelsea was to be believed, her mother was more scary than most. He had to admit, he was curious about Annabelle Spencer. Most women were had issues with their mothers. He wondered how much of what Chelsea had said about her was purely subjective.

They were met at the front door by a short woman dressed head to toe in pink. The woman gave her daughter a quick air kiss while he and Tony waved to each other over the women’s heads.

Before allowing Chelsea to introduce Nate, Annabelle began speaking. And didn’t stop.

“Chelsea Anne, what are you wearing? Have you been running around all day with your belly hanging out?” Nate tried to keep his face impassive. That was a hell of a way to greet your daughter. He barely stopped himself from saying, ‘Yes, ma’am, she has, and I’ve enjoyed every freaking second of it.’ Chelsea opened her mouth to try again to introduce him, but apparently, Annabelle wasn’t done. If Tony’s unsurprised look was any indication, this was the norm. Holy crap.

“When are you going to cut your hair and look like an adult? Those jeans make you look like a teenager. And those shoes dear, really. You’re too old to be running around in sneakers,” the older woman said.

Nate hoped to hell that was the end of it. It should be. There was nothing left for Annabelle to criticize unless she pulled down Chelsea’s jeans and inspected her underwear, which he could tell her were bright blue and barely there. After seeing the unstoppable force that was Annabelle Spencer, Nate began to wonder if she’d do just that.

“Mom,” Chelsea finally broke in after groping around for Nate’s hand with her own and clutching him like lifeline, “This is Nate, my, uh…” Here she faltered and Nate stepped forward, extending the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Chelsea’s.

“Boyfriend,” he volunteered.

He felt Chelsea’s reaction to his use of the word, a rush of energy that flowed between their hands. He felt it too, the excitement, the rightness of the word despite the quick timing.

Mrs. Spencer seemed a little taken aback by Nate’s size, and probably his tattoos. She was shorter than her daughter and had to tilt her head back to look up at him, light green eyes quickly assessing him. It was only her need to be polite that forced her to extend her own tiny hand and grasp Nate’s briefly and lightly. She took her hand back quickly and looked as if she was trying hard not to run to the bathroom and wash it off.

“A pleasure to meet you,” her voice said, while her tone said ‘Get the hell away from my child, you Neanderthal.’

She glared at the place where his hand held Chelsea’s in between their bodies and sniffed slightly before turning away. Nate wondered idly where Chelsea had gotten her curves, never mind her sense of humor. Scrawny Annabelle Spencer was all lines and angles held together by a stick-up-the-ass attitude.

Once everyone was settled in the living room and each of the three younger people had catered to her in some way, by bringing a pillow or tea or giving up their chosen seat, Mrs. Spencer leapt into conversation.

“So, how did you meet my daughter?” she asked Nate.

Her pinched expression showed her disbelief that Chelsea would have taken up with him without being brainwashed or possessed. Perhaps she’d start performing an exorcism next. That would really liven things up. Might take his mind of the sexual frustration that hummed through him whenever he was within fifty yards of Chelsea.

“My car broke,” Chelsea started when her mother interrupted her.

“Of course it did. It’s falling apart. But I didn’t ask you. I asked him,” the older woman said, with a sneer and a gesture towards Nate.

Tony opened his mouth to say something, but Nate jumped in instead. He’d had just about enough of the way this woman was talking to Chelsea. Annabelle Spencer was about to find out there was a new sheriff in town. Which was news to him, too.

“Chelsea tells the story better, ma’am,” he said as politely as possible reining in his anger. He only had to let a little of it shine through his eyes for her to get the picture. At least now he knew Chelsea wasn’t blowing things out of proportion. This woman was mean. But he could sure as hell be meaner.

Annabelle Spencer glared at him imperiously as if wondering why the commoner was talking to her. He stared back impassively until she looked away with a huff.

“Go ahead, honey,” he said. He leaned back on the couch and put his arm around Chelsea possessively and protectively.

Chelsea told her story, leaving out the parts about the two of them falling into bed and their subsequent deal. There was a limit to the honesty a woman was willing to undertake with her mother. Thank God.

“There is no spa, Mom. I made it up. I went to stay with Nate. That’s where I’ve been,” she said. Her voice was quiet, but steady.

“Why on earth would you make something like that up?” Annabelle said tightly.

“Because it was easier to tell you that than stay here and be picked apart while I’m trying to relax.”

Whoa. Chelsea’s voice was picking up strength now and Nate squeezed her hand. Impressive, given the way he’d seen her grow smaller when she’d talked to her mother on the phone. Admiration filled Nate. He’d never felt that for a woman before in his life, except in a purely physical sense. Across the room, Tony’s eyes widened in surprise.

Annabelle was absolutely still for a moment, thin lips pressed tightly together, her hands rigidly clasped in her lap. Then she stood and stared regally down at her daughter. Several times she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Finally, she turned and walked out of the room, back ramrod straight.