Claiming Chase: (A Second Chance Stepbrother Romance) (17 page)

I don’t have much of an appetite. In fact, I’m really just picking at my fries. But there isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be right now.

It’s a lot to take in. Just the very fact of him,
here
, with me. I had no idea that my dad was so important to him.

What a little teenage know-it-all I’d been!

I thought that I had my eye on everybody from my look-out point on that porch. I thought I knew everything that was going on. I thought everybody could fit easily into the little boxes I had for them. But of course, life doesn’t work like that, does it?

People are never quite as simple as you want them to be.

I mean, just look at Chase. He was on a path to destruction. A confused teenage boy, just interested in getting kicks. But somewhere inside him, there was a flicker of the successful man he was destined to become. He was listening, storing away information for when he’d need it.

Back at the cemetery, I didn’t want to tell Dad the truth. That when I met Chase again, I’d fallen for him, hard. I thought he might disapprove. But maybe he wouldn’t? Like I said, Dad always saw the best in everyone. And I think he would look at the tall handsome man sitting opposite me in this diner — a man who’d built a life for himself despite everything, who’d built up a successful career, but more importantly who never forgot the people who helped him — and think,
yes
,
this man is good enough for my daughter.

So why am I holding back?

Why did I pull my hand away from his?

Maybe this whole thing isn’t quite as simple as I think it is.

“You’re pretty quiet, Charity,” he says. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Sorry,” I say. “I’m fine, I really am. There’s just a lot to think about …”

“I understand,” he says. “When my mom died …”

“What?” I interrupt. “Chase, you never told me that.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s something I try not to think about,” he explains. “She died two years ago. Liver disease. The way she’d been drinking, I was waiting for it, I suppose. She wasn’t a bad woman, Charity. I know she could be a huge pain in the ass. But she always meant to do her best. Things hadn’t been easy for her. She had a rough childhood, just like mine. Her dad stuck around though, but that was the problem. He was a nasty man, and violent too. At her funeral, her brother told me how they spent most of their childhood cowering under their beds, scared he’d find them and beat them, for no reason.”

He sighs and shakes his head.

“So who can blame her for trying to escape all those bad memories with a bottle,” he says. “I carried so much bitterness around, Charity, because of my mom and how she treated me. But after the funeral, I guess I forgave her, just a little bit.”

“I’m so sorry, Chase,” I say.

“It’s hard to get over the past,” he replies with a sad smile. “But I want to move on. I’ve made so many mistakes, and life’s too short to repeat them.”

I think I know what he means. I hope I do, anyway.

“It’s getting late,” he says, looking out of the diner window at the darkening sky.

“You’re right,” I say. “I should head back to the station soon.”

“No,” he says. “Look, the rain’s cleared. Ride with me, back to New York. It’ll take half the time.”

I’m grateful for his offer. Five hours on the train doesn’t seem so appealing after the emotional day I’ve had. And if I’m honest, the idea of wrapping my arms tightly around his body wouldn’t be so bad either.

“Thank you,” I say.

He reaches into his pocket, grabs a handful of bills, and is about to put them on the table, when I catch him.

“No, no, no,” I insist. “I said this was on me, remember?”

And as I grab his hand to stop him, there it is again: that old electricity. His eye catches mine, as if he feels it too. It’s so strong.

Fate brought him here to me, didn’t it?

I feel something inside me, begging me not to ignore that electricity — that connection between us, so strong, so powerful.

But there’s another voice, also. A frightened one, scared I’ll get hurt yet again.

It’s like being torn in two.

Halfway home, the heavens suddenly open — the rain comes lashing down so hard it bounces off the road, accompanied by huge claps of thunder and flashes of lightening.

If I was riding on my own, I’d probably keep going, but with Charity on the back of my bike?

Instead, I pull into the parking lot of the nearest motel. By the time I’ve killed the engine and we’ve trudged in to the lobby, we’re both soaked through.

“What do you think?” I ask Charity, before we head up to the desk. “We could just get a room, wait it out, and if the weather clears drive back tonight?”

“And if it doesn’t?” she says, quietly.

“I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”

§

While Charity is in the shower, I skip through the TV channels, but nothing seems to catch my attention. I’m too busy thinking about
her
.

It seems like fate is at it again — since we booked the room, the storm’s just got worse and it shows no sign of clearing.

But I meant it. Tonight, I’m determined to show her that I can be a real gentleman — that I can even share a double bed with her in a motel in the middle of nowhere and still not make any moves.

Just then the door opens and there she is, her wet hair falling over her pale shoulders, her hazelnut eyes flashing as she looks over at me sprawled on the bed, just a towel wrapped around her slim frame.

Man, what I’d give to pull it off her.

But I hold back of course.

Best behavior, Chase. Don’t forget that.  

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, as if she can read my mind.

“Nothing,” I smile. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” she says quietly. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here. Thank you.”

“Hey, don’t mention it,” I say.

She walks towards me, and I feel the breath catch in my throat as I notice the look in her eye.

“In fact,” she continues, “I’m kind of glad the storm brought us here.”

I smile up at her from my seat on the bed. “Me too.”

All of a sudden, she tugs at her towel, letting it fall to the floor of the motel room, uncovering her perfect body beneath — her small pert breasts, and the dark fuzz of hair between her legs.

“Don’t look so scared,” she laughs. “You’ve seen it all before.”

“I know, I’m just …” I begin. Then stop, unsure how to say it.

“What?” she asks, climbing onto the bed now, crawling towards me like a cat, little droplets of water from the shower shining like beads on her pale skin.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I say. “I promised myself I’d be a gentleman.”

“And you have been,” she whispered, bringing her face right up close to mine. “But I’m okay, Chase, really. I want this. I want you.”

With this she kisses me, soft at first then more urgently, and I feel my body respond as my hands touch against her — grazing against the perfect softness of her skin, as soft as silk.

I feel her shiver as I run my hands further down, cupping her ass, then moving one hand gently between her legs, my fingertips finding her so hot and wet for me.

She grinds against my hand as we kiss, coaxing me to fuck her with my fingers, her own hands moving to my pants, tugging them open, then curling around my cock, pulling it free so eagerly.

I push her onto her back, needing to take her now, not even bothering to remove the rest of my clothes, just needing so badly to feel myself inside her.

“Oh, Chase,” she whispers writhing beneath me. “Fuck me … Please.”

She doesn’t need to ask twice.

I guide myself inside her, marveling all over again at just how damned
tight
she is. And as I begin to fuck her, she wraps her legs around me, her hands moving to my buttocks now, encouraging me to go harder still.

“Please, please,” she whispers, kissing my neck, her teeth nipping against my skin.

I fuck her harder and faster, cupping her breasts with my hands, feeling her hard nipples pressing against my palms, slamming my cock deep inside her, feeling my orgasm getting closer with each thrust, her moans filling my ears, the thunder and lightening flashing outside, the rain battering against the roof of the motel.

“That’s it, that’s it,” she urges, just before she comes, pulling me even tighter to her, her whole body shuddering from the force of her pleasure.

As always — it’s enough to push me over the edge, too, and I come deep inside her, my muscles tensing, her hands clawing my back, the moans spilling from her mouth.

And I feel satisfied that in these few fleeting moments of pleasure at least, I’ve helped her escape her pain and sadness.

We fall asleep like that, wrapped in each others arms, in the early morning half-light of the motel.

The last thing I wonder before I fall asleep is what we’ll be to each other tomorrow.

I lay my outfit out on the bed. Delicate baby blue ballet pumps and a real 1950’s vintage dress to match. It’s beautiful; the kind of shape they don’t make any more. It makes my waist look tiny and flares out to just below my knees. I couldn’t believe my luck when I found it.

Actually, it was Gabby who helped. I was just going to go to Macy’s, pick up something off the rack. But Gabby decided we needed to go somewhere a little different, and took me to this amazing vintage store, hidden down in a basement in Brooklyn. She even found this amongst all the piles of clothes,
and
took the hem up a little for me. I can’t thank her enough.

I decide to do my makeup to match the dress. Soft, romantic — a hint of ‘Paris in the Spring’ but still modern, still me.

A delicate pink blush and pink lips finish off my look. And when I slip into my dress, I can’t help but twirl around. There’s just enough space in my tiny bedroom to spin. As I do, the folds of my skirt whirl around me, and I feel like a princess.

I’m so excited for tonight. Even though I don’t actually know where we’re going, or what we’re doing.

All Chase has told me is that a car is picking me up at seven. So the date hasn’t even begun yet, and it’s already the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me.

I’m finished getting ready half an hour early. I don’t want to mess up my clothes or makeup, and I’m too nervous to concentrate on anything like reading. So I just sit there on the edge of the sofa, my hands clasped in my lap, waiting for the doorbell to ring.

Just then, Gabby emerges from her room, takes one look at me and laughs warmly.

“Aw, sweetie!” she teases.

“What?” I say.

“You look so
cute
. So nervous! You look like a kid waiting for her prom date to pick her up.”

I laugh back.

“You know?” I reply. “That’s exactly how I feel.”

“Seriously though? You look beautiful,” Gabby smiles. “Have a great time tonight. And don’t forget to think of me, here in my pajamas, frantically trying to finish my thesis!”

“I won’t,” I laugh back.

And just then, the doorbell does ring, and my heart leaps.

“Ready?” says Gabby.

“As I’ll ever be,” I reply.

As I head down the stairs, I really do feel as if this is my first ever date …

§

The sleek black town car pulls up right outside the steps of the New York City public library. I don’t know why we’re here. I’ve never heard of anyone studying on a date before. But it’s a beautiful building, one of my absolute favorites. And it’s made even better because there on the steps is Chase. He’s wearing a beautifully cut black suit, and holding a bouquet of freshly-cut spring flowers. But despite all the sophistication, for once he looks a little nervous, sheepish even. Like he wants to get this right. I hope he does.

I bound up to greet him on the steps, and kiss him gently on the lips. 

“For you, m’lady,” he says, handing me the flowers.

“Why, thank you,” I say, with a little curtsey, as I take the bouquet from him. It’s a divinely pretty selection of stocks and hyacinths in delicate creams, blues and purples. It matches my outfit perfectly. It’s almost as if he read my mind and knew exactly what I was going to wear tonight.

“They smell beautiful!” I say. “Thank you. But Chase. Why are we at the
library
? I know I was behind in my dissertation, but I’m back on track now! I really don’t need to study on a date night …”

At this he laughs.

“I wanted to meet you here because it’s such a stunning building,” he explains. “But I also wanted to tear you away from your books for a few hours. So will you take a stroll around the park with me?”

“I’d love to,” I reply, inwardly thanking Gabby’s good taste in choosing ballet pumps to go with this dress. Going for a walk in heels would be torture for me. He takes my arm, and we stroll towards Bryant Park.

“I have a confession to make,” I admit.

“Go on,” he says.

“For all the hours I’ve spent in this library, I, um … I’ve never actually walked over to the park.”

He smiles, laughs, then shakes his head. “Oh Charity, what am I going to do with you? Always with your nose in a book. When are you gonna experience real life?”

“I’m ready to start right now,” I say, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. And I mean it, one-hundred percent.

As we walk through the beautiful grounds of Bryant Park, the early summer night so perfect and warm, we talk easily, as if we’d known each other all our lives. And I suppose, in a weird way, we have.

“How do you like it here?” he asks.

“It’s beautiful,” I reply. “It really is like being in nature, you could almost forget you were in the center of Manhattan.”

“And you don’t need to worry about being too far away from your precious books, either. They’re right here,” he says, pointing to the ground beneath us.

“What do you mean?” I say.

“The library’s archives are here, right beneath our feet.”

“Wow,” I say. “How do you know that?”

He smiles a puppy dog smile. “I did my homework,” he says. “I want tonight to be perfect. It’s funny,” he adds. “It kind of feels like this is my first ever date …”

I laugh.

“Hey!” he says. “Don’t make fun of me, I’m baring my heart here.”

“No, you don’t understand,” I say. “That’s exactly how I feel too.”

It feels like a fresh start — a new beginning.

We stroll, arm in arm, through the park, and happen upon a beautiful old vintage-style carousel.

“I love these!” I gasp. “I’ve not been on one since I was a kid.”

“Well, would you like to go on one now?” he says.

“Can we?” I laugh.

We watch the carousel spinning, the beautifully-painted horses going round and round. Everyone riding them seems so happy and content, smiling and laughing and giggling.

“Choose your favorite horse,” says Chase.

Eventually it comes to a stop, the riders dismount, and we wait our turn to climb on. I choose a beautiful horse, delicately painted with blue, yellow, and pink flowers. It’s so pretty. And I can’t help but laugh as I see Chase climb aboard his horse, too, just in front of me. I’ve only even seen him ride his motorbike, and this seems so unlike him — silly and childish and frivolous, and yes, romantic, all at once.

The horses begin to whirl and the music strikes up and Chase looks back at me, a huge grin plastered across his face. And I smile back at him. It’s exhilarating and intoxicating, spinning around like this. I feel like I could ride on it forever, but soon the horses begin to slow again and we come once more to a halt. Before we’ve even stopped, Chase has jumped from his horse with all the practiced grace of someone used to riding.

He walks over to me and extends a hand to help me down.

“M’lady,” he says, “let me help you from your steed.”

“Why, thank you, kind gentleman,” I reply, letting him help me off the horse.

“And now for dinner,” he says, still enjoying playing the chivalrous knight-in-shining armor.

“Lead on, kind sir,” I say.

This playful side of Chase is new. He was always so brooding, so serious. But tonight, he’s let that slip. Maybe he finally feels comfortable enough to show me a new side of him. And I hope so. Because don’t get me wrong, brooding Chase is hot — like
seriously
hot — but fun, playful, romantic Chase? He feels like someone I could spend the rest of my life with.

§

Dinner isn’t far away. He’s obviously put some serious thought into tonight. In fact, it’s still within the boundary of the park — in the fairytale-pretty rooftop terrace of the Bryant Park Grill.

When the waiter leads us to our table, there’s already a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket next to it. We take our seats and the waiter pops the cork and pours us each a glass. We look at each other and raise the flutes of golden dancing liquid.

“A toast?” I say.

“And what should we toast
to
?” he replies.

I start to speak and then so does he.

“To us,” we say, in unison, as we clink our glasses.

And as we take our first sips, our eyes locked, I feel the most perfect sense of calm, as if finally the stars have aligned and Chase and I are together — just the way we should be.

We enjoy a beautiful dinner. Tuna sashimi, rack of lamb, finished off with one slice of salted caramel cheesecake and two spoons.

“That was delicious, Chase,” I smile. “And the champagne was lovely, but I think it’s gone to my head a little. I don’t think I can stay out and drink any more. So what do you say? Your place or mine?”

“I have a better idea,” he says as he reaches over the table and intertwines his fingers with mine.

§

We leave the restaurant, and
still
Chase refuses to tell me where we’re going.

“Come on,” I tease, as we stroll hand in hand down Madison Avenue. “Just tell me! All these surprises — they’re driving me mad!”

“Be patient,” he laughs. “You’ll see in a minute. In fact, here we are …”

And at this he stops, outside number 299. It’s a beautiful, simple gold door.

“Where are we?” I say.

“Just look,” he replies.

And then I read the elegant script writing above the door.
The Library Hotel
.

“A hotel, Chase?” I say. “But your apartment is like half an hour’s walk away!”

“It is,” he says. “But I wanted to show you this place. I think you’re gonna love it.”

He holds the door open for me, and gestures me inside.

We walk through to the lobby, and he greets the girl behind the desk with all the sophisticated charm I’ve come to expect from him.

“I have a booking,” he says. “Mr Parker?”

“Of course, Mr Parker,” the girl smiles, handing him a heavy gold key. “The elevator is to your right.”

Once in the elevator, I watch him press the button for the eleventh floor.

“I still don’t understand what we’re doing here,” I say.

But as the doors slide closed, he slips his hands around my waist and pulls me close, his lips suddenly against mine.

“You’ll see, soon enough,” he whispers between kisses. “And anyway, there doesn’t always have to be a reason for everything. Some things
just are
…”

He looks at me and he doesn’t need to say anything more.

Just then, the elevator pings open, and he takes my hand, leading me along the plush empty corridor.

“Notice anything about the room numbers?” he says with a smile.

I look to my left. We’re standing outside a door titled ‘Philosophy’, the number below it reading 1100.003.

“They don’t look like normal room numbers,” I say, puzzled.

“And why do you think that might be?” he asks.

“I’ve got it!” I exclaim, looking to my right at room 1100.004;
Psychology.
“It’s the
library
hotel. Every library in the whole world uses the Dewey Decimal classification system. And they’re using the same numbers for their rooms. That’s amazing!”

“I must confess,” he smiles, “I’d never heard of it before I booked this place. But I thought you’d get a kick out of it.”

“I’m such a geek,” I laugh. “But you’re right. This is great. Thank you.”

“And this must be
our
room,” he says, leading me to the very end of the corridor, where we stop in front of room 1100.006;
Love
. 

He unlocks the door to our room, and it’s perfect. There are rose petals strewn across the bed and books everywhere.