Chapter 12 Chase
CHASE
The knock comes at my trailer door an hour later.
“Here we go,” I tell my seventeen-year-old cat Princess—a grumpy, orange, former barn cat with the most impressive resting bitch face you’ve ever seen—as I move to open the door.
This is where Molly kicks me out, and Linda subsequently cancels our deal.
Not that I’m feeling particularly excited about the deal anymore.
I still haven’t figured out how to get what I want without keeping my best friend’s widow from getting what she wants.
Hell, when did I become so invested in Molly’s dreams anyway?
I should be focused on securing my own damn future, not worrying about hers.
She’s standing there with her red hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, balancing on her crutches, her cheeks still flushed pink from the effort of making it across the yard. The sight of her struggling just to get to my door makes something twist uncomfortably in my chest.
“I’ll be off the property today,” I tell her.
“I’m sorry for earlier,” she says, ignoring my words.
“Why are you apologizing?” I ask. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Neither did you. I told you to use the shower, and I got home earlier than I said, so...”
“I gave you an eyeful.”
The look she gives me makes me think that could be the understatement of the year. Her gaze goes kind of dreamy, and the idea that thinking about my dick causes the reaction makes it twitch in my pants.
Not now, I command internally. I mean, it was bad enough that just the sight of her eyes on me sent the blood rushing south.
“Come in for a minute,” I say, stepping back.
“You don’t need to invite me—”
“I know I don’t. But we need to talk.”
“Talk,” she repeats, like it’s code for something else.
Is her something else anything like mine?
Which involves not talking.
“It’s nice,” she says as she looks around the small space.
One of her crutches catches on the top step, and she loses her balance, something I’m coming to expect and continue to find adorable. Also not complaining about an excuse to put my hands on her again.
Her cheeks turn a rosier pink as I lower her onto the small couch. Princess, who is not a fan of people in general, vacated the space when she heard another voice.
“Are those granite counters?” she asks, her eyes darting around the interior, clearly trying to look anywhere but at me.
I grin. “Were you expecting chipped Formica?”
She makes a face. “Along with pizza boxes, beer cans, and posters of women in bikinis.”
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” I take a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge and hand it to her.
“That’s fair,” she admits.
“I can go back to showering at my friend’s place.” I sit next to her, and when her eyes widen a fraction, I realize I should have sat a little farther away. There’s not much space for farther in this trailer. “I don’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities again.”
She rolls her eyes. “My sensibilities are not delicate. You just caught me off guard.”
“In a good or bad way?” I can’t help but ask.
“I’m not answering that.” Her eyes flash, a direct contrast to her tone.
“I’ll remember to bring my clothes up next time.”
“Why do you think I have delicate sensibilities?” She inclines her head like a teacher addressing a particularly recalcitrant student. “I was knocked up when Teddy married me. So you know I’m not that innocent.”
I swallow back a laugh. “Did you just quote Britney Spears to me?”
“Not intentionally. But also, why do you recognize Britney lyrics?”
“My sister can take credit for that, too. Kind of the pre-Taylor era, you know?”
“Sure.”
But the tilt of her chin tells me she’s still bothered by the delicate sensibilities comment. “I didn’t mean it in a negative way. I’m trying to be respectful.”
Her brows furrow. “Maybe I’m not looking for respect,” she murmurs, as much to herself as to me.
Heat shoots through me at her words, and I have to dig my fingers into the arm of the sofa to keep from moving closer.
“What are you looking for, Molly?” I pitch my voice low, making damn sure she knows exactly what I’m thinking about.
She’s in the middle of taking another drink and starts choking on it.
I smile as I take the bottle from her and place it on the table. Watching her come undone might be my new favorite pastime.
“Don’t do that,” she tells me.
“I thought you were going to spill it.”
“Not the water. I don’t care about the water. Don’t pretend to flirt with me.”
“Who said anything about pretending?”
She wipes a droplet off her bottom lip and glares at me. “Do we need to go over the part where you’d have no interest in a woman like me one more time?”
“One more time, I did not say those words.” I drag a hand through my hair. “Again, I was trying to be respectful. I didn’t want your friends to get the wrong idea.”
“Those aren’t my friends. Those are school moms. My friends are desperate for me to clear away the coochie cobwebs.”
I blink.
She blinks.
“Did you say coochie cobwebs?” My brain struggles to process the words that just spilled out of her mouth.
Molly covers her face with her hands and groans. “Why am I like this around you, and can I have a do-over on the last thirty seconds?”
“Hell, no,” I interrupt, peeling away her fingers until she meets my gaze. “You can’t say something like that and expect me to ignore it. My imagination is way too active.”
She rolls her eyes. “I haven’t been with a man since Teddy died. Since nearly a year before the accident, if I’m being completely honest.” She laughs softly. “I don’t know why I’m choosing this moment to be honest.”
The explanation is almost as shocking as the term. “Was there something wrong with him?”
“Now you’re just being mean.”
I shake my head. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but—”
“No, Chase.” She lowers her hands to her lap. “Nothing was wrong with Teddy. There’s something wrong with me. I know you know it. It’s why you said what you did to the moms. I don’t care that you wouldn’t want someone like me. I swear I don’t, but—”
“I. Never. Said. That.” The words come out as sharp as a round of gunshots, which wasn’t my intention. And when she looks like she’s about to argue again, I lean over and press my mouth to hers.
The kiss is meant to be quick, but the moment our lips touch, something electric shoots through my chest and I pull her closer before I can stop myself.
I need her to know that what she thinks I think about her isn’t true.
I can’t stop thinking about her.
I also can’t stop thinking that my best friend was an idiot. What a fool I’ve been to let his attitude and my baggage coalesce into judging Molly in a way she didn’t deserve then, and certainly doesn’t now.
“I’m trying to protect you,” I say roughly, cradling her face.
“From what?” she asks, sounding curious but not concerned.
The way she looks at me, like I’m someone worth trusting, makes my chest ache with the weight of all of my many mistakes. She has no idea how many people I’ve let down. The broken promises left in my wake.
How easy it would be for me to hurt her without even meaning to.
“I’m not good for you, Molly.” The whispered words come from some place deep inside me.
I expect her to take me at my word, because I mean every one. But this woman, who has surprised me at every turn, does it again. Instead of pulling away, she leans in closer and kisses me. As if her soft, willing mouth can fill the hollow places inside me.
I take everything she has to offer, then demand more.
Our kisses turn wild and unruly, and I don’t know if the groan of pleasure comes from her or me, but it fuels my need.
Her hands rake through my hair, and I lower mine from her face to cup her generous breasts. Her nipples are hard beneath her thin shirt and the fabric of her bra, and I tweak one gently. But I want more. I want to drag my mouth over every damn inch, because I just know how good she’ll taste.
Maybe it makes me a complete asshole, but I also want to crush any memory she has of another man’s hands on her. I want to feel like something as beautiful and real as Molly could belong to me, if only for a few scorching moments.
I still don’t know what the hell coochie cobwebs are, but I’ll take care of those, too. I’ll take good care of her.
I continue stroking her breasts with one hand and move the other toward the waistband of her leggings because—
“Chase.”
Her voice trembles, and I pause but don’t pull away. Not yet. I want her too much for that.
But I need to know she wants this, too.
Then it’s like the fucking heavens sing out, because instead of telling me to stop, she whispers, “More.” It’s the answer to the prayer I hadn’t even realized I’d sent up—to God, or the universe, or whatever entity I have to thank.
Her lips are soft and warm against mine. They taste like sunshine and something uniquely her. When I deepen the kiss, she responds with a hunger that matches my own, her fingers digging into my biceps as she pulls me closer.
The world narrows to only this moment. The gentle pressure of her mouth, the way she sighs against my lips, and the warmth of her body pressed against mine.
Her breathing quickens, and when I trail kisses along her jawline to that sensitive spot just below her ear, she arches into me in a way that sends fire racing through my veins.
She lets out a little groan, then freezes like she’s embarrassed by the sound.
“Sweetheart, you can make as much noise as you want. The louder the better as far as I’m concerned. There’s nobody here but you and me, and my name on your lips when you’re screaming in pleasure will be music to my ears.”
But she does lean back slightly, her brows pulling together so tight I can almost see the thoughts pinballing through her mind. “Say whatever you need to, Molly.”
“There aren’t actual cobwebs,” she says quietly.
Christ, the way she looks up at me through her lashes with that serious expression is so fucking adorable I want to kiss her senseless all over again.
“It isn’t like I don’t know how to take care of myself. I’ve got a whole nightstand…” She shakes her head. “Never mind.”
“I will definitely mind,” I counter. “Tell me more about the ways you take care of yourself. Pretty sure the best way to remove the cobwebs image from my brain is to fill it with the details of how you touch yourself.”
Her cheeks turn rosy again. “I’m not telling you a thing.”
I bite back a grin at that prim and proper tone as she tries not to talk about getting herself off. “You’re something special,” I say and then laugh. It feels so fucking good to laugh.
The things this woman does to me without even trying, I can’t explain it.
It’s more than want or need, although that’s part of it.
She’s just so damn herself, and while she may not be able to appreciate how amazing that is, I certainly do.
There’s no pretense or posturing. She doesn’t want anything from me.
And it makes me want to give her things I don’t even think I’m capable of.
But I damn sure know I’m more than capable of dusting off some invisible cobwebs.
“This unwillingness to share your little nightstand kink only makes me want to get it out of you even more.”
I kiss her again, slow and deep, savoring the way she melts against me.
Her lips part under mine, and when I trace my tongue along her lower lip, she makes this needy sound that goes straight to my cock.
Every kiss is deliberate, like I’m trying to memorize how she shivers when I graze my teeth along her pulse point.
When I feel her relax into me, I move my hands to the bottom of her sweatshirt and then up past the soft fabric of her leggings to her skin.
I know it’s smooth, but touching her under her shirt—putting my hands on skin that I haven’t seen—feels like something sacred.
Once again, she’s trusting me, even though we both know she shouldn’t.
She sways forward ever so slightly, and it’s all the invitation I need. My fingers graze her ribcage, then trace the edge of her bra, but it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.
I need to see her. I need my mouth on her. Whatever she’s willing to give me, I’ll take it all, greedy bastard that I am.
I start to tug her sweatshirt off, but I get only the barest glimpse of her creamy skin before she jumps away from me like I pinched her.
“Molly—”
Her chest is rising and falling like she’s having trouble gathering air in her lungs. I know the fucking feeling, because when she whispers, “school bus,” I don’t even react.
Until—oh, shit.
The unmistakable wheeze of air brakes cuts through the afternoon quiet, followed by the low rumble of the engine downshifting as it approaches the farm’s driveway.
“What time is it?” she asks, panic lacing her tone.
I point to the clock on the microwave. “Three-thirty. The twins are home.” I’m already moving toward the door. “I’ll run down to the end of the driveway. You—”
“I’ll be right there,” she says. “They can’t see me in your trailer. Not like this.”
“You look fucking perfect, but take your time.” I can’t help myself as I lean in and steal one last kiss from her full mouth. “We’ve got time, sweetheart, and we’re going to make the most of it.”
Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t argue. That’s enough for now. A small victory, but a victory just the same.
This isn’t what I expected from my time at the farm, I think as I jog down the gravel driveway. It’s not smart for either of us, especially not given that my deal with Linda and Molly’s plan for her future are in direct opposition to each other.
But I’m a man who made his living climbing on the back of angry bulls.
You don’t get much more opposition than that.
If I can handle the rodeo circuit, I can handle the complications of my growing feelings for my former best friend’s widow.
And there’s no doubt that the risk will be worth the reward when it comes to Molly McAllister.