Take A Chance On Me (9 page)

Then why?
She pressed her lips together.

He stroked over her bottom lip, still swollen and wet from his kiss. She wanted more. The lust, low in her belly, demanded it. But she wasn’t going to be appeased. Nope, she needed to rein it in. Stuff it back down.

Needing distance, she straightened, pulling from his grasp.

He dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so abrupt. You took me by surprise.”

“Sure,” she said, speaking past the lump in her throat. “I should go get the room.”

She grabbed the door handle, but before she could pull it open, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her back into the seat.

Why wouldn’t he let things be? She whipped around. “What?” Her tone was the snap of a whip in the quiet car as embarrassment turned to anger. “It’s time for me to go, Mitch.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw and his eyes flashed fire. “I stopped,” he said through gritted teeth, “because I didn’t think your inner good girl would appreciate being fucked in a seedy motel parking lot in front of God and everyone.”

She froze at his blunt words. The confession should have satisfied her, but it didn’t. She wrenched her wrist free. “Do me a favor. Take care of your own demons. I can manage my inner good girl just fine!”

Not waiting for a response, she flung open the car door and jumped out.

What in the hell had happened?

Mitch stared after Maddie as she stomped across the sidewalk toward the lobby, her ponytail swaying in rhythm to the defiant swing of her hips. He had no idea what had set her redheaded temper flaring.

Didn’t she understand? For once in his sorry life, he was being a nice guy. He was
protecting
her.

It had taken a fucking Herculean effort not rip off those too-big shorts, yank her on top of him, and impale her. And, Jesus, that mouth. Did she have any idea how hard it was to resist that needy, swollen, wet, intoxicating mouth? He’d never kissed a woman and questioned whether he could stop. Ever.

But in less than five minutes, Maddie had blown his control straight to hell. He’d had to stop, because if he hadn’t, he’d have taken her hot, eager little body with a ruthless, demanding lust and scared her to death. With his last remnants of sanity, he’d remembered she was practically innocent and pulled back. For her.

And now she was pissed about it? He shook his head. Women. Who understood them?

Sure, he appreciated her quest for independence, but he hadn’t meant it like that. He was only . . . He trailed off, watching her through the dirty window. He caught the movement of Maddie’s shadow as she talked to the lobby attendant. Her hand flew as she gestured, obviously responding to something he’d said.

Well, in retrospect, maybe he could have phrased it differently. But, hell, she had to cut him some slack—he hadn’t had an ounce of blood left in his brain.

Her ponytail bobbed as she planted her hands on her hips. Goddamn, he wanted her. After that kiss—that mind-blowing, cock-wrenching kiss—was he honestly going to give up and let her stomp off into the sunset?

No way. He was keeping her.

The unexpected thought sent ice through his veins. What exactly was he doing? Keeping her? For what? Nothing good could come from this situation. Maddie was a disaster waiting to happen, and he’d given up complicated women.

Gut instinct had once made him a shark of a lawyer, and even though it had been a while, it told him everything he needed to know: walk away. It had been twenty-four hours, not nearly enough time to do any permanent damage. In a couple of days, she’d be gone and things would return to normal. He’d forget about this momentary diversion and return to his numb, day-to-day life.

It was the smart move. The safe move.

He’d ignored his gut once and paid the price.

Maddie flew through the lobby door, her hands clenched into fists, her beautiful face scrunched in anger.

His chest squeezed.

She marched to the car, threw open the door, and plopped onto the seat.

Before he could speak, she banged her fists on the dashboard and let out a high-pitched scream, startling him.

“Jesus, Maddie, what the hell is wrong?”

“You want to know what’s wrong?” she yelled, pointing at the lobby door. “My stupid credit card has been reported stolen. They took it and now the jerk inside won’t give it back!”

Relief, strong and powerful, swept through him in a dizzying rush.

Screw safe.

Chapter Eight

“I’m warning you,” Mitch said to Gracie in a low, menacing tone. “Don’t even think about being helpful.” Maddie had pleaded a headache and excused herself to lie down the second they walked into his house, and he’d been acting like a lunatic ever since.

He’d left things to chance today and fate had dealt him the winning hand. He wasn’t going to let anything fuck it up, and that included making sure his do-gooder neighbor didn’t offer Maddie any alternatives.

She stayed here with him. Period.

Gracie fluttered those long, full lashes that got her whatever she wanted. “What do you mean?”

Mitch shot a sidelong glance to the closed kitchen door, cocking an ear to listen for any sound above. Satisfied when he heard nothing, he lowered his voice. “I know you. When the subject of Maddie’s sleeping arrangements come up, don’t even think about offering her a place to stay.”

Gracie nibbled her bottom lip and snaked another inch closer to Charlie, who rubbed her back while taking a sip of beer. “You’ve got a real hard-on for this girl,” he said.

Mitch ignored the comment, remaining focused on Gracie. “Understood?”

“But—” she started.

“No buts,” Mitch cut her off. “And whatever you do, don’t mention the empty apartment you have over the garage.”

Sam stretched his legs under the kitchen table and slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “She may not have a choice.”

A slice of panic, completely disproportionate to the situation at hand, cut through Mitch. He whipped around, eyeing Sam. “What do you mean?”

Relaxed, like he didn’t have a care in the world, he scrubbed a hand over his chin. “Well, what would you rather it be? Our house? Or Chicago?”

Mitch wasn’t in the goddamn mood to deal with any of Sam’s crap. “If you’re having some sort of premonition, then spit it the fuck out.”

Sam shrugged and slouched lower in this chair. “Just making conversation.”

Yeah, right. Sam never just made conversation. Mitch raised his eyes to the ceiling. God help him, he missed the days of dealing with sane, rational people. The sad thing was that three years in this town had turned him as crazy as the rest of them. “She’s staying here.”

“All right,” Gracie chirped. Her white T-shirt, with a cupcake made from pink rhinestones on it, twinkled as though mocking him. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. Mum’s the word.”

“Thank you,” Mitch said, shaking his head. “Was that so hard?”

Charlie, still rubbing slow circles over Gracie’s back, pinned him with his cop’s gaze. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

Hell if he knew. Mitch was in pure reaction mode—the words “keep her” pounded in his brain like a mantra, refusing to be ignored. He dragged a hand through his hair before propping a hip against the counter, trying to shake off the adrenaline rioting in his veins. “I’m helping her.”

Three faces, filled with varying amounts of disbelief, stared back at him.

Mitch took a slug off his beer to keep the justifications at bay. Fuck ’em, he didn’t have to explain himself.

One dark brow rose up Charlie’s forehead. “Just remember what happened the last time you went after an unavailable woman.”

As if Mitch could forget. He spoke through gritted teeth. “It’s not like that.”

Charlie shrugged. “It’s close enough to be cousins.”

A hot poker of anger jabbed in his stomach. “It’s not remotely the same.”

“You have a thing for unavailable women,” Charlie said, his expression as flat as his tone. “And Maddie, as cute as she is, fits the bill.”

“I don’t have a thing for unavailable women,” Mitch insisted.

Charlie’s mouth firmed into a hard line. “Do I need to give you a list?”

A completely irrational, stubborn defiance had Mitch clenching his beer bottle hard enough to shatter. “I know who I’ve slept with, and this isn’t the same. Maddie’s not married.”

“A technicality,” Charlie said.

“I know what I’m doing.” What a joke. He didn’t have a clue.

Charlie put his own bottle down and rested his hand on the counter. “The last time you knew what you were doing, you went down in a blaze.”

The reminder was like an uppercut to the jaw. This wasn’t the same. Besides, he had nothing left to lose. He leveled Charlie with a hard-eyed stare. “Do you really want to start comparing fuck-ups?”

Their mutual history covered a lot of sordid ground.

“Hey,” Gracie said sharply before Charlie could answer. “Let’s not start rehashing the past. We like Maddie. We just don’t want to you to get hurt.”

“Don’t be dramatic. It’s a couple days.” How much damage could she do? It wasn’t like he was getting attached. He just wanted to keep her for a little while. Was that so wrong?

Sam sat forward, resting his elbows on the worn table. “Save your breath, he’s a goner.”

“I am not,” Mitch said. “And why is this any of your business?”

Charlie’s expression darkened, his mouth firming into a hard line.

Mitch ground out, “Leave it. Alone.”

Charlie gave him the look he used to intimidate criminals, and Mitch took a sip of beer with a laziness he didn’t even come close to feeling.

“Stop it,” Gracie said, poking her friend-with-benefits in the ribs.

“He’s being an idiot,” Charlie said, and the stubborn set of his jaw made Mitch want to take a swing at him.

He put down the bottle and cracked his knuckles. Actually, violence sounded damned good.

Gracie’s cupid-bow mouth pulled into a frown. “I think—”

“You know what you need?” Sam cut her off, using a low, soothing voice that acted like a salve, diffusing the tension. The strain in Mitch’s shoulders eased and his jaw relaxed as though the room itself had breathed a sigh of relief. Mitch had no idea how it worked, but he’d seen Sam stop more than one barroom brawl before the first punch had even been thrown.

“What?” Mitch asked, shifting his attention to Sam, lounging at the table.

“A game of pickup,” Sam said in his slow, drawling tone.

What. The. Fuck. How was that relevant? He had things to do. “This isn’t the time.”

Sam jutted his chin toward the door. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Now?” Mitch’s agitation once again started to climb.

“Yeah, now.” Sam stood, the chair scraping over the linoleum floor. He pointed at Charlie. “You too.”

Charlie shot Mitch an exasperated, “can you believe this guy?” look. Mitch shook his head, and despite his agitation, a grin tugged at his lips.

Sam stretched his arms above his head like a lazy cat. “I’m in the mood to kick your asses.”

“Good luck,” Charlie said. “Don’t cry too hard when we mess up that pretty face of yours.”

Mitch glanced once at the door and then to the stairs leading up to the bedroom where Maddie slept, before returning to his friends and following them out to the backyard.

 

 

Maddie was grateful and surprised that she’d slept. It had all been too much: bailing on her wedding, running away, the car, the credit card being reported stolen, and Mitch. Unable to process any more drama, her brain had finally shut down. After the deep, dreamless nap, she felt human again and ready to face whatever new challenges lay in front of her.

Plus, things weren’t completely dire.

She had clothes to wear. A toothbrush. A bra. She was pretty sure it was the alternator that had blown on her car, so with the cash advance she’d taken from the ATM at Target, she had enough money to cover the repairs. Of course, she didn’t have the funds to stay in a hotel, which left three options: stay with Mitch, call her friends for money, or go home.

In the end, the decision had been simple. He wanted her to stay. She wanted to stay. Wrong as it might be, there was something here. Something tugged at her, whispering to throw caution to the wind.

The question was, what? Was it that girl she used to be, long ignored, stirring up trouble, or something real? She wasn’t sure, but couldn’t deny that she wanted to find out.

On bare feet, she crept down the back stairs and into Mitch’s kitchen.

The room was empty. She scrounged through cabinets until she found a glass, then walked over to the kitchen sink and flipped on the faucet.

A picture window overlooked his idyllic backyard. It was so serene and perfect that she wanted to sit under the huge weeping willow tree forever. Her fingers twitched as a sudden desire to paint the scene burst inside her like a firework.

How odd. That was twice in one day.

She’d completed her last work of art a month before her father died. The graffiti mural on the side of a convenience store had earned her a fine and a hundred hours of community service. The owner of the store had pressed charges, but kept the abstract cityscape depicting Bridgeport. She’d complained at the injustice, but her father had told her sternly that she’d broken the law and now she had to pay.

Despite her sullen, teenage front, she used to walk by the mural on the way home from school so she could look at it. Secretly, she’d been proud. Her dad had been proud, too. About a week before he died, she’d found the pictures he’d taken of the mural, stuffed in the back of his desk drawer.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes at the memory and she brushed them away. Why did she keep thinking of him? Here, in all places?

She looked down. The glass overflowed, the cool water spilling onto her hand. She flipped off the water and spilled the excess liquid in the sink.

Out the window, movement caught her attention. She shifted and her breath caught at the scene before her.

Three shirtless men, their toned, sweat-slicked muscles gleaming in the early evening summer sun, played basketball in Mitch’s driveway.

Her throat dried up. Mitch, the sheriff, and the bartender from last night all clustered under the basket, pushing and shoving each other as they vied for the ball.

Mitch jumped up, tipping the ball away from Charlie and into Sam’s outstretched hands.

“They’re quite the sight, aren’t they?” a female voice asked behind her.

Maddie shrieked, whipping around.

Mitch’s blond cupcake of a neighbor stood framed in the open doorway, a crooked smile on her lips. “Sorry about that.”

“Gracie,” Maddie said, her pulse slowing back down to normal. “You scared me.”

“Did you have a good nap?” Gracie closed the back door, moving fully into the kitchen.

“Yeah, I did.” Maddie smoothed her mess of hair. She’d removed her ponytail before she’d laid down because her temples had started to ache from the weight, and she’d forgotten to tie it back again.

“Come outside; the view’s better.” Gracie wrinkled her nose. “Except for my brother. It’s not his fault we’re related so I try not to hold it against him.”

Maddie craned her neck, glancing back out the window. Sam bordered on pretty, with those blond California surfer looks, as she suspected his sister knew full well. Still, Maddie could sympathize. “Oh, I hear you there. You have no idea how many conversations I’ve had to endure over the years about my brothers. Annoying, isn’t it?”

“Immensely.” Gracie winked. “Good thing Mitch caught you first so I don’t have to worry about any gushing.”

Mitch ran down the length of the driveway, his movements graceful and lithe. Even sweat-soaked, with his hair a mess, he was unbelievable.

Maddie didn’t know what to say. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and shrugged. “He’s certainly something to look at. The sheriff isn’t bad either.” An extreme understatement.

“He rocks between the sheets, too.” Gracie grinned as widely as a Cheshire cat.

Maddie burst out laughing. “Ah, you’re not a saint after all. I was wondering.”

Gracie gestured toward the window with a dismissive sweep. “Yeah, well, Mitch and I have been friends since I was about six and he was eight. He spent a month up here every summer while his grandparents were alive. Mitch and his sister, Cecilia, were summer staples.” She propped one jean-clad hip against the counter and placed her palms on the laminate, thrusting out a pair of breasts so magnificent that Maddie couldn’t help the stir of envy. On the smaller side of a B-cup, Maddie only dreamed of filling out a T-shirt that well.

Gracie’s head cocked to the side and a curl flopped over one eye. “I’ll admit, when I was fifteen I developed a mad crush on Mitch for about fifteen minutes. We were hormonal teens and he was different from the boys I’d known since kindergarten, being from the big city and all. We spent a few weeks circling each other, flirting shamelessly, before breaking down and engaging in a hot-and-heavy make-out session. He was an awesome kisser, but after all the tension broke it didn’t feel right, so we high-fived and called it friends.”

The confession brought back the memory of Maddie’s own, frantic, knock-you-on-your-ass kiss with Mitch earlier that afternoon. Except in her case it had felt all too right. Dangerously right. Maddie said, keeping her tone casual, “You’re only human. And it looks like you did all right in the end.”

Gracie glanced toward a side window that provided a much better view of the men than the one Maddie had been looking out of. “Yeah, I guess. Charlie’s great, and we suit each other’s needs, but we’re not together, together. You know?”

Maddie had no idea, but nodded anyway.

Gracie gave a wry chuckle, shaking her head. “It’s complicated.”

Not wanting to press, Maddie said, “Isn’t it always?”

“Yep.” Gracie gave one more passing glance toward the window, an odd expression crossing over her face before returning her attention back to Maddie. “How are you doing, by the way? Mitch told us about your troubles. I hope you don’t mind, but he asked Charlie to see if he could find anything out.”

“Charlie doesn’t have to do that.” Shane had friends everywhere and Maddie didn’t want to take any chances at Charlie’s inquiry tipping her brother off to her whereabouts. “Actually, I’d prefer if he didn’t.”