Blindsided (bad conversion)

Chapter 1 Lost. She was definitely lost. Chelsea didn’t even know which road she was on, never mind which road she should be looking for. And if that didn’t clinch it, the gnawing in the pit of her stomach confirmed it. She didn’t care. She kept driving. Being lost beat the feelings she knew would overwhelm her if she stopped. She had been dealing with those for the past month. Now, even lost and exhausted, she was in control. Control kept the panic at bay. Freedom was worth a tight gut and a little uncertainty. Tony’s condo was too cramped and empty days allowed too many memories to fly around her head. She missed the joy of waking up in a new place every day. This medically required sabbatical might do more harm than good, she thought bitterly. With an effort, she pushed the events of the past month, or what her mother referred to as The Australian Incident, out of her mind. The old wipers were ineffective against the rain and even seeing the road was a challenge. Bopping her head in time with the music, Chelsea turned up the radio to block out a new knocking noise coming from the engine. After a decade with the old VW, she’d learned to block out all manner of clunks and clanks.

Her happiness evaporated when she noticed thick white smoke in her rear view mirror. “What the hell?” she said as the Rabbit slowed to a crawl. Heart racing, Chelsea steered the car to the shoulder of the road before it completely lost momentum. Chelsea turned down the radio and tried to catch her breath, willing her heart to stop thumping painfully against her breastbone. The car died with a pitiful shudder when she turned the ignition off. Poor Bunny. After a few minutes of listening to the rain pummel the rag top, Chelsea felt calm enough to handle her problem. She dragged her purse onto her lap and started digging through the varied and jumbled contents, searching for her cell phone, finally finding it under her lip gloss and day planner. The screen of the cell phone displayed a phone icon with a red line through it. No service. How the hell could it not have service, she wondered. She had used this phone to arrange a baby shower while hiking the Inca Trail. It had worked 12,000 feet up in the thin air of Peru and now it wouldn’t work a hundred miles from Seattle. What kind of service was that? Compressing the scream she wanted to let out into a frustrated cross between a whimper and a growl, Chelsea tossed the phone back in the direction of the detritus littering the passenger seat. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, trying to cover her panic with the in-charge feeling she had when traveling.

Toss Chelsea into a no name Indonesian village where no one spoke English and she was the most confident woman she knew, but send her into a coffee shop to order a latte and she was so insecure she almost wet her pants. I’m a nut job, she thought. I should not be traumatized by my car breaking down. “You can handle this,” she said to aloud, “Pretend you’re in Tibet.” Good idea. The near constant news coverage of horrors made it seem like a mass murderer lurked behind every shrub. What she saw on TV while soaking up liquids through an IV made her even more terrified. The sensationalism reminded her of things she would rather just ignore. She had quickly learned to just stick with makeover shows and cartoons. Armed with the lie of being in a foreign country, Chelsea got out of the car. The driving rain almost immediately soaked her to the skin. Swearing under her breath, she leaned down to open the hood. Thin, acrid smoke greeted her and she stumbled back a step to avoid the smell and heat. Holding her wet sweater over her mouth, she stepped forward and stared down at the boggling array of metal and hoses. What had she thought she was going to do with the hood open? Though Tony had spent his teenage years buying junk cars and rebuilding them into street racing monsters, she hadn’t so much as peeked under the hood since her brother had shooed her away from his dangerously souped-up Camaro when she was 12.

Besides, she reminded herself, the smoke had been coming mostly from the back. She let go of the hood and it shut with a bang. A trip to the back told her the smoke was coming from the tailpipe. Even with the engine off, it billowed out in greasy clouds. Crawling under the car to inspect was definitely out, so now what? Pulling her hair into a bun and securing it with a pen, Chelsea glanced at the road with concern. She wasn’t stopped in a very good spot. A car coming around the bend even a little over the white line would cream her. Which meant her options were… what? Stand here and be roadkill? No thanks. Sit in the car and wait to be found? Probably by some family in a minivan, but she couldn’t get past the image of a hairy trucker with bad things on his mind. Her slim jeans and fitted white sweater could hardly be termed provocative, but she was soaked to the skin. Imagination was no longer necessary to see what the sweater covered. Her best option was to try to find a house and a nice person to let her use their phone. People who owned houses were more responsible, upstanding member of the community, not psycho killers, right? Peering through the rain, Chelsea thought she could make out a driveway a little way up the road. Leaning into the car, she tossed her stuff back into her purse and gave the ignition one last try. It yielded only a grinding noise that made her cringe. Patting Bunny’s dashboard, she said, “It’s okay baby, I’ll get help.” The driveway was well kept and surrounded by hedges. No house was visible, but it was a relief just to be

off the road and away from roadkill-making traffic. Rain dripped down her face and every few steps she had to wipe her eyes so she could see. Her legs still felt like lead, lacking the energy to move very fast, but her desire to be dry pushed her on. After a short walk, Chelsea caught sight of a house, or more accurately, a cottage tucked in a large clearing in the trees. Stone faced with a steeply pitched roof, it wouldn’t have looked out of place in England. Given the similar climates of England and the Pacific Northwest, it fit in equally well here. Gardens and a well kept lawn surrounded the house, enhancing the British countryside illusion. Even without the sun to highlight them, the gardens were lovely. Reds and oranges blazed away in a bed at one side of the house, while a patch of beautiful, silvery blue flowers lined the walkway. The smell of wet earth mixed with the flower scents to create a heady mix. Chelsea felt the tension that had accumulated in her back and neck drain away, leaving only her usual low grade uneasiness. Clearly this house was owned by someone who cared about it. No one who cared that much about a house and flowers could be the much feared psycho killer. In fact, it was probably the house of an older lady who would offer her tea and cookies. Chelsea could imagine herself looking at pictures of grandchildren while she waited for Tony to make the two hour drive from Seattle to come pick her up. Confident in her safety, Chelsea all but sauntered the rest of the way up the walk. ###

Oh, hell no. Nate stood at the window, watching a woman stride up the walk. The walk that lead to his peaceful retreat where no one knew who he was. He put up with autograph hunters and groupies wanting into his bed at his house in LA. He damn well wasn’t going to start dealing with that shit here. Even if they looked like this one. He’d grown used to a certain type of woman in his 15 years in the music business. This woman looked completely different. Even at this distance, he could see a spark in her eyes that none of those groupies had ever had. A spark that meant she was more than just an easy lay. She was also completely dressed, though her wet top hugged her curves and did more than hint at the pink bra beneath. But that wasn’t the point. The point was, she was walking towards his damn house. It was a nice walk, he noticed. Not all vampy and swivelly, just confident. Hotness aside, she was exactly what he didn’t need to see. She didn’t belong here. No one belonged here but him. Other than his housekeeper, Nate kept everyone out. His bandmates called it anti-social. He called it being an adult. Just because he could sleep with 18 year olds for the rest of his life didn’t make it any less creepy. Nate took a last sip of his coffee and stubbed out his cigarette before heading to the door. He had to head her off before she could get to the door of his sanctuary. Long dormant parts of him were stirring and itching to get closer to those curves, but he’d just have to ignore that. Giving into those desires just wasn’t worth it. ###

Chelsea didn’t even get a chance to knock. When she was two steps from the door, it swung open to reveal a man blocking the doorway with his massive body. She went dead still, both afraid of and surprised by the man who opened the door. If there was a person less like the gray-haired grandma she had expected, she didn’t want to meet him. He was shirtless, nearly completely tattooed and surly looking. Jet black hair tousled in unruly waves around his head and muscles rippled beneath his inked skin. He was tall, well over six feet, and broad across the shoulders. Haunted gray eyes, well defined cheekbones and a shadow of stubble made him nearly perfect looking, if you went for the delectable dangerous type. The decidedly angry set of his mouth told her he wasn’t happy to see her. Why she would produce this much ire and angst in someone she’d never met was beyond her. Twin desires overwhelmed Chelsea into inaction. Run away, or run her hands over his chiseled chest? Running away was out. The houses out here were few and far between and she had been lucky to find this one. Besides, she was soaking and cold from her walk up his long driveway. She couldn’t bear the thought of heading back to search for another house, another phone that may never materialize. Jumping on him and fondling him seemed a just a bit too forward. Which left the adult thing to do. Mustering up all her courage, she drew herself up to her full five feet five inches and looked straight at him. She was about to forcefully yet

politely ask to use the phone when he raised one eyebrow and sneered at her. Well, that simultaneously killed her courage and lit her fire.

He’s just our type. Forget about the phone, let’s get him in bed, a horny little voice in her head whispered. He’s not my type, Chelsea thought fiercely. Not at all, not anymore. We are through with tattooed gods with troubled pasts. Done, done, and more done. By the looks of him, he had one hell of a past, one that he maybe hadn’t quite put behind him. He was older than her, but the intelligence in his eyes made him even more dangerously attractive. The man was still glaring at her, utterly silent. Okay, he clearly wasn’t going to help her out. He could say something. Like, hello. Jerk. Time to be an adult again. “Hi,” she said, “My name is Chelsea Spencer. My car broke down and I was hoping I could use your phone. And maybe come in out of the rain for a minute or two.” Chelsea ended her request with a bright smile that usually softened even the hardest, angriest men. She had used it on an honest-to-God head hunter. Since her head wasn’t shrunken and on a stake in some remote area of the world, she knew the smile was magic. She did her best to ignore her wayward libido and focus on the task at hand. Why couldn’t her libido be happy with nice men? Men whose idea of a good time didn’t involve bar brawls and motorcycles. “Uh huh, sure sweetheart. Your car broke down, or maybe you’re looking for your sweet old granny who lives

somewhere near here and you’re lost. Or, oh, I know, you need to borrow a cup of fucking sugar!” His voice sank to a throaty growl near the end of his sentence and Chelsea took an instinctive step away from him and his anger. Confusion battled with fear within Chelsea and was quickly trounced. Chelsea realized with a flip of her stomach that he might be completely unhinged. He certainly sounded like it. Suddenly, walking to find another house didn’t seem so bad. Hell, at this point, getting run over by a Mack truck didn’t seem so bad. But something held Chelsea back from just walking away and looking for another house. Yeah, he’s soooo hot, her libido chimed in. Her body agreed, her wet skin tingling in misguided anticipation. No, it was more than that. His eyes looked guarded, yes, but not crazy. He was mad, but the angry kind, not the requires-medication-and-observation kind. He was fed up. With what, Chelsea hadn’t a clue, but he was definitely fed up. “Um, ok,” Chelsea said as she lowered her arm back to her side. He wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries. “I really just need to use your phone, and then I’ll just go back to my car to wait for my ride. Or, I could give you the phone number and let you call, if you don’t want to let me in your house.” Maybe he didn’t want to let her in for pragmatic reasons. She knew it was a safety precaution to not let people in to use the phone. But what did this man with muscles everywhere have to fear from a woman half his

size? A kick in the shins? “Look, sweetheart,” he said as leaned against the door frame, “Why don’t you just tell me why you’re really here. If you just want an autograph and promise not to tell anyone where you found me, fine. Anything else and you can forget it.” Suddenly, his body sagged, his eyes closed and he looked like he just wanted to sleep for a week. His anger dissipated, as if he lacked the energy to sustain it. Unfortunately, the change didn’t make him any less attractive. The slight vulnerability just made her want to stroke his face, ease the tension in his jaw line. Before Chelsea had time to ponder this fantasy any further, he resumed his glowering. If she wasn’t mistaken, he growled at her. Squelching the urge to shake him, Chelsea took a deep breath. All she wanted to do was use his goddamn phone and he was babbling about autographs and having mood swings. Who did he think he was? Ok, so she didn’t spend too much time in this country and was a little behind on current movies. If he were really famous wouldn’t she at least feel that faint glimmer of familiarity? She wasn’t sure how to get through to him. If only she had paid more attention to her psych professor’s lecture about delusions of grandeur. “Ok, look. For the last time, I’m not here to get an autograph or anything else,” she said in her calmest ‘I’mnot-here-to-hurt-you’ voice. “I just need to use your phone to call my brother. I need to get my car towed and get back to

the city. Ok?” While she spoke, she started edging around him to get nearer the door. She wasn’t above darting in and grabbing the phone before he could catch her. What kind of man would physically evict a helpless woman from his home? He looked her in the face with startling frankness, and even though he moved his body to block her entrance, his face softened. Well, that was a start. “Nate Stone,” he said, with a resigned sigh. Chelsea shook his offered hand and smiled. “As if you didn’t already know,” he added with a subtle roll of his eyes. Well, I know you’re a freak, Chelsea wanted to scream. She managed to keep it to herself, but only just. She was willing to ignore his overwhelming strangeness if he would just let her use his freaking phone. With another beleaguered sigh he ushered her into a huge kitchen complete with custom appliances and fresh flowers. At least all this weirdness was keeping her distracted from her anxiety. ### Nate was pretty sure he’d lost his frigging mind. It was against all his better instincts. They had locked eyes out there in the rain and he’d melted, just a little bit. Apparently, a little bit was enough to make him an idiot. Sure, her eyes were a beautiful mossy green and her face was honest. Those were bad reasons to let his guard down. Still, it was possible that her car had broken down. And, more remarkable to his ego, it was possible she had

no idea who he was. He told himself that her open face was the reason he’d relented and let her in. Had the fact that he could see her hard nipples through her wet sweater influenced him at all? Well, that too, he admitted. He found himself looking at her little round ass as she dialed the phone, but there was more to it than that. He had given up sex for sex’s sake and no one was going to make him forget it, least of all himself. He grabbed another cigarette and lit it, hoping the distraction would break his eyes away from her backside. He managed to at least move his eyes up, to the white skin on the back of her neck, but that was as far as he got. Ah well. He took a drag and continued staring. He had never promised himself he couldn’t look at a woman, especially one who was standing soaking wet in his kitchen. She’d look better naked, he thought before he could stop himself. Yeah, well forget about it, not happening. He let his eyes drop back to her ass all the same. It would be a waste not to. She turned back to him and he managed to drag his eyes up to eye level before she saw where he’d been looking. Looking was one thing, getting caught was another. She looked nervous and uncertain for the first time since she had drawn herself up full height out front. It had been an adorable maneuver, as if any of her extra height gained by straightening up would close the foot between their heights. It had been obvious he scared her. Hell, he was

intimidating enough to other men, never mind a small woman with a broken car. And that was exactly what she had acted like; a woman with a broken car looking for help, not some groupie looking for a little action and coming up with a lame cover story. She hadn’t giggled while she tried to keep her details straight, hadn’t looked away to cover her lie. Either she was a really good actress or she was telling the truth. “Um, I can’t get in touch with my brother,” she said, “So, uh, I guess I’ll just go back to my car.” Her hands fussed with the bottom of her sweater and she chewed on her bottom lip. He almost offered to do it for her. What the hell was wrong with him? Now was not the time to revert to horny teenager. She looked so lost, so confused, that Nate wondered if it was really all because she couldn’t get in touch with her brother. Why he should give a shit was beyond him, but he did. For one instant, he wanted to pull her to him and tell her everything would be ok. Nothing like a vulnerable woman to bring out the stupidity in a man. A moment later, the look was gone, replaced by a confident look he was pretty sure she pulled on like a mask with a force of will. He had to admit it, he was intrigued. Wonderful. “You don’t have anyone else to call?” he asked while he stubbed out his cigarette and blew the last of the smoke off to the side. There had to be a boyfriend, or a husband, or someone, didn’t there? Women like this were not single.

Nor were they for guys like him, he thought with a stab of jealousy and aimless anger. This was getting worse every damn second. “No. My brother’s the only person I know around here.” He nodded. If he had an ounce of sense left in his head, he would let her walk out his door, into the rain and out of his life. She would get a tow truck or whatever she needed and be out of his sanctuary. But he wasn’t going to do that. Nope, he was going to go and be nice. Why? Because of that damn look of confusion and helplessness on her face and the way she hid it. She would sit in her car all night, and he’d be awake thinking about her. If anything happened to her, he’d would hate himself forever. Or, worse, he’d end up out there at three in the morning, trying to figure out how to help her. Better to just do it now and get it over with. So instead of saying, so long, see you later, he said, “Maybe I can take a look at it. I’m pretty good with cars.” Her uncertainty showed up again, but then she realized her back was up against a wall as far as her car was concerned. All this passed over her face in an instant. This woman could hide nothing. She really had no idea who he was. That made a difference. A small one, but enough to ease his defenses a bit. “Ok, um, if you don’t mind,” she said, “It looks like the rain has let up. Maybe we should go now.” Nate looked out the window, surprised to see the rain had stopped. He had been paying so much attention to

her ass that he hadn’t noticed the weather change. It wasn’t sunny by any standards, but it was less soggy and the sky looked vaguely blue. Well, a dark gray that suggested blue to the optimistic viewer, but it was as close as they were liable to get. He grabbed his shirt from a nearby chair and pulled it on over his head. “I don’t mind,” he responded, committing himself before he could think better of it, “Let’s go.” ### Chelsea’s horny little voice insisted on interjecting as they walked back out to the road. Wanna go in the

woods? How about we hit the backseat when we get there? So far, she’d managed to keep these suggestions to herself. He was, as she kept reminding herself, a bad boy, and bad boys no longer held anything for her. Sure the sex made you look ten years younger, but the crying gave you wrinkles, so it was a wash when it came to including them in part of your beauty regimen. “What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” she asked, then immediately wished she hadn’t. She could have been more cheesy, more nosy if she’d put some effort into it, but it would have been hard. Her cheeks burned up and she was glad that the air was cool and crisp now that the rain had gone. The solid wall of clouds was slowly dissipating, allowing patches of actual sky to show through. In the month she had been staying in Seattle with her brother, Chelsea had almost forgotten that the sky was blue.

Nate raised his eyebrows. Whether he didn’t quite understand what she was asking, or he couldn’t believe that she had asked something so utterly ridiculous was unclear. “What exactly do you mean by that?” he asked. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a battered pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out and had it lit in a series of practiced, fluid movements. Great, he was graceful, too. Chelsea grabbed his hand before he could get his hand back in his pocket. A jolt of electricity shot through her when their skin met. His was hot to the touch, the flesh beneath it hard and sinewy. “Could I have one,” she asked, “Please?” She was suddenly desperate for a smoke, flustered as much by what passed between them as by her stupid question. He glanced back and forth between her hand on his wrist and her face. There was a hint of glare in his blue eyes, but it was covering something much hotter. Was his gruffness hiding lust? That jolt was too strong to have been one sided. He stared at her a few seconds longer, appraising her. She suddenly felt naked and didn’t mind a bit. “Sure,” he said finally. He retrieved a cigarette, and to Chelsea’s surprise, leaned closer and put it between her lips and lit it with a strange tenderness. The scent of him surrounded her. Struggling not to close her eyes and breathe him in, Chelsea looked at the ground. She tried not to think about lying under him, burying her nose in his neck and smelling

the musky, earthy smell emanating from him. It didn’t work. She’d always had a damnably vivid imagination. He backed away from her and for a moment she thought she’d embarrass herself completely and follow him, lean her head against his hard chest… Enough, she chastised herself, forcing herself to focus on something besides the heat radiating from him. She tried to focus on the fact that it was very possible he was crazy. What other explanation was there for his insistence that she was there not to use the phone, but to get an autograph? “You didn’t answer my question. What do you mean by a guy like me and a place like this?” His look was stern, just bordering on angry, but the emotion didn’t mar his features. His words gave Chelsea the jerk back to reality she needed just the same. “Well,” Chelsea started, deciding to just go on the offensive, “You can’t tell me you don’t know it’s a little odd to find a large, tattooed man in a little country cottage with beautiful gardens. Walking up the driveway, I swore I was in for tea and cookies with a grandma. Then you appeared.” She gestured wildly with her hand, taking in Nate Stone in all his ungranny-ish glory. For a second Chelsea thought she had gone too far and ruined her chances of getting her car fixed, but then the glowering look on Nate’s face morphed into a grin. It was a street sexy, lopsided affair that made him look more mischievous than happy. Chelsea’s heart flopped in her ribcage, the glint of teasing promise stealing her breath. She swallowed hard and tried to ignore the fizzing hot feeling in her veins. A fizzing hot

feeling that had a very distinct center between her legs. He was attractive enough when he was glowering, but the disarming, boyish grin that flaunted his dangerous charm while suggesting hidden sweetness was brutal. It was the bad boy’s secret weapon and it did her in. She had fallen for it countless times and she had learned her lesson, finally. The grin was an act of war. “Yeah,” he said slowly, seduction dripping from the damn grin, “I guess I know that. But not many people know I’m here. In fact, only about 5 people know about this place. If you must know, I like to garden. It relaxes me.” He leaned forward again, enveloping her in the sweetness of being let in on a secret. The revelation of a bad boy’s soft side. Oh, he was good. “Oh,” Chelsea said, a little dumbstruck. He gardened? The fact that his grin had sent most of her blood far from her head did not help her ability to think or create a valid response to his words. After struggling through what felt like a thick haze, Chelsea managed to put her thoughts back together and force some of her blood back to her head. She accomplished this mostly by looking at the gravel, rather than at Nate’s face. “Do you have a stressful job?” Chelsea asked finally. This was safe ground, something she could relate to that would perhaps take her mind off of Nate’s smile – and the fine ass showcased in his jeans. She had all but written the book on stressful jobs. To hear her mother tell it, her job had nearly killed her. What her mother didn’t know was that

Chelsea very nearly died on almost every one of her trips. Death was no longer a mysterious, vague shape to Chelsea. He was more of a seat mate and she’d grown used to the idea. Odd food, sketchy airplanes that had seen little in the way of maintenance and the constant threat of warring peoples met Chelsea everywhere she went and fully occupied her mind. God, she missed her job. Nate laughed, sputtering smoke out and making a face. “You could say that,” he said, that grin relighting his face as he regained his breath. “What do you do?” Chelsea asked. “You really don’t know who I am, do you?” Nate asked. He looked at Chelsea in disbelief. Either he was crazy, or Nate was famous in enough to expect everyone would recognize him. Politics? If that’s what’s running for

office these days, we have been out of the country waaaay too long, the little voice said. She’d already discarded the idea that he was a movie star. “I really don’t know,” Chelsea replied after studying him some more and drawing a blank on his face. “Have you ever heard of the band Blindside?” “Um, not really. I mean, sort of. The name isn’t totally unfamiliar, I guess.” “Oh, I’m flattered,” Nate said. He tried to sound hurt, but he was still smiling. “What does that have to do with anything?” Chelsea asked.

“I’m the singer and guitarist,” he said, “We’re pretty popular.” Of course, of frigging course, Chelsea thought. He was a fucking rock star. King of all bad boys, outranking the bikers, the fighters, and all the other subgenres. Musicians were doubly dangerous. Besides the alluring danger of the tough guy image, they had the whole tortured artist thing going for them. Their art gave you a glimpse of a sensitive side that never quite materialized in real life. What woman could resist a hurt, broken man who probably just needed a little love? Musicians were like poets with sexy attitudes and colorful pasts, and Nate wasn’t just any musician. He was a famous one, a rock star. Chelsea had enough musicians in her past to know all about Nate and his type. No wonder her libido was out of control. She mentally rolled her eyes and slapped her forehead. Why couldn’t her car have broken down in front of an investment banker’s house? Then she could have just called her brother and gone on her merry little way without her body heating up and thinking about doing things she had been abstaining from. The fact that her libido had developed into a little voice in her head made her wonder if the damn Australian Incident had long lasting consequences or if her abstinence had just been too long. Chelsea couldn’t think of a thing to say. She was too busy trying desperately to squash both her desire to run and her desire to drag him into the woods and take off his pants and, well, enough said there, really. She started walking again, quickly, to try to get all this over with as soon

as possible. “I can see how that must be stressful. Touring, and interviews, I guess, and trashing hotel rooms. That’s probably quite, um, taxing,” she said finally. She tried to keep her tone light to hide her fear. She was fairly certain that rock stars, like Rottweilers, could smell fear. Then they’d exploit it and seduce you right out of your underwear, your common sense and your heart. “I don’t spend a lot of time in the States,” Chelsea said feeling that she had to explain why she didn’t recognize him, “I’m not that current when it comes to bands, or movies or anything else really. My friends say I’m a pop culture vacuum.” Great, she was babbling. “We’re popular all over Europe,” Nate said helpfully. He was still grinning. What was it with this guy and his unstoppable grin? It made his eyes sparkle and her feel like a puddle of heat. It was all she could do not to fan herself. “Oh, well, I tend to filter out the stuff that comes from America, you know? So I get an idea of local culture and ideas,” she said vehemently. Yes, talk about work. Work will put the sexy man into perspective. Nate stared back at her blankly. “Any reason you’re so adamant about avoiding American stuff?” Nate asked finally. They had almost arrived at the end of the driveway and Chelsea was relieved to be one step closer to getting

away from him and his smell, his smile, his eyes... Just everything, really. “I’m a travel writer,” Chelsea explained, “I write for a few different magazines and contribute to a lot of travel guides. There’s no point in reporting back about MTV on German television or that you can still be assured of getting McDonald’s in every major city.” “I’ve seen MTV in German,” Nate said with a laugh. “It’s kind of disorienting.” Chelsea nodded in agreement. She knew firsthand just how disorienting. She wondered if his experience involved large mugs of beer and a man named Bittan. “So, why aren’t you off in some exotic locale right now?” Nate asked. Chelsea felt her face flush. She hadn’t expected to have to answer such a blunt question. The answer still made her queasy. “I’m, um. Uh, I’m taking a little break. For a few weeks.” Eight was a few. “Well, I’m a little jealous that you actually see local culture when you travel. The older I get, the more I wish we had time for that. It doesn’t really feel like traveling the world when all you see is concert halls and hotel rooms.” “Which you trash,” Chelsea said, smiling to let him know she was kidding. She was worried he was going to think she had no sense of humor. “Of course. It’s actually the law in some countries. Though lately I’ve been hiring other people to do it for me. It’s a perk of getting famous,” Nate said with another dangerous grin.

That grin would be the death of her, she thought. That and his big, toned chest and long legs. “What the hell is that thing?” Nate asked with a sudden grimace.

Chapter 2 Chelsea jumped, alarmed by the prospect of encountering something that would scare a man like Nate. Following the direction of his finger, all she saw was Bunny. Nate seemed to be trying to decide whether to laugh or scream in horror. That got her hackles up and for a moment she almost didn’t notice the way his eyes glittered with amusement. Almost. “What do you mean what the hell is it? It’s a car. A VW Rabbit, to be precise. Her name is Bunny,” she added and then immediately wished she hadn’t. No one really needed to know she had named her car, and uncreatively at that. “You drive a primer gray nineteen seventy-five Rabbit named Bunny?” The look he gave her was equal parts amusement and incredulity. It filled her with equal parts rage and lust. He pissed her off and turned her on simultaneously. It wasn’t a nice feeling, but it was annoyingly addictive nonetheless.

“It’s a nineteen eighty,” Chelsea said hotly. “And I have to, um, get it painted.” Her anger guttered out. Bunny was old and she hadn’t been good about keeping up on the maintenance. Looking at her through Nate’s eyes, she could see poor Bunny was in sad shape. Just the same, she loved that damn car and she’d take enough crap from Tony about it for the past 12 years. He’d always tried foisting his old cars off on her, but nothing would budge her loyalty to Bunny. If her brother couldn’t do it, then a stranger with way too many tattoos didn’t have a chance in hell. She and Bunny had been through a lot together. “It’s a good car. I’ve had it a long time.” Nate snorted. “Whatever, babe. It’s not in good shape,” he said. They had reached Bunny and he surveyed the car with a look of disdain on his face. “Well no shit!” Chelsea said more loudly than she had intended, “It’s broken, isn’t it? And don’t call me babe, or sweetheart, or any other little pet name you might come up with. You barely know me.” And she needed to remind herself that she wasn’t his babe, his sweetheart. It was all too easy to fall into that trap. If you let them, guys like this would have you doing all sorts of things for them and you’d be thinking they cared about you. Then everything would fall apart and they’d make it clear that their priorities would always be themselves. Chelsea was too old and too experienced to fall for the grin and pet names. She just had to make sure her mind kept

her body in check. “Sorry, Ms. Spencer,” Nate said with a sneer. His smile fell off his face. “But this car is older than you are.” “No it’s not. I’m two years older.” And right about now she sounded like she was about two years old, period. She quickly removed her hands from her hips. The stance smacked of a child about to have a tantrum and she felt unbalanced enough by Nate as it was. Feeling like a child would only make matters worse. “Oh, my apologies. The point is, it hasn’t been taken care of. These things can live forever, but this one’s trashed. It needs a lot of work. What have you done to this thing? Babe,” he finished. Despite his obvious challenge, he was looking at her differently. His eyes were softer, his guard lowered, if only a little. She felt herself softening in response. Deciding to pick her battles, she let the pet name go. What was the harm in a little friendly conversation? He’d look at her car, eventually Tony would answer his phone and she’d leave. They would never see each other again, so why be so wary? This could be a pleasant afternoon of ogling and conversation, or one of heated arguments and pointless rage. The fact that her libido wanted to have a go at him didn’t give her the right to be rude. “Sorry,” she said, with a resigned sigh “I’m a little touchy about it. And I never get around to getting all the maintenance done, since I’m not really around much. It’s in pretty bad shape. But my brother gives me shit about it all

the time and I’m sick of hearing it.” Nate had popped the hood and was getting ready to lift it when a truck came roaring around the corner, splashing a puddle up and over both Bunny and Nate. For a split second, Chelsea thought the truck was even closer than it had been. She was in the act of leaping forward to warn Nate when she realized the danger was gone, the truck zooming out of sight. Nate looked up at her and raised an eyebrow, water dripping from his hair and eyelashes and running down the planes of his face. Chelsea tried desperately to crush images of herself gently kissing his eyelids, his face. Bad train of thought. Best to derail it right away, before it rushed into even more dangerous territory. She felt her face flush with heat as her body kept going down the track, full speed ahead. His tight shirt was soaking wet and clinging to the hard, muscular planes. She would run her fingers over his hard chest, get him out of the wet cotton. Letting her mouth trail over his chest, she’d feel warm moist skin under her lips. The truck had either done her a huge favor or gotten her into a lot of trouble. Probably both. Her vivid imagination had Nate naked and kissing her hard in less than thirty seconds. “How about we get this into the driveway and then worry about what’s wrong with it?” he said. He was looking at her with suspicion and amusement. With a sinking feeling, Chelsea realized he had seen the basic idea of her thoughts written all over her face. She blushed even more and grasped desperately on the last thing he had said.

“How are we going to do that? It doesn’t start. I tried.” It had taken her a moment to pull herself back to reality and away from her fantasies. She had gotten herself worked up, and she was glad that she was a woman. At least her arousal, though obvious to her, couldn’t be seen. “You steer, I’ll push,” Nate said. “You’ll be able to push it all on your own?” Chelsea asked not moving. “Bay – uh, I mean, Chelsea, it’ll be easy. Just put it in neutral and steer, ok?” Chelsea shrugged and got in. “This is never going to work,” she muttered to herself as she put the car into neutral. To her surprise, the car started moving with very little effort from Nate. She watched him through the rear view mirror and was surprised to see he wasn’t even breaking a sweat. He simply leaned nonchalantly against the back of Bunny, who rolled forward obligingly. Of course, Bunny rolled over for him, Chelsea thought. She was a girl and he was by far the sexiest man either she or Bunny had seen in a long time. She used the time to study the way Nate’s muscles moved under his skin, the slight bunching and rolling of his biceps as he pushed the car. Luckily, she remembered to steer into the driveway. Nate disappeared from Chelsea’s appreciative gaze before materializing in the seat beside her. “Just keep driving. It’ll be slow, but the driveway’s downhill all the way to the house,” he said as he tried to get comfortable in the passenger seat. His legs were so long it was nearly impossible. He

finally managed to give himself a little more room by lounging diagonally across the car. His head was only a few inches from hers and Chelsea felt her heartbeat kick up in response. He smelled musky, earthy and so very masculine. Either she was crazy, or heat was rolling off his skin. For just a moment she let herself become lost in his spicy scent, letting her eyelids lower slightly in ecstasy. It had been so long since she had been this close to a man. Did they all smell like this and she had forgotten? Realizing she was drifting away from reality again, she forced herself to assert some self control and leaned away from him, from his heat. He was as bad as they came and she had no intention of falling for him, regardless of his intoxicating smell. With looks, fame and charm, he probably had women falling over themselves trying to get into his bed, but she would not be one of them. Nosirree. She had stopped being a glutton for that particular brand of punishment. Why was it becoming so hard to remember that? Bunny lumbered along over the gravel, creating a slowmoving cocoon. Insulated from the rest of the world, their breathing mingled, the effect rhythmic and sensual. Chelsea shivered, suddenly very aware of her see-through sweater and damp skin. Unable to help herself, she looked over at Nate. He was looking at her intently, as if trying to decide or decipher something. His blue eyes were dilated and shining with inner heat. Chelsea’s breath hitched in her throat as his eyes roved over her body. There was something vaguely

possessive about his look. He wasn’t bothering to hide what was on his mind. “What?” she asked. ### She pushed a strand of the coppery hair back behind her ear and Nate swallowed hard. It was killing him not to reach over and do it for her, to slide his hand into her hair. To grab the back of her neck and pull her across this rat trap of a car and pull her lower lip into his mouth. And that was just the opening act. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked. Her voice had grown husky, her breasts rising and falling unevenly as her breathing grew ragged. Her face showed her struggle to keep herself under control, but her body was unmistakably aroused. Nipples pushed through the wet fabric, and she unconsciously wiggled her bottom against the seat. Despite the world’s worst poker face, she was keeping some part of herself hidden away. He wanted to find it, wanted to know everything she was hiding. Right now, he’d settle for uncovering the curves hidden underneath her clothes. Earlier, when she had grabbed his wrist, he had felt like he was being branded. Her soft skin on his had been electrifying. The heat in her gaze had told him all he needed to know. Whether she felt any of the emotional connection he could see building, she wanted him. The fact that she wanted him and wasn’t a fawning groupie was gratifying. It was nice to be a man, not some bullshit idol. “No reason,” he said.

He turned his head to look out the window, trying to get himself back under control. Visions of putting the car in park and hauling her into the minute back seat raced through his head. They were visceral. He could practically feel the damp skin under his hands, her hard nipples against his tongue. He could almost hear her moans as she dissolved with pleasure in his arms. Good Christ, he thought, get a grip. But the fantasy wouldn’t let go. His imagination had been reined in too long when it came to sex. Now that it had broken loose, it galloped toward the finish line. All too quickly, his mind had him easing her jeans down those slim hips, imagining her underwear. Was she the type of girl to wear a thong, or did she go for basic, cotton underwear? It didn’t frigging matter. On her lush body, a girdle would look erotic. Okay, time to calm himself down before he got any more erect. His woody was already uncomfortable in his pants. He didn’t need it trying to shove itself out into the world. Especially when he his mind had no intention of letting it get its way. Afraid to look at her again, Nate glanced around the interior of the car. As a diversionary tactic, it didn’t work very well. Sure, it distracted him from her body, her utterly feminine scent, but it brought out his protective instincts. How could she drive this thing? It was no wonder her brother gave her shit. It was ready to fall apart. The floor under his feet felt mushy, never a good sign, and the upholstery was torn to hell.

The rear view mirror was attached to the windshield with duct tape had to impair her vision and the glove compartment door was hanging by the light cable. If the inside looked like this, what the hell did the engine look like? Or the transmission? He was itching to rebuild the thing. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d dated dozens of women in his life and rebuilt dozens of cars, but he’d never mixed dating and mechanics. This didn’t seem like a good sign. Rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, Nate felt very old. He wanted to protect her, to get her into something a little safer, perhaps a tank. He had never felt old in comparison to a woman before, but he was twelve years her senior. The groupies had always been on the young side and never cared about much besides the status of sleeping with a rock star. But as something other than a famous name or an image, age did matter. He wished to god he were 28 so he had a shot with her. Hell, he’d take 32. She was still so full of the kind of passion and drive he’d lost somewhere along the way. In his songs, Nate sounded like a young man angry at the system, but Nate was starting to wonder who The Man was and why he was so pissed at him. His newer songs were more introspective, but his younger fans didn’t relate to them. Chelsea seemed to have the same sort of contemplative streak that he had developed over the years. Her mind was constantly working. Her combination of maturity and innocence was so appealing, so intoxicating.

She wasn’t cynical, wasn’t naïve. Hard but soft. If that wasn’t sensual, he didn’t know what was. Not that any of those things mattered to his dick at the moment, but they mattered to his head. All his dick cared about, hell, all any of his body cared about was the way her milky white skin flushed when she looked at him. He liked the way she fidgeted, unable to get comfortable in her seat. There was a reason it was called hot and bothered and she was both. Nate dared a glance back at her, at her breasts and her flat stomach. Not helping the erection department. He dragged his eyes up to her face. Another bad idea. Her green eyes had darkened and she was alternately gnawing on and licking her lower lip. Oh Jesus, Nate thought. I have to get her into bed. His fantasizing was taking a whole new turn now, featuring Chelsea’s pink tongue. No more one night stands. That was his rule, and he had to stick by it. But with their ages, their lives, how could this be anything more? ### Oh no, Chelsea thought, you cannot, will not do this. Her body, however, was staging a coup. Since he’d started looking at her like she was dinner, all of her nerve endings had gone on high alert. The muscle in his jaw worked tensely and Chelsea knew just what he was thinking. It sounded pretty darn good right about now. Damp skin, hot, steamy car. It wasn’t rocket science. It was chemistry, pure and simple. With no fat to cover them, Nate’s muscles looked

deliciously hard and sleek. She had practically gone into mourning when he’d put a shirt on earlier. His tattoos added interest to his body, rather than distracting from it. So overwhelmingly male, he was a perfect counterpoint to her own feminine softness. Angles and curves, firmness and suppleness. Her femininity had never felt very prominent to her, but now she felt like the old fashioned pinup girl tattooed on Nate’s forearm. She would melt under him, simply give way to his hardness. The thought struck with visceral force. His body over hers, strong hands stroking her skin. It was so real, she could feel the calluses on his fingers catch on the lace of her bra. As they pulled to closer to the house, Chelsea’s body came up with a way to get what it wanted. It just couldn’t give up the real thing without trying to override her mind. Sure, she had given up on dating bad boys, on anyone with more than a cursory familiarity with tattoo parlors, street fights or motorcycles. But dating and sex weren’t the same thing. Just a quick roll in the hay, no messy feelings, her body assured her mind, just sex. She would only be in town a few more weeks anyway and a one night stand would probably help her overall stress level. Bad boys without the pain. It was the perfect plan. With its superior blood supply, her body quickly trounced her mind. By the time they had reached the house and she had put the car in park, Chelsea’s body had convinced her that a fling with Nate was crucial to her recovery. Her body

needed to heal, and if her heart didn’t get involved, it had no way to get broken. Then the practical concerns hit. She had never come onto a man for purely sexual reasons before and wasn’t quite sure how to approach it. Did one just jump right in, or was it better to announce your intentions first? Just the thought of one night with Nate made her heart flutter uncontrollably. Her head felt light and airy while the rest of her body tingled with anticipation. At least all this masked her anxiety. Now her heart was racing, but it felt enlivening, not scary. Neither of them moved to get out of the car. Chelsea’s mouth went dry when his blue eyes narrowed and he shifted his weight in the seat. One well muscled shoulder moved closer to her own. She could feel a sizzle in the inch between their skin and for the first time in her life, she believed in auras. “Now you’re looking at me funny,” he said. At the sound of his voice, like gravel coated in molasses, something tightened deep inside Chelsea. She had to do this or never sleep again, never eat again. She wanted him so much now it was like a fever. They stared at each other across the space of the tiny car. After a long, tense moment, Nate shook his head and stared at the ceiling. He let out a breath in a low rumble that implied frustration, but when he returned his gaze to hers it was with the same resolution that Chelsea felt. Her breath stopped in her throat as she realized they had reached the same conclusion.

“If I read this wrong, feel free to slap me,” Nate said as he leaned closer. ### Nate pushed a lock of Chelsea’s hair behind her ear, then let his fingers trail lightly cheek. He hoped he didn’t get slapped. It wouldn’t hurt, but he really wanted this to be mutual. Lust usually was, right? Lust didn’t quite explain why after two years of easy abstinence he was suddenly close to exploding with sexual need. Her lips came apart under the touch of his thumb, her eyelids sinking a little lower. No slap seemed forthcoming. She opened her lips wider, her tongue flicking out to tickle the pad of his thumb, the wet softness of it igniting him further. He was in a delicious haze, the edges of his surroundings blurry. The only thing clear was her. Her teeth nipped his thumb and drew it further into her mouth, enveloping it in moist heat. Christ. He withdrew his thumb gently and grinned in satisfaction as she whimpered a protest. Obscured by the lusty haze that filled him, his brain tried desperately to get through to him. This was going to lead to exactly the type of thing he had been avoiding, it said. The thought made the haze dissipate, but only a little. Damn it, he had given these meaningless flings up for a reason. When they were over, they just made him feel more alone and he was sick of feeling that way. He was too frigging old. His doubts eased his physical reaction to her somewhat, and he studied her face. Green eyes dark with

lust studied him, confusion at his hesitance mixing with her obvious desire. She wasn’t a groupie, he reminded himself. She was interesting, she was funny and she had no preconceived ideas about him. There was no reason this even had to be a one night stand, no reason he had to be alone at the end. After satisfying their nearly overwhelming desire, they might find something more durable then chemistry. For the first time in 38 years, Nate found himself thinking of that odd R word, relationship. He’d heard that was what women wanted anyway. His mind appeased, it fell silent. The decaying upholstery and the wet driveway disappeared as Nate’s mind went blank. His body reasserted control, his desire to have this woman right now flaring in him with alarming strength. Winding his fingers into the hair at the back of her neck, he pulled her close and brought his mouth down on hers. He tried to suppress his urgency somewhat, to inject more tenderness than he was feeling. The confused look on her face faded under surprise as he teased her mouth farther open with his tongue. He shut his eyes and wished he could stop feeling like he was drowning. ### He had taken his sweet time before kissing her, studying her face for so long she thought she would scream. But it was worth the wait, the world tilting around her when his lips crushed against hers. They were soft, gentle but persuasive. If she hadn’t been sure she wanted

to sleep with him, the first touch of his lips would have changed her mind. Surrounded by his scent, his strong hand gripping her neck possessively, he was stirring erotic feelings she didn’t know were possible. Her spleen was aroused, for heaven’s sake. His tongue slipped along hers, exploring, tasting. She moaned into his mouth and shifted in her seat. Just as she had predicted, she was melting. Her insides were turning to hot liquid that settled in the bowl of her pelvis. She rocked a little in her seat, mindlessly needing pressure on the center of her growing need. Nate broke away after a few heady moments and Chelsea instantly felt bereft. In such a short time, she had grown used to the heat and pressure of his lips. As if sensing her need, he replaced his lips with his thumb. With his other hand, he reached up and pulled the pen out of her makeshift bun, letting her hair tumble around her shoulders. “You’re so beautiful,” Nate whispered as he ran his fingers through the strands. “Do you want to go inside?” Chelsea heard his words as if they were coming through a heavy quilt. Her skin was alive, tingling, but the rest of her senses were blunted by her desire and she had to struggle to understand him. Putting together the meaning of his words, she looked dubiously at the hundred yards or so to the house. It was raining again and the car seemed even cozier. Make it into the house without her hands on him? She didn’t think so. She looked at the backseat, head filled with visions of impossibly entangled bodies, twining limbs slick with

sweat. “I’m kind of tall for the backseat of a VW, babe,” he said, never taking his thumb off her mouth, reading her thoughts. She drew her lip and his thumb into her mouth, massaging his thumb with her tongue. It had worked wonders before. If she couldn’t make it into the house, she had to make the feeling mutual. She smirked smugly when Nate groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. “Fine, the backseat,” the words coming out in a growl. Chelsea gave him a triumphant grin and climbed gracefully into the backseat. He looked back at her and shook his head. “I’m 38 and about to have sex in the back seat of a VW Rabbit. Where did I go wrong?” Rather than climb over, Nate got out and pushed the front seat forward to climb into the back. “Come here,” he said as he grabbed Chelsea by the waist and pulled her onto his lap. Chelsea had thought his kisses were enough to send her over the edge. His hands on her body were nearly magical. She wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck, stroking the muscle and tendon beneath his skin. His fingers gently pulled the wet, clingy fabric of her sweater from her warm skin and traced delicate patterns on the skin of her stomach. All the while, he kissed her with such intensity that she couldn’t think straight. She urgently needed to explore his skin as well. Pulling up his shirt, her fingers found the hard muscle of his

chest and stomach. As her hand drifted lower, to the waistband of his jeans, Nate stopped her and pulled her hand up to his mouth, breaking off their kiss. Chelsea looked at him, bewildered, her mouth throbbing pleasantly from the intense kiss and the gentle scratching of his stubble. She had dissolved into need. All that mattered was getting him naked, getting herself naked. “Slow down, sweetheart,” he said. His eyes blazed fiery blue, the hardness poking tantalizingly against Chelsea’s bottom told her that taking it slowly was taking a good bit of effort on his part. “I don’t want to slow down,” she said. It was almost a whine. Every bit of her wanted him. A growing emptiness inside her needed him, was readying for him. He put both hands on her shoulders, his thumbs gently brushing her collarbones. He unbuttoned her sweater, revealing lace covered breasts. Chelsea felt her nipples stiffen as his gaze struck them and the heat in his eyes went up another notch. He brushed the hard nubs with the back of his hand and smiled when she gasped. “Slow is better,” he said. His smile was replaced by the street sexy grin. The seductive pull was too much to resist and she felt compelled to kiss the grin off him. Slow was not better. Nate’s hard body was taut beneath her hands, muscles coiling as she stroked him. She couldn’t still her hands if she tried. They moved of their own accord, seeking out every inch of his hot, painted skin,

expressing her urgent need to know his body, if only for one night. He pulled his mouth away from hers yet again, and this time he held her head in his hands. She stared at him with growing anger, heart pounding in her ears. Did he have any idea what he was doing to her? Her skin was about to rip off of her body, expose her completely, and he kept stopping. “What now?” she said. He was making her crazy. Was he just playing with her? She was about to sob with desire, yet he had the self control to pull away. “I have to tell you something,” he said, “It’s important.” He stroked her thighs and even through the denim, she felt the heat of his hands. “Fine, anything, whatever,” she said. She bent her neck and buried her face in the sinew of his neck, inhaling the hot male scent of him. Darting her tongue out, she licked the sun tattoo she found near his collar bone, tasted the saltiness of his skin. She’d never felt this before, this need to consume a man. Anything to get him inside her. He gasped for breath and tightened his hold on her hips. At least he wasn’t completely immune. “Chelsea, I don’t know what you have in mind here,” he said through gritted teeth, “But I don’t do one night stands anymore.” Chelsea pulled her head back quickly, eyes wide. His words had the same effect as plunging her through a hole in the ice of a frozen lake.

Chapter 3 Well, he should have expected that. Nate sucked on his cigarette, trying to keep a handle on his emotions. He was hurt and angry. Years of overuse had made his anger the strongest and it sucked up all other feelings, making a mess of his thoughts. Fists clenching and releasing as he struggled with his temper, he stared out the window at the pathetic VW sitting in his driveway. Of course she only wanted a one night stand. She was probably just bored, looking for a way to kill time. Groupie or not, that was still all she wanted from him. Most guys would kill to be thought of as a sex machine and nothing else, but he could tell them it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. This was why he didn’t let anyone into his house. This was why he hid away in his little cottage and kept to himself. Because the alternative was to feel like this. Struck with a force of temper he thought he had squelched, Nate punched the wall to release some of the

sharp edged feelings. It was an asinine, infantile thing to do, but at least the pain in his fist brought him back to reality, brought his brain back into control. He hadn’t wanted her here in the first place, he reminded himself, and his instincts had been right. So she’d leave and get on with her life and he could get on with his. Fine. Only it wasn’t fine, and it wasn’t that simple. She had grabbed a hold of something inside him. Even his anger didn’t make her hold any looser. He’d wanted to talk to her. Okay, he’d wanted to fuck her brains out, but after that, he wanted to talk to her. He found her fascinating in a way he hadn’t know was possible. Hell, the fact that he even wanted her around was weird enough to warrant some consideration. God, if she could have seen her face when he dropped his bombshell. Her face had paled, instantly losing its aroused flush, green eyes going wide with shock and frustration. After staring at him unblinkingly for a few seconds, she had slid off his lap and run into the house without a word. Run into his house as if she owned it. It should have made him angry. Instead, he had been stabbed by melancholy. It looked so cozy to have a woman using his house as hers. Lost in thought, he didn’t hear Chelsea come into the kitchen until she stood beside him, apparently unperturbed by the anger rolling off him. She was wearing one of his t-shirts and her hair was towel dried. She refused to meet his angry stare even as she pulled one of his cigarettes from his pack and lit it. Watching her, his anger

released its hold a tiny bit. It had been easy to be mad when she wasn’t in the room, but her light, powdery scent was working its way through his nose and into his brain. Geezus, he couldn’t think when she was around. Her pink tongue darted out as she nervously licked her lips. Then she did that amazing straightening thing with her spine and turned her head up to face him. “I found this shirt in the bathroom. I hope you don’t mind if I borrow it. My sweater is soaked,” she said, her voice barely quavering. Nate could imagine how he looked, jaw tight, eyes cold. It was a wonder she could even look at him. He only hoped that she hadn’t seen his juvenile show of temper. “That’s fine,” he said, barely forcing the words out. “Thanks. I’m. Um,” Chelsea started, her spine sagging a little as she came up blank. She didn’t seem to know how to salvage this situation, and he was in no mood to help her. To make matters worse, their chemistry hadn’t gone away just because their heads disagreed. His body still wanted to touch hers and he had to keep a tight grip on himself to stop from stroking her bare arms. He was curious about how she was going to explain herself, her sudden cooling of affections. At least he had his erection under control now. After her mad dash from the car, he been unable to move, legs cramped, fully erect and stunned. Chelsea blew out a breath and started again, “I guess I owe you an explanation.” Her tone was businesslike, distant.

That reignited his temper like gasoline on embers. She was acting like they were strangers, which they were. Very intimate strangers. But he didn’t want to be reminded of it. “Don’t try to tell me that we were moving too fast, sweetheart,” he said. He turned to face her, blasting her with the full force of his anger and frustration. “You were perfectly okay jumping into bed with me until you found out I don’t do one night stands. So I guess I’m just not the type of guy you imagine yourself dating, huh?” This whole rejection thing sucked. No wonder other guys went through so much shit to avoid it. This was his first taste and he couldn’t say he liked it. His love life had always been the only thing he could pretty much guarantee going his way. Even as a street kid, girls had flocked to him. As a teenager, girls had snuck him into their bedrooms after their parents had gone to bed. This was the first time he hadn’t gotten exactly what he wanted. “Why are you so against one night stands?” she asked. She glanced up at him again and those frigging eyes just melted him. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to start feeling sorry for her for having to put up with him, but no matter how beautiful, he wasn’t sharing that particular piece of information. “You’re changing the subject,” he said. He looked out the window, but the image of Bunny the Wonder Rabbit didn’t help him avoid his feelings of protectiveness. Damn it. He’d always had a weakness for

redheads, and now he’d let her in when he knew he shouldn’t have. “I, I can’t have anything but one night stands,” she said, her voice barely audible. Well that certainly wasn’t what he expected to hear. “Why?” he asked. “Not with guys like you,” she said, then faltered. He didn’t give her a chance to finish that thought as his anger found new strength. “Here we go with the Guys Like Me bullshit,” he said. He leaned towards her, his voice barely more than a growl, probably proving whatever point she thought she had. Acting like an animal was never a good way to woo a woman but he couldn’t help it. “What the fuck does that even mean?” ### It was obvious that he was used to people shrinking before his anger. Chelsea could almost feel herself giving in, making herself a smaller target as she backed away from him. His face had contorted with anger. Underneath was pain, but the anger was keeping it suppressed. She hadn’t stopped to think how many times people discounted him because of his appearance. But that wasn’t her fault, she reminded herself as her own anger flared in response. He didn’t have to get tattoos and play in a rock band. That was his choice and she’d be damned if she was going to let him get away with martyring himself for it. “You know damn well what that means. I don’t

believe you’re that naïve,” Chelsea growled back at him. Her ire surprised him and he took a step back. Good. Keeping him off balance was a good tactic. Then he wouldn’t notice that no matter how mad she was, or how badly behaved he was, she still had to work to keep her hands off him. She would like to throttle him, except throttling would lead her to hugging him, which would turn into a kiss, and she already knew what his kisses did to her. Then she’d be a useless puddle of mush who’d agree to anything. “Let’s say I am that naïve. Let me in on the secret. Tell me, babe, what kind of guy am I? I’ve been around myself for thirty eight years, but I have no idea. I’d like to hear your take on it, since you’ve known me for,” he paused and made a big show out of looking at the clock on the wall, “A little over an hour. Let’s hear it. Who am I?” Nate’s tone had mellowed somewhat, but the change didn’t seem to mean a lessening in his anger. In fact, she suspected the opposite was true. Chelsea filed that information away for the future, then wondered why she bothered. At best, their future would consist of stifling silence while she waited for Tony to come rescue her from this infuriating, albeit edible, man. She decided to stop censoring herself and just let him have it. “You’re a bad boy, Nate. You know it and I know it. A rock star! Come on. You know what that means. You drink, you get into fights. You mess around with women and you break their hearts. That’s who you are. Bad boys aren’t relationship material, Nate, and guess what? You’re the

bad boy all the rest of them look up to. I used to fool myself into thinking it was all worth it, but it’s not. Not for me. I’ve been down that road, and it sucks. So it’s one night stands and that’s it. Okay?” There’s no possible way you can break my heart in just one night, she thought but didn’t say. Even after such a short period of time, she could tell that he had the power to break her heart. She needed desperately to keep that information to herself. Giving him even a small amount of power over her would send her panic into overdrive. Shaking, Chelsea stood up and walked to the window. She hadn’t meant to say even this much. The pain of her past relationships all but boiled off her. Yup, she’d had her share of bad boys, and they’d done their share of damage. Not as much as a certain boy in a suit, but the cumulative damage was intense and having one of them glowering over her demanding an explanation was bringing all her pain to the fore. She took a deep breath and tried to keep her emotions from telegraphing themselves to Nate. Staring at Nate’s beautiful gardens wasn’t helping her resolve to keep him in his bad boy box, so she turned and looked back at the man himself. His tattoos and muscled body helped her keep a grip on her bad boy label. “No, Chelsea, it’s not okay,” Nate said. He stubbed out his cigarette and his body was menacingly still. His blue eyes blazed at her, but now she could see a flicker of something beneath the anger. Longing and lust still mingled with the harder emotions etched on his face. At least she wasn’t alone in the throttle versus kiss conundrum.

“I’m not like those other guys, and I won’t be clumped in with a bunch of assholes you dated. I’ve changed. I’ve grown up. I’ve definitely aged out of the boy category, for one thing. So I have some tattoos, and I have a bike, but give me a chance here. I’m more settled, more sensitive.” It was that last word that ignited Chelsea’s temper all over again. Sensitive, the bad boy’s excuse for everything. “Don’t give me this bullshit!” she yelled. She knew she must look crazed, but she couldn’t help it. Damn him, he pressed all her buttons, good and bad. “Don’t start on the tortured poet crap, okay? You have no idea what it’s like to deal with you guys. You just walk away when it suits you. You have all these soulful songs, you have these grandiose feelings, angst and pain. You cry and I feel sorry for you. I want to cradle you and care for you, do anything to help put the broken pieces back together. But then, guess what? When it’s over, when it all falls apart, I’m broken, too. You’re perfectly happy being in pieces, but I’m not. I’m not happy being broken.” Chelsea didn’t know when she had started crying, but her cheeks were wet, and she was sure her eyes and nose were red. How attractive. Perhaps this was the best thing she could do. Ranting like a mad woman at a stranger with whom you shared merely chemistry had to be a good way to get their lust to dissipate. Men hated it when women cried and he was surely going to just walk away.

Instead, he crossed the space between them in two long strides and wrapped his strong arms around her, pulling her into his hard chest. Her head fit in against the planes of his pectoral muscles as if they had been made as a pillow for her. Oh, why did he have to make it so difficult for her to just hate him? ### I must be out of my freaking mind, Nate thought as he held Chelsea’s shivering body close to him. He wanted her to stop crying, wanted her to stop reliving whatever pain she had felt with those other guys. Guys who had apparently ruined it for him. He easily transferred his anger to them. He could see her point. He’d probably broken his share of hearts when he was younger, sorry as he might be about it now. Maybe she was right to be careful with her heart, but damn it, he wanted a chance with her. His eyes fell on Bunny and he leapt at the opportunity to take her mind off her tears. “Why don’t we go out and see if we can get your car running, sweetheart,” he said gently. She went still in his arms, and he thought she leaned against him a touch more heavily. He tightened his hold reflexively. God, he loved holding her, smelling the soft scent that rose up from her hair. “You’re still going to look at my car?” she said finally, her words muffled by his shirt, but reverberating up his skin. “Yeah, I’m still going to look at Bunny,” he said with a grin. Bunny. It was such a girl’s name.

“Thanks,” she said. She picked her head up off his chest, but stayed snuggled in his arms. He let himself hold her a moment longer, then pulled away. He had to get down to business, or he was going to have her in his bed, despite their differences of opinion on one night stands. A few minutes later, tools in hand and Chelsea in his wake, Nate walked out to Bunny. He had no idea what he was going to find under the hood, but it couldn’t be good. The parts that weren’t primer gray were rust and the tires were nearly bald. He shuddered thinking about her driving blithely along the road in that thing. The brakes were probably crap and there was no ABS, no airbags… he had to stop thinking about it. Pushing aside thoughts of this woman traveling alone in this tuna can, he popped the hood and peered at the engine. He had to hold back a laugh when he caught his first glimpse. It had been so long since he looked at anything besides big pony car engines, he had forgotten that old VW engines had more in common with go-karts than American muscle. Only Chelsea’s hopeful face peering over his shoulder kept his smart ass mouth in check. She looked so hopeful, so worried. For some reason, she truly loved this little shit box. Usually, the rest of the world disappeared when he got his head under a hood, but Chelsea was much too close for that to happen. He was horribly aware of every little move she made, the way her hips moved when she shifted her weight, the way her thin arms swam around in

his shirt. She was a damn distraction. Sighing, he started poking around. A blown head gasket was her main problem. Hell, the thing hadn’t been blown so much as disintegrated. It looked like had been torched, then blown up by a small grenade. That explained her current dilemma, but it wasn’t the car’s only problem. Her hoses and belts were falling apart, the rubber melting under the strain. He grimaced when he saw that several of them were held together with electrical tape. “Did you put electrical tape on your radiator hose?” he asked, not wanting to hear the answer. “Yeah, it was leaking,” she said. Nate squeezed his eyes shut and swore under his breath. It was a wonder she hadn’t been broken down before this. Who put electrical tape on a leaking hose? “What happened right before you stopped?” he asked, biting back an order that she take better care of her car, of herself. Chancing a look at her, Nate immediately wished he hadn’t. She was biting on the side of her fingernail, and the sight of her sucking on something got him all stirred up again. He stifled a groan. “You shouldn’t bite your fingernails.” His voice was gruff, and he could only hope it came across as stern, rather than wanting. Looking like a chastised child, she immediately took her finger away from her mouth. He grinned at the cute look on her face. She took one last look at her nail, then tucked her

hands into her back pockets to keep them out of sight. Which shoved her beautiful breasts up and towards him. Nate muttered under his breath and looked back at the engine. Focus on the engine. “It was making some sort of knocking noise,” Chelsea said, and Nate was confused for a second before he remembered his question. Focus, right. “Was it smoking, or just making the noise?” Nate asked. Smoke, knocking, that should take his mind off the erection growing in his pants. It didn’t work, and Nate tried to angle his body away from her. She’d made it clear she didn’t want to sleep with him, and he didn’t want her to see his biological reaction to being near her soft, warm body. He’d keep from backing her up against the car and molding her to him if it killed him. But he had the taste of her in his mouth, and he couldn’t get his mind off it. ### Chelsea relayed the information about Bunny without looking at Nate, avoiding that dangerous eye contact they’d made earlier. Better to stare at the confusing array of tubes and metal that made up Bunny’s engine. Nate looked dutifully, poking at things, lifting up hoses to see under them. Chelsea had no idea what he was doing. After a thorough inspection of the topside, Nate ran into the house and returned a moment later with an old, dirty towel. He spread it out on the ground, then lay down on his back and slid under the car. Chelsea’s heart seized for a moment. Maybe he was right. Maybe he wasn’t like all

those other boys with their bikes and their egos. He was doing something for her, not the other way around. He was flat on his back, messing around with something under Bunny and they hadn’t even slept together. In fact, she had insulted him, had got crazy and emotional and yet, here he was. Fixing her car. Her preconceptions faltered, but only for a moment. Better to not think about it, she told herself. It always starts like this, remember? They’re nice, sweet, then they pull a switcheroo and their horns come out. Better to walk away now. Still, as she looked at his jean-covered thighs, she couldn’t help but wish that they agreed on one night stands. It would be so nice to let him ease those slim hips between her thighs and let that hardness she had felt earlier slide inside… Okay, enough, Chelsea thought. She could feel her cheeks turning rosy as she her fantasy encounter with Nate continued unbidden in her mind’s eye. Shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath, Chelsea tried to maintain control. When she opened her eyes, she jumped to find Nate on his feet, his blue eyes staring down at her. Her heart did a little flip and she swallowed hard. Here it was, that awful connection she felt with him, zapping back and forth between their eyes, making her insides feel warm. “Do you know what’s wrong with it?” she asked, not wanting to let the moment go on any longer than it already had. “Almost everything,” he said. She started to jump to Bunny’s defense when he continued, “But the reason you

broke down is a blown head gasket. I can fix it, but you need a new one. I have a buddy with a part store. I’ll call and find out if he has one.” “Okay,” she said, too tired and fascinated by Nate to argue. He stared at her for another moment, that terrible flash happening again before his eyes slid away and his expression turned unreadable. ### He would be at the point of no return once he talked to Chelsea and he’d have to deal with the consequences. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he was willing to compromise for this woman he’d just met, but there it was. His dick seemed to be hell bent on reasserting some of the control it had known at an earlier time in his life. What a great time for it to spring back to life. While underneath the rat trap named Bunny, looking at all her other problems, Nate had formed a plan. It wasn’t a good plan. It was ridiculous. He didn’t care. He was desperate to feel Chelsea’s skin, to run his hands over her body. Skin on skin, hers creamy white, his colorful. If the thought of touching her was so enthralling, what would the real thing be like? Matt had the replacement gasket Bunny needed, but Nate wasn’t going to tell Chelsea that. He was willing to tell a little white lie. If that was enough to consign him into the bad boy pile, so be it. She already had him stashed in that group anyway. Nate found Chelsea in his living room, sitting on his

couch, smoking one of his cigarettes and reading the book he had been slogging through earlier that morning. Her long legs were tucked up under her and she played with her long hair, winding one red lock around her little finger. While he watched, she yawned like a cat, her mouth opening wide, back arching. She saw him and smiled. “I love this book,” she said holding up Anna Karenina. That stopped him. “You do?” he asked incredulously, “I read it every morning, hoping my coffee will get me through a chapter. It never does.” “Yeah, I read it for the first time in high school and a few times since then. I have a lot of time to read on planes.” “I’m reading a lot of those classics for the first time,” Nate said as he crossed the room and sat next to her. He felt drawn to her, as if an invisible filament ran between them and she was constantly tightening it, pulling him to her side. He kept closing the distance between them until he was nearly touching her knee with his thigh. “There are gaps in my education,” he said with a grin he knew had the effect of making women forget what they were thinking. It was great camouflage. The grin had the desired effect and Nate felt smug as Chelsea’s cheeks turned pink and she looked down at the book. She ran her fingers over the cover and cleared her throat, her desire for him rolling off of her. Which was great, except that her obvious arousal had the effect of

heightening his own already powerful lust. “You’re reading the unabridged edition,” she said finally. She had pulled herself together somewhat and was staunchly refusing to look at him. She appeared to be looking at him, but she was actually looking at the wall behind him. It wasn’t every day that a woman was so attracted to him that she couldn’t look directly at him. It was like being the sun. “Yeah, is that bad?” Nate asked. He thought that was the point. To read this stuff in their original form. Dickens he had liked. He could relate to kids growing up poor and on the street regardless of the era. Shakespeare was okay once he had gotten the hang of it. If he had known how raunchy some of the stuff was, he may have been more interested when he was in school. No, probably not. “Well, it’s got all the stuff about farming and social structure in it,” she said. She finally looked up at him, and her green eyes sparkled with humor. “Whenever Levin starts rambling about things, that’s Tolstoy spouting off. Writing a novel was less controversial than writing any sort of political manifesto, so he weaves social commentary into the plot. The abridged version cuts that out, and you’re just left with the two love stories.” Shit, Nate thought, he was so screwed. He had no idea how many women he’d dated, but none of them had known the secret of making Russian literature tolerable. Getting inside her would get rid of his physical needs, but he didn’t know how to get rid of his desire to know her. How

could he ease that need? Tie her up and make her tell him her life story? Not a good idea. “How do you know all this?” he asked. “I was a Lit major before I dropped out of college,” she said. That surprised him. Women like Chelsea didn’t drop out of school. They got advanced degrees and sneered at the undereducated masses. He was about to ask why she had dropped out when he looked at her face. All the openness he so enjoyed watching was gone. Her face was shuttered, closed. He shut his mouth. If he didn’t want to talk about his past, he couldn’t force her to. “My buddy won’t be able to get the part until tomorrow afternoon,” Nate said, hoping his face wasn’t as open as hers. Chelsea’s face fell, but at least it had opened up again, “Oh. Um, okay.” She was floundering and he could see she had no idea what to do with this information. He knew what they could do to pass the time though, was looking forward to it more than he wanted to admit. What a plan this was. If it worked, it could result in two happy, satisfied people and a VW Rabbit that could limp along until he could rip out the engine and start from scratch. Nate quickly forced his mind away from that subject. It was just a bit too, well, forward thinking. Better to think about the sex instead. “I had an idea,” Nate said finally. He picked up her hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb. Her hand was so little in his and he felt a rush of ferocious

protectiveness for her. Surprise registered on her face, and she looked down at their touching hands. Nate made a deal with himself: if she pulled away, he wouldn’t mention his cockamamie plan. If she didn’t, he would. “Okay,” she said as she turned to face him. Her hand stayed his.

Chapter 4 “You couldn’t have just changed your mind like that. What are you getting out of it?” Chelsea asked. Her voice rose to a pitch so high it could only mean panic. She couldn’t help it. After Nate’s announcement that they would not be getting down and dirty, she had tried valiantly to put it out of her mind. Not only that, but after some effort she had convinced herself that it was really for the best. No sex, a fixed car and she would be off and forgetting about him. Once out of the range of his testosterone and scent, she should be fine. Now he’d blown her carefully constructed rationalizations all to hell. Reopening that door was a form of torture and she was sure there was a catch. Nate shot her another one of those soul-searing grins and squeezed her hand. His hand was hot and strong, sinewy and masculine. He held hers gently and heaven help her, she loved it. She should just pull her hand away, but no part of her body was listening to her commands anymore.

“I didn’t change my mind, not completely,” Nate continued. He had laid out some bizarre plan for her, some attempt to weaken her will further. They could have a one night stand. That was his offer so far. He hadn’t gotten to the catch yet, but Chelsea felt as if her mental division was so deep it had seeped into her physical body. Getting what she wanted meant hurting Nate, and as much as she hated to admit it, hurting him wasn’t something she wanted to do. He had his reasons for not wanting one night stands. She wasn’t sure what they were, but you didn’t just make a hard and fast rule like that without reason. “So, what’s the catch?” Chelsea asked with a sigh. Sitting with Nate on the couch was like sitting next to the heating grate in a cold house. He exuded warmth and Chelsea’s skin was on fire, just from the small amount of contact they had. Maybe I shouldn’t do this at all, she thought. He might be too much for me to handle. “The catch isn’t really a catch. It’s more of a challenge,” Nate said. Chelsea raised an eyebrow but couldn’t manage to get any words out. She was still feeling a little shell shocked. Nate hadn’t given her a chance to breath, to get her feet under her. He read Tolstoy, gardened and came up with crazy plans that made her heart thump. Everything about him was a surprise. “We spend one night together, and tomorrow morning, you can walk away if you want. If you decide not to walk away, you have to date me. Like in high school. And

we don’t have sex again for a week. Silly, I know. But it’s the best I could come up with. I’m not thinking very well at the moment,” he added with a sheepish grin. She could relate to that. Nate’s attitude was casual but his hand was tense. She thought about his offer, but she couldn’t see how this was a compromise of any sort. He was giving her what she wanted, with a clause tacked onto the end to make him feel better. As if she could spend a week seeing him and not have her hands all over him. “I still don’t understand,” Chelsea said after a moment. She couldn’t look at him. Her decision was a foregone conclusion. He’d offered her a chance. She was going to take it. “What don’t you understand?” Nate asked. “You don’t have one night stands, but suddenly you’re willing to have one with me. Why? I’m assuming you had a reason for not wanting them in the first place. I don’t want you to compromise yourself for me,” Chelsea said. Even as she said it, she felt silly. This whole conversation was silly. A look of poignant sadness briefly crossed Nate’s face. It was quickly replaced with a more serious expression. “I want you, Chelsea. Physically. There’s no getting around it. And I know you want me. The sex will be great, I can guarantee it.” Chelsea’s heart pounded at the thought and if she had been standing, her knees would have given way. She was sure Nate Stone could do amazing things

with his body and to hers. That wasn’t the reason for her hesitation. “But you’re right, I don’t do one night stands. I don’t do them because I never felt any sort of connection with the women. Which used to be great. Now I hate it. But I like you. I don’t just want you. So even if you walk away in the morning, I could live with it. And if you don’t, well, that’s even better.” “If we do this, I’m going to walk away, Nate,” Chelsea said as gently as she could. She had to tell him. If he changed his mind, that was his right. But she had to go in with a clear conscience. “I have to. I can’t take another broken heart, not right now.” Especially not right now, she thought. This was the worst possible time to engage in a relationship with anyone. A relationship with a street sexy, leather jacket wearing motorcycle riding rock star would kill her. There were days when she merely felt shaky, then others when she couldn’t get out of bed. Nursing a broken heart would take more energy than she had to spare. “I’ll let you go,” Nate said simply. “Okay,” Chelsea replied with a slight nod of her head. Her body wouldn’t let her have it any other way. The transition from maybe to definitely had occurred quickly, and her mind no longer wanted to process abstract thought. All the desire she had been restraining flooded through her at once, but she had no idea how to begin. None of her fantasies had involved a thought out plan, a crazy one at that. She was still trying to think of a way to start when Nate stood and slid his arms under her, easily

lifting her off the couch. This romantic gesture wasn’t at all what she had been imagining. Tearing each other’s clothes off in the heat of passion, yes, but a chivalrous lift? Nate’s arms were strong around her and Chelsea unabashedly nestled her head into his neck and inhaled him. No matter how she squirmed against him to get closer, he never struggled to hold her. Being pressed fully against him was nearly more than Chelsea could handle. She shoved down the memories of their earlier tryst in the car, but with his hands wrapped on her waist and legs, her body was more than ready to remember. He walked towards the back of the house, pushing open a door with his hip. The room was nearly dark, but Chelsea could make out the centerpiece, a gigantic bed made with a tan comforter. Cozy and darkened, the room was painted a deep red color and seemed manly without being intimidatingly macho. No rock star leather and mirrors for him. Not what she had expected, but so far, Nate seemed to offer a lot of that. Nate laid her on the bed and knelt over her. Chelsea couldn’t make out his face very well in the dim light, but she could feel his eyes on her. Wriggling against the soft fabric, Chelsea settled her head deeply into the down pillow. He didn’t touch her, just stared at her for a few long moments. His eyes traced the curves of her body, lingering on her chest and legs. As his gaze passed over her, she felt her body warm and relax. Chelsea grew impatient waiting for Nate to ease himself down on top of her. She wanted, no needed, to have his weight on top of her. What

was he waiting for? Had he changed his mind? Lying on the comfy bed, her body began to betray her. Upright, she could convince herself she had the stamina to go a full day without napping. But now she realized just how much her day trip had cost her. Limbs heavy with exhaustion and arousal, Chelsea’s brain floated away from her. Nate lowered his head and slowly touched his lips to hers and her languor deepened. For the first time in a long time, Chelsea’s mind had stopped its anxious fretting. She was simply body. Nate’s kiss was lazy and exploratory, his tongue slowly rolling into her mouth and seeking out the most sensitive areas. By the time Nate started exploring the skin on her neck, she was somewhere between sleep and waking. Her hands played with his soft hair, but their actions were no longer controlled by anything but sensation. Nate’s hands moved over her as if in a dream, each touch quickening her desire and sinking her deeper into relaxation. Soon, Chelsea was out of her clothes. Before she could fully process feeling chilled, Nate slid her between the sheets, her heated skin soon warming the cool cotton. Nate was there with her, his skin soft under her languid hands, the stubble of on his chin brushing against her stomach, her thighs. She was pure, hot liquid, flowing towards unconscious pleasure. The delicious feeling of Nate’s tongue, wet and soft against her clitoris woke her only a little. Fantasy and reality blended in Chelsea’s mind and body as Nate’s tongue

parted her soft curls and his tongue slowly ran over her folds, tasting her, teasing. His tongue flicked and slid all around the center of her, until finally, slowly and teasingly, he slid a finger inside her. Her body’s response was purely primal. What had felt liquid quickly tightened in pleasure and need and Chelsea’s orgasm gained strength and quickly overtook her slumber drugged body. ### Chelsea struggled to drag her consciousness back from the deep blackness of a dreamless sleep. Her head felt heavy, her body languid. As she awakened fully, she realized what she had done. Fallen asleep during probably the best oral sex of her entire life. Oh, lovely. Nate must have been horrified. She certainly was. Processing this unflattering information, Chelsea stared at the ceiling in horror. Still, he hadn’t woken her up to fulfill his own needs. Either he had just given up on her as hopelessly pathetic or was more understanding than most. Slow, sensual and completely selfless wasn’t what she had been expecting. Hot, sweaty and frantic was more like it. He kept surprising her, and it was beginning to get through her defenses. Once again, he wasn’t playing his part as a stereotype. Chelsea looked around the room and saw more evidence that Nate wasn’t what she had believed from the moment she had laid eyes on him. The room was tasteful, subtle. Art pieces hung on the walls and sat on the bookshelves that lined the wall. It was clean, neat and there were no beer bottles or mysterious drug paraphernalia to

be seen. Chelsea sighed and rolled over, sticking her head under the pillow. This was getting more complicated than she had bargained for and she hadn’t actually slept with him. After giving her the most intense and interesting orgasm of her life, he had left her to sleep. That took not only caring and kindness, but self control of a sort she had never seen. Nate was not simple, far from it. Now that she had had one orgasm, and slept a bit, she saw the foolhardiness of accepting his plan. What made her think she was strong enough to resist falling for him? If she wasn’t careful, he’d rock her into a dream world with his sweetness. Then, when he stopped playing nice, she’d be left hurt and confused. And it would be all the worse because she should know better. Chelsea shook her head to clear it. She still had a night to contemplate what she would do in the morning, and right now she felt herself missing Nate, his magnetism, his smile. The light coming through the windows was dim and gray. It was probably still raining and the clock next to the bed told her she’d been asleep for over an hour. Where was Nate, anyway? It was time to find out if he was mad or understanding. Either way, facing him for the first time was going to be slightly embarrassing. Chelsea briefly looked around for her clothes before lazily giving up. How was that for wanton? Never in her life had she had a sexual experience that left her so out of her mind that she hadn’t kept very careful track of her clothes. Now that she was fully awake, she heard the faint sound of

an acoustic guitar coming from some other room. Intrigued, she wrapped herself in the blanket and went in search of the sound. She found its source in a den decorated with posters and gold albums. Chelsea started to look at the posters nearest her, interested in seeing Nate as a rock star, but the sight of the real thing drew her attention away. Nate sat on a stool, playing the guitar and occasionally breaking off to make notes on a pad that sat on a large, wooden desk next to him. He was shirtless and his hair was an adorable mess. His back was to her and Chelsea allowed herself a moment to study the muscles in his back that rippled beneath his painted skin when he moved. She was struck with a sudden pang of sadness. Soon she would have to leave and she wouldn’t be able to study his body or inspect the tattoos she found so fascinating. Moving quietly to a couch by the door, she lay down, resting her head on the arm. The music he was playing was slow and quiet. He began to sing in a deep, mournful voice. He only got through a two phrases before shaking his head and crossing something out on his notebook before returning to playing the guitar. Watching his creative process was fascinating, enthralling; watching his body move kept her arousal at a low hum. This moment was more intimate than their sleepy encounter of a few hours ago and Chelsea tried halfheartedly to fight the feeling of connection blossoming in her chest. Sleepy and sated, she soon gave up. ###

Frustrated, Nate set his guitar on its stand and turned his stool around to grab his cigarettes off his desk and caught sight of Chelsea lying on the couch. His heart leapt a little when he saw her. He expected to feel intruded upon, as he did anytime anyone interfered with his songwriting, but the feeling failed to materialize. In fact, he felt the completely unfamiliar desire to share with her, to get her opinion on his latest song. Hell, maybe she could help him out of his current rut. Instead of asking for advice, he smiled at her. He still wasn’t sure where they stood. He didn’t think she had feigned sleep as a way to tactfully avoid him, but he couldn’t be sure. She was already so skittish about him, about his offer, that he hadn’t wanted to push her away. And so he had walked away from her warm naked body and come to write in the hopes of shaking off his sexual frustration. The success had been marginal. Very marginal. “Hey, sleepy head,” he said, trying to keep any bitterness out of his voice. “Sorry I fell asleep,” she said, “I didn’t mean to. I was just, well, relaxed. It wasn’t a reflection of your, um, talents,” she said, red climbing up her cheeks. Apparently, she was as thrown off by the situation as well. “I’ll try not to let my ego get too bruised,” Nate said with a grin. “It was obvious you needed the sleep.” Which was a little strange. What had she been up to that she was so physically devastated? Nate wanted to know, and then he wanted to fix it. When he had gotten her undressed, he had noticed that she was too thin, as well. It

had been too dark to see clearly, but he had felt her ribs, the jut of hip bones. Christ, did she have some awful illness? It would be unfair for someone with so much fire to be wasting away. “Well, that’s good. There’s no reason for your ego to be in the least bit bruised. In fact, you should take it as a compliment.” “I’ll try to do that,” he said. And he did. Sort of. He’d never had a woman fall asleep while he’d been performing that particular act, but at least she’d come for him first. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman who was relaxed around him. They were usually worked up and excited about fucking a rock star. Afterwards, they had tended to want to babble at him, not fall asleep. He was so glad those days were gone. Other guys might think he was nuts, but that was the way it was. That didn’t mean he was dead. He was pretty sure Chelsea was naked under that blanket. He couldn’t take the suspense anymore. His unfulfilled need suddenly roared back into new life and he needed to have her, needed to be inside her. Now. “Come here,” he said as he stubbed out his cigarette. She wouldn’t have a chance to go to sleep this time. They weren’t leaving this room, and there was no soft, comfy bed here. He held out his arms and made crooking motions with his fingers. “I don’t think we’ve known each other long enough

for you to be ordering me around,” Chelsea said teasingly. Her eyes shone and she wriggled under the blanket. Christ, she was so little and sexy and she was driving him nuts, even under the blanket. “Please come here,” he said, emphasizing the first word. Chelsea smiled and stood up and began walking towards him, still wrapped in the comforter. “How about you leave the blanket there, babe?” Nate said. Oh, yeah. Leave the blanket. Please, god, leave the frigging blanket. So the song wasn’t coming together the way it should, and he was too old for this beautiful woman. This woman who was standing not only in his sanctuary of a house, but also in the private space he used only to write. Nate didn’t care. Not right now. Right now longing and desire surged through his body as he anticipated the removal of that damn comforter. She dropped the fabric back onto the couch and turned towards him. Nate’s throat clenched closed for a moment and his breath stopped in his chest. Long slim legs curved into beautifully formed hips. Her waist was so tiny it looked fragile, but her breasts were high and firm and round, tipped with pink nipples. A red triangle of hair disappeared between her thighs. As she walked towards him, hips slowly undulating with each step, her breasts swayed in a hypnotic arc. When she got within reach, he pulled her to him with one arm, caressing her

back with his hand, while he brought his other hand up to touch her face. “You are quite possibly the sexiest woman I have ever seen.” It wasn’t even a line. He had seen beautiful women in his time, plenty of them, but Chelsea was something else all together. She straddled him easily, resting her feet on the rungs of his stool, settling herself onto him. He all but lost his mind, seeing the darkened cleft for a split second before she positioned herself to cradle his erection with the warmest part of her. Nate let out a primitive groan of pleasure and reached up to gently tease her nipples while he sucked on the delicate skin of her arched neck. Chelsea ran her fingers through his hair and moved her hips in a slow arc, pressing them together with delicious pressure. Nate grabbed her hips with both hands, savoring the feeling of her warm skin under his palms. “Better than all the groupies?” Chelsea asked. She looked at him with a glint in her eye. Her hair hung over her face, making her mysterious, enticing. As he looked at her, Nate wondered how he could have ever thought he would be able to get away from her without getting inside her at least once. More if at all possible. She was feminine softness, sweetness, ripe and ready. “Oh, babe, you have no idea,” Nate said “I noticed you don’t mind that I call you babe and sweetheart anymore.” He nuzzled her neck, unable to feel that her acquiescence to pet names wasn’t a small victory on his part.

His voice was husky, rough. He wanted to just throw her on the couch and have her like some horny teenager, but he made himself regain some control. If she did leave tomorrow, he wanted this to be a one fabulous one night stand. Of course, if he did this right, she wouldn’t be able to leave. She’d be as unable to get enough as he was. It might be idiotic, but it was the best he could do. Chelsea laughed and pressed her groin harder into his. Nate caught his breath and growled once before regaining control of himself. “Now you say it nicely,” she said, “Before you were being mean, using it like it was derogatory.” Her little fingers stroking the back of his neck felt like sweet torture. “It was. I thought you were a groupie. I get very little time to relax,” Nate said. Each word was a chore to grind out, and he was having trouble concentrating when Chelsea was warm, soft and wiggling in his lap. And naked. He couldn’t forget naked. “Are you relaxed now?” Chelsea asked as she ran her hands down his chest. His nipples tightened in response to her hot little fingers. “Yeah, something like that,” Nate said. Enough of that. He stopped their conversation with a blistering kiss, his tongue exploring and tasting her mouth more fully than he had before. Nate’s mind left him then, all his focus going to thoroughly ravishing this woman he wanted so much. ###

Chelsea pulled away and looked down at Nate, her eyes hazy with lust. His kisses were one thing, but now he had moved his hand down to the downy, burning spot between her legs. He raised one eyebrow at her as he stroked her clit with the knuckle of one finger, the pressure teasingly light. Moaning in delight, she arched her back, pressing against his hand. Had it not been for Nate’s strong arm supporting her, she would have fallen backwards in her abandon. It was like torture, yet so pleasurable Chelsea felt her mind go blank. His lips found her nipple and he nibbled it gently. Chelsea tried to moan, tried to cry out, but she had moved beyond that into a world of pleasure beyond sound, beyond anything but body and movement. She wiggled her hips against Nate, encouraging him, asking him for what she wanted with her body. After what seemed like an eternity of sliding his fingers along her slick swollen flesh, he finally slipped one long finger inside before teasingly taking it almost all the way out again. Chelsea pressed her hips down against him, mindlessly needing the pressure there. He obliged, finding a rhythm with his finger that he matched with his tongue against her sensitive, hard nipple. Nate slipped his finger out again and Chelsea moaned in protest. He had gotten her so close, the tension coiling in her, ready to release. She glared up at him and he growled as he picked her up and carried her the few feet to his desk. He set her down gently, allowing her legs to dangle from the edge.

“Comfy?” he asked with a grin. She was spread out before him, her body naked, thrumming with need. No, she wasn’t comfy. She was nearly crazy from wanting him and he was standing there with his jeans on. The sight of his abdominal muscles curving into the low slung waistband made her mouth go dry. Near frenzied, she pulled at the button of his jeans, running her hands down smooth skin as she slid them off his hips and smiling with delight when his erection bobbed out to greet her. “Better now,” she managed to say. She leaned up to kiss him, licked his lower lip while sliding her hand up and down his hard shaft. He groaned and soon took control of the kiss, sliding his tongue along hers and reinserting his finger in her. Her pussy was wet and pulsing with need and his finger was no longer enough. Chelsea grabbed his ass with both hands, urging his hips towards her own. He made a noise for her to wait and in a moment he had a condom on and had brought his hips back to meet hers. Nearly dizzy with anticipation, Chelsea pushed forward to meet him, gasping when his full length slid inside her, feeling her muscles tighten around him to pull him in further. She brought her legs farther up his rib cage, clutching at him as her orgasm built up, pushing her forward. As he increased his tempo, she tipped over the edge, grabbing his shoulders and hanging on as he drove into her, sending them both into blissful oblivion.

Chapter 5 Where the hell was his sister? Tony stared out the window above his desk and worried. He should have been working on his latest project, a complete site overhaul for a client, but he wasn’t focusing. Chelsea had left early yesterday and all he’d heard from her since was a fuzzy message on his machine that told him her damn car had broken down – again – in the middle of nowhere. She hadn’t told him where, or he would have been there by now. Chelsea was a good kid, a smart kid, but she was gone so much Tony wasn’t sure she still knew how to be careful. He couldn’t stop worrying that she’d run into some idiot on a bike and run off with him. That would be like Chelsea. No, Tony corrected himself, that would be like Chelsea used to be, hauling a string of leather clad bikers home to shock Mom. Of course, she was the one who had a broken heart when they left, not Mom, but it had taken Chelsea a while to figure that out. Lately, she seemed to have gotten a grasp on that concept. Tony hauled his mind back to the html he was

working on, but it just looked like a bunch of nonsensical letters and symbols. Dammit. When Chelsea was off running around, he never gave her a second thought except to miss her. But since she’d returned from Sydney, everything had been different. When she had left yesterday, Tony had almost called her back and told her not to go. She looked like shit, which he’d told her, but it obviously hadn’t gotten through to her. She had probably taken it as more teasing from her big brother. But she had lost weight and her coloring was off, paler. Mom was overreacting, but Chelsea was underreacting. As usual, it was up to Tony to find the middle ground. With a growl, Tony stopped trying to make his work make sense and got up to get a refill on his coffee. He studiously ignored the photos of his sometimes girlfriend, Jen. Thinking about her would not help his mood at this point. Especially not after her call a few days ago. Even though he had deleted it, he could still hear the message she had left on his machine: We need to talk. That was always a fun thing to hear. He hadn’t worked up the guts yet to call her back and find out what that meant. Chelsea’s disappearance gave him a good excuse to keep putting it off. Should he be calling hospitals and police stations now? Probably not, since she was an adult, but still. The problem was, Tony had no idea if it was normal for her to leave for days at a time or not. It could be perfectly within her normal behavior, or it could be a huge red flag. He wished he knew which it was.

### Nate opened the fridge and revealed a mass of white wrapped packages. Chelsea raised her eyebrows and glanced at him. She was starving, and he had promised her food, but so far she had seen none. Hunger had been the only thing to rouse them from their stupefied slump on Nate’s desk, and now it appeared she would be going hungry. “So what’s this?” she asked. “Trust me, you don’t want me to cook for you,” Nate said with a laugh, “You’d be out of here long before tomorrow morning. My housekeeper cooks for me and leaves lunches and dinners in my fridge.” “What do you do for breakfast?” Nate gave her a funny look. “I eat cereal,” he said, as if everyone in the world subsisted on corn flakes. She spotted a gallon of milk on the door of the fridge, the only store bought item there. “So, what are my options?” she asked. “Lasagna, spaghetti with meatballs, probably some tortellini,” Nate said as he rummaged through the packages, reading the handwritten labels. “Oooh, pasta. I thought they had outlawed that stuff. I came back from a trip a few years ago and everyone had sworn off carbs. It was kind of disconcerting,” Chelsea said as she wrapped herself around his bare torso. They both still smelled of sex and contentment. She kissed the soft skin on the side of his ribcage

and instantly wondered what the hell she was doing. This wasn’t sex; it was tenderness. It was not working things out of her system, it was intimacy and, god help her, affection. Affection? What the hell had she gotten herself into? She pulled away a little and unwrapped her arms. She took a few steps back and leaned against the counter, putting some distance between herself and his strength, his overpowering charisma. “Yeah, I can’t do that sort of diet,” Nate said with a grin. He leaned over, easily closing the gap between them. He kissed the top of her head, sending her heart rate galloping. “If you’re on a low carb diet, I’m not sure what I’ll feed you. I pretty much live on pasta.” “No, it’s okay. Pasta is pretty much found on every continent in the world. I eat it all the time,” she said with a forced grin. Pushing the thoughts of affection away, she grabbed the two containers Nate had taken from the fridge. “Here, I’ll microwave them.” She didn’t want him to see how their ease together affected her. Sleeping with him was one thing, but caring about him, kissing his rib cage and thinking his incompetence in the kitchen was cute were entirely out of her safety zone. It amazed her that he was completely helpless to feed himself. Even she could make pasta. It wasn’t all that complicated. In some men, this type of shortcoming might have annoyed her, but in Nate it was an interesting quirk. Because it made him human, or because she was falling for him and willing to overlook his flaws? Chelsea didn’t know the answer to that.

### The night had gone by way too fast. Nate had never been so unhappy to see the sun rise as he was that morning. It wasn’t fair. Even in the dim light, Chelsea’s hair shown a deep red, her skin creamy and smooth against his sheets. She lay on her stomach next to him, her eyelids twitching as she dreamed. Nate stretched carefully, not wanting to wake her. He liked watching her sleep and more opportunities. When he had made his offer, he had known that it was possible he would want to call it off after one night. Nope. After what they’d done last night, Nate wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his hands off her for the week of self imposed celibacy he still hoped for. He’d try, but the woman was remarkable. She gave herself up completely, dropping her masks and walls as she gave into him, into her body’s needs. Her pleasure had been his pleasure, and he had spent the night reveling in making her come, watching her abandon reason and thought. Waiting six whole days would be torture. Torture, assuming of course that she agreed to stay. She had told him upfront that she would walk away in the morning. He hoped like hell that she wouldn’t, that her appetite had been whetted as his had. But she had been so adamant. He should probably start coming up with ways to convince her not leave. In a very short period of time, Nate had become used to having her around. Last night, between rounds of mind blowing sex, they had talked and laughed about

nothing and everything. He’d never experienced that in his life. His post coital conversation was usually more along the lines of women asking him to sign parts of their bodies in magic marker. They always had a magic marker with them. It was kind of creepy. The very last groupie he’d slept with had brought a tattoo gun with her and wanted him to tattoo her ass. That had really solidified his decision to give up groupies for good. Instead of producing any writing implements, Chelsea had told him stories. Stories about her crazy, overbearing mother making her go to three fittings for her graduation dress, about her travels to places he’d never heard of and her brother, Tony. Nate had even shared his own stories, which was definitely new territory for him. Most people he talked to had known him most of his life. Sean and Bill, the other members of the band, and Bill’s wife Maddy, had all grown up with him. They had been there when most of his stories took place. Some of them were less than pleasant, though he hadn’t told Chelsea many of those last night. For several moments, Nate battled his urge to kiss her awake, but that would lead to something else. He should let her sleep, he knew, but he couldn’t stop staring at those lips, luscious and full, slightly parted in slumber. He had just resolved himself to hurtling out of bed and into a cold shower when her eyelids fluttered open and her big green eyes found him. She smiled lazily. “’lo,” she muttered. She lifted one arm and let it fall back to the bed. “Limp,” she observed with another half

smile. “Not really,” Nate said with a grin and a pointed glance downwards. He wasn’t sure he was capable of being in that condition around Chelsea. Her eyes glittered with amusement, and her body seemed to perk up a bit as she rolled to her side. He ran his hand along the deep curve of her waist before letting his hand rest on her rounded hip. She curled both hands under her head and stared at him. “Do you always wake up at the crack of dawn?” she asked through a yawn. “Hell, no,” Nate said with a grin, “Sometimes I don’t go to bed until dawn. But I like looking at you.” She made a noncommittal noise and edged closer to him until her face was touching his chest. Taking a deep breath, she rubbed her nose against him. Nate tightened his grip on her soft flesh, desire ripping through him. “You smell so good,” she whispered. She peppered his chest with kisses, and Nate sighed. Last night they had been animalistic, discovering each other in with furious passion. Now the mood was more relaxed, more intimate. Nate let his hand wander over her body, enjoying the feeling of soft skin under his calloused fingers. Goosebumps sprang up in the trail of his fingers, and she moved against his touch. Her breath became deeper, and when she looked up at him, her pupils were dilated, lids heavy. He brought his mouth down to hers, letting his lips just barely touch hers. Her lips opened in response, and at

the touch of her tongue on his lower lip, Nate groaned. In the early morning light, everything had a slow, dreamlike quality to it. Moving his hand lower, Nate gently tipped Chelsea’s hips so she was lying on her back beneath him. He fit himself between her thighs, gently prodding her damp curls with the head of his penis. She was wet and still soft from the night’s festivities. He slid his tongue into her mouth and his penis into her sheath in one smooth motion and she writhed against him, once again shucking her mask in a rush of pleasure. He drove into her in a steady pace, varying his tempo and angle to bring her to climax. When she came, she grabbed his shoulders and pulled herself up to him, crushing her breasts against his chest. He felt her heart beating as if it were trying to escape her chest. His heart beat adjusted to match hers, and for a moment, the walls of their skin seemed to slip away. Nate’s eyes opened wide at the new feeling, scared by its unfamiliarity. Then the pressure undid him, and soon he was mindlessly pounding into her while she cried out again. ### “I guess we should get up,” Nate said a few hours later. The sun had risen completely, bathing the room in golden light. The brick red walls shone richly against the paleness of the sheets. Chelsea felt like she could stay there forever and nuzzled her head deeper into Nate’s chest. Okay, not forever. Even snuggled in Nate’s strong

arms, sated from an evening of intense orgasms, anxiety fluttered dark wings in the corners of her mind. Besides, forever didn’t figure into any bad boy fling, no matter how much he protested about being different. Had he known that they would have had such a wonderful connection, somehow guessed that walking away in the morning would be no simple feat? How? He barely knew her, she barely knew him. Suddenly, she felt trapped, familiar panic welling up from deep inside, driving away the residual languor. “What’s wrong, babe?” Nate asked. He rubbed her back gently as he stared up at the ceiling. “Nothing,” she lied quickly. Even with her mind lurching towards a panic attack, her body didn’t want to leave his. Her hands clutched at his skin as if clinging to him would help fight her rising heart rate and constricted breathing. They wanted different things, needed different things, Chelsea thought. That was no reason to feel so trapped. She ordered herself to breathe deeply and eventually regained some control. Nate made a non-committal noise, then gently slid his arm out from under her. Her body protested the loss of warmth while her mind sighed in relief and ratcheted her anxiety down to a manageable hum. She had to reconcile her body, her mind and her emotions before this got any more complicated. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said. He faced her only long enough for her to see a fleeting sadness he

quickly hid behind a grin. ### Nate turned the water off but didn’t get out of the tile stall immediately. It had been all he could do to get out of bed. He’d been toying with the idea of just holding her tight, using his superior strength to keep her with him, which had bad idea written all over it. Her body had stiffened and he’d known right then he’d lost her. She was going to walk away, just like she’d said. He was at a loss for what else to do to make her change her mind. She wanted a good boy, someone who’d never so much as looked twice at a bike or hot rod. But she was about 20 years too late to make him look like anything but what he was; a reformed street hood with a temper and an attitude. Maybe at some point, he could have passed for something else, but tattoos covering half your body made a person look fairly stereotypical. The longer he stood in the shower, dripping and thinking, the more pissed off he became. His pain easily succumbed to the heat of anger. It was easier to deal with and he gratefully let his mind run over the reasons he should feel mad, not hurt. She was so open minded about everything but him. In traveling, she accepted cultures for what they were. She ate bugs and wore traditional costumes, but she wouldn’t even give him a fucking chance because he had a few tattoos. Okay, more than a few, but what the hell? He toweled off briskly, his movements jerky. God damn it, he’d make her see that she was wrong. He didn’t

care what she thought she knew about him. Tossing the towel into the hamper, he all but stormed back into the bedroom. Maybe naked wasn’t the best state for this confrontation, but he was too pissed to care. When he saw her, asleep in his bed, completely dead to the world, his anger dissipated and he realized with a lurch what he’d almost done. Proved her right and made it all but impossible for her to see him as anything but the asshole she assumed he was. Christ. He rubbed his eyes in frustration. If he didn’t get a better hold on his temper, fast, he really was going to lose her, and it would be his fault. Finally, something he could control in this whole mess. It wouldn’t be easy, but at least it was something. If he managed to keep her around, he wanted to find out why her body took advantage of any horizontal time, but right now they needed to get going. Sighing, he brushed her hair back from her forehead. “Sweetheart, time to wake up,” he whispered against her forehead. She stirred, kissed him, went back to sleep. Shit. “Babe, come on. Why don’t you get in the shower and I’ll go make some coffee for us, ok?” No response. It took a few tries, but eventually, Nate got Chelsea up and in the shower and even moving under her own power. She had scowled at him a bit when he had taken the blankets away from her, but she eventually struggled up to sitting, then standing, eventually wobbling towards the bathroom. He couldn’t follow her into the bathroom. He didn’t trust his self control where a naked and soapy

Chelsea was concerned. ### Chelsea washed slowly, luxuriating under the streams from the multiple shower heads. Clearly, being rich and famous had its perks. Her body felt lean and sleek after a night of pleasure. She could practically feel the glow of her skin and wondered if other people would be able to tell. Tony, for instance. She still hadn’t gotten in touch with him, and by now he would be worried. She’d have to call him before she left to let him know she was okay. Leaving. That was the first thing. As soon as poor Bunny was fixed, she would have to be on her way. On her way back to the uncomfortable bed, the closed-in feeling with no distractions. At least here, she had Nate to keep her from thinking too much. Nate had a wonderful way of keeping her body occupied and her mind blank with sensation. Still, she would leave, would serve the remainder of her damn sabbatical at Tony’s and then head back out to her work. It would be short sighted to think that distracting herself with great sex would make her feel any better in the long term and she couldn’t bear the broken heart she was sure a sustained relationship with Nate would hold. Work. There was more distraction in work than in bed. Hotels, bunkhouses, airplanes and buses crammed with people. There was still excitement and relief there, but also a sense of exhaustion. She knew she needed to slow down, her body had told her as much, but she wasn’t sure if she was able. Her mind didn’t wander when she had three articles to write on the way to her next destination. It simply

didn’t have the time. And no matter how over deadline she was, she never had a broken heart over a story. So work won hands down over Nate as an appropriate distraction. All of this was still several hours away. Sure, the name was ‘one night stand’ but Chelsea had every intention of making it at least a full day. She wanted one last time with Nate, still hoping against all evidence to the contrary that one more time would remove him from her system once and for all. Even if it was a quickie against the newly fixed car, she wanted him again before she left. Chelsea threw on her jeans and hunted around to find something suitably enticing. She found one of Nate’s ribbed undershirts and slipped it on. She thought she looked pretty cute and was interested in seeing what Nate thought. She stopped mid stride when she heard Nate’s voice coming from the kitchen, apparently talking on the phone. Feeling silly and a little creepy, Chelsea couldn’t resist eavesdropping. She stopped short of the entry and listened. “You remember last week, when you were trying to convince me to go to some club or something with you and Bill, to meet a girl?” Nate paused, waiting for an unheard answer, then continued, “I told you that unless someone landed in my lap, I was never going to meet anyone, because I was tired of it. Well, yesterday, I was sitting in my den, banging my head against the wall writing this new song… What? No, I haven’t played it for Bill yet. Yes, of course I will. Geezus, Maddy, could I finish my soul baring here?”

Nate’s voice was filled with teasing and humor, the banter he shared with this Maddy person speaking of a long intimacy. A stab of jealousy stabbed Chelsea, surprising the hell out of her. Crap, she thought wearily. This was even worse than she had thought, which meant it now qualified as an all out disaster. “Anyway,” Nate continued, “I went into the kitchen for a drink of water and there was this girl waltzing up my path. And before I got mad, before I got defensive of my little fortress, I thought, ‘Someone listened. She dropped into my lap.’” Nate’s voice sounded sheepish at this last part, as if he didn’t want to admit to this kind of irrational thinking. Maddy must have made fun of him for it, because he responded with a snort and “Fuck you, too, little miss I met my soul mate when I was thirteen. Give me a break here. I’m entitled to my moments of cheesiness, too.” Chelsea debated with herself. She really should go in there before she heard any more of this. He was thinking way bigger than she was. Even if she agreed to this bizarre weeklong dating plan of his, the end would come in three weeks when she left for Korea, the trip that marked the end of her sabbatical. He apparently felt some sort of trippy connection with her, saw her as a fulfillment of a wish. They got along, the sex was amazing, but he had feelings she could never share. Chelsea pulled herself together and took a few steps towards the kitchen when Nate continued. “What’s she like? She’s beautiful. Redhead. Yes, I know I’m screwed.” Chelsea stifled a laugh. What was it with men and redheads?

“She’s a travel writer, but she’s got some sort of sleep problem. No, not like narcolepsy. She’s exhausted all the time. I don’t know why. Yes, probably so I can protect her. Stop laughing, Maddy. Oh, god, don’t tell Bill.” Nate let out a loud sigh and Chelsea almost gave away her covert position by laughing at poor Nate. Apparently, his friends enjoyed poking at him. She missed having friends. She could use some advice and ribbing right about now, too. Her humor disappeared when she realized her exhaustion was noticeable to others. Great. Chelsea let out a sigh of her own, then clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle it. She hadn’t intended for her rest break to become a fling and certainly hadn’t intended to drag this poor man into her problems. A man who had hero issues, apparently. She was the wrong one for that particular neurosis. Not only wasn’t she a damsel in distress, but she had problems no man could fix. “No, I’m not sure it’ll go that far, Maddy. Really. Because she’s too good for me,” Nate said, his voice sad. Chelsea let her back slide down the wall and dropped on her butt. She just couldn’t hold herself up anymore. Her little tirade about bad boys had affected Nate more than she had intended. Worse, she had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t even true. If anyone in this whole messed up situation wasn’t good enough for the other, it was her, not him. She ran around the world, doing her own share of heartbreaking, being selfish when it suited her. Bad boy or not, when she left, she would be doing him a favor. She

would hold onto that idea when it was time to tear herself away from him. Maybe it would make it easier. ### Nate’s garage looked like a spread in Bad Boys Weekly. A classic black Mustang that looked like it ate sedans for lunch sat next to a flame licked Harley. The chrome shone brightly on both, twinkling enticingly. Ah, Chelsea thought, the allure of a bad boy’s vehicles. Deadly. “Bike or car?” he asked. If she was getting the bad boys out of her system, she might as well go whole hog. Pun intended. “Bike,” she said, even though she could feel the cord around her throat begin to tighten. She wanted everything that was Nate, but couldn’t let herself have it. That road led places she didn’t want to see again. Nate wheeled the bike out and they climbed on. Nate stood on the starter and fell on it with his weight, his body moving gracefully. The bike roared to life between her legs and Chelsea wrapped her arms around Nate as they left the driveway with a spray of gravel. Chelsea rode clinging to Nate’s hard torso as they twisted down back roads. Leaves kicked up under the tires, flying out behind them in swirls before settling back to the tarmac. Chelsea buried her head deeper into Nate’s back, loving the warm scent of him, the sheer masculinity of his muscles under the softened leather. He was hardness everywhere, everywhere she touched was taut and lean and the epitome of the human male. Riding the bike was freedom and for a short time,

she was able to forget all her problems and just enjoy the scenery flowing by her. Idly, she wondered if she could learn to ride and tie it into a story somehow, sell it to a magazine for motorcycle enthusiasts, or a women’s magazine. She had never tried to sell anything but travel writing, but she could expand her horizons, not be on the road so much. Chelsea tightened her grip on Nate’s torso, briefly indulging in a fantasy in which she and Nate had some kind of functional relationship. The cord tightened another notch and she pushed the image away. ### When Nate disappeared under the hood, Chelsea tried to make sense of her emotions. She called Tony, got no answer. After telling him she was fine, and she’d be back later that afternoon, she found herself at a loss. Being near Nate when she was trying desperately to work herself up to leave him seemed like a bad idea, but he pulled her like a magnet. Looking out the window, she saw him leaning over Bunny, his ass outlined in his tight jeans. There was no way she could stay away. She’d go out and hand him tools, like she used to for Tony. A few hours later, after some curses and some bored wandering on Chelsea’s part, Nate stood up and wiped his hands on a rag before slamming the hood. Not only had he replaced her head gasket, but he had insisted on replacing some of the deteriorating belts and hoses as well, claiming the would only lead to another breakdown in a week. Chelsea was distracted by the image of his dirty

hands, strong and sinewy. Dirty because he was fixing her car, doing her a favor. Shit. She was so screwed. The last few hours had done nothing to calm her confused mind. She needed some space, some time apart from Nate’s charisma, but she didn’t want it. “All set, sweetheart,” Nate said, “Start her up.” Chelsea shook herself out of her hand admiring reverie and got into the car. Nate stood in the crook of the door, one long, tattooed arm thrown casually over it. God, it was hard to think with him around. His scent, his body, all of it added up to a tall package of distraction. With vigor more suitable for demolition work than turning the key in a 20 year old Rabbit, Chelsea started the engine, Pink Floyd blasting out of the tinny, paper speakers. With a jump, she turned it down to an acceptable level. Nate nodded in approval at the engine, then made a face. “What?” she said. “You listen to Pink Floyd?” he asked incredulously. “Yeah,” she said defensively, “What’s wrong with Pink Floyd?” “They’re, well, crusty. And overplayed. And way overrated. And this song came out before you were born.” “Well, I listen to Mozart too,” she said with a grin. She could fell herself growing flirtatious with him despite her best intentions of creating emotional distance. Instead of creating this distance, she stood and lined up her body with his, wrapping her arms around him, relishing his size. One last time. “Are you saying you’re not overplayed and

overrated, Mr. Rock Star?” Nate grinned and wrapped his arms around hers and her whole body, instantly engulfing her in him. God, why did they have to fit so well? Her body was responding to his, getting soft and pliant to counteract his taut hardness. “I never said I wasn’t overrated, babe,” he said. He slanted his mouth over hers and gave her a kiss that could never be called overrated. Without removing his lips from hers, he picked her up, folding her legs around his hips, and carried her into the house. “I need to take a shower or I’m going to get you all greasy,” he said as he set her down on the bed. “No, it’s fine,” she said, gripping his arms and trying to tug him down on top of her. Greasy, dirty, grimy, she didn’t care. He could be coated in crude oil and she wouldn’t care. She just didn’t want him to stop kissing her, didn’t want this to end. When it ended, she would leave and she wanted to make the most of their time left. She didn’t want time to think, or to grow more attached. Pure, physical lust was all she could handle. “You could come with me,” he said with a grin. “Okay,” she said with relief. Nothing like sex in the shower to keep from thinking about what you were going to do in an hour. She tugged his shirt over his head, quickly getting rid of his pants while he laughed. “Calm down, sweetheart,” he said, “I’m not going anywhere.” “No, but I am,” she said.

She ran her hands over his skin as if she was receiving oxygen through her fingertips. His nipple tightened as she licked it lightly with the tip of her tongue. She wasn’t even sure this level of need was fun. Her heart beat painfully fast and she thought she would die if their skin parted. “We’ll see,” Nate said, his mood darkening somewhat. Chelsea couldn’t respond. She had been reduced to one big ball of need and heat. Nate said no more about the subject, simply picking her back up and carrying her into the shower. He adjusted the water until it was almost too hot, but not quite. The intensity against her already sensitive skin was almost more than she could take. Leaning against the tile wall while the water ran over her, she felt Nate’s mouth on her nipple, one hand wandering over her body. He gripped her ass hard, pulling her towards him. His erection prodded against her clitoris, making her gasp. He roughly kissed her neck, his stubble lightly scratching her skin. Winding her fingers into the hair at the back of his head, Chelsea held herself up. She was so close to coming now, she thought she’d die if he didn’t take her now. Rather than doing as she wished, he moved his hand from her ass, sliding it down until he reached her wet folds. Toying with her slick flesh, he kissed her possessively before sliding his finger into her. Her muscles contracted as a small explosion took her and she groaned,

the sound amplified by the small tiled space. She opened her eyes and stared up at Nate. His breathing was heavy and his eyes were nearly closed. Gone was the look of tenderness and kindness she had grown used to. He looked every bit the dangerous bad boy now, his features darkened by his thoughts. She knew her insistence that she would be leaving were driving his dark mood, but her body was enjoying the roughness too much to care. When he looked like this, it was easy to see him as just a street hood. It was everything she could have wanted. One last fling with him, and an easier emotional burden, all in one. She didn’t get a chance to thank him for easing her confusion. He turned her around and entered her swiftly from behind, knocking her forward slightly. She cried out as she felt the full length of him enter her. It was so much deeper at this angle, his penis hitting spots inside she didn’t know existed. Nate’s hands ran over her wet body until one hand found her clitoris and started an assault on that front as well. Suddenly scared by the enormity of what she was feeling, Chelsea leaned back to Nate for comfort. As the unstoppable wave of her orgasm hit her and took her under, she realized too late that when she leaned against him, he held her tenderly and in that moment, she felt safe.

Chapter 6 “So, I guess I’ll go now,” Chelsea said. She stood at the end of the bed, staring out the window at the afternoon sun. This time it had been Nate’s turn to fall asleep in a sex induced stupor. When he woke up, it was to the image of Chelsea putting her shirt on. That alone saddened him. This morning she had worn one of his undershirts, looking damn cute with the flimsy material clinging to her body. He had liked it. It made him feel proprietary, which he had no right to feel. He knew that, but he had liked feeling it anyway. Her wearing his shirt made him feel like she was his and now she was back in her own. “You’re going?” he asked. He tried to keep his tone casual. His hurt would come across as anger, would slowly turn into the real thing. Any glimmer of hope he had left would be extinguished by his anger. It had been driving things away from him most of his life. Maybe it was time for that to stop, even if that alone wasn’t enough to keep her with him. “Yes,” Chelsea said on a shaky exhale, “That was the deal we made. I could leave. I told you I would. And now, I need

to go.” Hell, no. Nate got out of bed and threw on his jeans that still lay rumpled on the floor. He knew he’d turned into an animal in the shower, but he’d been so desperate to hold on to her, all he could think of was driving her beyond her comfort zone, into something she’d never known. If her inability to move afterward was any indication, he’d succeeded. But it wasn’t enough. “Chelsea,” he said more sharply than he meant to. She turned and straightened up to face him. Luckily, she held up a hand to stop the angry explosion he felt nearly escaping. “Nate, I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you wanted. But this was your idea. I’m choosing this option. Just like I told you I would.” Her voice had an edge too. He wasn’t the only one here with an anger problem. “I know it’s what I said,” Nate said. He ran his hand through his hair, utterly frustrated. “But I thought you’d change your mind.” It was totally irrational and ridiculous. He knew that. But damn it, that was what he wanted. He usually got that. Of course, now that he wanted something desperately, she was running away. Looking at her, he could tell she’d already gone. Her face was closed, unreadable. His chest tightened with loss. “And you counted on that?” Chelsea asked. The edge in her voice grew sharper, but he chose to ignore it, forged foolishly ahead. “Yes! I thought you’d see reason.”

“Reason?” Chelsea said coldly. Her eyes narrowed and Nate nearly swore. Bad thing to say. Before he could even wish for a rewind button, she lost her tenuous hold on her anger. “You were thinking with your dick, plain and simple. You’re up on some high horse about one night stands, but you wanted to fuck me and came up with some half-assed idea. And now you want me to see reason, meaning do your bidding, like I’m some sort of groupie who has no idea what she wants. Guess what, Nate? I’m not like them, and I’m a perfectly reasonable person with my own mind. So reasonable, that I see I made the right choice. The sex was good, Nate. Great, in fact. Thanks for that. And for fixing Bunny. I mean it. I thought we could make this a civil good bye, but I guess not. Good bye, Nate.” With that, she turned and walked down the hall. A moment later, he heard the door slam, a few seconds after that, the VW chug down the driveway. Nate never moved, nailed to the floor. She was right, she probably was doing the reasonable thing. That didn’t mean he had to. ### “Shit!” Chelsea screamed for what felt like the hundredth time in ten minutes. She’d made it down the driveway before bursting into tears of anger and pain. Her vision was impaired, but she’d be damned if she’d pull over. Distance between her and Nate had become on par with oxygen and she was determined to get it. He had called her unreasonable. How utterly ridiculous. It had been his stupid idea in the first

place. Of course, she had jumped on it, thinking she could have her fling and not get hurt. It didn’t matter. Here she was, sitting in Bunny, crying and yelling, exactly what she had been hoping to avoid. Apparently, she couldn’t have contact with bad boys at all, no matter how casual. It all wound up the same. Just put her in a bad boy proof bubble. The look on Nate’s face wasn’t what she’d expected, though. He had looked hurt, shell shocked. She was used to indifference. Steve, her last bad boy before Nate, had played his Game Boy while she packed up her few belongings from the apartment they shared when she was in town. She’d seen anger on their faces, even laughter. Real pain was something new, and so much worse. Now, she had his pain and her own to deal with. No, she refused to feel guilty. He would just have to take responsibility for his own pain. She would not take on the hurt for both of them over what she had always wanted to remain a casual fling. Not that she’d ever see him again to tell him that, but at least it made her feel slightly better. Still, this probably wasn’t exactly the sabbatical the doctors in Sedona had been envisioning. She was lucky she had a two hour drive, or she’d show up at Tony’s looking like she’d been through the wringer. That was the last thing she needed. Then she’d have to share her misery, rather than just curling up and wallowing in it. ### “Tony,” Chelsea whispered savagely after yanking him through the first convenient door, which had turned out

to be the linen closet. “What the hell? Why didn’t you warn me Mom was here? I could kill you.” “I tried, Chelsea. You didn’t answer your phone, so don’t blame me.” “My damn phone didn’t work. Why didn’t you leave a message? I would have liked to know this.” Chelsea forced herself to take a breath. This was not exactly the relaxation she had been hoping for. She had managed to drive the two hours back to Seattle by imagining sinking into her bed in the guest room and not thinking about Nate or any other stressful topic. But when she had opened the door, she had been greeted by a cloud of flowery, overpowering perfume. Just that scent was enough to make her heart race and her breath stop. Her mother. In Seattle. Heaven help her. The question was, why? Tony had negotiated that Chelsea would stay with him while recuperating. And how sad was it that Chelsea needed her big brother to negotiate with her mother for her? She was a twenty seven year old woman who turned into a small child when her mother was involved. Tony was her backbone when it came to Annabelle Spencer. The first time Chelsea had heard the term ‘force of nature’ used to describe someone, she had related. Her mother had many things in common with tornados and hurricanes. Devastation for one thing. Quite often a lack of sense for another. “Where have you been, anyway?” Tony whispered. “I told you in the message, my car broke down.” “Big shock. It’s Bunny. How many times have I told you

that damn go kart wouldn’t...” “Save the lecture, Tony,” Chelsea said cutting him off. “Well, why did it take you overnight to have it fixed? Why didn’t they just tow it? I’ve been a little worried about you, sis.” Chelsea hesitated. She wasn’t ready to talk about Nate yet. If she ever would be. “I stopped at someone’s house. He fixed it for me. But we couldn’t get the part until this morning,” she said reluctantly. Tony would get it out of her eventually. Tony didn’t speak for a moment. All Chelsea could hear was their breathing inside the tight space. “You spent the night at some stranger’s house?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “Geezus, Chelsea! What the hell were you thinking? You could have been killed!” Tony’s voice rose to an alarming volume and Chelsea shushed him frantically. The last thing either of them needed was Annabelle to hear them. “It was fine, Tony. He wasn’t a mass murderer or anything.” Tony swore under his breath. “Okay, fine. You’re an adult. I just wish you had told me in your message where you were.” “Sorry,” Chelsea said. She truly was. She knew Tony worried about her, and didn’t want to give him more cause to do so. “Look,” Tony whispered, “I have to go back out there, or Mom will get suspicious and come looking. I’d prefer if she didn’t find us huddled in here with the frigging sheets,

okay? So do what you need to do to collect yourself, then get your ass back out there. She’ll be hell to deal with if you disappear for too long. You know that.” “Fine,” Chelsea whispered. Feeling vindictive, she couldn’t help adding, “Does Jen mind the cologne you wear?” “Jen doesn’t know what kind of cologne I wear,” Tony said, a touch defensively, “What’s wrong with it?” “You smell like a gigolo,” Chelsea said. She made a face that Tony probably couldn’t see in the low light, but she couldn’t resist. “A gigolo?” Tony said as he sniffed his shirt, “I thought I smelled…” he trailed off. “What?” Chelsea asked, nearly unable to restrain her laughter. “Manly,” Tony said with the sigh he always gave when he’d resigned himself to her teasing. “Oh, manly,” she said with a knowing nod, “Okay, off you go. Back to mom. I hope she enjoys your manly scent as much as I do.” Tony punched her on the arm and slipped out, leaving Chelsea alone to bang her head against a stack of sheets. She would get through this somehow. But it meant she couldn’t stay here, at Tony’s. She didn’t have to look in the guest room to know that her own things would be stashed in a corner to make room for Annabelle’s belongings. Besides the lack of a bed, just the thought of living in the same house with her mother was enough to drive her out of her mind. Tony would play intermediary the

way he had always done, but she didn’t want him to have to do that any more. It had gotten more ridiculous every year since she turned 21 and maybe now was the time for it to end. But Chelsea was pretty sure she lacked the strength for that sort of undertaking. ### “Why don’t you do it like this, dear?” Annabelle asked as she rearranged the contents of Chelsea’s rucksack. “Because I don’t like to do it like that, Mom,” Chelsea said through clenched teeth. She had been under attack for the past hour and was about ready to go back into the linen closet. Currently under inspection was Chelsea’s packing method, which consisted of putting pants and shirts into the bag and tossing her toiletries on top. Chelsea had turned away from her mother to pack up her cosmetics and had found Annabelle unpacking her backpack. That would teach her to turn her back on her mother. Not that it mattered. She did what she wanted, whether you were looking at her or not. “This would be easier if you had a real suitcase, you know. This rucksack is just ridiculous. You’re not sixteen anymore,” Annabelle intoned as she removed the last piece of clothing. The small pile got a derisive look before Annabelle started rearranging it into categories that made sense only to her. She seemed to be trying to make whole outfits out of Chelsea’s jeans, t-shirts, sweaters and solitary, obligatory skirt. Chelsea bit her tongue and tried to remember to breathe, hoping she was going to be able to get out of here

without her mother starting on her. She seemed to be sticking with the bag for now… “And speaking of your age,” her mother said as she looked up and fixed Chelsea in her crystal green eyes. Here it was. Damn it. “You really should use a better wrinkle cream, dear. All that traveling is bad for your skin. Airplane air is so dry, and the sun. Do you even wear sunscreen?” Chelsea knew better than to attempt an answer. “I’ll bet you don’t. Why don’t you run down to Neiman Marcus. There is one in this town, isn’t there?” “Yes, Mom. Civilization has come across the Rockies. It took a few years, but we’ve got it now,” Tony said from the doorway. He lounged against the door jamb, his ubiquitous cup of coffee in hand. Chelsea stifled a giggle. “Oh, now Tony, don’t make fun of your mother,” Annabelle said calmly. Chelsea rolled her eyes. Had she made the exact same comment, she would have been in for an afternoon of passive aggressive consequences. “We could go together,” Annabelle said, once again turning her attention to Chelsea. Her eyes were alight with the thought of shopping. “Maybe we could go now. It would be a nice mother daughter outing. Let me get my coat.” Annabelle started towards the coat closet. Chelsea made a panicked noise and gestured futilely to Tony. He shrugged helplessly. Throwing a nasty face at him as she followed her mother, Chelsea did what she did best around

her mother. She lied her head off. “Actually mom, I can’t. I have to leave. I’m having some, um, spa treatments done. To relieve stress. In fact, I’m staying there for the next few days. So I’ll be out of your way and you and Tony can have some nice mother son time. Won’t that be nice?” Nice, nice, nice, yes indeedy. Nothing could be nicer, Chelsea thought frantically. Chelsea realized she had sounded just like her mother. She could turn into Annabelle. There was a horrifying thought. Chelsea went back to the bedroom, tossed all her things into her rucksack and did up all its latches and zippers in record time. “So, I’ll just be on my way,” she said as she gave her mother the air kiss she knew the older woman preferred. “What did you say you were having done, dear?” Annabelle asked. Her little fingers dug into the tops of Chelsea’s arms. The woman had an iron grip when she wanted one. “It’s, uh,” Chelsea stammered. She had received many strange and interesting spa treatments in her life, not one of which would come to her right now. She looked at Tony over her mother’s shoulder, and once again, he shrugged, unwilling or unable to help. Chelsea plastered a big smile on her face and said the first thing that came to mind. “Cranial reflexology. It’s the newest thing.” And if her mother had learned to Google things, she would learn that it was so new, it didn’t actually exist. “I’m glad to see you’re finally taking the effects of the

Australian Incident seriously, Chelsea Anne,” Annabelle said, finally releasing Chelsea’s arms. It was a good thing she was leaving. Once her mother started calling her Chelsea Anne, the woman became self doubt dispensing tornado. With that she turned away, saying “Tony, what is Jen doing these days?” And just like that, Chelsea’s shortcomings took a back seat for the moment. Now it was Tony who was in for the onslaught. Chelsea gave her brother a finger wave and all but bolted for the door. Stepping out the door of the condo, Chelsea took a minute to take a deep breath of fresh, non-flowery air. Feeling much less claustrophobic after even that simple step, she started down the block towards Bunny. Seeing her mother always made her feel inadequate, and not just because of her mother’s constant attacks on her. She knew Annabelle meant well, most of the time. What she really hated was her own inability to stand up to her. Mother and daughter had always had a contentious relationship, and then after Brandon… well, after Brandon it was awhile before she could even stand to be around Annabelle. Chelsea’s knees felt weak and she put her backpack down, reminding herself to breath slowly. Looking around the deserted street, she tried to find something to redirect her train of thought. Her eyes fell on something that certainly took her mind off Brandon and her mother. A black Mustang that looked vaguely like the one in Nate’s garage sat across the street. Great. Now she could

think about Nate instead. What a lovely improvement. Desire flooded through her when a mental image sprang to mind. Oh, he was so marvelously big, hard in all the right spots. Suddenly, she was assailed by doubt. After dealing with her mother, Nate’s bad boy image seemed to be less relevant. She had blown it, and she wouldn’t get another chance with him. Better to focus on just getting to some hotel so she could regroup. Maybe she’d end her sabbatical early and she could hit the road again. That idea held more appeal than it ever had, and that was saying something. She tossed her backpack into Bunny’s backseat and climbed in to think. ### Nate’s heart kicked wildly against his chest when he saw Chelsea leave the condo and walk down the block towards him. He couldn’t believe he had been reduced to a stalker. Given his fame, it was pretty ironic. She looked flustered and he wondered if it was still because of him. She had left his house hours ago, but the color in her cheeks was still high, her hands still fluttery. From his limited experience, he assumed that this would be when she would straighten herself up, but she didn’t. What was bothering her that pulling herself up wouldn’t help her? It seemed to fix everything else for her. Too bad that didn’t work for him. He’d love it if he could straighten his shoulders and she’d come running back to him. He had followed her from his house, cursing himself

and smoking like a madman the whole way. He told himself he was just making sure she made it back to Seattle in her crappy car, and that when she got there safe and sound, he’d let her go and forget her. Except he’d sat outside for over an hour, trying to figure out how to see her again without looking like the pathetic freak he felt like. Now here she was, heading for Bunny and looking like she was about to take off again. She stopped midstride, her face showing sudden, but unmistakable fear. He moved to get out of the car, to comfort her, but he stopped himself. She had not been happy with him when she left and nothing indicated that he could comfort her now. He hesitated a moment longer, and she seemed to calm down. She got into the old VW, but didn’t start the engine. Instead, she sat there, staring off into space. Did she have somewhere to go? Maybe it was time to find out. Nate stubbed out his latest cigarette and got out. Now or never. God only knew where she’d be headed after this. Dubai? The South Pole? Hard to say. At the very least, he owed her an apology for reacting the way he did to her decision. She had been right; he’d made his bed when he made her the offer. Now he had to lie in it. Not a good cliché. Now he was thinking beds and Chelsea, a combination guaranteed to make him say something stupid due to lack of blood near his brain. When she turned and looked at him through the window of the VW, she didn’t look all that surprised to see him. In fact, he saw the glimmer of a smile on her lips before she turned her head and stared out the windshield.

Apparently, she had remembered she was mad at him. But not mad enough to keep her from rolling down the window when he got closer. “Hi,” he said. He stopped about a foot from her door and shoved his hands in his pockets. The day had turned cooler, and, surprise, surprise, gray and overcast. His leather jacked provided him with enough warmth, but he noticed Chelsea was wearing just a t-shirt. That worried him, and the fact that it worried him worried him even more. Yeesh. What a dork he was becoming. “Hi,” she said. She turned to look at him and he was once again struck by her beauty, by those green eyes and full lips. “I’m sorry. You were right. It was my choice to make that offer, and you had every right to decide whatever you wanted. I just wanted to say that,” he said, wanting it out of the way. A more disciplined man would have walked away then, but he’d never been known for that particular virtue. “You drove two hours out of your way to tell me you’re sorry?” Chelsea said. She raised her eyebrow and looked at him incredulously. Oh great. Now he had to explain why he was basically stalking her. “Not just that. I wanted to make sure you got home ok. Bunny may have a new head gasket, but I’m still not sure about the rest of her,” he said. That and I really like having sex with you. He left those words unsaid. A wise choice, he thought.

Chelsea glanced down at the steering wheel and blew out a breath. For a long moment she said nothing and Nate wondered if he was being ignored. The tension was broken by a man nearly as tall as Nate running up to them. The guy glanced at him and Nate stiffened as recognition crossed the other man’s face. This was not what he needed right now. “Chelsea, where the hell are you going to go? You can’t run off again. I don’t care if you don’t want to stay with me, but you have three weeks left of your sabbatical and you know it,” the man said, wedging himself between Nate and the car and leaning down, shoving his face in the window. “I’m going to go to Nate’s house,” Chelsea said without looking at either of them. Well, that was news to him. Good news, but news. “This is my brother Tony, Tony, Nate Stone,” Chelsea said as she stepped out of the car, nearly knocking Tony over as she opened the door. When Tony’s gaze shifted back to him, Chelsea shot Nate a pleading look and gestured for him to just go with it. At least that’s what it looked like. She turned it into fixing her hair when Tony looked back at her. Then he quickly looked back at Nate and Nate knew there was no way the guy was going to be distracted this time. He was in for the whole ‘Oh, god, you’re Nate Stone’ thing. There were few things he hated more. “Holy crap, you’re Nate Stone, from Blindsided,” Tony said as he stared at Nate, deviating only superficially

from his script. “That’s me,” Nate said. Nate clenched his jaw and just tried to act as if this wasn’t as painful as oral surgery. “Wow, I love your music,” Tony said as he shook Nate’s hand. “Thanks.” This was bad and just going to get worse. Not only did Tony recognize Nate, but he was a fan. Shit. Then Tony surprised the hell out of Nate by rounding on his sister and saying, “Okay, I’m game. You’re going to go stay with a rock star. Why not. Knock yourself out. I’m going to go deal with the mess you left. Nice meeting you,” he said to Nate, and then he was walking away. Halfway back to his condo, Tony turned around. “I’m sick of cleaning up your messes, kid,” he called back to Chelsea, “I love you, but this is the last one. And I hope you know what you’re doing.” He gave Nate a pointed look before he turned and walked the rest of the way to the condo. It had been a long time since an older brother had been wary of him, instead of star struck. He liked it. As for the rest of it, Nate was baffled, but he’d been thrown off balance by Chelsea since the moment she’d strolled up his walkway. Why should now be any different? He had no idea what mess needed to be cleaned up, but god love Tony for doing it. “Sorry,” Chelsea said, once Tony was back inside the condo, “I just didn’t feel like telling him I had nowhere to

go. I’m going to go to a hotel. Thanks for covering for me.” “No problem,” Nate said. He started to turn back to his car. His work here was done, and now he had to walk away from her. He caught a mischievous grin on her face that made him stop. “Unless your still up for that plan of yours. What if instead of dating for a week, I live with you?” Nate’s pulse raced at the thought of more Chelseafilled days, plus nights to go with them, but he played it cool. It was his job and he was damn good at it. “I don’t know,” he said, pretending to think it over, as if she hadn’t just offered him some type of Nirvana, “You look like you’re getting ready to run off to some exotic locale. Do you have time to date someone? Especially someone like me?” He couldn’t resist that last comment. Yeah, it sounded bitter, but maybe he was. She certainly took it that way, and she looked truly upset at having caused it. She moved closer, so close that she had to tilt her head way back to look up at him, so close he could swear the tips of her breasts were touching his jacket. Jesus. From respectable to half hard in no time flat. “Nate, I’m sorry I said that. I’m sorry I lumped you in to a stereotype like that. I have to leave here.” She held up her hand to stop him when he started to ask why. “What changed your mind? Besides your current homelessness, of course,” Nate said with a grin. He was being used, but what the hell. He’d used enough people for a place to stay. Maybe this was karma.

And he’d take anything that would get him close to Chelsea. With her staying with him, it would be even tougher to keep his hands off her, but he’d take it. Seeing her every day, nearly every minute. It was more than had he had hoped for. “If you followed me home, you’re at the very least not as bad a boy as I thought,” Chelsea said finally, avoiding his eyes. ### Nate knew she meant it as a compliment, an apology, an explanation for her acquiescence, but the more he thought about it, the more worrying it became. Now he had to prove he hadn’t been lying, fooling himself into thinking that he was past his bad boy days. Hell, his temper still flared high and hot, action still preceded thought most of the time and heaven knew he lost track of time working on the Mustang and the hog. The real question was, did he still break hearts the way he used to? That he didn’t know, but it was clearly the most important to Chelsea. When the strange turn of events outside Tony’s condo had led them to an unlikely caravan of muscle car and go kart headed for his house, he had felt triumphant. Now he could see what all those strings he’d hand tied really meant. Way to go, he thought wryly. Way to think before you act. Having her stick around to get to know him might fuck him over worse than a one night stand. She’d probably decide that he was delusional and hadn’t changed much at all,

decide that he was exactly the bad boy she had tried so hard to avoid. Maybe he was just a pretty face with a killer grin and the soul of a snake. A smart person would have asked someone, Maddy or Bill, hell, even Sean, if he had any right claiming to have grown out of his bad boy ways. Sure, they had known him forever so their views would be colored by the past anyway, but at least it would give him some warning. A little warning would be good when he’d just laid himself on the line to try to impress the first woman he’d felt anything for in… How long? Ever, he realized grimly. Maddy and Bill rarely missed a chance to tell him he was a cold hearted son of a bitch to have never fallen in love in thirty eight years. Only he knew that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. He was probably too soft hearted when it came right down to it. It was a secret he hid as best he could. He’d fallen in lust, even had a few relationships for the sake of the companionship, but he always kept something back and the women always sensed it. The last thing he needed was to get inextricably involved. He knew damn well he wouldn’t be able to handle it when it all inevitably went to hell. So he restrained himself out of protection. Until yesterday. Yesterday had blown his careful compartmentalization all to hell. Chelsea had blown it all to hell. She hid nothing, held nothing back and something in him responded. He craved the freedom to simply let his emotions run wild. For years, he’d hidden everything behind anger. And yesterday, as he watched the range of

emotions run over Chelsea’s face, he’d been sick of it. He’d realized what he was missing. That was a thought. If her face started to show panic, distrust, anything that indicated that she was questioning her decision, he would rethink whatever idiotic thing he was up to. Hopefully, he could straddle the line between acting like someone he wasn’t and acting like the complete asshole he knew damn well he could be. ### You can handle this, Chelsea told herself. One week of utter frustration, one more phenomenal night in Nate’s bed and then she’d never see him again. Two weeks later she’d be gone. She had managed to salvage her safe bad boy fling. No fuss, no muss, all the pleasure and none of the pain. On Saturday, she’d leave Nate’s a sexually satisfied woman, complete with an intact heart. She would outwit that smile of his, all sexual promise and mischievous charm. This time, it would end on her terms. When Nate had appeared back at Tony’s Chelsea had nearly wept with relief. She’d had no plan, no idea what she was going to do. Her need to flee from Annabelle had overpowered her common sense and she’d panicked, or what Tony called the classic Chelsea cut and run. Then Nate had walked across the street, 6 feet 5 inches of salvation and sexiness. It had all seemed perfect, her badass boy toy ready to deliver her from the hands of her mother. Then he’d told her he’d followed her to make sure she was safe and her ambivalence about him had

ratcheted up several notches. What Chelsea had learned about bad boy relationships during her life was fairly straight forward: they were idyllic in the beginning, a roller coaster of euphoric highs and devastating lows in the middle, and tear-filled, bitter and ugly at the end. Every time her she had felt herself falling for Nate, she had reminded herself that they were still at the beginning. It was the honeymoon period, and that was all. She didn’t want to stick around to watch Nate morph into the true horror she knew must lie beneath his current kindness. Unfortunately, even the nicest beginning behavior didn’t include driving two hours out of the way to make sure you were ok. That didn’t mesh at all. Typically, the sweetness was more about perception, spin. It was a romantic gesture that seemed big, but took almost no effort; careful withholding of action, making every small gesture seem grand; buying you a drink after you’d paid his cable, phone and water bills; writing a song about you while you were gone, while screwing everyone in heels and perfume. It was words that cost nothing and small chivalries worth even less. It wasn’t spending four hours under your car then driving two hours, all with no expectations. And bad boys were overwhelmingly cocky. Nate was confident, but when Tony had recognized him, Nate had been very uncomfortable. He hadn’t reveled in the attention or bragged or swaggered or anything. He had – blushed. How bad could he be if he blushed?

“This would be easier if he was just the selfish asshole he was supposed to be,” Chelsea muttered to herself. It was long dark by the time Chelsea pulled into the driveway, Nate close behind her. She was exhausted, could feel sleepiness taking over every inch of her body. She met Nate at the front door and waited for him to open the door. Instead, put an arm around her waist, hand splayed possessively over her bottom, lightly stroking her throat with his other hand. Every cell in her body responded to his nearness, his touch. “Last chance to walk away,” he said quietly. He locked her with his gaze and she swallowed hard. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said.

Chapter 7 Honestly, Tony thought, the woman was insane. He wondered if all women were like this or if he was just incredibly unlucky. He hadn’t had enough experience with women besides Jen to know if her behavior was normal. Chelsea didn’t count, being his sister. Sisters were supposed to be a pain in the ass, especially baby sisters. How could Jen expect him to just drop his life and move to Santa Fe with her? When he’d finally gotten up the nerve to call her, that was what she’d wanted to talk about. She’d decided that he had to either give up his life or she would be out of it forever, which would amount to the same thing in a less sexually fulfilling package. Did she mean it this time? She’d gone into inscrutable mode and he couldn’t tell. Either way, now wasn’t exactly the best time for her to be dropping this kind of a bomb on him. He had enough problems, all of them revolving around women, thank you very much. Annabelle was staying with him for an indefinite amount of time, and, as usual, Chelsea had headed for the hills. Not that he blamed her. He’d do the same if he could. Chelsea found his

tolerance for their mother remarkable, but in truth, it was more that he ignored her as best he could. It was his best defense against the mother who had raised them both while in the clutches of a deep bitterness about their father. Chelsea was another problem altogether. Granted, she had been practicing the cut and run deal since they were kids, but it was getting a bit old by now. He didn’t want to be the intermediary for Chelsea and Annabelle anymore. Let them butt their pretty little heads. He wanted out of the middle. Chelsea was a big girl now, but he still protected her from their mother. Tony paced his living room, slugging back his coffee without really tasting it or even registering the hot liquid. It was simply something to occupy his body while his mind ran around in circles. Thankfully, his mother had been out of the house when he and Jen had engaged in their latest heated discussion. They had talked for an hour and a half about mostly nothing, followed by ten minutes of tight, angry words. Which was par for the course. Despite having grown up together and knowing almost everything about each other, they still found enough to talk about, albeit in a kind of verbal shorthand that only the two of them understood. Even their arguments were conducted in a protracted language now. Christ, they should be growing bored of the whole juvenile situation by now. Thirty four was a little old to be playing these games. Maybe she did mean it this time. Maybe she’d decided to cut her losses before she got any older waiting for him.

Jen was one of the smartest, funniest people he knew, which didn’t make it any easier for him to stand his ground. But he couldn’t just let her win, could he? Couldn’t just roll over and do what she asked. For a time right after college, they had lived together. It had been good, and Tony still thought about it often, though he was sure it had become colored by time. Even with imperfect memory, it had been near perfect until it hadn’t been. There had been no in between, no transitional period of mediocrity. Young and badly dressed, the two of them had squeezed into a tiny apartment in New York City. Eight flights of stairs, intermittent plumbing, heat that did little more than keep hypothermia at bay and saucer-sized roaches had made them closer than they had ever been, before or since. They had had to climb over one another to get into bed, and the shower was approximately the size of a tube of toothpaste, but they had made the most of it. Jen had hung cheap tapestries she bought at street markets up over the cracked plaster of the walls and had put plants in every window. It was bohemian and jungle-like, and for two years, it had been blissful. Then everything fell apart. Jen was offered a partnership at an architectural firm in Santa Fe and had taken it without discussing it with him. Just came home one day, excited and bubbling, telling him how much they were going to love it there, with the lower rent, more money and sunlight galore. He’d already begun his own business, already worked his odd hours from their apartment.

He had exploded, he remembered with some embarrassment. He had been so temperamental in his youth, and remembering his behavior now made him a touch queasy. But how had she expected him to react? Supportively, probably, he thought to himself wryly. He had been such an idiot when he was younger, and he’d been paying for it for ten years now. So had Jen. In his better moments, he knew that his continued refusal to move to Santa Fe for Jen was just a stupid, protracted reaction to not being considered when she had taken the job. He knew it, but he just couldn’t seem to get past it. Even when he’d had enough of the city and had moved across the country, he was too stubborn to move to Santa Fe to be with Jen. And how dumb was that, he wondered. Absentmindedly, he poured himself another cup of coffee. Without Chelsea around, he had no one to distract him from his own misery. Annabelle didn’t offer a distraction so much as she offered variety. Catching up with Chelsea had been great. Hearing her stories of being on the road had kept him from realizing he was spinning his wheels. Now, thinking back on those stories, he was just reminded that even Chelsea, his baby sister, had a life that was going somewhere. Before her breakdown, he hadn’t seen her in months. No, close to a year, since the previous Christmas. So his sister was only a fleeting part of his life, his mother was a hurricane, and his girlfriend was laying out ultimatums. My life sucks, Tony thought. The only problem

was, he wasn’t sure how to fix any of it while keeping his pride. ### The light was still early morning watery when Chelsea awoke in Nate’s bed wearing one of his undershirts and her own underwear. The last thing she remembered was putting her head down on the table after dinner. They’d talked about her sleeping in the guest room, but apparently, Nate had taken it upon himself to bring her to his bed instead. Not that she minded. Asleep, Nate looked adorable. The hard lines of his face softened, making him look younger and like less of a badass. Unable to stop herself, she ran her hands over his body, slowly finding her way from his sculpted abs to his hips, tracing ever lower. She was about to slip her fingers under his boxers and explore his morning erection when his strong hand gripped her wrist. “No, babe,” he had said, eyes still closed. A smile played on his lips. “What?” she had said innocently. Damn, she’d been hoping he’d be to sleepy to notice her venturing hand. “You start doing that now and we’ll never make it until Friday.” He opened his eyes and looked at her, blue eyes soft with sleep and amusement. “You fell asleep at the table last night, Chelsea,” he said, his eyes losing their teasing glint and taking on a shade of something deeper.

His comment was an invitation for her to explain. But she couldn’t. Not now. Once she started, she was certain she wouldn’t be able to stop, and she didn’t want to get to the end, was always trying not get to the end. Or was it the beginning? It didn’t matter, she just didn’t want to wind up there. “I was really tired, you know, after the drive an everything,” she said, hoping for a light tone. The shrillness in her tone belied her unease though, and she winced inwardly. “People don’t normally fall asleep like that unless they’re sick, Chelsea. Are you sick?” Nate asked. He stroked her hair, his fingers soothingly tender and for a moment Chelsea almost relented. She almost got into the whole shebang. Then she pulled back. This was one week, not a lifetime. Telling him of her breakdown, of the reasons she had realized only while lying in a hospital bed, would only make him feel sorry for her. She didn’t want his pity, she wanted a fling, with no thought, no emotional outpouring. “No, I’m not sick, Nate. I’m just sleepy, okay?” she said. She had meant to make her voice a bit sharp, to discourage further prying, but it came out quiet and small. “Okay,” Nate said with a narrowing of his eyes that told her that he meant the exact opposite. ### “No, no, not like that,” Nate said.

“But this seems to be working,” Chelsea replied. She waved the garden claw at him defensively and he laughed, feigning a dodge. “Sure, it works, but you’re also tearing up my delphiniums, not just the weeds. I worked hard on those, lady.” “Oh, sorry. Which ones are those?” Chelsea asked. She looked at the pile of leaves and stalks in front of her and started sifting through it, looking for flowers. Nate pulled out a stalk with some green leaves that looked just like everything else she had attacked with the claw. “These,” he said. “Oh, ok,” she said. There was no way not she was going to be able to tell the difference. To her, green things were green things. Clearly, her thumb was not one of them. Though she had grumbled and whined about it, Nate had gotten them both some old clothes and dragged her out to play in the dirt after breakfast. He had claimed that it would lift her spirits and clear her mind. Which meant he’d noticed the panicky fidgeting that still overwhelmed her. It was only a matter of time before he asked her about it. So far, all the gardening had done was make her dirty and guilty for ripping up Nate’s flowers. It gave her hands something to do and the sun felt nice, but not as nice as Nate’s hands on her body would. Watching him work was not good for her concentration, and it certainly didn’t help her hold up her end of the bargain. Dressed in only a

pair of old work pants, his muscled, tattooed torso was on full and glorious display. The sun was warm enough that he was building up a nice sheen of sweat. Distraction personified. “Nate, if we stay out here, I’m going to destroy your garden. I’m hopeless,” Chelsea said. She flopped back on her butt and stared at him. He worked deftly, separating weed from flower and pulling only the appropriate one. She had harvested rice in a paddy in Vietnam, and she hadn’t been very good at that either. Living plants were not her thing, but they were clearly Nate’s. The gardens were so beautiful. And time consuming, she now saw. Nate looked at her over his shoulder, still working. “So, what messes does Tony clean up for you?” he asked. For a second she wondered what he was talking about, then remembered Tony’s comment the day before. “Oh, Tony’s always cleaning up my messes,” she said, “He’s always saying this is the last time. Maybe this time, he means it, but I doubt it.” If it was, Chelsea wouldn’t blame him. She picked up a piece of foliage and began ripping it into thin lengths. “Usually, he just appeases my mother,” she said, “She understands him better.” That was an understatement. “Anyway, that’s what big brothers are for, right?” she said with a smile. Nate had stopped working and stared at her as if he knew there was something she wasn’t telling him. There were a lot of things she wasn’t telling him.

“I guess,” he said with a nod. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” she asked to remove the attention from herself. He shook his head briefly before turning away from her again and returning to his work. “No. I’m an only child. My parents weren’t what you would call, uh, fit,” he said, his voice tight. Chelsea felt bad for him. His tension spoke of a worse childhood than hers. “Can we go inside, now?” Chelsea asked as she tossed the little green strands in her hand onto the ground. She was sick of this conversation and sick of feeling incompetent. Nate flopped down next to her and put his arm around her. Unable to resist, she nuzzled her face into his neck, trying not to think about sex even as her insides pooled and warmed at his touch, at his smell. She nipped at his neck just a little, just to feel his skin in her mouth. A rumble came from deep inside Nate and Chelsea tried again, taking more skin in her mouth this time, turning her body towards him for a better angle. Nate pulled away just enough to take his neck out of her reach. “If we go inside, I’m going to break my promise and throw you down on the table, sweetheart. And the rug, and the desk. Get the idea?” he said. He nuzzled his head into the top of her hair and she clung to his strong body, tracing her fingers over the tattoos on his forearm. Here was that amazing physical intimacy again, but this time, Chelsea felt warmed by it, not scared.

That alone should have set off her alarm bells, but she had decided to block them out. “And what makes you think being outside is going to stop us?” Chelsea said, laughing. “You could throw me against the dirt. That would be fine with me.” While she spoke, she straddled him and pushed him gently onto his back. She couldn’t have forced him to if she had wanted, but he was apparently willing to follow her lead. He stared up at her, rubbing his hands over her hips. Hips that were covered in a very baggy pair of paintstained pants that he had dug up. She probably looked awful. He looked gorgeous, with his hair a mess, the sunlight playing on the angles of his face. Nate shirtless looked better than a person had any right to look, and Chelsea was not going to be able to stop herself. What had she been thinking when she’d agreed to this asinine plan of his? Not only had she willingly submitted herself to this torture, she’d driven two hours for the honor. Her eyes stuck on him, she lowered herself down until their noses were touching. She rubbed his lightly with hers and was surprised to find the silly motion turning her on. Leave it to him to make an Eskimo kiss sexy. It had to be the scent of him. Besides his normal heady aroma of masculine sweat, earthy musk and the lime soap he used, he smelled like rich dirt, not a scent Chelsea had ever found attractive. Now, she might find herself in garden centers, sniffing dirt and going into raptures. What a lovely thought. She opened her mouth and kissed him, sucking on

his lip, poking her tongue into his mouth, satisfied all the way down to the pair of grubby sneakers she was wearing when he groaned and tightened his grip on her. He was surrendering to her. She deepened the kiss, her eyes still open. She enjoyed seeing his eyelids, the soft coal black of his eyelashes spread out against his cheeks. She prodded his tongue with hers and watched as his eyelids spasmed a little. Working hard to control her smile, she wiggled her bottom a little over the hardness she felt growing below her. Just a little bit more, she thought… Then she was on her back, Nate pinning her down and carefully keeping his hips out of range of hers. Her arms were above her head, pinned down by one of his big hands. His knees were clamping her legs in place. It was a delicate, wonderful bondage which she wriggled against, testing the limits of his strength. She wasn’t strong enough to even find the edges. His grip on her never wavered, despite her half hearted struggles. He didn’t seem to be exerting himself at all, though he was hovering over her using only his arms and toes to stay upright. If he was hoping this little exercise was going to make her less aroused, he was in for a big surprise. Nate’s eyes were dark with desire, but there was something else there. Amusement. She was amusing him. Wonderful. Just what she had been going for. “You’re not going to make me break my promise, sweetheart,” Nate said, “But I’m glad to see that it’s enough to keep you around. By Friday, you’ll be putty.” The smug tone of his voice should have been

enough to kill her desire, but it wasn’t. He had the audacity to dip his head and rub his mouth against the tender skin of her throat. She was in a Nate cage and he was intent on making her prisoner in more ways than one. She wasn’t about to tell him that she was already putty and that by Friday she’d be in flames, but she was fairly certain he knew that already. “How can you be so restrained?” she asked, her voice nearing a whimper. That was what he’d reduced her to. Whimpering. She tried wriggling her hips against him again, but it wasn’t working. He still her held tightly and gently. He raised his eyebrows at her and grinned. It was taking some obvious effort, but he was doing a much better job of keeping sex off his mind then she was. Suddenly, she felt foolish. He clearly didn’t want her as much as she wanted him. No wonder he’d thought up this whole stupid exercise. He was probably bored, needed something to keep him occupied for a week. Stupid, stupid girl. “You don’t want me as much as I want you,” she blurted out. Nate arched an eyebrow, then settled his hips between hers. He pressed his male hardness against her sensitive mound just long enough to make her gasp. She tried to clench her legs around him to hold him in place, but he pulled himself up again, resuming his grip on her legs. “Babe, if that’s what you think, you’re very wrong. I want you more than you will ever know. I’m just older than you, my libido isn’t ramped up like yours.”

“But you’re a guy,” she said. No need to tell him that her libido wasn’t exactly what most people would call ramped up. She wasn’t a virgin or anything, far from it, but before him, she hadn’t had sex in almost a year, and hadn’t cared too much about the fact. With him around, everything was different. With him, she didn’t want to go longer than a minute, and she had promised him a week. “You’re supposed to be unable to get your hands off me,” she said, “Unable to resist my feminine wiles.” “Ah, feminine wiles,” Nate said grinning down at her. “Well, for the record, I’m trying very hard not to get my hands all over you. It’s not easy for me. I want you Chelsea, I want you bad. But I want to get to know each other, which we’re not going to do if all we do jump in bed every time I want to get inside you. We’d never leave the bed, trust me.” He stood up and offered her his hand. Without his heat on top of her, the ground suddenly felt cold. Chelsea took his hand and stood up. She could feel her eyes blazing at him. She wanted him so bad, she could taste it. Desire had taken over all her faculties and all she could think about was him, getting inside his clothes, burrowing against his skin. She didn’t care if it took an hour or a year, she wanted to try to get her fill of him. To hell with Korea. Nate derailed that alarming train of thought by saying, “We need to get out of here. Go someplace public.” ### Nate stopped in the kitchen and looked around for inspiration. He was feeling a bit crazed and most of his

attention had gone to the growing pressure in the front of his pants. “Right,” he said, realizing that he sounded something like a drill sergeant, “First, you have to go put on some of your own clothes. You look way too cute swimming around in mine.” She stood in front of him in a pair of his blue work pants and an old Blindside t-shirt. Some girl had given him the latter as a joke that he still didn’t really get. It had his face screen printed on it, contorted as he wailed into a microphone. The image of Chelsea’s breasts rising and falling beneath his open mouth was almost too much to bear and he wondered what the hell he had been thinking when he had given it to her to wear. He ran his hand through his hair and tried not to look at her, tried not to imagine the softness of her skin rubbing on the inside of his clothes. Suddenly, a tinny version of the 1812 Overture broke through the air and the sexual tension. What the hell? Chelsea looked just as surprised as Nate felt, but she moved to her purse and took out her cell phone. “Now it works,” she said under her breath as she opened the phone and the Overture stopped. Nate was slightly disappointed. He kind of wanted to hear little warbling cannons. “Hi Tony, what’s up?” she asked the phone. Then her face paled and she sagged against the counter. “Oh, hi mom,” she said, her voice noticeably less enthusiastic.

Nate had very little experience with women’s mothers. As Chelsea had pointed out, he was not the type that women took home to meet their mothers. He had always thought of that as something of a blessing. He didn’t have the best of luck with parents, least of all his own. “Oh, yeah, the spa’s great,” she said. The dichotomy between her bright voice and panic stricken face was unsettling and Nate moved towards her, wrapping one arm around her waist. What was going on here? He’d seen women get annoyed at talking to their mothers, and Maddy often ardently refused to answer the phone unless she had an hour or more, but panic usually didn’t figure into the mix. “Oh, the cranial reflexology was great,” Chelsea said. Some of her tension had eased now. Nate could feel the muscles in her neck begin to soften. He couldn’t resist putting his lips against the nape of her neck, flicking his tongue out to taste her soft skin. She softened more, her voice getting more relaxed. Interesting. He was glad he could relax her, but what the hell was she talking about, cranial reflexology? Spa? Last he’d checked, he wasn’t running a spa out of his garage. Nate stiffened as he realized what Chelsea’s lies really meant. Hell, it had been a long time, but he knew that look of panic. He’d seen it in every one of his early girlfriend’s eyes when they got caught with him, the boy from the wrong side of the tracks. So she’d told her mother she was at a spa, rather than telling her she was with a man

like Nate. Rationality tried to butt in and tell him that perhaps Chelsea would have lied to her mother had she been staying with any man she’d only known for two days, but suddenly, he wasn’t feeling rational. He pulled away and walked across the room. Keeping his temper in check grew harder and harder the more he thought about it. Anger was much easier, much more comfortable than reason. The voice of reason, faint and getting fainter, reminded him that he wanted desperately to prove he’d changed, but it was all getting lost in the familiar red cloud. Was this what she left Tony to explain to her mother? His sister’s taste in inappropriate men? “I’m not sure when I’ll be back to Tony’s, Mom,” she said, “You might be gone. I know, I want to see you too. But it’s really relaxing here. No, how could I forget the Australian Incident, Mom?” Chelsea had sagged back against the counter and held her head in one hand. Part of Nate felt sorry for her, but most of him was furious. His fury had all but consumed his pity for her, along with everything else. How could she stand here, in his kitchen, and let him see exactly how she thought of him? He still wasn’t good enough to take home to mom, even though he had long since outgrown his teenage hood days. “Ok, I’ll talk to you later,” she said into the phone before folding it up and putting it on the counter gingerly, as if it might bite. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and blew

it out. Nate wasn’t sure if he wanted to hug her or shake her, but at least he knew enough to not go over there and find out. Better to keep his distance when he felt like this. “You lied to your mother about me,” he said. His casual tone barely concealed his anger, a piece of silk over a razor. Chelsea registered it and her eyes flew open. She stared at him warily. Her tongue darted out and licked her lips, and despite his anger, or perhaps because of it, Nate felt a spike of desire go through him. “Yes, I did,” Chelsea said. She moved cautiously across the kitchen, and Nate backed out, needing to put space between them. She seemed to understand his unspoken need for space and stopped in the middle of the floor. “You’re mad at me,” she said. It was her statement of the obvious in such an incredulous tone that undid him. She not only lied about him, but expected him to understand and accept that she was ashamed of him. To keep from exploding, Nate gripped the door jam with one hand. His knuckles turned white and he could feel a vein popping out in his forehead. Before he could stop his action, he kicked the door frame, anger driving down his leg, the pain racing back helping him feel more in control even as he was losing it. He must look terrifying, and he saw the beginnings of fear in Chelsea’s face. She took a step back. “You could at least try to deny it,” he said quietly. “Why? You heard me. Then I’d just be lying some

more. It’s not like I’m proud I’m twenty seven years old and still lie to my mother,” she said. She took a tentative step towards him, then moved two steps back when he leaned forward and nearly growled his words at her. “Maybe you should just go, Chelsea. If you can’t even admit to your mother you’re here with me, then you shouldn’t be here.” Chelsea looked completely baffled and her look made it past his stubborn fury. As his anger began to subside, he could see that Chelsea’s was beginning to rise. “Not everything is about you, Nate Stone,” she said quietly, her quiet words every bit as intense as his loud ones. “You think I lied to my mother because of you, right?” “Are you saying I’m wrong, Miss Spencer?” he said, unable to remove the sneer from his voice. Now she advanced on him, but there was no way he was backing away. He was still mad as hell, though that voice of reason was beginning to imply that he might not have a right to be. “I lied to my mother because I lied to her earlier, before I left Tony’s. She’s the reason I can’t stay there. I can’t stand to be in the same house with her, so I made up some lame story about a spa. Now I have to stick with my story. Why did you think I lied, Mr. Stone?” she asked. Her green eyes blazed at him and her lips were tight. She was in his face, on her tiptoes and just inches from him.

“Because you’re slumming it and you don’t want your mother to know,” he said. The words came out quietly as the rest of his anger left him, leaving him feeling simply foolish. She was right, he had assumed it was all about him. Her face softened, but she stayed on her toes, her face so close he could feel her breath. Just a fraction of an inch brought her lips to his and before she kissed him, she said, “Maybe I’m not the one you need to convince that your bad boy days are behind you.” ### Chelsea pulled a shirt out of her bag and slowly put it on. She was distracted by the earlier scene in the kitchen. Nate had been almost terrifyingly angry when he thought she was lying to her mother because of him. She laughed bitterly. If only Nate was the problem. The irony of it was that she would happily tell her mother about Nate, if it was a relationship not a fling. If she wouldn’t be leaving for Korea in three weeks, she’d bring Nate over to her mother right now. Hell, maybe she would anyway. She’d show her mother what a real man, a good man, looked like so that maybe her mother would get it right next time. Despite Nate’s very obvious temper, every minute she spent with him made it harder for her to right him off as just another garden variety asshole. Nate was much more than met the eye, and to write him off as a bad boy with a

bike would be doing him an injustice. That didn’t mean that she wouldn’t do her best to convince herself of that very thing when it was time to leave, but there it was. Loathe though she was to admit it to him, she could finally admit it to herself; past aside, wasn’t who she’d assumed he was, not anymore. Bad boys didn’t care that you never brought them home to meet your mother. In fact, they considered it a bonus. But Nate’s anger had hidden real hurt. She’d only known him a few days and she could see that. Scary as his flash of temper had been, his steely eyes and the kick to the door jamb, it was obvious that he had controlled it. Everyone got angry, some people had more fiery tempers than others. Chelsea knew it, and she also knew that keeping it under control was the important thing. Nate had done just that. He hadn’t put a hole in the wall, hadn’t roared off and gotten in an accident, hadn’t struck anyone. She couldn’t have forgiven him that, not in a lifetime. Blaming him for his anger wouldn’t be fair. If he had been right, if she’d been lying to her mother out of shame, he had every right to be angry. She was angry at herself as it was. This whole damn thing was snowballing, just like it always did with her mother. She told one lie as a quick fix to get out of an uncomfortable situation and the next thing she knew, she was telling her mother she was getting imaginary spa services at an imaginary spa. It was no wonder she kept leaving the country. If she couldn’t get away from herself, she could at least get away from herself as she was around

Annabelle. Chelsea brushed her hair over her shoulders and took a deep breath. She studied her reflection for a long moment, wondering what Nate saw in her that inspired him to go to such great lengths. Her long copper hair was her best feature, but even on a good day, she thought her body was nothing special. Boobs, waist, hips. That was pretty much it. She’d never been all that fond of mirrors, even as a teenager, but now she wanted to look good. For Nate. It had been a long time since she had been involved with anyone who made her want to look good, to put any extra effort into her appearance. She put on some lip gloss and mascara, and shrugged. At least her slight vanity gave her an excuse linger, to give the intense atmosphere that had grown between them time die down a little. God, it sounded so barbaric, but being angry at Nate, having him angry with her, had turned her on. She had wanted to dig her nails into his skin, scream out as they used their anger to fuel passion. When she had encroached on his space, had gone up on tiptoes to try her best to intimidate him despite their size disparity, she’d been hoping he’d just toss her up on the counter and ride her mindlessly. Chelsea let out another shaky breath. Nate angry, Nate happy, Nate sad. She wanted him any way, any day. Ridiculous. ### When Chelsea reappeared in the kitchen in her own clothes, Nate immediately questioned his sanity. Why had

he thought that her own very feminine, very form fitting clothes would be better than his gigantic ones? She wore a little, bitty t-shirt and low slung jeans. The two had no more than a passing acquaintance with each other, since they were a good two inches apart. Her belly button was stretched taut, surrounded by smooth, pale skin. He swallowed. 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. Annabelle looked no more accepting of Nate as her daughter’s boyfriend when Chelsea was done, but Nate didn’t give a rat’s ass. “Why aren’t you at the spa, anyway, Chelsea?” Annabelle said with disgust. She was obviously done discussing Nate. Chelsea took a deep breath and did the straightening

thing with her shoulders. This was it, the main event. “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. “I’ll be in my room,” she said to Tony as she sailed past him. Next to him, Chelsea relaxed and smiled weakly. “There, that wasn’t so bad,” she said. She almost sounded like she meant it. ### Tony picked up the phone to call Jen before he even thought about it or remembered that he was angry with her.

It was his first instinct and probably always would be. Maybe that was something he would have to take into consideration when he finally decided what to do about this whole ultimatum business of hers. “You’re not going to believe what just happened,” he said when she answered. They had long since grown out of identifying themselves. “What?” she answered. “Chelsea just stood up to Annabelle.” Silence. “Your sister stood up to your mother?” Jen said incredulously, “Or are you talking about different people?” “Nope, them.” He told her the story in their abbreviated language. “Maybe that will get me out of the middle.” “It’s about time. How is Annabelle taking it?” Jen asked. In her own family, such a brief, simple sentence would have had no consequences, but she’d been around long enough to know that the same was not true in Tony’s. “Ah, she stomped around for awhile. Didn’t leave her room until Chelsea had gone. Then she did the really surprising thing.” “What?” “Asked if I thought she picked Chelsea apart,” Tony said with a grin. He so rarely got to shock Jen. “Annabelle?” she squealed. “Yup.” “Holy shit,” she said, “Has hell frozen over and no one told me? What did you say?”

“Oh, come on. She hasn’t changed that much. She asked and answered the question herself. Came to the conclusion that it had to do with Chelsea’s new boyfriend.” “Chelsea has a boyfriend?” “Yup. I met him before, but not as her boyfriend.” “Your mom like him?” “Tattoos and a muscle car. What do you think?” “She’s asking for trouble, not just from Annabelle.” “Yeah, but guess who the guy is.” “Huh?” “Nate Stone,” Tony said, still unable to believe it himself. He’d been able to keep it to himself two days ago, but now he was nearly bursting with the idea. “She’s dating Nate Stone.” “The guy from Blindside?” Jen asked after a moment. “Yup. I’ve seen him twice now.” Jen broke into laughter and for the first time in days, Tony felt the weight that had been on his shoulders start to lift. “Priceless. Chelsea brought a rock star to meet Annabelle.” After their laughter had died down, Jen asked, “What’s he like? Will he break her heart like the other leather jacket wearing freaks?” “I don’t think so,” Tony said immediately, as surprised with his answer as Jen was. “He’s a decent guy. He stood up to Mom too.” “It’s easier if you’re not related,” Jen said. “True,” Tony said with a sigh.

The truth was, it was easier if you weren’t Chelsea. Every year, it seemed like it got harder for Chelsea to do anything but bend to Annabelle whenever they were in the same room, which wasn’t very often. Maybe not anymore, though. “Speaking of which, are you going to damn me to a lifetime of being related to Annabelle, or not? I need to know, Tony,” she said, her voice losing its humor. And just like that, they were back to being at odds. Fuck it, Tony thought, I can’t live like this. He took a deep breath and jumped in. ### “A drive-in?” Chelsea said. “I didn’t know they still had these.” Three days into Nate’s grand experiment and he was taking her to a drive in. Where countless virgins had given it up. What was he thinking? Their lust was barely restrained as it was. The cultural implications of a drive in movie would damn them, but it was perfect all the same. Everything they’d done together so far had been perfect, smacking of old fashioned courting. When she’d been unable to stop giggling in the car after leaving Tony’s the day before, Nate had responded by bringing her to a carnival. She’d felt so free, so unburdened and more childlike than she had in years and the carnival had the perfect vibe. They’d indulged all her giddy whims, riding rides until they were near puking and eating a horrible amount of fried and sugary foods. Nate had even won her a large stuffed giraffe by throwing balls at bottles. If

Nate was indulgent as a lover, he was even more so as a boyfriend. Boyfriend. The word still had the power to thrill her, to zing straight through her in a combination of terror and delight. Looking at him aroused all her deepest, darkest bad boy fantasies, but underneath, she was convinced there was more. She hoped she was right, hoped she wouldn’t be proved wrong. Despite the comfort and safety, she still awoke in the night in the grip of a panic. The first time, Nate had slept on, but the second, he had woken up and simply held her until she had fallen back asleep. For not traveling, her feelings of helplessness were remarkably few and far between. Was that because of her, or because of Nate? She would find out soon enough, and she wasn’t looking forward to it. “The Rodeo’s one of the last drive ins in the area,” Nate said, “Nothing says courtship like making out in the back of a muscle car.” Chelsea laughed. “I love it.” The making out part held particular appeal. “Good, then I’ll actually pull in,” Nate said with a grin. They pulled into a slot and Nate tuned the car radio to the pre-show, which was playing an old soda ad. “Dinner. Do you want to wait until the show’s over and go to a restaurant, or do you want to get a hot dog or something from the snack bar?” “Is it really a drive-in experience if we don’t get something artery clogging, like a chili cheese dog?”

“Nope. I’ll go get some,” Nate said. He slid out of the car with the easy grace that Chelsea was beginning to love watching and walked towards the concession stand. His long legs covered the distance quickly. When they had been walking together earlier, she’d had to almost jog to keep up with him. He had noticed and slowed his gait for her and let her dictate the pace from then on. Everything he did was like that, she realized. Sweet, considerate, thoughtful. Not only did he actually notice things like that, but he did something about them without being asked. It was nice to be considered. Nate returned with their chili dogs, plus French fries and nacho chips covered in some sort of yellow sludge that Chelsea assumed was cheese, or at least cheese product. “Only the finest for you,” he said as he eased into the car after passing their food to her through the window. Nate downed his food in about two minutes, while Chelsea picked at hers. The chili dog had sounded good in theory, but in reality, the big, greasy hunk of meat was far from appetizing. “So, do you have any interest in seeing me play on Thursday?” Nate asked when he had finished demolishing his junk food. He looked studiously casual, as if trying to hide the importance of this. “Of course,” Chelsea said immediately, “I would love to see you live. I’ve never even heard your CD’s.” “Ok, good. Do you mind going down to L.A. tomorrow, then? There’s some things I’d like to take care of.” “Ok,” she said simply.

Inside, she nearly leapt with joy. Traveling again, moving, freedom. Sure, it was only Los Angeles, not some far flung place, but at least she’d be on the road. As she spoke, the sounds from the radio changed from nostalgic ads to the dramatic swelling that indicated the previews were beginning. “Come on, the best place in a drive-in is the backseat,” Nate said. He threw his arm over Chelsea’s seat and leaned in closer, stroking her chin with his finger. The whole thing was so retro. It fit perfectly with the drive in. In the dim light coming from the big screen, Nate looked like he belonged in a fifties movie as the biker who steals the prom queen’s heart, or some such nonsense. At the very least, Chelsea felt like she should be wearing a ribbon in her hair and one of her mother’s beloved twin sets. She was also fairly certain that her virtue should be compromised. If they did some role playing and ended up making love in the back seat, would it count as them having sex? “I can’t go in the backseat with you,” Chelsea said with a little giggle, “What would people think?” “Oh, come on, baby. You’re only young once,” Nate said, raising his eyebrow. He turned his street hood charm on her and she felt his grin zing energy to all her interesting bits. She’d never been with a man for whom a smile counted as foreplay. “But I’m not that kind of girl,” Chelsea said chastely. If she didn’t stop batting her eyelashes, she was going to get a headache.

“Sure you are. You just don’t know it yet,” Nate said, easing himself closer, the heat in his eyes nearly frying her insides. His lips were only an inch or so from hers, and the scent of him was overwhelming. She wasn’t even really trying to protect her virtue, but it all seemed so taboo, forbidden, tantalizing. He must have been a heartbreaker. Maybe he still was. “You say that to all the girls,” she whispered, her eyes straying down to his lips. Oh god, why wouldn’t he kiss her? “Not anymore,” he said, and then he did kiss her, gently, as if she really the innocent teenage girl she was playing at being. He was skillful as ever, his lips teasing hers, tender and unrelenting at the same time, his tongue pressing her lips apart to find the inner warmness of her mouth. She moaned as she surrendered to him, pressed her chest forward, towards him. Her hands curled around his shirt reflexively as she tried to get closer to him. He pulled her closer, deepening their kiss, plundering her. If she had been a poodle skirted virgin, she wouldn’t have stood a chance. As it was, she didn’t want to fight him. “Ok, backseat,” she said, voice shaking. “You’re dangerous,” Chelsea whispered once they were wrapped around each other in the backseat, Nate’s hand wandering freely over her whole body, drawing fire under his hand. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“You must have been a heartbreaker,” she said, “There’s no resisting you. How many girls did you deflower in the backseat when you were a kid with that street charm?” “Do you really want to know the answer to that?” Nate asked. He was looking into her eyes, the intensity of his stare deepened by the eerie flickering light coming from the far away screen. On the screen, a preview for a new movie was rolling, but Chelsea only noticed it in the periphery of both her vision and her mind. “Probably not,” Chelsea answered honestly. “If it makes you feel better, I’m tested and clean,” Nate said. He was still stroking her back in long strokes from her shoulders to her bottom that made her feel deliciously warm and melting, caramel and chocolate blending together into something sticky sweet. “Oh, um, me too,” Chelsea said, a little taken aback. She supposed it was a good thing to get said and out of the way, but it hardly seemed like the time. They’d already had sex, albeit with a condom. Maybe he was thinking about doing it without the latex. The thought of nothing between her intimate folds and Nate’s penis made her breath catch in her throat. “Can we get back to me seducing the virgin in the backseat?” Nate asked. His voice was husky and his eyes intense on her, his hands growing rougher, more insistent.

“Oh, no, I’ve told you, I’m not that kind of girl. There’s no way to get me out of my prim and proper ways,” Chelsea said in a breathy voice, all while raunchy fantasies played in her mind. “Alright, we’ll just watch the movie then,” Nate said, calling her bluff. There was no way he couldn’t tell she was ready to explode. He kept his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close so her head was resting in the crook of his arm and his chest. He was so warm and solid. Chelsea snuggled to him and wrapped her arm around him, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. He was facing forward, one foot propped up on the front seat arm rest that was molded out of the door and lit a cigarette with his free hand. He was the image of street cool, and Chelsea had to stop herself from throwing herself at him. No wonder the greasers got all the girls. The movie started. To Chelsea’s dismay, it was a slasher. Chelsea had always hated horror movies, terrified by all but the silliest. In high school, her friends had loved to scream their way through slashers, but she was unable to let the images and story lines go when the credits rolled. She snuggled deeper into Nate’s chest and he tightened his arm around her. “I don’t like horror movies,” she said. “It’s ok, I’ll protect you from the monsters,” he said, still playing their game. “No, I really don’t like them. I can’t get them out of my head,” Chelsea said.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. We don’t have to stay,” Nate said, turning to her. “Do you want to go?” “What’s the second movie?” she asked. “Some sort of romantic comedy, I think,” Nate said. “We could watch that,” Chelsea said. She turned in her seat to look at Nate. Screams and gasps had started to come from other cars, but she ignored them and the soundtrack playing through the speakers. She leaned forward and changed the station until she found something playing a rock song with a driving beat she felt instantly drawn to. She left it there and leaned back into the seat. “We could find something else to occupy us until the second feature,” she said as she straddled Nate and started moving her hips in time to the music. Nate squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed her hips, moving them closer to his. She moaned as his hardness touched the spot that had melted during his last onslaught of his mouth on hers. She leaned down to kiss his lips, holding his head in her hands as she kissed him gently, teasingly, occasionally pulling herself out of his reach. “I thought you weren’t that kind of girl,” he said as she licked his lower lip in a completely wanton manner. “I changed my mind,” Chelsea said, “You’re very persuasive about such things.” “Mmmm,” Nate said. His hands had worked up under her shirt, his hands cupping her breasts. His fingers found her tightened

nipples and teased them through the thin fabric of her bra. As Chelsea let out a moan, the vocals of the song from the radio started after the long, sensual intro. Chelsea couldn’t quite make out the words in her arousal induced haze. She had never heard the song before, but the voice was very familiar. Rough, yet sweet, a low, sensual growl filled with emotion. Nate was looking at her with aroused amusement. “It’s you!” she said. No wonder the voice sounded familiar. Its owner sat between her thighs. She couldn’t be sure in the dim light, but she was pretty sure Nate was blushing. “It is me,” Nate agreed, “What do you think?” Chelsea stopped her writhing and concentrated on the song. He moved his hands to rest on her rib cage. She listened closely to the song. It was addictive. The drum and the bass were sinuous and sensual, the vocals hard and striking and filled with rage and pain and something else. Hope for redemption, maybe. “I like it. I really do,” she said after a moment. It was unlike anything she’d heard before, and frankly, hearing Nate all around her was more than her libido could handle. She leaned forward and started kissing him again. “You want to make out while we listen to me on the radio?” Nate asked, breaking away. “Yeah, what’s wrong with that?” Chelsea asked, “It’s like I’m surrounded by you. I like it.” “Well, that’s pretty sexy,” Nate said. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to him

with ease, reminding Chelsea just how little control she had over him physically, at least strength wise. He was so much bigger and stronger that any hold she got on him was allowed by him, not enforced by her. His strong hands gripped her, possessed her. She tried to tease him, to hold her hips up from his, but her resistance lasted only seconds. He was not in the mood to be toyed with, apparently. “Get down here,” he growled as he pulled her to him, matching their hips up. Instinctively, she ground against him, applying pressure and heat to both of them. Nate pulled her shirt up over her head and then her bra. A low, primal noise escaped the back of his throat when her breasts were uncovered, ripe for the taking. Her nipples were perched high and tight on the swollen flesh of her breasts and she unashamedly pushed them forward, offering them to him to taste, to suckle. He took one nipple in his mouth and caressed the other with his thumb. Chelsea moaned and arched her back, bringing her mound into even closer contact with Nate’s growing erection. Gripping Nate’s hair, she finally found the willpower to pull his head away from her. “You can’t keep this up,” she said, “Not if you’re still on your no sex kick.” Nate ignored her and slid one hand down to the heat between her legs. She almost lost her mind as he ground his hand against her, finding her folds even under two layers of fabric and gently caressing them.

“Nate, I mean it. I might have to go find someone else to sleep with me if you won’t.” Unconcerned, Nate tightened his grip on her and continued teasing her with his hand. “I’ll kill any man who finishes what I started,” Nate mumbled into Chelsea’s neck in between kisses and nibbles to the tender skin there. “Well then maybe you better finish what you started, since you’re Mister Self Control.” Before she knew she was moving, Chelsea was laying down on the seat, her head and chest on Nate’s lap, her legs sprawled on the seat next to him, one foot resting on the floor. He quickly unbuttoned her jeans and snuck his hand into both the jeans and the silk underwear beneath them. The sweet, salty scent of her wafted up to them in the closed car and Chelsea moaned as his fingers gently parted her swollen, slick flesh. He slid his fingers along her labia, every touch sweetly tormenting her. She bucked her hips up to meet his hand, but he kept his touch light. For what seemed like an interminable amount of time, he kept up his light teasing, until she felt totally out of her mind with need. Only then did he give in. She gasped as he slowly thrust one finger inside of her, slid it out, then back in, this time joined by a second finger. Her back arched off the seat as she came, crying out and grabbing at the leather of the seat and Nate’s arm to anchor herself as she flew apart. ###

“You know, you’re kind of easy to finish off,” Nate said with a smile. Chelsea’s eyes were still closed, her head in his lap. He liked her like this, sated and sleepy looking. It was the sexiest thing he had ever seen. He liked making her come while his voice reverberated around them. The thought of making love while listening to himself had always seemed distasteful to him, but now there was something sexy about it. It was possession, male ego, pure and simple. He was everywhere, invading all her senses. “Are you complaining about that?” Chelsea said finally, obviously struggling to put words together into something coherent. Another ego boost. “Nope. Just saying, you’re not much of a challenge.” “Actually, that’s not true. It’s just you.” Nate calmed his ego down for a moment to make sure that she meant what he thought she meant. “What do you mean?” he asked. He was stroking the soft skin of her belly, luxuriating in the softness of her, the inherent femininity. “I mean I’m usually a challenge. Except for you. Maybe everyone else was just unskilled, but I think it’s your smell. I get so turned on from being near you that by the time you touch me, I’m almost ready to explode, and then you touch me and I go nuts,” she said. Her voice was low and gravely, her eyes still closed. “Well, that’s nice to hear,” Nate said. “Then there’s your damn smile. Gets me every time,” she muttered just before falling asleep. Nate vowed to smile more.

They watched the second movie from the backseat. At least Nate watched it, kind of. He half watched the simplistic movie and half watched Chelsea sleep in his lap. She was an adorable little pile of confusing, sexy woman and he had no idea what to do with her. He had watched her come clean to her mother about her feelings, but he knew there was something she was holding back. Every day he spent with her he could read her face better, and there was something she was hiding. Once in a while, he’d catch a glimmer of panic skitter across her face before she was able to hide it. It was never during anything particularly stressful. Hell, he’d caught it over brunch. Nothing panic inducing about eggs. Then there was the terrifying way she woke up in the middle of the night, her soft skin soaked in sweat. Only at night, though. They’d napped during the day and she slept fine, just like now. Out like a light. But at night, in bed, it was a different story all together. All he’d known to do was hold her until her shaking stopped and she went back to sleep. It made him feel so goddamn helpless and he had lain awake for hours after, watching her sleep, worrying about her. He wasn’t even sure if she fully woke up, but she sobbed and it broke his heart. Which was terrifying. He felt like calling Bill and Maddy and saying, ‘See, this is what I was afraid of. This is why I never let myself fall in, gulp, love.’ Maddy would love that, especially since he’d told her about his instinctive feelings for Chelsea in a moment of weakness. He’d been avoiding talking to her since then. He didn’t want to hear

her gloat about the wonders of love. He’d been a romantic, had always envied Bill and Maddy, but they could have told him how fucking scary the whole thing was. Nothing could have prepared him for the way he felt about this woman. Couldn’t someone have warned him, given him some kind of manual? He wasn’t sure it was love yet, wasn’t ready to call it that, but she undid him at every turn. Her frigging smile left him breathless and when she was upset, so was he. He hated to see her cry like that, hated even more that he didn’t know what to do about it. Okay, so he had feelings for her, and as terrifying as it was, he was just going to have to get over it. But this not being able to help her thing was another story all together. He’d learn to deal with his feelings for her, but no way in hell was he just going to stand by while she cried and panicked. He’d had enough of that. His first instinct had told him that she was different, special. Told him that something between the two of them could work. Nothing he’d seen in the past few days had shown him anything different. Even keeping himself in check wasn’t so hard with her around. He didn’t have to try too hard. With her he actually wanted to be the guy he knew he could be. Imagine that. But if this was going to turn into something more than a strange, one week experiment, he needed to know why she woke up crying in the middle of the night so he could damn well try to fix it. He had a few more days until midnight struck and Cinderella ran off and he was going to find out what the problem was before then. Which meant tomorrow. Before

they went to LA and she saw what the rest of his life was like and everything got a hell of a lot more complicated.

Chapter 9 Chelsea woke up the next day content in the knowledge that the following day, she would get to go on a trip. An airport, a plane, maybe a taxi. It was all so exciting it was nearly pathetic. Her excitement was tempered only by sadness over leaving the cocoon she and Nate had created around themselves. There was nothing but them and their feelings for each other. Feelings that were quickly spiraling out of control. Somewhere along the way, Nate had melted away her resistance with his near constant thoughtfulness, his intelligence, his generosity. If this was what all bad boys grew into, she’d take it. Which would be great. Her and Nate. A fantasy life that could never be. He’d been gently pushing her to tell him what was wrong since the very beginning. Why are you so sleepy? Why are you on a sabbatical? He’d held her several times in the night when she’d awoken in a terror, and though he never mentioned it in the morning, he had to wonder why. It wasn’t normal to wake up crying and shaking. She’d

pushed it off, knowing it was pointless to tell him about it when she would never see him again. No more Nate. No painted skin, no cocksure grin, no being picked up and carted around at his whim. No more staying in this house, no more cocoon. The future without Nate looked bleak, desolate and colorless. But there was no other option. She had to leave again as soon as she was able. She’d woken twice last night, the worst so far. Her panic had been near overwhelming and for a period that could have been seconds or centuries, she’d been sure she was going to die. Nothing in the dark room could save her, not even Nate. For endless moments she had floundered in the bed, twisting the sheets around her, senses cut off from the world as her inner darkness choked her. How the hell could she make something work with someone when a few stationary weeks led to mind gnawing terror? Suddenly, the trip to L.A. no longer had the power to cheer her up. ### Outside, the sun was actually shining and Nate quickly decided it was now or never. They were leaving the following morning to go to L.A., and if he didn’t know what the hell was going on in Chelsea’s life that made her wake up crying, he’d go nuts. Last night had been terrifying for him and he hadn’t been the one gasping and clawing at nothing, lost to the world in a deep terror.

In such a short time, he’d gotten so used to having her around, so used to having someone to share random thoughts with. The fact that she was sexy as hell didn’t hurt. Just hanging around the house with her was a fun adventure. Whatever they did, he couldn’t keep his hands off her, and she shared the feeling. Guess he wasn’t so old after all. She liked his body fine, if her spontaneous touches and heated glances were any indication. She was such a lovely distraction, and for the first time in ages, he wanted to write music. In the past three days, he’d made more notes on napkins and scraps of paper than in the whole previous year. He hadn’t even realized he’d been in a slump until he’d been writing song lyrics on the back of his hand and remembered that he used to do that all the time. The words used to just flow from him. And now they were again. It didn’t make him want to go on tour and do the rock star thing again, but it did make him want to go into the studio. That ought to make Sean and Bill happy. But that was a problem for a different time. Chelsea appeared, hair wet from the shower. This was it. “Want to go for a walk?” he asked, hoping that getting outside would make her let her guard down. “Yeah, it’s actually nice out,” she responded as she leaned up to kiss him. Nate groaned. Her lips were so distracting he almost forgot the fact that he was most likely going to piss her off when he started pushing her for answers. “Let’s go, babe,” he said, pulling himself away with

an effort. The woods behind the house were damp, as always, but the sun filtered through the trees casting pleasant shadows on the pine needle floor of the forest. Being out here always made him feel much calmer, more centered. He’d tried so many times to get her to talk to him, but so far, she’d batted away his attempts. He wasn’t sure how she’d take a more forceful approach, but he had to know. Had to know so he could fix it, if at all possible. It damn well had to be possible, because he couldn’t deal with the whole feeling helpless thing. With a sickening certainty, Nate knew he’d crossed that invisible line between caring and love. There was no other reason for his desire dig into a subject she clearly would rather have ignored. He had written this whole thing off as one of his impulsive moves, a way to get a girl he liked to stick around for a week and get around his own rules at the same time. But the truth was much scarier. He wanted to know about her, wanted her for longer than a week and knew that to help her long term, he had to find out what was going on. She would run again if he didn’t. Oh, Christ, he thought, what have I done? Momentarily dumbstruck by this realization, Nate got lost in his own thoughts. There was real fear welling in him now. He had thought that caring for her was hard, but this scared the shit out of him. He’d never heard about this particularly weak feeling being in love had given him. He needed to help her, needed to make things right for her, and sometimes, that wouldn’t be possible. Fuck. He was going

to shake Maddy and Bill when he saw them. He forced himself to focus, first taking in the trees, the sunlight, the singing birds. Good. Now on her. She was in front of him, her ass wiggling as she walked, agilely picking her way over rocks and tree roots. There was another thing to love about her. She wasn’t so girlie she hated to go into the woods. He’d had girlfriends who refused to get out of high heels. But this was not helping him focus. He nearly screamed with frustration. Where to start? Her job. If that wasn’t why she cried in the night, there was at least something weird going on there. She was on some sort of enforced sabbatical and then there was this odd Australian Incident thing. Maybe that was it. Maybe she was attacked by kangaroos or something. It was a place to start. He took a deep breath and asked, “Why did you become a travel writer?” “Why did you become a rock star?” she asked, turning the attention back to him. She kept walking, didn’t break stride, but he could see her shoulders begin to tighten. Should he back off, or keep going? Instinct told him to press on, no matter how hard it might be. Maddy always said if you don’t want to talk about something, you probably need to. Not that he had taken that advice, but it seemed sound, in theory. “I was good at music and not much interested in anything else. We got lucky. That’s really it,” he answered. Okay, it was a tad simplistic, but that was the basic idea. But he wasn’t the one who woke up in the middle of

the night crying. He didn’t have to talk about the bullshit from his past. He opened his mouth to ask again when she blurted out, “You’re really trying to ask me why I’m always tired, and what the Australian Incident is, aren’t you?” She used her hands to make quotes around Australian Incident. Nate lengthened his stride to keep up with her suddenly increased pace. So much for his attempt at subtlety, Nate thought. He grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. She looked down. Jesus, what the hell was going on? Time to lay his cards on the table. “That’s pretty much it, yeah. And there’s the fact that you wake up crying every night. I want to know why, Chelsea. It scares the crap out of me,” he said. He tilted put his finger under her chin and tilted her head up so she had to look at him. Her face had the same panicked look he’d seen before and he folded her into him. “It’ll be okay,” he said. He had no idea if that was true, but he was bound and determined to make it okay, not matter what it took. When she finally looked up at him the trust he saw there nearly knocked him over. He loved her, and suddenly that wasn’t so scary anymore. He just hoped like hell he deserved that trust. ### Chelsea was used to telling stories. She made her living telling stories. But the stories she told were well

thought out, practiced many times before they were ever heard. When wistful airplane seatmates asked why she had become a travel writer she had a breezy, simple answer: To get away from her mother. It usually got a laugh and neatly ended the discussion. “I became a travel writer because I wanted to get away from my mother,” she said slowly, out of habit. But she wanted to give Nate more than the pat, lighthearted answer she gave everyone else. Yes, her mother was part of it, her love of writing and traveling another part. But other travel writers didn’t work as compulsively she did, and they certainly didn’t have Australian Incidents. She was known in the field for her fierce drive that bordered on insanity. She had only discovered the reason for that drive in the past few months and had yet to tell anyone. Exhaustion seeped into her muscles and Chelsea sank down onto a nearby rock. She felt suddenly unable to either stand or speak. Nate sat next to her and for a few moments, they sat in silence, taking in the surroundings. The sun shone through the hole in the canopy of the trees, making the pine needles on the ground glow with coppery light. Particles drifted down from the trees, golden and shining in the sunlight. The place felt enchanted, magical. Maybe she could leave it all here, and when she left, she wouldn’t have to run. “This is going to be jumbled up,” Chelsea said a few moments later. “I’ve never told anyone this, and I think I’ve just barely worked it out for myself, just recently, after the

Australian Incident.” Chelsea saw the look of confusion in Nate’s eyes. “It’s my mother’s term, not mine,” she said with a sigh. “Maybe I’ll start there and work backwards.” Chelsea thought back, trying to find an appropriate starting place, somewhere that made sense. Her memories were so jumbled and pieces were missing. The only thing from that time she had a firm grasp on was how she had felt. Her mind had been so drained, that only the sensory input had lasted, but maybe that was enough. Chelsea let the images and feelings flood back to her and just let her memories flow unhindered and hoped that Nate would understand. ### Chelsea’s head throbbed and ached as the pilot flew her to Alice Springs, gateway to the Outback. He banked the small plane and Chelsea’s stomach and nervous system reacted violently to the pitch. Closing her eyes, Chelsea tried to focus on what the man was saying, ignoring the heaving of her stomach and the cold sheen of sweat that slicked her skin. Her habit was to catch a few hours of sleep in transit and she had been counting on closing her eyes and resting, but it was just her and the pilot. The noisy two seater was hardly conducive to napping. Swallowing hard, she opened one eye and rummaged in her bag for a piece of fruit, an energy bar, anything to keep the blackness that had appeared at the edges of her vision from encroaching any further. Breathing

was hard, but she took a deep breath anyway, forcing the air into her lungs by a sheer force of will. Her hand closed on a pack of dried apricots. She swallowed several fistfuls, barely chewing the sweet, sticky fruit. It wasn’t until she felt them enter her empty stomach that she thought about how long it had been since she’d eaten. Had it been in Borneo? It hadn’t been the night before, in Sydney. Last night she had been too wired on caffeine to eat anything, too busy writing up the last three stories before she left civilization again. A little more rummaging produced a bottle of water and Chelsea took several sips, trying desperately to get the words coming out of the pilot’s mouth to make sense. His accent was thick, the engine loud, but she was quickly finding those were the least of her problems. The words were making it through the noise and into her ears, but she couldn’t seem to make the individual words form sentences or coherent thoughts. Her notebook, she needed her notebook. For a moment, her mind blanked and Chelsea felt a terrifying blankness grip her. She had no idea where to look for her ever present notebook. When she finally came back to herself and pulled it out of her front pocket, she noticed her hand was shaking badly. The plane, she thought, it’s just the vibrations of the plane. But writing down the words of the pilot didn’t help them make sense. Her words were scribbles, stark black lines scrawling nonsense across the white page. Red dirt, distant mountains, plane loud. Those were the only

snippets she could read. Finally, after what seemed to be an interminable amount of time, yet also in the blink of an eye, Chelsea was on the ground. The plane was fast disappearing into the deep blue sky, leaving her and her guide, Marcus, alone for their drive and hike into the bush. The jeep ride was no more restful than the plane and soon Chelsea was struggling to keep up with Marcus’s fast hiking pace. Chelsea tried to keep her focus, writing notes in her notebook and asking questions. She became more and more confused as the conversation and the landscape seemed to skip, pieces of it going missing. Knowing it would make her seem like a weak American woman but past caring, Chelsea opened her mouth to ask Marcus to slow down. Before the words got out of her mouth, the darkness on the periphery of her vision won. Sounds coming from far away broke into Chelsea’s consciousness. Clattering metal, the quiet, wet swish of a mop, a ringing phone. What were these noises doing here, in the Australian bush? Tree branches cracking under the weight of unseen animals, the cries of strange birds, even a woman screeching about dingoes eating her baby, those were the sounds Chelsea had expected and prepared for. Who had a phone out here? Deciding she must be dreaming, Chelsea rolled over in her sleeping bag, only to feel a sharp pain in her right arm that immediately shoved her brain into wakefulness. Instinctively, her body returned to its previous

position, alleviating the pain in her arm as her eyes flew open. Her brain so expected her eyes to feed her images of a dying fire and a biting animal that it took her a few moments to process the actual sights. A white room, filled with flowers, a television showing what appeared to be a soap opera, a window covered in blinds that were ineffective against the bright sunlight. Chelsea inspected her arm for any signs of trauma from the pain she had felt and found its source. An IV tube ran from the vein in the crook of her arm to a bag suspended above her head. Huh? Her shock had made her sit up in her bed, an adjustable one made with white sheets and protected by rails. Suddenly her head felt light and she sank back onto the bed. What in the world was going on? Chelsea looked around the room for some clue of how she had gotten from the bush to a hospital room. She replayed what she remembered, but the last thing that came to her was leaving Alice Springs in a jeep, then hiking, then nothing. Or not quite nothing, she realized as she sat in the bright room, squinting her eyes at the blank wall, trying to project her memories onto it to see what they held. The sensation of moving came back to her again and again, of being lifted and carried in someone’s arms, then laid on a something flat and soft. She remembered bumps, loud grinding noises. A dingy hallway with a small window on one end. Exhausted, Chelsea lay back on her bed, her head aching from the exertion of sorting through memories made

up only of senses, rather than thoughts. She had given up trying to recall more when the memory of a voice shot through her, making her muscles go stiff. It came over a phone held to her ear by an unseen hand, a voice shrill and unmistakable. Oh god, her mother was here, she knew it. She was about to make a run for it, had begun marshalling her strength and contemplating the ramifications of tearing out the IV herself when a flash of pink in the hallway told her it was too late. “My daughter needs to be bathed every day, young lady. What do you think I’m paying you people for?” The voice echoed in the hallway outside Chelsea’s room. Squeezing her eyes shut, Chelsea quickly decided to go the “pretending to be asleep” route. She didn’t know how she had wound up here, but she knew she couldn’t handle what was about to come. ### “After that, my mother just took over,” Chelsea said, still staring off into space. She didn’t see the trees, nor the sunlight which had changed while she told her story. Her mind hadn’t made the leap from Sydney yet, from the hospital and the helplessness. It felt odd to relive the experience like that, through her emotions and the feelings. She had no idea if it had made sense or not. Nate had had the good sense not to interrupt her during her reverie, though at some point he had pulled her against his chest and she lay snuggled against him. She glanced at him and saw that he looked

concerned, but not confused. “Did you work like that all the time?” he asked, “Not eating, not sleeping. No wonder you’re exhausted.” “I did. For six years. I told you I wasn’t home very often,” she said wryly. Wrapped in his arms, she felt more at home than she had in those six years. It was unsettling, to say the least. Yet she couldn’t quite pull herself away physically or otherwise. “That was the first time I needed medical attention, though.” “So that’s why you’re taking this break?” Nate asked. He pulled away from her a little and looked down at her, concern showing in his eyes. “Yeah. I was severely dehydrated, my kidneys and liver were about to shut down from an electrolyte imbalance, and I was exhausted. So the doctor in Sydney said I had to rest even after I was released. Unfortunately, my mother showed up. The hospital called Tony, since he’s listed as my emergency contact, and she happened to be visiting and overheard him. “You’ve experienced Annabelle. She just took over and I ended up spending a month in Sedona at some hippie dippy spa. I had to go to group relaxation classes everyday. Can I just tell you that there is nothing relaxing about visualizing yourself in a cloud when you’re surrounded by a bunch of type A lawyers and bankers trying desperately to be the best relaxers?” Chelsea said with a laugh. Nate smiled, but it was weak.

“I would have preferred renting a cottage by the beach in Australia and resting on my own, but I was too weak to argue with my mother. Not that I ever really talk back to her, at least until the other day,” she said with a shrug. Frankly, it was a relief to not have to explain her mother to him. Annabelle Spencer was someone you just couldn’t fully appreciate until you met her. Too weak to run anymore, that’s what she had been. And in that damn spa, trapped, unable to run, she’d figured out why she’d been doing it in the first place. Chelsea stood balanced on a knife edge. Should she tell him the whole thing, all of it? “Why do you do it to yourself? I know you love your work, but that’s, I don’t know, pathological,” Nate said, tipping Chelsea off her balance. Chelsea nodded. “Pathological is exactly what it is,” she said. No turning back now. ### As they walked back to the house, Nate felt shaken. It sure as hell hadn’t been a kangaroo attack. He couldn’t get over what she had told him, didn’t want to believe it. At least he had gotten the bastard’s name. At least that gave him a place to start to try to fix this. All his stupid, bullshit fears about falling for her had disappeared while she was talking. He loved her. Fine. He was a big boy and he could cope with that and protect her from now on. Too bad he

couldn’t change the past. “There was this boy,” she had said. That was how she started her story. That there was a boy. Turned out the boy had been a rich brat named Brandon Caldwell who Chelsea had dated for awhile before he started hitting her. That went on for a few months, until one night he had tried to rape her. Chelsea had been calm the whole time she was telling him this, but he sure as hell hadn’t been. He’d been so pissed, he’d wanted to pulverize the rock they were sitting on. Filled with impotent anger, he’d almost thought he could. The only high point in the story was when Chelsea had kicked the khaki-wearing bastard in the balls and run from him. And run from her mother, who had introduced them and accepted Brandon as a member of the family. She’d run away from school, dropping out in her sophomore year, and run around the world trying to forget about the whole thing, trying to feel strong and in control again. Eventually, running like that was the only thing she knew. That had been her breakthrough at the spa in Arizona, she had said. That the whole time she’d been wandering the world, desperate to feel in control again, she’d been running. She had packed her bags for her first trip a week after he had tried to rape her and she hadn’t stopped for more than a week at Christmas since. Hadn’t felt safe stopping for longer. The month in Arizona and the weeks in Seattle had been tortuous, she said, always a low level of panic gnawing at her.

The panicked looks on her face at odd times? She was sitting still and helplessness seeped in. The crying in the middle of the night? That was the memories she’d never dealt with, made worse by the stress of traveling, the lack of sleep and nourishment. Christ, this was a mess. He wanted to hold her and tell her she didn’t have to run anymore, but he wasn’t naïve enough to think that his words would be enough. Nate had had to let go of Chelsea at that point, afraid he would crush her, afraid his anger would seep out his pores and flood her. The effects of one prep school prick had made this woman’s life a type of hell. There were good parts, sure, but jesus, no one should work themselves into the ground that way. Once he’d gotten a grip on his anger, Nate had marveled at Chelsea’s ability to step outside herself and see what she was doing. That was something he hadn’t figured out until he was much older. He realized that he hadn’t actually thought about their age difference since the first days. Either she was very mature, or he was very immature. Whichever it was, their age difference didn’t seem to matter very much. What did matter was that he wanted her to feel safe again, wanted her to relax. He wanted to stop her, to protect her from the demons in her head. That was a laugh, he thought as he opened the door and let them back into the house. Him protecting someone else from their demons. What was even stranger was that he actually thought he could do it.

### Chelsea sunk down in Nate’s huge bathtub, letting the bubbles close over her head. The water blocked out noise and light and Chelsea felt her whole body relax. Reveling in the unfamiliar feeling, Chelsea surfaced only when she ran out of oxygen. She felt lighter than she had before she had told Nate, not traumatized, as she had been expecting. On the way back to the house, Nate had been silent, closed off from her and inscrutable. At first, she thought she had overburdened him with her story, but when he looked at her, when he had touched her, it was with great tenderness. When she had begun to shiver on the walk back to the house, he had wrapped her in his sweatshirt. When they got back, Nate had brought her upstairs and wordlessly drawn her a bath. He had dumped some bubble bath in and lit some candles. Then he had simply held her in his arms for a long moment before kissing the top of her head and leaving the room. Just the way he held her made her feel cherished and protected. Nate was different from all the other men she’d met. She couldn’t imagine telling any of her other bad boys about her past. Her memories were so painful that she never allowed herself to relive them, never mind say them aloud. But she had spilled it all out to Nate, had just curled up on a rock and let herself be lulled by him. Because Nate had made that rock seem like the safest place on earth. Wherever the circle of his arms was, that was a safe place.

And if that was the case, how on earth was she going to leave here on Saturday and return to the rest of the unsafe world? ### Nate lit a cigarette and stared out the window for awhile. Then he picked up the phone and called Sean, the drummer of Blindside and his best friend since they had been street rats trying to find food on the streets of LA. “Sean, it’s Nate.” “What’s up, man?” Sean asked, “Are we going to go on fucking tour again or what?” Sean still lived in LA, still liked living the rock star life, god only knew why, or where he got the energy. He, Sean and Bill, had all grown up together, but Sean had stalled somewhere along the way. Nate bit back a nasty retort. He was not in the mood for this conversation “We have a show tomorrow.” “That’s not answering my fucking question. One show a year is not a tour and you know it.” “Look, I need you to find someone for me,” Nate said, taking a drag on his cigarette. “Then let them book us some dates,” Sean grumbled. Nate held his tongue. “Okay, fine, give me the name.” After assuring Sean they would tour in some indefinite future, Nate hung up the phone and stared out into

the darkness. What was he doing? He had given up this sort of vengeful bullshit. But this wasn’t the same as getting into a street brawl over some sort of insult and he knew it. She had turned his world upside down and he was terrified. Terrified and inextricably drawn to the bathroom where he’d left her to soak in a hot bath. Calling Sean had helped his anger, but he still riled up and sure as hell to be sent out of control by her. He wasn’t sure that he could see her naked right now and be able to stick to his plan. Wasn’t sure, but still found himself headed towards her. She had trusted him with the information, and it was his fight now. He hoped she had realized that when she had told him the bastard’s name. ### Chelsea had been lulled nearly to sleep by the warm water and soft light. It was only eight, but she felt like it was the wee hours of the morning. When Nate appeared in the doorway, her body reacted quickly and completely, despite her sleepiness. He was shirtless, the flickering candlelight the planes of his muscles into stark contrast. Warm and wet, Chelsea had never felt more feminine or pliant compared to Nate’s masculine hardness. His features had softened somewhat since he had left the room an hour ago. For a moment, he didn’t come in, just leaned in the doorway and stared at her. The bubbles had long since dissipated and her body was fully visible under the water. Chelsea watched in fascination as his body reacted to the sight of hers. His eyes darkened, lids closing

halfway. Feeling languorous, she closed her eyes and stretched, arching her back and pulling her arms over her head. She heard Nate’s sharp inhale from across the room and smiled to herself. When she opened her eyes, it was to see Nate standing in front of her, taking off his pants. Was he giving in? And all it took was a simple stretch. Chelsea’s whole body reacted in eagerness and need as Nate stepped into the tub, positioning himself between her legs. He stretched himself out and swiftly pulled her on top of him, water sloshing all around them. Beneath her, he was lovely contrasts, hard muscles beneath smooth, slippery skin. Her nipples hardened to nubs as she brushed them against his chest, reveling in the coarseness of his chest hair against the sensitive points. Nate’s hands slid over her body, possessive and demanding. He molded her to him, all the while staring into her eyes, searching for something. Sliding one hand under her hair and cupping her neck, he pulled her up his body and kissed her gently. His lips teased hers with their light touches, his tongue remaining chastely in his mouth. The touch of his lips sent heat racing down her body, muscles clenching in anticipation and soon she was scrambling up his slippery body, urging him towards more intensity. Despite her wriggling, her frustrated noises, Nate kept the kiss light, tender. As Chelsea felt she was about to explode with need, Nate opened his mouth and consumed her with his kiss, sliding his tongue along hers. The feeling was so intense after

such teasing that Chelsea felt an orgasm building in her, her body tightening like a bow string. Nate’s other hand gripped her ass and pulled her against his erection and she moaned in delight as she felt it burrow between her legs to where she needed it most. Spreading her legs, she straddled him, rubbing him against the length of her cleft. She broke their kiss to sit upright and stared down at him. His eyes were heavy with desire and his hands roughly stroked her stomach finally resting on her breasts. He took one nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rolled it lazily, studying her reaction. She moaned and arched her back. She was so close, and she couldn’t believe that Nate would pull away now, stupid agreement or not. She needed him in her, needed to slide down his length.

Chapter 10 Tony couldn’t believe how hot it was here. The sunlight had been reduced to a dim twilight and it was still in the high nineties. The second he and Jen had stepped outside the cool air conditioning of the Albuquerque airport, he had felt like the Wicked Witch with a bucket of water dumped on her. “I’m glad you’re here,” Jen said as they made their way to her car. “I hope this means you’re making a real effort here, and not just toying with me. I hope you’ve decided to be mature and give Santa Fe a real chance.” Tony resisted his urge to make a snide comment. He couldn’t stand the businesslike tone Jen had adopted

with him ever since he revealed his plan to come visit her and check out Santa Fe for himself. He knew she was just protecting herself from being hurt again, but it still irritated him. They had known each other too long for her to hide behind brusqueness. He would rather she exploded at him than keep this up. Besides, speaking in full sentences with her seemed foreign after their years of condensed conversation. “I think you’ll like Santa Fe,” she continued as she opened the trunk. Tony wordlessly dropped his small carry on in and then shut the lid with an angry thud that Jen chose to ignore. She kept right on talking, sounding more and more like a Realtor than his girlfriend. “The schools are excellent, and weather is fantastic,” she said, emphasizing the part about the schools. Their continued stubbornness was quickly running through their years of fertility, and Tony knew that Jen’s biological clock was not only ticking but the alarm was ready to go off. “Is it always this hot?” Tony asked grimly. Raised in New England and living in the gloomy Northwest, desert heat made him feel oppressed. He was sure the sun would be bright and obnoxiously strong when it came out in the morning. “Tony,” Jen said, “It’s July. It’s hot everywhere.” Before he could respond, Jen hurled herself into the driver’s seat of the car and slammed the door. Tony sighed and rolled his eyes. They had to make it

through this. “Besides,” Jen continued the second he got in the car, leaving him little time to be thankful the seats were cloth and not vinyl or leather, “It’s about ten degrees cooler in Santa Fe than in Albuquerque, and we get snow in the winter. It’s really beautiful.” Jen paused for a moment and started playing with the steering wheel in a gesture Tony recognized and his heart fell. She fiddled like that when she had something to say that she didn’t want to say. “If you’re going to just dismiss Santa Fe before you look at it, if you’re just going to complain about the weather and everything you see, then you should just go back to Seattle now, Tony. I can’t wait anymore. I can’t keep doing this.” Jen shifted in her seat and turned her big brown eyes to Tony. Her hands went still in her lap. “This is it, Tony. Now or never. I don’t know how many more clichés I can throw at you to make you understand. We either have to do this now, like real adults, or we can’t have anything to do with each other. I’m tired. We’re getting older, too old for this. It used to be romantic, a great love affair across time and space, or something. Now it’s just masochistic. I can’t do it anymore. I won’t.” Jen’s tone was pleading, but firm and he understood the underlying frustration. He felt it too, but until now, he couldn’t see his way around it. He thought a few minutes before saying anything, allowing the air conditioner to have an effect on the heat of

the interior of the car. “I promise I’ll give it a fair try, Jen, I do. But I need to know that if I really don’t think I can live here, that we can come up with some other arrangement. I love you, and I want to be with you, and I want this to end as much as you do. But we both need to be willing to compromise. I will move to Santa Fe in a heartbeat if I think we can make a life here. But, please Jen, don’t give me an ultimatum like that. Don’t make me choose you or a place that makes me happy. We’ve done that for too long. I know you can’t be happy in Seattle, but if this makes me just as unhappy, are you willing to find somewhere new we can agree on?” Tony was glad the words were out. All those thoughts had never found their way out of his brain before, and he suddenly felt more clear and focused than he had in years. Jen nodded, and Tony could see that tears were beginning to form in her eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her with a newness and passion gripping him. When he pulled away, they were both near breathless. “We will work this out Jen, somehow. I promise,” he said as he stroked her cheek, drying her tears with his thumb. Once again, she said nothing, but her nod seemed more assured this time. ### This was it, Nate thought. Their agreement was busted. Chelsea straddled him, it was warm and wet

everywhere, and he didn’t have the willpower to stop the woman he loved from sliding him inside of her. He wanted to make love to her, really make love to her, so much. “I still want to wait,” she said quietly as she pulled away and sat up. He was shocked to hear it, and his body protested, but his heart was glad. She’d been struggling with the whole no sex thing since the beginning. Did this mean that she shared his feelings? It was still too early to say it out loud. He was so inexperienced when it came to actual love that he was scared to admit it, scared of what power it would give her over him. She brought his right arm up and studied the swirls of pattern, design and color she found there, the light touch of her fingertips nearly overwhelming him with desire. The look on her face was so serious, so intent. He almost made a joke about her never seeing a man with tattoos, but he didn’t want to break the spell that had fallen over both of them. They seemed to be suspended in time, floating through the cosmos in their own little bubble. “What’s this one?” she asked in a quiet voice, her fingers tracing the outline of the god on his upper arm. “It’s Shiva,” he answered quietly, “Indian god of destruction. When he dances, the world is destroyed. The legend is that he has already destroyed the world many times over and that we are living in a universe that had been remade, over and over again. I got it as a reminder.” “A reminder of what?” “Of the destructiveness of my anger.”

“If Shiva destroys the world, how does it get remade?” “His wife, Shakti remakes it.” “It’s beautiful,” Chelsea said, letting her fingers linger on it for a moment more before she moved on, up to his shoulder, his neck. “Didn’t these hurt?” she asked, a wince evident in her voice as she touched the leaves that ran from his collarbone almost to his ear. He couldn’t see what she was referring to, but he could tell by her touch on his body. His tattoos were more a part of him than anyone understood, and he thought of them as revealing what was already there, rather than obscuring his flesh. Not that he’d ever told anyone that. It sounded way too new age-y. “They did,” he said, “But not too bad. I’m used to the pain of tattoos. It’s more of a sting than anything else.” Then he found himself telling her how he felt about his tattoos, how he considered them an unseen part of himself. If she could share what she had in the woods, he could tell her his hippie dippy ideas about tattoos. He just let it pour out. It seemed important that she knew that they weren’t about maintaining some stupid image. Chelsea didn’t laugh or smirk, or look at him like he was crazy. She studied his face for a moment after he spoke, then moved her eyes along his body, making her mind up as her eyes roamed his painted skin. “I think you’re right,” she said as she picked up his other arm and started studying those tattoos with the same interest she had shown to the others. “I can’t imagine you

without them, actually. You wouldn’t be, well, you.” He smiled. Acceptance. Finally. “Exactly.” He had so many, they intertwined and overlapped, colors swirling and lapping at each other on his hot skin. She bent her head to kiss the one on his wrist that said “Death is the only release” in heavy gothic script. “Turn around,” she said, and he did, spinning in the big tub so his back was facing her. Her little fingers ran over his skin, raising goose bumps. He heard her take in a sharp breath and knew what she was looking at. “What’s this?” she asked as her fingers gently touched the white, strained skin. “Knife fight. It just missed my kidneys.” “A knife fight?” she asked, her voice sounding distinctly odd. “I was a little punk when I was younger,” he said, “I lived on the streets when I was a kid. Shit happens.” He couldn’t believe he’d just told her that. He held his breath while he waited for the inevitable judgment, the wariness. He didn’t get it. “Oh Nate,” she said. Her voice was so filled with emotion that Nate turned to look at her. Her eyes were filled with such sadness that his heart constricted. “Hey, don’t cry,” he said. He reached his finger out to catch a tear on his knuckle. “It’s ok. I’m fine now. It was years ago.”

Her voice shook and she avoided looking at him, looking at their reflections in the darkened window. He spun around to hold her against his chest. He barely heard her when she said, “I don’t like thinking about people hurting you. About you in pain. And where were your parents?” Nate sighed. He hated this, hated saying it. But fair was fair. He buried his nose in her wet hair, inhaling the sweet scent of her. “My parents kicked me out when I was fourteen,” he said. “Fourteen?” Chelsea said, lifting her head off his chest, her eyes opening wide in shock, “Good lord, why?” “Because I was always in trouble, I didn’t go to school. And like I said, they weren’t exactly the best parents. My dad was never home and my mom was pretty much useless once she started taking pain pills all the time.” “And you lived on the streets all that time?” she asked, incredulous. He nearly laughed. His teen years were out of the realm of experience for most people. “Yeah. That’s where I met Sean and Bill,” he said, stroking her wet skin. It had all been so long ago, had been so instrumental in the formation of his personality, he didn’t even feel the pain of it anymore. Usually. She started to say something else, then stopped herself, chewing on her bottom lip instead. Finally, she rested her head back on his chest, little hands stroking his

arms gently. Her hot tears burned his chest. He was so overwhelmed with emotion he could barely breathe. He had never had anyone care about what had happened to him as a kid, and plenty of people had seen the scar, knew how he’d lved. Here was a woman who deserved much better than an aging rock star with a self destructive streak and she was crying about years-old violence. Tears burned his eyes and he clenched them shut. And that was the woman he’d chosen to love. A woman who didn’t cry when she’d told him about the worst months of her life, but who got torn up about a wound he barely remembered getting. ### Chelsea stopped crying and shook her head. Unbelievable. She was in love with him. Against all her better judgment, she had fallen for him as hard as was possible. But there was no other explanation for her tears over a scar. She cared about him, a lot. She had once again fallen for a bad boy, but this time it was worse. She’d never loved a bad boy before, never given her heart to one. But Nate had hers all wrapped up. He’d overcome horrible obstacles to become the reformed bad boy he’d always claimed he was and that had cemented it. It was terrifying and exhilarating. What the hell was she supposed to do now? She wiped her eyes and made up her mind. She’d revert back to lust. He was tantalizing, there was certainly nothing to cry over when it came to his

body. Lust was easier, cleaner than the messy rush of emotions zinging through her veins. His erection still poked up from the water, and pushing aside her feelings and her tears, she slid down in the tub and gripped his shaft with her hand. She slid her tongue over the tip and swirled it around. A tortured sound escaped his lips as he struggled to breathe. “Chelsea, what are you doing?” he said, voice strained. She looked up at him, her hand still stroking him. “What does it look like I’m doing?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. He sighed deeply, a tormented sound, then put his hands under her arms and easily lifted her until she was settled in his lap. “Sweetheart, getting a blow job from a girl with tear stains on her cheeks is not my idea of a good time,” he said into her hair. He kissed the top of her head and stroked her back, his touch gentle, soothing. Damn him. She’d tried to distract herself from her feelings and he’d just made them ten times stronger. ### “Jesus, aren’t you ready yet?” Chelsea yelled back to the bedroom where Nate was still packing. “I’m supposed to be the one who takes nine years to pack.” The weather had turned back to rain and gloom and their moods had followed suit. Even the thought of getting back to traveling wasn’t cheering her up. She hated going anywhere on someone else’s terms. It killed the whole in-

control thing she was after. Oh, and she was in love with Nate and there was no way to make it work. That was bound to make even the most cheerful of people grumpy and Chelsea had never claimed to be that. Since it was his fault, she might as well take it out on him. “Would you calm down?” Nate yelled back, “The plane’s chartered. It won’t leave without us.” He was grumpy too today, but she had no idea what was causing his grouchiness. Whatever it was, it meant that they were grumbling and growling each other the whole morning. They weren’t helped by the early hour or the weather. Chelsea realized she preferred the passionate, yelling arguments they’d had to this low key dissatisfaction, but she wasn’t sure how to shake Nate from his grumpiness. Maybe she’d work on hers and see if that helped. She tried pulling him into a hug when he had appeared in the kitchen with his bag, and while he didn’t pushed her away, he felt tense in her arms. She stroked his back and asked him what was wrong. Instead of answering, he just shook his head and kissed the top of her head in a distractedly. Well, it was all she had in her at the moment. He was just going to have to stay grouchy. They were quiet as Nate drove to the small municipal airfield tucked behind the sprawl of SeaTac. The charter plane was like nothing even a seasoned traveler like Chelsea had ever seen. When she thought of charter planes, she thought of the three or four passenger types

that she took to remote places. This was a luxury model with four leather seats, two cocktail tables, a bar and a TV that looked more like a movie screen than a normal television. “Just how much money do you make?” Chelsea asked when they stepped inside. Her surface grumpiness had lifted in response to the outrageousness of the interior of the plane. It was just too extreme. Nate seemed a little less tense when he said, “I’m a rock star baby. Stick with me, we’ll go far.” Chelsea laughed and shoved him affectionately. He over dramatized it and tossed himself into one of the leather seats, neatly landing her on top of him. “You okay now?” she asked, nuzzling his neck. She inhaled deeply, loving the scent of him. Sadly, she realized she had a limited amount of time left to enjoy that scent. She took another deep inhale and sighed. “Careful, babe. You’re going to hyperventilate down there,” he said, hugging her more tightly. “And yes, I’m fine. I just hate going to LA. Sorry I took it out on you.” He apologized by spending the entire trip kissing her senseless. ### Chelsea arrived at the club about an hour before the opening act was scheduled to begin. Nate had gone ahead to do sound check and have some sort of band meeting while she had hung out in his ridiculously large house.

She’d spent the afternoon looking at old pictures of the band and generally nosing around in Nate’s stuff. The thing was, none of it seemed to belong to the Nate she knew. It was more like what she would have expected from a rock star’s house than the house in Washington, but it wasn’t Nate. Maybe that’s why he had gotten so uncomfortable when Tony had recognized him. He really wasn’t the guy people recognized, even though he had the same face. There was already a long line at the front of the club, and for a moment she stood on the sidewalk across the street, unsure of what to do. Did she have to wait outside with the rest of the fans? She realized with a start that since she and Nate had been together almost every moment since they had met, she hadn’t bothered to get his cell phone number, so she was stuck out here wondering what to do. Wonderful. A movement around the corner caught her eye. A big panel truck was pulling away from a driveway on the side of the building. Of course. A back door. Chelsea crossed the street, breaking through the line and making her way to the loading dock. A few of the fans in line gave her dirty looks, but she ignored them as best she could. The women were especially annoyed with her, eyeing her casual jeans and tank top with disdain. Most of them wore mini skirts, tottering heels and tiny tops. They clearly thought she had no chance of getting to go backstage to see the band. She hoped like hell that Nate had told people to expect her. Walking back through the line and joining up at the end was not something she wanted to experience.

She approached the door trying to exude confidence, using the same sort of ploy she used to get into the closed rooms of museums. If she looked like she belonged, she usually got away with it. Apparently, her luck with closed museum wings did not hold when it came to getting backstage at concerts. She filed that piece of information away for future use as a bald man who was as wide as he was tall stopped her with one beefy arm thrown across the doorway. She had gotten into such a long and purposeful stride that she almost clothes-lined herself on his muscles. “Sorry honey, no one backstage,” he said with a bored shake of his head. “But Nate’s expecting me,” she said, knowing as she said it that it sounded utterly ridiculous. She could hear the other women behind her sniggering. If this man didn’t let her through she was going to have to walk back past them and deal with their snide remarks and pitying yet self righteous stares. Ugh. “Sure he is. Sweetheart, he hasn’t let groupies backstage in years,” the man said. He seemed to think she was pathetic, but ordinary, as if this sort of thing happened at least once a day. Until then, Chelsea hadn’t had a firm grasp on just how huge Blindside was, how famous Nate was. Good god, the man had women chasing him down. And he was spending the week with her. “I’m not a groupie,” she said, injecting her voice with as much indignation as she could muster, which was quite

a bit. “I’m Nate’s girlfriend. Can’t you just go get him?” “If I interrupted him for every chick who said she was his girlfriend, he’d never get through sound check,” the man said. Chelsea opened her mouth to protest being called a chick, when she was interrupted by another man, this one less wide, but still muscular. He looked vaguely familiar. He stepped under the man in the doorway’s arm and lit a cigarette. “Hey darlin’” he said, looking her up and down with an overtly sexual smirk on his face. Chelsea may have found him attractive if she wasn’t infatuated with Nate, but she couldn’t figure out why he looked familiar. His open scanning of her body turned her off. The man was taking her clothes off piece by piece with his eyes and it was creeping her out. “Do I know you?” she asked. The man shook his head. “Try to picture me behind the drum riser. I get overshadowed by Nate, but come on, I’m Sean, the drummer. Guess you’re not one of those drummer groupies,” he said, “But come on, give it a try. Once you go drummer, you never go back, I promise.” Ew, Chelsea thought. Sean continued to leer at her and Chelsea decided to cut to the chase before he decided to do something even more forward, like touch her. “Sean, I’m Nate’s girlfriend, Chelsea. Please tell me he told you about me and you’ll get this guy to let me in. Or at least go get Nate,” she pleaded with him.

She really hoped she wasn’t going to have to resort to flirting with him. The thought was so disgusting she wasn’t sure she could even do it. When he heard her name, Sean’s eyes went wide. “Ah, no wonder Mr. Stone is so fucked in the head. You’re a little cutie.” “Uh, thanks. I think,” Chelsea said. She felt vaguely like she needed to take a shower. “Well, let’s get in there. Nate’s wondering where you are,” Sean said. He tossed his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out. Chelsea followed him into the building and narrowly resisted the urge to turn around and stick her tongue out at the bouncer and the gaggle of woman standing in line. ### “Chelsea!” Nate said loudly. He left the microphone he was fiddling with and joined Sean and Chelsea backstage. Chelsea looked a little shaken up and Sean looked annoyed. That could mean only one thing. “I see you met Sean,” Nate said “Did he hit on you too much?” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a way that even he could recognize was proprietary and kissed the top of her head. She wrapped her arms around his torso as if they belonged there and nuzzled her head against him. Ah, warm Chelsea. Life was good. “Uh, yeah,” Chelsea said, clearly restraining herself from saying anything more.

“Well, that’s Sean for you.” Nate said with a smile and a roll of his eyes. He was so happy to see Chelsea that it terrified him. Sean gave him the finger and started to walk away. “Nice meeting you,” he called back belatedly. “You too,” Chelsea called back. She still seemed a little shaken by the whole thing. He’d never had it happen to him personally, but Nate could imagine that being visually undressed by Sean was a totally unique experience. “He’s really a nice guy,” Nate said as he looked off after his friend. “I’m sure he is,” Chelsea said as she looked up at him. Her face belied her true feelings towards him. Nate hoped she would grow to like him. Sean could be a pain in the ass, especially where women were concerned but he was part of the package. Nate wondered briefly if Sean would be even more of a problem than his own self destructive behavior or Chelsea’s constant running. “Well, you ready for your first concert?” he asked her. He hoped so. He wasn’t sure he was. All day he’d imagined Chelsea morphing into some groupie before his eyes. It had been so clear in his head. He’d come backstage after their set, and instead of being met by Chelsea in her jeans and shirt, he’d get some glammed up version in heels and a miniskirt and no interest in him, just in Nate Stone, rock star. A person he didn’t even want to be

anymore. He’d told Chelsea he didn’t like LA, and that was true, but not the whole truth. But how did you tell your girlfriend you hoped she didn’t turn into a blood sucking groupie? You didn’t. You just hoped for the best. “You bet,” she said with a smile. He hugged her tight and hoped like hell that she’d be the same when he got offstage. ### Chelsea stood backstage watching the opening act, some local band made up of four guys younger than her. They looked like children at a recital, playing their instruments and singing off key harmonies together. The audience seemed to be merely tolerating them as a necessary trial to be gotten through before the real fun began. Nate had disappeared for some pre-show ritual. Chelsea wasn’t at all sure about Sean. He seemed almost alarmingly predatory in his sexuality, but in retrospect, he hadn’t persisted when she had obviously shown no interest in him. That was a good sign. He was important to Nate, and it would suck if she hated him. Being without Nate for the afternoon, Chelsea had found herself banging her head against the wall as she tried to think of some way for the two of them to work, but so far she’d come up with nothing. Even though so much had changed in her heart, in reality, nothing else had. Without Nate to distract her, her panic had come fast and furious, and when the car had come to take her to the show,

Chelsea had nearly cried with relief. Broken out of her reverie by the lackluster clapping of the audience, Chelsea started clapping belatedly. Thankfully, the opening band’s set was finished, leaving just a set change between and her first live performance of Blindside. She was excited but nervous. Nate seemed hesitant to involve her in this side of his life, and she hoped this wasn’t a horrible idea. “You must be Chelsea,” a voice behind her said. Chelsea turned to look at the owner of the voice and found a woman about her height with dyed black hair and a large amount of black eyeliner. Her lips were painted blood red and her upper body was encased in a red corset. Given her get up, the woman should have looked scary, but she looked fun and inviting. “Yes, that’s me,” Chelsea said, feeling a little unexotic as they shook hands. “I’m Madeleine, like the cookie. Take a bite of me and you’ll remember your whole childhood,” the woman said. “I’m Bill’s wife. Call me Maddy.” Chelsea nodded again, a little taken aback by the incongruity of a Proust reference in a rock club. Maddy was beautiful, but the longer she looked at her, the more she could see the hallmarks of her age, a certain wiseness to her eyes, even if there were no crow’s feet, and a certain confident set to her jaw. She was probably closer to Nate’s age than her own. “It’s nice to meet you. Do you come to all the shows?” Chelsea asked.

“Only when they’re in town,” Maddy said. “I used to go on tour with them, but now we have two kids in school. I miss it though. It’s just marginally more exciting to be on tour with a band than at home with kids, you know?” “Yeah, I can see how that would be true,” Chelsea said. “But you never stay home, do you?” Maddy said with a laugh. “Nate said you’re hardly ever in the U.S.” “That’s also true,” Chelsea said. She gave Maddy a brief rundown of her job, glossing over her breakdown by simply saying it had been time for a break. “Well, you certainly seem nicer than Gretchen, Nate’s last girlfriend,” Maddy said. “Oh?” Chelsea said, instantly jealous and victorious. Oh, she was in so much trouble. She’d been ignoring her feeling for him since they had turned dangerously strong, but that rush of possessiveness broke through her defenses. Crap. “Yeah. She was awful. Sean’s date du jour and I always hated her.” “Date du jour?” Chelsea said, unable to hold back a laugh, “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” Maddy sighed and rolled her eyes. “Poor Sean,” she said, “He keeps dating the same girl over and over again, just with different names. It’s sad really, but at least Tasha, the template for all of them, is sweet. The du jours are all sweet too. “Gretchen was a bitch. She came on their last tour with us, but she’d sit backstage and bitch and moan about

her nails and then wouldn’t even hug Nate when he came off stage. She said he was too sweaty. Let me tell you, you can’t really date a musician if you can’t stand a little sweat.” Chelsea’s mind flashed to an erotic image of herself and Nate on his desk even while it reeled from Maddy’s rapid fire speech. “No,” she said, barely concealing her laughter, “I think I can stand some sweat. But why did Nate date her if she was so awful?” Maddy studied her for a minute before answering and Chelsea was suddenly struck with just how important it was to make this woman her friend if she and Nate were to survive. Luckily, she didn’t think that would be a problem. Maddy was intensely likable. “He was lonely,” she said finally. “Sean’s a dog, doesn’t need more than some chick to keep his bed warm, but Nate’s always wanted more. Gretchen was completely the wrong person to give it to him, but I guess he thought it was preferable to being alone. She wasn’t special, just the most recent. Recent here being two years ago. Then they broke up, and I guess he decided it was better to be alone. Until now,” she finished with a grin. Chelsea blushed. She could more than relate to that. No wonder she and Nate felt so right. “So, tell me more about this Tasha person. What’s going on there?” Chelsea said. Maddy laughed and pulled Chelsea over to some folding chairs a little farther from the stage. “Tasha was one of Sean’s first girlfriends. It was a

real classic love story. Her father’s an entertainment lawyer. They’re unbelievably rich. And snobby. Tasha fell in love with Sean, who, like Nate and Bill, is, you know ‘from the wrong side of the tracks’.” Maddy made quotes with her fingers. “Her parents had a fit, kept them apart. By the time the two of them got old enough for her parents not to matter, she was back East, in college. Last I knew, she was a doctor in New York. I’m guessing she views Sean as her one flirtation with danger, and that’s it. But for Sean, it’s so much more. Tasha’s the love of his life, that unattainable ideal. Not that he admits that, but every girlfriend he has is blonde, tall and willowy. Just like her. “Of course, because these guys can basically pick a woman from among hundreds, they’re always about fifteen years younger than he is, but that’s how he remembers her. At eighteen, innocent, etcetera, etcetera.” Maddy finished her story off with a roll of her eyes and a smirk. Chelsea processed this and felt sorry for Sean. What a crappy way to deal with romance. No wonder he came across as so creepy. Though clearly, his preference for women didn’t keep him from ogling anyone with breasts. She was many things, but tall, blonde and willowy were not on the list. “Does it bother you that they have access to so many women? I mean, do you get jealous, or worried?” Chelsea asked, suddenly filled with anxiety about the groupies. The guy outside had been pretty clear on Nate’s

view of groupies, but what if that changed in the future? There was no hope that age would help her. Hugh Heffner was 80 and Mick Jagger, a better parallel, was over 60. According to the rules of rock and roll, Nate had decades of sexual viability left in him. “Are you kidding me?” Maddy said with a laugh, “He knows I’d kick his ass. Besides, Bill settled down pretty quickly. Much more so than Nate or Sean, although, in the past few years, Nate hasn’t been partying much. I think he’d rather just settle down, but there aren’t many opportunities for that in this lifestyle. Not to scare you or anything if that’s not what you want, but Nate’s pretty much into serious relationship mode at this point.” “Is that a warning?” Chelsea said. “Yeah, just some information for you, in case you want to run now.” “Nah, I think I’ll stay,” Chelsea said with a smile. “If it’s hard to find someone in his lifestyle, how did you and Bill get together?” “We were high school sweethearts,” Maddy said, “When I told you that I went on tour in the old days, I mean the old, old days, when it was the three of them and an old van with no seats. It was rough. But they made it and now touring is more fun, but the kids miss him. They haven’t toured in a while. Sean’s antsy as hell, but Bill gets to see the kids more, which is nice.” “Do you like watching him play?” Chelsea asked. Maddy laughed a bit longer than Chelsea thought the question warranted, or did until Maddy replied.

“Wait until you see it, sweetie. There’s nothing like it. Not that you need this yet, but when you’ve been together as long as we have, you’ll know that there’s nothing like watching him play live for your sex life.” Chelsea blushed at the thought of this near perfect stranger thinking about her and Nate’s sex life. Granted, Maddy was probably privy to more of Nate’s past sex life than anyone wanted, given the cramped quarters of a tour van, but she really didn’t want to think about that. She was saved from making a response by the deafening cheers of the crowd as Blindside took the stage.

Chapter 11 Good god, Chelsea thought a half an hour later. No wonder so many women wanted Nate. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was every inch the rock god he seemed so hesitant to be. Watching his hands move up and down the neck of the guitar was hypnotizing and she found herself mentally replacing the guitar with her body. Energy and charisma poured off him like warm honey, intoxicating Chelsea and the women in the front row. His face contorted as he sang, as if he was feeling each emotion right then, even though she knew he had written some of the songs twenty years earlier. He wasn’t quite the Nate she knew. He was cooler, more aloof, unattainable, but still undeniably sexy. Because she knew what really lay underneath, she was even more turned on than the groupies who knew only this stage persona. She spared a glance for Maddy standing beside her and saw that the other woman was staring at Bill with the same unbridled lust that she felt in her own eyes. How could she be so riveted to Bill, she wondered, when Nate was so full of animal magnetism and overt sexuality? Chelsea felt

sorry for the women in the front row who were clearly lusting after Nate as much as she was. At least she had the comforting knowledge that she would be able to have sex with him in, she sneaked a peek at her watch, fifteen minutes. Well, according to their agreement anyway. She would try to wait until he got offstage, but that wasn’t going to be easy. The strong, driving beat of the music and gravelly guitar, coupled with Nate’s hypnotic voice felt like audible attraction. The concert seemed to end almost before it had begun. Chelsea certainly hadn’t gotten enough of them, and if the screams of the crowd were any indication, they hadn’t either. The lights went out, and in the darkness, the band came off the stage. Chelsea felt, rather than saw Nate and wrapped her arms around him as if the contact with his skin was the only thing that would save her from a fate worse than death. Registering that he had left his guitar somewhere, Chelsea all but climbed up Nate’s long legs, wrapping her own legs around his waist. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she breathed him in, his masculine scent, now tinged with sweat. How could this Gretchen person have ever wanted to miss this? Nate’s skin was slick with sweat, sliding under her hands like silk. His hair was damp and curling and his lips, which she had fastened herself to without being purely conscious of it, tasted wonderfully salty. Nate kissed her back just as fervently for a minute, then gently pulled away. His arms were hooked under her buttocks and held her like a sling.

“Babe,” he said, his breathing jagged, “We can’t do this here.” “But you’re a rock star. I thought you were supposed to get it on with groupies back stage,” she said. “Backstage, not right off stage,” he said with a wry grin. “And you’re not a groupie.” His voice was firm. The house lights came up and Chelsea could see that the some members of the departing audience were staring at them. She climbed down and rearranged her clothes. “Definitely not like Gretchen,” Chelsea heard Maddy say with a laugh to Bill, but Chelsea only heard them peripherally. She had much more pressing needs to take care of. “Well, let’s go backstage then,” Chelsea said. She grabbed Nate’s hand and pulled him away from the opening that looked out on the rest of the club. Nate finally led Chelsea to a back room that was probably a supply closet. Chelsea turned herself to face him and leapt up into his arms, once again wrapping her legs around his hips. “Hi,” she said with a smile. “Hi,” Nate replied. His eyes were filled with an assortment of emotions. He was clearly amused at her urgency, but there was something else as well. A sense of hesitation. Thinking she knew the source of his hesitation, Chelsea slid down and let her feet land on the floor. She then held up her arm to show him her watch.

“It’s after midnight,” she said, “Mission accomplished. It’s Friday and we are free to tear each other’s clothes off. So let’s get to it, buddy.” Nate smiled, but he still seemed unsure. “What is it?” she asked. If he didn’t lose his hesitancy soon, she thought she might scream. They were so close, and it had been so long, and he smelled so good. Chelsea was fairly certain that she would explode if he didn’t back her up against a wall and tear her clothes off. “It’s just, that,” Nate started. He looked down as his words trailed off. “What?” Chelsea said. She tried to inject her tone with a patience she didn’t feel. Nate looked up at her finally and held her gaze. “Now that you’ve seen me perform, I kind of feel like I have to be Nate the rock star around you. It was such a relief to not have to be that guy with a woman, and now, I don’t know, it’s different. I know it was my idea to bring you here, but, maybe it was a bad idea.” He looked away from her again, and the pain evident on his face made Chelsea’s stomach flip. “Nate,” she said, as she took a step backwards, hoping the distance would help her think rationally, “I don’t see you like that. You were amazing out there, and I loved seeing you like that. And yes, it’s definitely a turn on. I understand why so many of your female fans want you. But that’s not the reason I want you. Right now, I just want to

have sex with my boyfriend, who’s been holding me off for a week, not some rock god who doesn’t really exist. Ok?” His face hard to make out in the dim light, Chelsea could see that Nate smiled, and as he did, tension seeped out of his body. His smile turned into the lopsided grin she knew so well. “Maybe a little rock god,” he said. He advanced towards her and enveloped her in his big body before pressing her gently against the wall. He leaned down and kissed her, hard, exploring and plunging his tongue into her mouth with reckless abandon. Chelsea moaned into Nate’s mouth, her excitement and heat growing as Nate continued his relentless kiss. Twining her arms around the back of his neck, she wrapped her fingers into his hair and used it as a support to hold herself up. She was sure that if she didn’t, her knees would give out and she would tumble to the ground amid the piles of rags and boxes of detritus that surrounded them in the cramped space. Nate’s hands roamed everywhere, one of them finally coming to rest on the spot that was occupying most of Chelsea’s attention. She pushed herself against his hand, trying desperately to increase the pressure there, where all the heat in her body had pooled. Nate removed his hand, but before Chelsea could voice any complaint, he had pushed his own groin into hers and she could feel his hardness against her. Unable and unwilling to stop herself, Chelsea unbuttoned Nate’s jeans and pushed them down

from his hips. Nate broke off their kiss long enough to laugh a little at her boldness, all the while pulling off Chelsea’s pants as well. In an instant, Nate had Chelsea in his arms, her legs wrapped around his hips. With a torturously slow movement, Nate brought Chelsea down onto his shaft, parting her wet folds as she moaned. Having him inside her felt so incredibly good. She felt like she hadn’t had sex in years, not just a few days. A week had made a huge difference. Yeah, they were in a supply closet still partially clothed. And the lust and chemistry was incredible. But this time, as Chelsea came almost immediately, wrapping her fingers into Nate’s hair and crying out, she suddenly realized what everyone was talking about. Making love was a completely different animal than sex and that was exactly what they were doing. They didn’t need candles and soft music, hell, even a bed, to feel the connection that thrummed between them as they held each other in the darkness, panting and spent. ### Tony wandered blearily into the kitchen. He was struck at once by the scene outside. The sun was rising over mountains so close they seemed to rise up from the kitchen window. As the light struck the crags and planes the rocks lit up in hues of red, orange, pink and even purple, a color that he would have sworn did not occur in nature. At least not geology. Botany, maybe, but not geology. For several minutes, he stood stock still, his quest for caffeine

forgotten, and simply stared off into the distance. When the sun had gained the tops of the mountains and began to blind him, he shook his head. “Damn,” he muttered to himself. He had never experienced anything quite like that. In the East, the sun rose in a haze of light blue and pink. In Seattle, it usually rose without fanfare behind a thick layer of clouds and fog. He hadn’t realized that a sunrise could be near blinding and so sudden. For the first time in his life, the myth of sun gods and chariots made perfect sense. Still half asleep and dazzled by the sunrise, Tony shuffled around looking for a mug. When he found one, in a really dumb place, he thought, he turned to the coffeemaker. Which was empty. For several seconds, he stood and stared at the appliance. What was he supposed to do now? Tony hadn’t had to function enough to make coffee in the morning for years. His timer pot was his most valued possession. Last night he hadn’t even thought to ask if Jen had a timer pot. It was necessary for modern living. He’d also been a bit distracted by making love on the couch, but still. Fighting the concurrent urges to either sit on the red tile floor and cry or call for Jen like a small child, Tony bumbled through the coffee making. After a few tense moments while he waited for it to brew, he downed his first cup, ignoring the burning in his throat. Feeling more willing to tackle the day, Tony walked from the kitchen into the living room. He hadn’t had much of a chance to really look at Jen’s house after they had arrived last night. Pent up

physical needs had taken precedence over the house tour. Now he looked around, really taking in his surroundings. Jen, as always, had shown amazing taste when designing her home. Her tastes had matured somewhat since their days of bohemian jungle and the lines were clean and modern without being cold. Tan tile floors were scattered with throw rugs and the light brown walls were accented with terra cotta trim. Jen had more alluded to stereotypical Southwest design than embraced it. He had often pictured Jen’s house being overrun with cow skulls and cacti. He shuddered at the thought as he walked to the windows for a better look out the windows. The house hugged the mountains and the windows on this side of the house were nearly floor to ceiling. Tony grinned to himself and looked over at the opposite, Westerly facing wall. Sure enough, those windows were smaller and had blinds. Jen had designed the house to be energy efficient, insulating against the afternoon sun. The living room had a high, vaulted ceiling with exposed beams. Fans hung from two of the beams, creating a nice breeze in the room. By pulling one of the leather chairs up to the window, Tony found he could look out on the mountains and the desert and feel the breeze of the fans. He sat like that for awhile, just enjoying the view, and for the first time in years, the taste of his coffee. Did Jen have different coffee here, or did he just appreciate it more in new surroundings? Still pondering this, Tony wandered the rest of the house, through the dining room with its large oak table, past

the two spare, for now, bedrooms and the spacious bathroom filled with sunlight and plants. He could imagine living here, could see his and Jen’s kids gathered around the big table, making a mess in the huge kitchen. He could even see himself and Jen sitting on the front porch watching the sun set when the kids were grown and gone. He had never been able to picture this sort of domestic harmony in Seattle. In Seattle, he lived like a bachelor and had the apartment to prove it. He had one photo of Jen sitting on his desk and that was it. The walls were white, his furniture purchased mostly at a discount store. Here, the walls were covered in photos of he and Jen, Jen and her friends, Jen’s family, even some of Jen and his family. He chuckled at the photo of Jen and Chelsea looking very jovial and very drunk at a family Christmas party several years ago. Jen had managed to achieve what he hadn’t in the years they’d lived apart. A home, a place where they could raise a family. Needing some fresh air, Tony went out onto the back porch via the French doors that opened onto a small brick patio. The sun was hot already, but not unbearable. He could run in the early mornings, before it got hot. And in the winter, which Jen had assured him Santa Fe had, he would he would be able to run nearly any time of day. His schedule was flexible. Tony took a swig of his coffee. Jen had planned a tour of the city for them that day, but Tony realized he didn’t need it. His mind was already running through the details of moving, the cost of movers versus renting a truck, the pros

and cons of breaking his lease and losing his deposit. He was so deep in thought about the minutia of moving that he didn’t hear Jen come up behind him. Hestarted when her slim arms wrapped around his waist and she leaned her head against his back. “Watcha thinking about?” she asked. Tony turned around in her arms and wrapped his own around her shoulders. “I think I’m ready to move here,” he said and smiled as her face brightened, “On one condition.” Jen’s face darkened, but only a little as she tilted her head to the side questioningly. “Oh, what’s that?” she asked. “We’ve got to get a coffeemaker with a timer on it,” he said as he pulled her closer, “I’m too dumb in the morning to make coffee.” ### “You two seem great for each other,” Maddy said to Nate, her back to him as she did the dishes. Chelsea’s departure two weeks ago had opened up a new form of loneliness for him, as well as some yawning insecurities. Bill and Maddy’s house was in its normal state of chaos and a little overwhelming, but better than being alone. As much as he loved Bill and Maddy’s kids, Violet and Alexander were a lot to handle. As if to illustrate his point, Violet, who was supposedly taking a nap, appeared from the back of the house. She was adorable, as always, and currently naked and covered in something dark red and sticky.

“Uh, Maddy,” Nate said while stifling a laugh, “You have a little problem here.” Maddy turned around and caught sight of her messy three year old. She stood stock still for a few beats and Nate could almost hear her counting to ten to avoid losing her temper. “Violet,” Maddy said a little too calmly, “Did you go into Mommy’s make up drawer?” Violet nodded, brown curls bobbing against her pale face. “You know you’re not supposed to go in Mommy’s make up drawer, don’t you?” Maddy asked. Nate’s laughter threatened to overwhelm him, but he managed to hide his face behind his coffee cup. Kids were hilarious when you weren’t the one charged with their transformation into responsible adults. “I know,” Violet responded with the strange solemnity peculiar to children, “I did it anyway.” Nate tried to aim for the sink when he spat his coffee out in a burst of uncontrollable laughter but he missed by inches. Maddy shot him a dirty look, more for his laughing at her dilemma than for messing up her kitchen. There was another pause as Maddy silently counted. “There are rules for a reason, Violet,” she said as she led the child down the hallway, presumably to clean up. Nate wiped up the counter and went to sit in the living room to wait for Maddy. He and Bill and Sean were set to begin recording their new album the next day, and Nate had set himself back up in his LA house. He was

actually looking forward to getting back into the studio, recording all those songs whirling around in his head. Too bad it did little to ease his acute need for Chelsea. “Well that was fun,” Maddy said when she returned. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to remove lipstick from a three year old?” Maddy sat on the couch, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. “Uh, no. Can’t say that I do. Got your drama queen all sorted out now?” Nate said with a grin. Maddy rolled her eyes. “When Alex was her age, he gave me headaches. He jumped all over the furniture, he screamed and yelled and was covered in bruises all the time. She gives me headaches because I have no idea what she’s going to do. She smeared an entire tube of Chanel lipstick on herself. Not that that means anything to you, but it’s expensive. Anyway, stop trying to change the subject. We were talking about you and Chelsea.” Nate sighed. He wasn’t sure he if wanted to talk about Chelsea or not. He thought about her all the time anyway, so it probably didn’t matter if he talked about her, or just thought about her obsessively. “You met her. Chelsea is great. She’s fucking perfect. Sorry,” he said with a wince. He hadn’t gotten used to being around the kids again. Maddy waved at him impatiently to continue. “She’s funny, she’d never heard of me before we met, so she has no bullshit expectations about me. That’s one of the things I always envied about

you and Bill. You knew who he was before he turned into a star, so you always knew who he was without all the fame bullshit. And now, I have that with Chelsea. She’s about ten times smarter than me and she doesn’t put up with me when I’m being an asshole. She gets in my face when we argue. It took me so long to find someone I really connected with, who I thought I could have a relationship with. But I think she’s it. She really sees me. I can be myself with her. It’s great.” As he was talking, Nate had been trying to inject some enthusiasm into his voice. That was what guys in love sounded like, right? To his own ears, he sounded melancholy, and apparently, he sounded that way to Maddy as well. “So,” she said, arching one thin eyebrow, “If you’re so happy, why do you sound miserable?” Nate let out a breath and looked around the living room for inspiration but found none in the family photos littering the room. Despite the rock and roll twist of the tattooed father and the goth mother, the photos were endearing and he suddenly felt stifled by the hominess. “I need a cigarette. Let’s go on the porch.” Maddy rolled her eyes, even though he knew she’d steal drags and followed him out the door after making sure Violet was actually taking a nap this time. “So, things are perfect, she’s lovely, she’s funny, she’s great. You love her?” Nate nodded, “Okay, so why aren’t you out picking up a ring instead of sitting here whining to me?

Nate shook his head and snorted before reaching into his pants pocket and pulling out a velvet box. “Way ahead of you,” he said with a mirthless smirk before tucking the box back in his pocket. “Then what are you waiting for?” Maddy exclaimed, clearly exasperated. “Dammit, I don’t want her to be tied down to a self destructive old man!” he exploded, throwing his hands in the air. “I don’t want her to waste her time with me. She’s so vibrant, so alive. And she has this great career. I can’t ask her to tie herself down to me. I’m only going to get older you know,” he finished lamely. Maddy, more than used to Nate’s outbursts, paused for a moment, and once again, he could hear her counting to ten. Great, his behavior was on par with a three year old child’s. “First of all, no saying your old. If you’re old, so am I, and screw that. Secondly, Nate, if she’s everything you say she is, I have a hard time believing that’s something she’d be worried about,” Maddy said, “Have you talked to her about it?” “Uh, no. I’m a guy Maddy. I tell my bullshit neuroses to you, not my girlfriend. But she’s off on a trip to Korea, not here, so it must be something. She’s in frigging Morocco at the moment.” “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Maddy exploded, “You know damn well that’s not why she’s off and running again. After what you told me about that guy and her panic attacks, you should bloody well know it’s not about you. Get your head out of your ass Nate, and tell her what you told me. Tell her

what you’re worried about and see if she gives a shit. I’m guessing she won’t.” Nate was stunned. His focus had been so selfish. He wanted to kick the guy’s ass, but that was so not the point. He got it, but Maddy wasn’t done. “Besides which, I think this whole boo-hoo, I’m too old for her thing is a load of crap. You’re scared shitless aren’t you?” Nate didn’t answer. “Aren’t you?” Maddy pressed. “Yeah, I guess. This is harder than anyone ever told me,” he muttered. He kicked at the porch step idly and felt like a despondent child. Maddy let out an exasperated sigh. “Nate, you’re not too old for her. You need to grow up and stop coming up with lame ass excuses for why you can’t be happy. Now just stop it,” she said quietly, “You’re allowed to be happy, Nate. Really.” “Why don’t I see these things?” he asked. “Because you’re an idiot,” Maddy said as she made a grab for his cigarette. ### A little drunk, Chelsea picked up the phone but as it began to ring, she realized she had no idea what time it was in LA. When he answered, he didn’t sound tired. It was five a.m. in Marrakech, but Chelsea had had a few too many drinks to really do math. “What time is it there?” she asked.

“Uh, nine or so,” he said, sounding confused. “Oh, good. I was worried I’d wake you up,” Chelsea said, then added belatedly, “It’s Chelsea, by the way.” Nate laughed. “Yeah, I got that.” His laugh filled her up down to her toes. The stress of the last few weeks fell away, but her heart ached with missing him. “So, how are you?” Chelsea said as she flopped down onto her bed. She felt like a teenager again, chatting with her boyfriend. “I’m ok, babe. How drunk are you?” he answered. “Uh, a bit,” Chelsea said with another giggle. “Is it safe for you to be drunk there? I thought they were conservative about women drinking alone.” “You’re worried about me,” Chelsea said, “That’s so cute!” She realized she was pointing at him as if he were in the room and giggled again. “Yes, I am,” he said, his voice tight. It was lovely to be worried about, Chelsea thought. Lovely, lovely, lovely. If only she could be with him. Suddenly she was sad. So hard to be without him. So hard to stay put and be with him. Poor, poor Chelsea. She suddenly realized that she hadn’t said anything during her drunken emotional roller coaster. “I had a chaperone,” she said solemnly. “Did he try anything?” Nate asked, his voice suddenly stern. “No, of course not. Silly.” “Sorry, babe. I’m a jealous man,” Nate said, “I want you to myself.” Chelsea moaned and rolled over onto her back. It was

disturbing, but the hard possessiveness in his voice turned her on. The sound of his voice had set off a dull ache between her thighs, and his growl of ownership sent a lance of need through it. He’d mentioned that before she’d left and it hadn’t turned her on. They’d had a loooong conversation about having their relationship long distance. And about how she wouldn’t work so hard this time, how she’d sleep and eat, like a normal person. He worried a lot, apparently. And she’d tried. Really. But once she got going, the salve of being on the move, of being in control, of being away had proved too much. She was working just as hard as she had been. And she felt… okay. Not great. Just okay. She looked at her watch. She’d better get off the phone. Her plane left in three hours and she had her Geneva and Marrakech pieces left to write. “Oh,” she exclaimed, happy she’d remembered to tell him, ”So I was in this music store this afternoon getting a CD for my flight tomorrow and I saw one of your posters. I was standing there staring at you longingly when this super trendy girl came up behind me and snickered at me. She told her friend that I was pathetic, being so old and lusting after a rock star. I almost burst laughing.” “That’s great. Especially since I’m the old one,” Nate said wryly. “You’re not that old. Okay, if you lived in some primitive tribe in some remote corner of the world, you’d be ancient, but you live in America, you have money. Most importantly, you have health care. Forty’s not old, and you’re not even

forty yet. Who told you forty was old?” Chelsea asked. The room was upside down. No, she was upside down, hanging her upper body off the bed, the top of her head resting on the floor. Ow. Her head was starting to hurt, so she hauled herself back on the bed. “I’m not as young as I used to be,” he replied dully. “I might be drunk, but no one is as young as they used to be. Are you having a midlife crisis?” Chelsea asked. The small piece of Chelsea that was still sober warned her to tread carefully. She might think it was funny, but that didn’t mean he would. Luckily, he apparently did, if his laughter was any indication. “What would that look like, do you think?” he asked, “A Volvo and a white picket fence? I mean, I’ve always had bikes and muscle cars.” Chelsea laughed along with him, getting into the idea of a rock star’s midlife crisis. “Maybe you’d shave yourself bald instead of getting a toupee.” “Hey, I happen to think I’d look good with my head shaved,” Nate said. “You probably would. You’d look good no matter what you did,” Chelsea said, with a sigh of longing, “But I really like your hair. And your chest. And your arms. I like all of you.” From there the conversation degraded to phone sex. ### Nate hung up the phone and smiled. Self destructive maybe, but apparently, Chelsea didn’t think he was particularly old. Maddy was right, he was an idiot. Now all

he had to do was figure out what the hell he wanted to do with the rest of his life. They’d joked about the midlife crisis, but he really had gotten to the point where he needed to do something different. The more time he’d spent with Chelsea, the more he’d realized he wasn’t just uncomfortable with his public persona, he hated it. He didn’t want to have to pretend to be that guy anymore. Chances were, they’d have to tour after this album, but after that, he wanted to travel more like Chelsea did, seeing things, taking it all in. Okay, maybe not quite like that. He didn’t think he could go that long without eating and sleeping. Which she had better not be doing this trip either. That reminded him. He had other things to worry about right now. ### Sean looked up from the computer at the rumpled woman lying in his bed. She was blonde, gorgeous and he had no idea what her name was. He had picked her up two days ago and they hadn’t left his bedroom since. Asleep, the woman looked a little like Tasha, a girl he’d gone out with when he was just a kid. Hunh. Interesting. He hadn’t thought about Tasha in ages. He had been on a bit of an involuntary sexual hiatus, since they hadn’t had any gigs lately except that bullshit ‘intimate engagement’ thing at the club. All the big bands were doing those lately to show they hadn’t sold out. Whatever. They’d sold out, and all the kiddies who were mad about it had never lived on the streets like they had.

Otherwise, they’d have understood exactly why they’d sold out. There was something addictive about knowing where you were going to sleep every night. Too bad Nate had insisted on taking a break after the last tour. That was all fine and good for Nate, who had decided to become a monk or something, but it didn’t work at all well for him. Drummers weren’t exactly celebrity material. They hardly got noticed behind the drum kit, so it wasn’t like they got recognized and idolized everywhere. But there were certain groupies with a taste for the less popular. They were a drummer’s wet dream. He didn’t know if they had a thing for a man with a good sense of rhythm or just didn’t like the competition involved in going for the singer or the guitarist, but Sean loved them regardless. The blonde in his bed was one of those rare breeds. He had picked her up at a bookstore of all places. She had recognized him in the sci-fi section, which should have put a damper on any sexual thoughts, but she thought it was cute that he was a closet geek. Whatever worked. Sean wasn’t proud. Well, he was, but not when it came to getting laid. Sean hit print and waited while the printer rumbled and groaned. Nate really needed to get a computer. This calling him every time he needed to look something up was getting old. He looked at the printout. Driving directions, schedules. Jesus, what did Nate think he was, a fucking travel agent? But he owed Nate a lot and it hadn’t taken long. Now he was due back in bed with blondie.

Chapter 12 Seoul baffled Chelsea. There were a dwindling number of places in the world that were new to her, and Korea was one of them. She had visited and written about almost every other Asian nation, but Korea was at the same time so similar and so different from its neighbors that the dichotomy threw her off. More frustrating than all the new customs and language was the fact that all the newness, all the traveling wasn’t erasing her uneasiness. Before her breakdown, she had loved exploring someplace new. There was nothing like the urgency of survival in a new place to keep her thoughts from running in the wrong direction. Figuring out how to keep herself fed usually took up so much of her mental energy that she didn’t have time for anything else. Not this time. Ever since she had landed in Geneva, the first stop on this three story trip, she had been feeling uneasy – the same uneasiness she usually only felt when she was back in the States, sitting around. She had felt it writing up her notes about the jewelry market in a café in

Geneva. Panic had skittered through her and she had nearly run down the street trying to avoid it. Which meant she hadn’t gotten to finish a delicious cup of coffee. On top of that she missed Nate in a way she’d never missed anyone. It actually hurt, physically. Taking off from Seattle, there was relief mixed with her sadness. Yes, she would be leaving Nate, but she would be getting back to her real life after far too long away. Finally, all the demons could be shoved back in the closet where they belonged. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working. She was still panicking and she didn’t have Nate. Even with the frenetic pace, the things that drove her hadn’t stopped coming. And so she’d tried to run harder. She hadn’t even bothered to try to sleep except on planes, hadn’t even tried to sleep at night. Her original plan for the trip was to do three stories, but she had taken side trips in both Geneva and Marrakech and written short pieces on both. Since Seoul was her last stop, she was here for two weeks and she had planned three new stories. Her body was protesting the work, the pace. Chelsea could feel her health slipping, her wellness running off her like water in a shower. It had started even before she left Morocco, and by the time she landed in Seoul, the back of her throat constantly tickled like she had a low grade cold. She felt, if not tired all the time, then at least unenergized. So far, the world had only started swimming and sliding away once. It had been in a club and she had rationalized it away as drunkenness. She had to rationalize it away, because frankly, she

didn’t know what else to do. Her old methods of coping weren’t working anymore. The memories and panic had found a way through. But she was out of ideas, had no Plan B and she was too drained to dream one up. Standing in front of an enormous gold stature of Buddha at Bongwon-sa Temple, Chelsea stumbled while scribbling about the sound of the birds in her notebook. The stumble seemed to snowball and her feet refused to come back under her. Her body weaving perilously, her vision developing black spots. The world seemed to set her loose and she drifted perilously before a fellow tourist grabbed her arm, righting her and providing support until she could balance again. She glanced up at him to thank him, and for a beautiful moment, she saw Nate. The man looked nothing like him, but her thoughts were one tracked and stuck on Nate. Her smile and thank you were weak, and she moved away quickly before she burst into tears over the letdown. Nate had taken her leaving personally. Before she had left, she’d told him over and over again that she wasn’t leaving him, but he didn’t seem to understand the difference between leaving him and just leaving. She didn’t know how to tell him that he wasn’t enough to stop the panic, the fear. That was simply too ego-busting to break out on someone you loved. Maybe if she had told him that, he would have understood, but she just couldn’t bring herself to say it. I love you. So simple, in theory. But to her, it was absolutely horrific. Love required giving up control, and she couldn’t

do that. Not now, not ever. Even though she trusted him now, trusted him more than she would have ever believed possible to trust someone who looked every inch the bad boy, she couldn’t bring herself to give up any amount of control. Besides, what was the point of telling someone you loved them if your life was just going to keep you apart? Now, two weeks into this trip, she was seriously questioning her sanity. She could have tried telling him she loved him, maybe that would have rid her of her panic. Isn’t that how it worked in the fairy tales, in the movies? I love you was a panacea, curing all ills. Her old tactics weren’t working, maybe she should have given the fairy tale standard a try. She had to focus. She focused on the giant gold Buddha, on the tourists in their standard garb of shorts, sandals and socks. Focused on the resident monks in their gray and maroon robes. This was what she needed to do. Lose herself in the details that made her stories so rich. Her narrowed focus pushed away the black spots and finally, she was able to function without panic, the exhaustion becoming merely a minor annoyance. ### “Another month?” Nate asked. Had the woman absolutely lost her fucking mind? Every time she called him, she sounded worse. It was terrible to not be able to see her face. Unlike her face, her voice could hide so much, but even without visuals, Nate could tell she was going from bad to worse. Every day, her voice got brighter and brighter. Today she sounded chirpy. Chelsea

was not chirpy by nature. She sounded like someone trying to keep herself from going under. Underneath the chirpiness, her exhaustion showed. She searched for words far longer than she should, her thoughts were jumbled and disorganized. A pang of fear spiked through him. She was beginning to sound a hell of a lot like she had when she was telling him about the Australian Incident. Sensations and emotions were the only things she had a grasp on now. Great. That was just great. “Yeah, there are some really fun stories I can do in Thailand,” she said. “Another month,” Nate said again, “In Thailand.” Anger was fighting concern for prevailing emotion, and unfortunately, it was winning. “Another month of not sleeping, not eating, just generally running yourself into the ground. Chelsea, you can’t do this!” Okay, so that sounded a little caveman, even to him. He couldn’t forbid her to go, for heaven’s sake. He was her boyfriend, at best. Their relationship had been a bit up in the air when she left. He hadn’t been able to tell her he loved her, still couldn’t, even with her thousands of miles away. Now he wished to hell he had. It probably would have made this easier. Hell, maybe she wouldn’t have gone if he’d gotten up the balls to tell her how he felt. Now that was a lovely, gut gnawing thought. One for the regrets record books. “Nate, you can’t tell me what to do. I’m not about to give up my job and cook and clean for you like some

housewife. That’s not who I am,” she said. Clearly, she had thought his last comment a bit cavemannish as well. “Give me a break, Chelsea. That is not what this is about and you know it. I don’t want you to give up your job, and I certainly don’t want you to cook and clean for me. Don’t try to make this into some sort of equality thing. I don’t want to find out from Tony or your mother that you’ve had another goddam break down in some remote part of the world.” He was nearly shouting now. He had no idea how else to get his point across. “I’m resting, Nate,” she said, “I am.” “No, you’re not. The stuff you’ve told me you’ve been doing, you haven’t had time to rest. I don’t think you’ll survive another breakdown. You’re still running Chelsea. When are you going to see that?” He’d gone too far. He knew it the second the phone line went dead. “Fuck,” he screamed to the empty house as he threw the phone across the kitchen. ### Chelsea sipped at her tea and tried to fight back her nausea. Nothing she had done today made any sense, and she was beginning to feel as if she was looking at the world through a fishbowl. Colors and shapes swirled around her without resolving into people or things and the constant movement made her head hurt. All of this was sickeningly familiar, but she just couldn’t stop. She didn’t know how and

things were getting worse, not better. The near constant sound of cards being slapped down on surrounding tables by people playing a card game called go-stop echoed the throbbing in her head. The rhythmic noise was punctuated by the shrill sound of people rapidly speaking a language she didn’t understand. Despite her grasp of European languages, Chelsea had only ever managed to pick up enough of the Asian languages to make her way around. Usually, she found the sing song quality soothing, transfixing. Today it just grated. On the outskirts of her attention, her uneasiness lingered. She’d made plans to extend her trip by another month. She had to work harder, longer, if she was going to get rid of these feelings. Nate had not been happy with that news, and she had hung up on him yesterday. She didn’t have the energy to deal with him being a chauvinistic pig. Somewhere, deep down, she knew that he wasn’t, knew he was only thinking of her best interests. Just as it had been easier to clump him in with the bad boys, it was easier now to clump him in with all the men who didn’t think women should work. It compartmentalized him nicely. She had a job to do, and she forged on. She had three more places she had to go before she could consider the day done and she was still struggling to write up her notes on her morning. Taking a deep breath, Chelsea tried to arrange her thoughts in some way that approached logical. That morning she had been to a bull fight in the truest sense of

the word. It had been bull against bull, the two butting heads and shoving at each other. There was something so innately male about the way the bulls fought. Women, she had jotted down, even those considered aggressive by their peers, were very rarely so impassioned, so arbitrary in their aggression. Men were really little more than animals, she’d thought while watching and getting caught up in the fevered excitement of the crowd. Halfway through the second match up, Chelsea had felt light, as if her body were made of nothing more than skin. She’d left shortly thereafter, coming to this tea shop to regroup. A few deep breaths seemed to help the worst of the nausea and Chelsea looked around for some inspiration, some details of the large square to give her readers a taste of what it was like to sit outside a tea shop in Seoul. Small children were playing in a nearby fountain, their voices rising high and clear above the general din. The air smelled sweet, yet pungent, the smell of the teahouse combining with the more acrid scent of the kimchi being sold on the street. She glanced over her shoulder at the bustling market behind her and felt her stomach lurch. A huge man, white amid a sea of Asian people, towered over the crowd. He wore a black t-shirt, threads of color winding their way up his neck. Nate? She felt saved, a damsel in distress being scooped up by her knight in shining armor. He drew closer and she began to rise out of her chair to wave at him, but he was gone. Replaced by a normal looking

Western tourist. The man didn’t even have tattoos. Oh boy, Chelsea thought, I’m losing it. And then the blackness won again. ### She was dreaming. She was in her Seoul hotel room, chilled to the bone by the overzealous air conditioning. An overhead fan was creating too much of a breeze, and her arms were cold. Nate was lying next to her, leaning on his elbow and looking down at her, great concern etched on his face. She blinked a few times and tried to smile at him and the concern eased a little. “That’s it,” he said, a smile of his own cocking his irresistible mouth, “I’m officially changing your name to Sleeping Beauty. You just can’t seem to stay awake when I’m around.” “What happened? What are you doing here?” She slowly realized that she wasn’t dreaming. Nate was here, in her hotel room. He was wearing a black shirt, his tattoos rising up his neck from beneath his collar. She had seen him. “You fainted in a tea shop and I carried you back here,” Nate said. He brushed a piece of hair out of her eyes. She had forgotten how much she liked it when he did that. “But, why are you here?” she asked weakly, “And how did you find me? Did you just wander around Seoul looking for me?”

Her head still felt fuzzy and too light. She took a sip of the water sitting on the table next to her. It didn’t help her head, but it kept her from seeing the anger and frustration in Nate’s eyes. “The manager of the hotel said you liked this tea shop. As I got closer, I called you and heard the 1812 overture. Your phone led me right to you,” he said with a grin, “I was going to just wait in the lobby for you, but I got lucky.” “The manager told you where I was?” Chelsea asked. That was scary enough that it broke through the fog in her brain. What if he’d been a stalker? “That’s not very safe.” Nate nodded. “I know. But he was a Blindside fan.” “Wow,” Chelsea said, impressed. This whole trip, she’d been noticing people wearing Blindside t-shirts, stores carrying their albums. Nate, Bill and Sean really were huge worldwide. Chelsea reeled herself back from her sidetrack. “But why are you here? Why did you come here?” she asked. “I’m here because when I talked to you yesterday, you couldn’t complete a sentence without a minute long pause, Chelsea. You couldn’t even put two words together half the time. I could tell you were running yourself down again, and I didn’t want to have to come and get you out of a hospital. And it’s clearly a good thing I did.” His voice had taken on a stern edge that grated on Chelsea’s very frayed nerves. Pushing herself up onto her

elbows, she looked at Nate with as serious a look as she could manage. “I’m an adult, Nate Stone,” she said angrily, “And don’t you forget it.” She stood up, needing to get away from him, from the way he was making her feel, but her dramatic exit was ruined when she fell on the floor in a heap. Her legs had turned to oatmeal and she was unable to move. So instead she cried, leaning her head against the bed and beating the mattress with her fists. “What was that about being an adult?” Nate said. It could have been mean, but he was picking her up and putting her back into bed with such tenderness that Chelsea couldn’t see it that way. She snuggled against him and took a deep breath. The wonderful smell of him chased away her tears and she started kissing his neck, wanting to get at all of him, wanting to taste him, let him seep through her pores. “Chelsea,” he said, his voice struggling to maintain composure under her onslaught. “Shhh,” she said as she explored him. Feverish, near blinded by the sudden, fierce need to be possessed by him, Chelsea yanked at his shirt, pulling it free from the waistband of his jeans. If she couldn’t feel in control, she could at least be controlled by someone she loved. “Chelsea, we need to talk about this,” he said, “We need to talk about what you’re doing to yourself and why.”

He grabbed her hands and held them fast against his firm chest. “You’re so fond of deals, I’ll make you one. We can talk all you want. After you fuck me senseless.” He raised his eyebrow at her. “I’m serious Nate. You want to do what’s best for me, do that. I want you now, no games, no fooling around. I just want you inside me. Please.” She swallowed hard. She didn’t want him to know how close she was to tears again. Everything was closing in on her. Her panic swelling, threatening to overturn her and pull her under. Her body was rebelling against a hard work schedule that no longer seemed to be doing its job and she was so confused about the man lying next to her she could barely keep her feelings straight. But she wasn’t confused about how he affected her body. Two minutes in the same room with him his smell had gone straight to her sex. She was open, warm, she could feel it. She needed him so badly it went beyond the physical. If he took her now, it would push all the rest to the sidelines. His jaw worked and Chelsea knew his lust, anger and frustration were battling for control. She wiggled her hips up against his groin and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Fine,” he said. Then he was on top of her, pinning her hands over her head as he kissed her savagely, his hands wandering roughly over her body. He pulled her shirt off, her bra, her jeans, then stood and yanked off his own clothes.

Ferociously, he pulled her body down to the end of the bed and spread her legs wide. He stood between them and stared at her darkly. “You’re sure this is what you want?” he asked, his voice rough. She nodded, her breath ragged, her body feeling alive. She’d never been more sure of anything in her life. Nate, rough, no pretenses, no reservations. It felt like only that would save her. Hooking his elbows under her knees, he pulled her towards him and thrust into her in one slick movement. He teased her, thrusting in to the hilt before drawing all the way back out, just resting his head against her opening. She surged her hips forward, embracing the mindlessness of pure, physical need. For what seemed like an eternity, he kept up the tortuously slow pace, intensity strengthening each thrust. Finally, when she was panting and writhing on the bed, her body thrumming with the need for release, he began a constant, driving rhythm that quickly urged her to the brink of orgasm. His final thrust sent them both over the edge and he toppled down on top of her, chest heaving. Digging her nails into his painted skin, she mixed her screams with his primal growls. ### “Okay, let’s talk,” Nate said when his breath returned to normal. Jesus, that had been intense. He’d forgotten what

they were like together, how each touch spiraled out of control until they were frenzied, bodies heaving together. It had seemed so fantastically right that he had convinced himself he’d been making it up. But he hadn’t been. Every time their bodies connected, energy zinged between them, their souls touching. It was an intensity that went beyond the physical. Three weeks ago, it had scared the shit out of him. Now that he’d been without it, he would do anything to hold on to it. “Do we have to?” she asked lazily. Chelsea lay on top of him, her little body sprawled across his. He liked looking down, seeing her white skin against the colors of his, her curves against his muscle. “Oh, come on. We had a deal. We have a good track record with deals,” he said. He jiggled his leg a little to rock her from her complacency. “Mmmmm,” she muttered sleepily and burrowed her head against his chest. “Come on Sleeping Beauty, you promised,” he said. He pulled her up and slid until he was sitting up with his back propped against the headboard. Settling her on his lap, he brushed the hair out of her face and kissed her gently. “No fair,” she mumbled and turned her face back into his neck. “What’s no fair?” he asked. He moved his hand casually over her breast, letting

his fingers linger over her nipple. It hardened almost instantly and a soft moan came from Chelsea. “It’s not fair that you can just move me around wherever you want. Like I’m a rag doll or something,” she said. Her voice was sleepy, sated and Nate smiled. He had not been behind that particular idea of hers. It had seemed too brutal, too harsh, but it did seem to be what she needed. She was relaxed now, and he hadn’t seen that panicked look since. Was that all it would take, animalistic fucking? Probably not, which was too bad. He could promise her a lifetime of that. “Sorry, babe. Until you pig out on éclairs and get too big for me to lift, I’m going to move you around. It’s a guy thing.” “Bastard,” she said. She looked up finally and gave him a smile. “Okay, what’s this we’re talking about? What made you fly around the world?” she asked. “I have something that might help you, long term,” he said carefully. He had no idea how she was going to react and that scared the hell out of him. Reluctantly, he stopped caressing her and just held her tight. “What do you mean, help me long term?” Chelsea said. “Chelsea, we both know why you push yourself so hard. You work yourself nearly to death. And you know why. So do I. Maybe you wish now that you hadn’t told me, but

you did. And that means it’s now my problem too.” Her face took on an obstinate look, but he held up his hand and said firmly, “Don’t try to argue, it’s another guy thing. You want a boyfriend who cares about you, you have to deal with us trying to fix your problem.” She rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything so he continued. “You try to outrun the pain and the memories, but it doesn’t work. All it does is make you collapse in exhaustion. Is it working this time Chelsea?” She nodded her head. “Yes, Nate it is. I’m fine,” she said, anger flaring in her green eyes. “Bullshit,” he said. She struggled to get off his lap, but he held her tight. You never wanted to hear the thing you need to hear the most, he reminded himself. “Fuck you,” she said, still struggling. “Okay, if it’s working out just fine for you, why are you planning another month? Why aren’t you just stopping when you originally planned? If you’re not running, Chelsea, if you just really like your work, why is it that you can’t stop? It’s compulsive, Chelsea, and it’s not working.” Nate was amazed how calm his voice was. He was churning with anger and frustration inside, but they weren’t threatening to overwhelm him. Was he changing, or was it just because it was her he was trying to help? He could see her struggling, see all her walls going up to protect herself from what deep down she knew was

the truth. She had to know it wasn’t working anymore, as angry as she was with him. Or was she scared and acting angry? Nate pushed the implications of that particular idea away and focused on Chelsea. He tried to make his voice gentler, but it did little to help her reaction. “How would you know?” she said bitterly. “Because I know all about self destructive behavior, Chelsea.” “I’m not self destructive,” she said indignantly. She glared up at him, her hands still struggling to free herself from him. “Yes, you are, sweetheart. Just because you’re not sitting in a bar drinking yourself silly doesn’t mean you’re not self destructive. Trust me. I’m an expert. And you are driving yourself into the ground doing this. It needs to stop or it’s going to kill you.” “It is working,” she said softly, the fight going out of her. He sighed and wrapped his arms tighter around her, tucking her head under his chin. “No, babe, it’s not. I can see the panic cross your face now, just like I could in Seattle. It’s still haunting you, and it’s going to until you die if you don’t face it. And you’re going to die a hell of a lot sooner than I want you too if you keep this up.” Her small body shuddered in his arms and he felt like crying himself. Jesus, what a mess. “How am I supposed to face it Nate? I’m doing the best I can. I just, I don’t know what else to do.”

The pain in her voice was horrendous and again Nate cursed the bastard, cursed her own survival instincts that had led her down this road for so long. “No, sweetheart, but I have an idea,” he said quietly, “Do you trust me?” He was heartened when she nodded without hesitation. ### Chelsea lay awake long after Nate had gone to sleep. She stared at him in the dim light coming in through the window. It seemed unreal that he had come all this way to keep her from exhausting herself. And he was staying, staying until she was done, and, as he had put it, ‘keeping her alive.’ It had seemed so overdramatic, but now she wasn’t sure. The doctors in Australia hadn’t thought she would survive a relapse, which is exactly what she’d been heading for. Maybe Nate was right, maybe she did need him here to keep her calm, to hold her until the panic passed. If that could get her through this trip, it might be worth it. He’d wanted her to cancel everything and just leave with him tomorrow, but she couldn’t do that so he was rearranging his schedule to fit hers. She had commitments, and even if his plan worked, she liked her work, wanted to continue. Not with the same schedule, but on some level. Her work had become her life, and they may not have been the best thing, but she wouldn’t give it up entirely. She loved it for its own sake, not just the comfort it provided. Correction, used to provide.

So instead, he was staying with her until her original story was done, and then they’d go back to the States together. With all this generosity, Chelsea found it hard to believe that she had ever written him off as a stereotypical bad boy. And as much as it terrified her, she was going to do what Nate suggested. Because the alternative, life without him, was worse. She didn’t want to live without him, and as long as she hadn’t faced her problems, she wasn’t going to be able to have him in any real way.

Chapter 13 Brandon Caldwell slammed his office door. No one in this fucking firm could do anything right. Except him, obviously. He had just had to explain for the fifth time that his lunch breaks were sacred, especially when he was lunching with Trina. Trina was a redheaded idiot who could do the most amazing things on a lunch break, either under a table cloth or in a cab. It was all the same to him, really. He didn’t care where she decided to debase herself. The problem was that midway through a foot job under the table at La Fin, his goddamn secretary had called to tell him that one of his clients, a rich Beacon Hill biddy, had died. Like he cared. Norma, the aforementioned secretary, had informed him that it was firm policy for him to drop everything and immediately rush to the side of the aggrieved family on such an occasion. Fuck. Which he would have to do, of course, but it could have waited another ten minutes. Hell, another five would have worked, given Trina’s abilities. So now, because Norma didn’t have the sense god gave a

stick, he would be meeting with the Carter family with a huge case of blue balls. He would have to try to appear sympathetic and even slightly mournful himself, when all he would really want to do is go find Trina, turn her around and spend a minute or two getting his rocks off. If this day could get any worse, he couldn’t imagine how. Stifling his frustration, Brandon stuck his head out his office door, demanded the Carter file from Norma, then slammed back over to his desk. He would have to refresh his memory on Carter and her will before he went to visit the family. He needed some details to make it seem like he gave a shit. Not that any of them would. These families were all the same. When one of them died, the rest would stand around in black and dab at dry eyes with linen handkerchiefs. Then he’d read the will and all hell would break loose as the favorite son was passed over for a dog. Brandon was exceptionally good at dealing with these sorts of situations, having been through them in his own family life in the past. That was how, at 29, he was one of the most important young lawyers in the firm. He knew all the rules to the game and played it exceedingly well. Some of his more bleeding heart professors at Harvard Law had called him cold hearted and unethical, but fuck them. He knew what he wanted and how to get there. Always had. Norma arrived with the file and had the nerve to look as cool and confident as if she hadn’t just fucked up and pissed off her boss. Damn old woman. Norma was probably closing in on sixty and not the nicest thing to look at. His previous secretary had been much easier on the

eyes, a young ambitious thing of 23 with a great ass and a pair of tits that rivaled Trina’s. But after the unfortunate harassment issue, the firm had hired Norma, who no man in their right mind would think about groping. Luckily, the senior partners were older gentlemen who weren’t short sighted enough to let the allegations of one expendable secretary endanger the career of one of their brightest stars and biggest billers. That didn’t mean he wasn’t on probation, which pissed him off every damn day. After fifteen minutes with the Carter file, Brandon felt confident he could make a passable impression on the family. He threw his suit coat back on after inspecting it for lint, then gave his shoes a quick buff with a cloth in his drawer. Appearances were everything with these fucks and he wouldn’t have time to stop and have his shoes shined on the way. He was lucky if he was going to get there before the bucktoothed, drug addicted grandkids started fighting over the silver. He stepped out of his office and down the hall to the lobby elevator. The receptionist motioned him over as he crossed the room and he rolled his eyes at her, but approached her desk anyway. “What? I’m busy. I have better things to do than file my nails all day,” he snapped at her. “Mr. Caldwell, those people over there are here to see you. They said it was important. The guy is Nate Stone, the guy from Blindside,” the girl said breathlessly. Brandon had no idea what her name was or what she

was talking about. “And why should I care about this?” he asked coldly. “He’s, like, famous,” the girl said with a look of incredulity plastered on her already vacuous face. “Ah. Well, I have better things to do with my time. They can make an appointment like everyone else,” he said as he turned from the desk. On his way to the elevator, Brandon spared a glance for the couple sitting in the waiting area. The man grabbed his attention first. Covered in tattoos, he was a little hard to miss. Nice look, buddy, Brandon thought. The man’s long legs were stretched out in front of him and Brandon bristled. Big men pissed him off. They thought they were far superior to men of average build. He shook his head and looked away, but his gaze caught on the woman sitting next to Mr. Big Shot. An uncomfortable knot in his stomach formed as recognition slowly washed over him. Brandon swallowed hard and let out a breath. He knew that girl, but what was she doing here? This could not be good. Quickening his step, Brandon turned his head away from them, but not before he saw the woman nudge the Neanderthal and gesture in Brandon’s direction. Shit. The beast stood up and easily closed the gap between them with his long legs. “We need to talk,” the guy said as his large hand wrapped around Brandon’s upper arm. It looked like his day had just gotten worse. ### The calm Chelsea had felt all day had nearly

evaporated when Brandon had entered the lobby. He hadn’t changed much in eight years. A little older, his expression more grim. His eyes and mouth were lined, and they weren’t laugh lines. His posture was still ramrod straight, his movements stiff and precise. As she watched him walk towards the elevator, her heart had nearly stopped as coldness climbed through her body. The face that woke her in the middle of the night was still ugly. Caught up in her physical reaction, Brandon had almost gotten to the elevator by the time she was able to nudge Nate. Nate had quickly intercepted the smaller man and stopped him from leaving. For the first time, she noticed a shimmer of fear on Brandon’s face when he glanced in her direction. Could it be that he recognized her, might even know what she was doing here? Did Brandon even know what he had done was wrong, or if he was so bereft of morals that he thought it was okay. The look of fear told her that he at least knew that what he had done was punishable by law, even if he didn’t feel any real remorse. Nate so towered over Brandon that Chelsea would have laughed at the sight if anxiety hadn’t invaded every fiber of her being. Brandon was short, had short man syndrome if she remembered correctly. He had to look up to look into Nate’s face, and he did so with a sneer. Right, Chelsea thought, time to get this over with. She’d wasted enough of her time on this bastard. Chelsea rose and walked to the two men. “Get your hands off me,” Brandon said as she

approached. Nate disregarded the request and Brandon paled. He did manage to turn his look of fear into a look of disgust, but not quickly enough. Ha. Brandon was absolutely terrified. It was about time. ### Nate felt like a bouncer. Except bouncers weren’t usually thrumming with barely restrained anger and they didn’t keep people from leaving. Brandon had been quick to lead Nate and Chelsea back to his private office and Nate was damn well going to make sure the guy didn’t leave until Chelsea was ready to let him go. If she wanted to beat the crap out of the guy, he’d let her. Hell, he’d hold Brandon down for her. He was just that kind of romantic guy. The office looked like a movie set of a lawyer’s office, full of dark wood and overstuffed leather. It was pretentious and stuffy as hell. Nate hated it and he hated the man it belonged to. Brandon was the sort of mean spirited little twerp that had always wound him up. He was all entitlement and no morals. Just watching the guy twitch was fun. As soon as he had seen Chelsea, he had gotten squirmy, eyes darting every which way. Caged rat. Whenever Brandon glanced towards the door and a possible exit, Nate clenched his fists or scowled at him and the other man quickly looked away. Melodramatic, but so effective. It never ceased to amuse Nate how people like Brandon became squeamish when faced with people like him. The longer Chelsea waited, the more Brandon

squirmed. Nate was willing to wait as long as it took. He needed to let this play out the way Chelsea needed it to. Ever since he’d woken up this morning, a seed of fear had been growing in his gut. If this didn’t work, he was out of ideas, and apparently, so was she. This had to rid her of her compulsive need to be always on the move. End of story. Chelsea was walking slowly around the spacious office, casually trailing her fingers over books and photos of Brandon engaged in various wealthy pursuits; yachting, tennis, polo. Nate didn’t know if she was waiting intentionally to make Brandon as uncomfortable as possible, or if she was trying to organize her thoughts. Either way, the result was spectacular. Beads of sweat were appearing on Caldwell’s forehead and he kept fiddling with his tie in a nervous gesture. His fear was barely concealing his rage at having been confronted with something he obviously thought was far in the past. Which, Nate knew with sick certainty, was the only reason this guy had a problem with what had happened. Chances were, Chelsea wasn’t the only girl he’d hit or tried to rape. Nate hoped to hell he’d never been successful in that. The fucker felt no compunction about his actions, he was just worried about getting caught. Nate had lived on the streets long enough to meet all kinds of scum, but Brandon was an especially terrifying breed. He had the money to cover up any number of misdeeds and no conscience. “I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to press

charges,” Chelsea said abruptly as she turned towards Brandon. She was standing at the window, the light behind her creating a rapturous halo effect with the small hairs that had escaped her ponytail. Nate was amazed and relieved that she seemed so calm. This couldn’t be easy for her, but she was handling it with grace. He loved her, he respected her, he’d kill for her. That about summed it up. “Press charges for what?” Brandon asked with a show of equal parts ignorance and bravado. Prick. “You know damn well what,” Chelsea said, both her tone and her features sharpening. “You damaged me. What you did was horribly wrong. Horribly. I’m sorry I didn’t just drag you to the police station the first time you laid your hands on me. Don’t you dare pretend not to know what you did, you lying asshole.” Chelsea took a few steps towards him and Nate could feel her anger radiating off her. Apparently, Brandon could too. He stumbled back a few paces, shrinking into himself until he was even smaller. “Maybe I will press charges. You’re still a slimy little man. There’s no way I was the last person you beat up on, and I’m guessing there’s some other poor girl out there who didn’t get a chance to kick you in your tiny little nuts.” Chelsea was so close to Brandon now that he was leaning back to try to avoid being eye to eye with her. Chelsea wasn’t yelling, but her anger was evident in every word. Brandon dug deep into his inner sliminess and

pulled himself back up and started inching towards Chelsea. Nate watched the prick closely. He didn’t think the guy was stupid enough to physically attack Chelsea with him in the room, but you could never be too sure about guys like that. “Oh please. You can’t go to court on something like that. I’m a lawyer, Chelsea, these things don’t go to trial. They get dismissed. There’s no way a judge is going to let an eight year old alleged crime go to a trial. It’s a waste of time.” “No, you’re probably right,” Chelsea said, “Maybe I won’t bring it to the police. Smith, Chandler and what’s the other guy’s name? Oh, right Bernard, should be interested, though. How long do you think you’ll keep your job if you’re being accused of assault and attempted rape, Brandon? You’d be a huge liability. They’ll jettison you faster than you can say hearsay.” At that Brandon turned so pale that Nate worried he was going to have to catch the guy when he fell on him. Or maybe he’d just let him crash to the ground. He would certainly deserve it. “What do you want from me?” Brandon asked finally. All the fight gone left him. His shoulders slumped, his back rounding. His voice was timid and tired. Chelsea, on the other hand, seemed to grow taller, bigger, as if she were feeding off of Brandon’s energy. “I want a written apology. I want to know you know what it is you did. I want you to donate money to a victim’s assistance program. And I want you to sign up to take a

rape and violence prevention course. I want you to learn to respect women, Brandon. Because you’re right, no court would sentence you after all these years and no physical evidence. But I know that you haven’t changed since then, and I don’t want other women to be hurt by you. I want you to include that you will do these things in your apology letter. That’s what I want from you, or I tell the partners about you.” “That’s fucking blackmail,” Brandon said angrily. Apparently, he still had some fight left in him. Nate immediately tensed up again. He had relaxed a little when the guy had backed down, but now he put himself back on full alert. “I can’t believe you’re getting so worked up about some little thing that happened eight fucking years ago. An apology letter? You know what? You can forget it.” No, it wasn’t ending this way, Nate thought. Chelsea had to get what she needed from this guy. The alternative sucked. Whatever else happened, Chelsea needed closure from this so she could stop killing herself. Brandon turned to go, forgetting that Nate stood in his path. Just looking at the little puke was making his fingers itch to hit him, but Nate refrained from taking his own action against the guy. The most he was going to do was enforce what Chelsea wanted. It wasn’t his fight to fight, but it sure as hell was his to support. “Get out of my way, man. Give me a break. You know you’re just here so you could get a little pussy. You understand. I’d been buying her dinner and sucking up to that mother of hers for a fucking month and she wouldn’t put

out. Sometimes you just have to be a little forceful, you know? It’s not like you haven’t done the same thing. A guy like you,” Brandon said. Nate wasn’t sure how Brandon intended to finish his sentence, because his fist flew out of its own accord, hitting Brandon squarely in the jaw. He wasn’t even sure of what he was doing, his body working on the orders of his lower, primitive mind. It had been a long time since Nate had fought this way, and his aggression and testosterone thrilled at the chance to unbridle his considerable anger. Somewhere in the haze of the outside world, he felt a hand on his shoulder, a voice working its way through the noise of the pounding blood in his ears. “Nate, that’s enough.” The voice was sharp, but tinged with fear. Chelsea. Instantly, his senses came back to him and he realized he was straddling Brandon, his fist raised to hit him again. The other man’s face was a motley pattern of blood and bruises, his arms striking at the back of Nate’s legs ineffectually. Still panting from his exertion, Nate rose to his feet. His nose hurt and when he touched it blood came away on his hand. Apparently, Brandon had managed to land a few punches before Nate had pinned him on the ground. What the hell had he just done? Nate felt sick. He had let Brandon push him out of control. He’d so carefully to distanced himself from the young man with impulse control problems that he had been, and now this. After spending months proving to the woman he loved that

he had changed, evolved, this man had managed to prove that he really hadn’t. He’d come here to be a calm, supportive partner, and he’d lost his frigging mind when it looked like things weren’t going right. He couldn’t imagine how this looked to her. No, he could, and that was worse. It made it look like she’d been right from the beginning. No matter what he did, he’d always be the bad boy who fucked up, who broke her heart. Just as self destructive and impulsive as always, he was sure that this moment of testosterone fueled stupidity cost him the woman he had come to need. This was supposed to have been the beginning of their life together, a way to put the past behind them. His whole intent was to let Chelsea confront her past so she could stop running from what was in her head, stop running from him. Instead, it was his past coming back to haunt them. Jesus, he’d been brawling like a teenager, had even enjoyed the mindlessness of letting his violent instincts take over. Had he really believed himself when he’d told her he’d grown up, grown out of his bad boy behavior? If he had, he was an idiot. Nate couldn’t even look at Chelsea, couldn’t bear to see the disappointment, the heartbreak he knew he would find there. Caught up in his own self flagellation, he barely realized that some security guards had arrived, no doubt called by Brandon’s secretary. They were leading both him and Brandon away. Without looking at her, Nate handed Chelsea the keys to the rental car so at least she could get the hell away from him.

### Nate hated holding cells. They smelled atrocious, the company was terrible and worst of all, they were too small for him to effectively pace. This was the first time he’d felt he belonged here though. In his youth, he’d been filled with righteous indignation when he’d been hauled in for brawling, but not this time. He didn’t regret damaging the fucker, but he did regret hurting Chelsea. Hell, he’d scared her. At least being in a cage would keep him away from her and keep him from doing any more damage to their relationship. Nate turned again in his frustrated attempts to pace and headed three steps in the other direction before spinning around again. His mind ran furiously through all his pain and anger, trying to come up with the shittiest thing about this mess. The current frontrunner was the image he had of her telling some other guy about their relationship, playing it up as one of the reasons that she just couldn’t date bad boys anymore, couldn’t trust them anymore. That would be just great, Nate thought. He would become a reason for her future uncertainty and mistrust. That was worse than picturing her with some other guy in the first place, and that image was so painful Nate wanted to howl like a broken animal. Luckily, Brandon had been put in another cell, the police not wanting to have a second fight break out. The other occupants of the cell, a wigged out junkie and a sleeping giant, didn’t seem to notice Nate’s existence. Hell, at least one thing was going his way. This wouldn’t have been the

first time fellow detainees had pestered him for autographs and thought that it was the coolest thing in the world to be held with Nate Stone. He was glad he didn’t have to deal with that added hassle now. It left him fully free to beat the shit out of himself over his stupid, asinine behavior. By far the worst thing about this particular holding cell was that he was having a fucking epiphany in it. Cells were not the place for this sort of earth shattering shit, he thought bitterly. The irony wasn’t lost on him either, and that pissed him off. Irony in general and this one in particular. While trying to save Chelsea from her own self destructive behavior so they could have a fighting chance, he’d run right into his own and killed their chances. Oh yeah, irony was great. Because, the real bitch of this whole fucked up situation was that he knew why he’d reacted like that when the guy had started fighting Chelsea. He’d been scared. Scared shitless that this wouldn’t work, that when they were all done, Chelsea would still need to run. Yeah, he’d been pissed as hell at the guy, especially when he said that crap about a guy like him. But he’d been learning control his anger before now. That certainly wasn’t the first time he’d been pissed at a guy and wanted to hit him. But he hadn’t done it, at least not in a few years. What he had no control over was his fear. And his fear, he had learned in his little jailhouse awakening, made him act like an utter idiot. He’d never been so afraid in his life. He’d been in horrible situations. Fights, busts, near death experiences, but he’d never been as scared as he

had been this afternoon. Not for himself. But for her. He was terrified that she was going to stay panicked and skittish and run around the world until it killed her. And that would kill him. “Hey, pretty boy,” a cop yelled from the door to the cell, interrupting Nate’s pity/self discovery party. What the fuck, Nate thought, did the cops start including his nickname on his rap sheet? Every jail, prison and holding cell he’d ever been in, the cops thought it was witty to call him pretty boy. Nate turned to look at the guy, a uniform with a big gut. “You’re out,” the guy said resentfully. He opened the door and walked away, apparently not worried about either the junkie or the sleeping guy following him out. Nate followed him, confused. He’d been so torn up about losing Chelsea that he hadn’t even begun to think about how he was going to get out of here. Had Chelsea called Sean before she left town? It was more than he deserved or expected of her after what he’d done. The cop led him down the hallway and out into the lobby of the station, opening the door with a grunt. Standing in the middle of the green tile, he saw something he barely believed. Chelsea, looking nervous, but not angry. When she caught sight of him, her eyes lit up and she started towards him. “Oh, honey, your eye,” she said as she reached up to touch the cut above his eye. He turned his head away from her and grabbed her

hand. He was angry at himself, but he could feel himself turning his anger towards her. Which would just be more of the same behavior that got him in this mess. No, he’d lost her, but he was damn sure not going to just let himself slide into self destructive oblivion. Not without a fight. He reined his temper in. “What are you doing here, Chelsea?” he asked. He stared into her eyes, and even through all his pain and confusion, he still wanted her. He wanted to hold her tight and beg her not to leave him. “I’m here to get you,” she said. Her face showed her confusion and hurt at having been rebuffed by him. “Chelsea, come on. You deserve someone better than me. I’ve proved that. Get out of here. I fucked up. You should just walk away. You should have walked away that first day. I should never have convinced you to stay. You were right, okay? Bad boys really never do grow up.” As he said it, Nate felt sick to his stomach. He loved her so much, he wanted her to have someone better than him, even if it hurt like hell to let her go. Chelsea looked at him for a long moment and Nate couldn’t identify the thoughts that were going by so fast. Then she shook her head and gave him a cockeyed smile. “Nate, fuck you,” she said, but so lightly and with such affection that it managed to not sound insulting, “You didn’t fuck up. So you got in a fight. Not exactly good for your bid for sainthood, but come on, he was asking for it!” she said. She had grabbed his upper arms and was

shaking him. “Don’t give me this crap. You already convinced me that you’ve outgrown your bad boy persona. I can’t even imagine you as that guy I thought you were anymore. When are you going to be convinced of it, Nate? When are you going to look at yourself and see what I see?” When you show me I’m good enough for you, Nate thought miserably. He was too wrung out to speak. She paused, but when it became clear he wasn’t going to answer, she changed direction. “You don’t get to decide who’s good enough for me. I do. And, and I love you. I love that you punched Brandon and I love that you probably could have killed him but you didn’t.” Everything around them stopped. The phones stopped ringing, the drunk on the bench stopped moaning and the damn fluorescent lights stopped buzzing. Had she really just said what he thought she’d said? “You what?” he said. He felt like his mouth was full of lint, it was so hard to talk. “I get to decide what’s best for me,” she said earnestly. “No, Chelsea, not that. The other thing,” he said. He studied her face, his guide, for some sign that she was lying. There was none. All he saw was perfect honestly, tinged with confusion at his odd behavior. Then her face broke into a huge grin. “I love you. That part?” she asked with a teasing grin. Nate wrapped his arms around her and pulled her

against him. In that moment, he couldn’t even believe she was real, never mind that those words had just come out of her mouth. He had just royally fucked up and she was professing her love for him. He felt like hoisting her above his head like a trophy, but he settled for squeezing her and nuzzling in her neck. “Oh, god, Chelsea. I love you so much. I think I have since you sauntered up my walk and tossed my life up into the air,” he said. His voice cracked with emotion. Apparently that wasn’t the only thing cracking. “Nate,” Chelsea squeaked, “Too tight.” “Sorry, babe,” he said releasing her just enough to let her breathe. He wondered if they could live their whole lives in an embrace. Nate looked down at Chelsea’s upturned face and felt something inside him give way, walls of self loathing crumbling, dissolving. He suddenly felt understood and accepted, a feeling he had searched for in many different places in his life, and he’d never found it anywhere. It was there in Chelsea’s green eyes. Reflected back at him was the man he’d been trying to prove he was. She was right. If she saw it, so could he. No wonder he’d been drawn to her since the beginning. Nate just had to laugh then. They were having a highly charged, emotional conversation in a police station. The worry about being self destructive, about his own stupid neuroses, just melted away. If only he could say the

same for his fears for her. “Come on, let’s go,” he said. He felt like he was floating. If she said he was good enough for her, he was going to try like hell to believe her and prove her right. They collected his belongings, Nate pocketing the ring box before Chelsea could see it and headed out to the car. “You realize that we’re going to have to tell our children that we first told each other I love you in a police station, don’t you?” Chelsea asked with a grin. Children? ### “That’s it, I’m getting the pilot to turn around,” Nate said standing up. “Nate, no, don’t be ridiculous,” Chelsea said. The man was exasperating sometimes. “Chelsea, you deserve that apology. You need it.” “No Nate, I need you,” Chelsea said, letting out a sigh. She had avoided telling him how she had gotten him released the day before for as long as she could. She’d been lucky he hadn’t asked until they were somewhere over Iowa. Lying about it had crossed her mind, but he had a freaky way of reading her expressions and it wasn’t worth trying to get away with it. As she had predicted, he hadn’t been happy that she’d made a deal with Brandon. He didn’t have to write an apology letter if he dropped the charges against Nate. It was an easy deal to make. It figured that Brandon would be such a coward that his biggest problem with her demands

had been a simple apology letter. “Are you going to be able to get on with your life without knowing he’s sorry, Chelsea?” Nate asked. “He’s not going to be sorry, Nate. He would have written the letter, but it wouldn’t have made him feel any remorse. I can’t make him feel that.” It was true. When she’d thought about what she wanted from Brandon, the apology had been the most important. Faced with the choice of the insincere words of an insensitive prick and the man she loved, though, Chelsea hadn’t had to think for a minute. All she wanted was Nate. If confronting Brandon didn’t get the panic, the nightmares to stop, then a piece of paper wouldn’t either. As she had watched Brandon walk away from her in the police station, she had felt a weight lifted from her. She didn’t have to think about him, or the past, anymore. And no matter what happened, she’d gotten what she needed. That was already clear. All day she had waited for the bald panic to skitter in, sometimes she’d even expected it. But it had never come. Nate had been right. Confronting Brandon had done a world of good. Good the world hadn’t done. It seemed almost too easy, but there it was. The power she had lost and run around the world trying to regain was back. Just seeing Brandon had reduced him down to a manageable, human size. Over the years, she had blown him, and consequently, his effect on her life, way out of proportion. She had been so young, and so short on life experience. There was no doubt about it, it was still a

horrible thing that she would never forget. But it no longer overshadowed everything else in her life. She was better able to put the whole experience in perspective – and behind her. And she had Nate to thank for it. “He’ll never be sorry, but I can have a great life. And in order to have that, I need you. Having you will be my revenge. It’s all I need.” He’d stared at her for a few seconds before finally shaking his head. “You need this, too,” he said quietly, “It’s a little soon but, I’m sure.” He’d produced a beautiful, vintage diamond ring and Chelsea broke into tears. The past days had been so emotional, good and bad. But that ring and the look in Nate’s eyes far overshadowed the bad. “Yeah, me too,” she’d said as he put it on her finger. Their tender romantic kiss had quickly progressed to more. Chelsea was exceptionally grateful for private charter planes. ### “Oh, come on,” Nate asked for what felt like the hundredth time, “Tell me where you and Jen went.” They had just come from Tony’s, where the big news was that Tony was moving to Santa Fe and he and Jen were – finally – getting married. With two wedding announcements, the afternoon had turned into a celebration. Nate wouldn’t soon forget the look on Tony’s face when Jen had also let it slip that she was pregnant. He’d never seen quite that image of shock and excitement before.

After conferring quietly in a corner for a few minutes, the two women had left in some secret rush, leaving Nate and Tony to fend for themselves. Which amounted to sitting around drinking beer and shooting the shit. Tony had congratulated Nate for not being as pigheaded as he had been for waiting ten years to marry his lifelong love. Nate didn’t have the heart to tell the other man that his sister wouldn’t allow such pigheadedness, otherwise he’d have gone the same route. The ladies had returned a few hours later, giggling like school girls. They refused to let either Nate or Tony in on the secret. Things were still tense between Chelsea and her mother, but Nate thought he saw the older woman beginning to melt. It was damn hard to stay upset when your kids were getting married and you were going to be a grandma. Nate just hoped things got better than they had been. He was going to have to deal with Annabelle Spencer for a long time. Lucky him. As far as he knew, Chelsea hadn’t shared whatever her secret was with her mother, either. He was dying to know, but decided to play it cool. It had always worked for him in the past. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the kitchen counter. Whatever it was clearly made Chelsea ridiculously happy, and she was nearly bursting for wanting to tell him. Whatever it was, he wouldn’t have to wait long. About five seconds, to be exact. “Oh, I’ll just show you now,” she said, “I was going to wait for a special time, but I just can’t wait. I’m so excited.”

Her face glowed and her eyes twinkled, the perfect picture of happiness. It was amazing how his street cool just kept working for him. Her excitement was infectious though, and he suddenly felt like jumping up and down like she was. Chelsea pulled away from him a bit and turned around, tugging her pants a down a little, revealing a large patch of gauze on the back of her right hip. She carefully pulled the gauze off to reveal a new tattoo, still red and raised around the edges. It was the image of a dark haired woman, arms raised in a graceful pose, one leg bent and raised. She was naked, full in the hips and the breasts she looked peaceful, calm. Realization came to him slowly, and Nate became aware of Chelsea impatient squirming. “Is this what I think it is?” Nate asked, gently running his fingers over the ink. “Yes,” Chelsea said quietly, turning her head a little so she could look at Nate over her shoulder. “It’s Shakti.” Nate was at a loss for words and his heart stopped. “It’s so whenever you do something you think is destructive, you realize I’m here to help you. Whatever it is.” “To remake me,” Nate said quietly. His love for this woman was so strong, so unbelievably overwhelming, that it was hard to believe that she felt the same way about him, but she did. She had known exactly the right thing to do to calm all his fears, all his worries about them. This tattoo showed that she knew exactly what to do to remake him, and what to do to reassure him. It was the most beautiful gift anyone had ever

given him and he knew he’d do his best to deserve it every day of his life. She turned in his arms and rested her head against his chest. He cradled her, his heart full. “It’s good to be home.” “Home? Did the wanderer just call this place home?” “It is home. You’re here.” Their lips met, remaking them both. The End