Dirty Chase: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Brooklyn Brotherhood Book 2) (8 page)

I
shouldn't be thinking
about her.

I shouldn't have sent her a gift, much less an entire party platter of Il Duca's tiramisu.

I should leave her alone. The tiramisu was delivered hours ago. School's out soon, and I guess I thought I could catch a glimpse of her as she left the building.

Fuck. I'm turning into a stalker. This ain't right.

I should be home right now. After being up all night supervising drop-off after drop-off at Gray's bar, I should be sleeping the day away. Tonight will be another long night, with Gray plotting out how to take down Solonik, as well as worrying about my mysterious visitor.

I'm worried myself.

I run my palms over my eyes, trying to rub away the image of the man, handcuffed to a chair, killing himself. Doc found a broken pill in his mouth. Probably cyanide or the equivalent, the old man had said.

"Coward," one of Gray's young thugs had said. "He couldn't take a beating."

Declan and I gave the kid a
shut the fuck up
look.

"No," I'd corrected him. "He wasn't afraid of us. He was afraid of whoever hired him."

He'd failed, and he'd rather be dead than face whoever hired him to kill me
.

Not exactly comforting.

If it wasn't for Gray's grand plans—and his insistence that he needs me and Declan to help him—I'd get the hell out of the country. I feel trapped here in Brooklyn, bad memories around every corner. Even worse than what just happened in the basement.

It's you or him, kid
.

I'd been tall, lanky, six-foot-three but scared shitless.

No weapons, they'd said.

I'd been such a fool to believe them
.

I sip the coffee I just bought at the bodega down the street. It's crap coffee, and just reinforces my crap mood. Elle's school is across the street, a gothic, looming mansion for rich little kids in uniform. I watch as the groundskeeper carefully trims a thick, green hedge.

Jesus. I didn't even finish high school. What the fuck am I doing here?

But I can't get Elle out of my head. Her smile, the tiny space between her two front teeth. Those legs that go on for miles. Yes, just thinking about her tits and ass gets me hard even now—but last night when I lay in bed and slowly jerked off, remembering her taste—it wasn't her various body parts I thought of when I finally came.

It was her laugh. Those bright blue eyes that seem so innocent.

It was the way her kiss tasted, the way she clung to me when I fisted her long blonde hair, like she needed me. Needed my roughness.

"Fucking hell," I mutter, tossing the full coffee cup in a nearby trash bin. I need to leave this place, find
any
blonde woman, get laid. Get paid by Gray. Get the hell out of this town and this country.

I turn around and run straight into about eighty little kids and—

"Princess," I breathe out.

If I feel like I just got sucker-punched, she looks like it.

Elle's standing on the sidewalk, which is suddenly swarming with little kids in blue uniforms. They're screaming, laughing, holding hands, crying. And she's in the middle of them all, looking good enough to eat—and completely shocked to see me.

"Chase," Elle says. She looks pained, surprised—and maybe that's a bit of excitement in her eyes, too. She opens her mouth to say something else, and then suddenly turns and yells at the kids. "Orion! Jacob! Simone! Get back on the sidewalk! Two-by-two, find your partners!"

Half of the kids half-heartedly hold hands. Then some boys near the front of the line see their school's grounds, and begin racing toward it, screaming with joy or fear or excitement. I can't quite tell. It all sounds the same to me.

Fucking high-pitched and loud.

"What are you doing here?" Elle's suddenly in front of me, as the mass of children moves down the sidewalk and back toward their school.

She looks gorgeous, even in black pants and a giant white shirt that covers up all her delicious curves. Or attempts to, at any rate. She can't hide her beauty, even in this getup.

She watches me watching her, and a pretty blush steals up her cheeks.

"I just had lunch," I find myself saying. "Was in the mood for dessert."

Elle blushes even more. I'm finding it hard not to grab her, when suddenly a little kid literally runs into me.

"Ow!" The tiny human grabs his head, then looks up—and up and up—at my face. "Holy crap. He's big."

"Language, Orion," Elle says. She moves forward and puts her hands on his shoulders, moving him back toward her.

"Who's
that
?" The little kid whispers. Or tries to whisper. Maybe ones this small don't know how to whisper yet, because he's basically screaming as loud as every other one of them.

Two more women appear behind Elle, shepherding the last of the kids back from whatever field trip they were on. One, an older woman with black cat-eyed glasses and brown hair done up in a bun, stops cold when she sees me.

"Yes, Elle, who
is
that?" She grins and struts forward, holding out her hand for me to shake.

I shoot a look at Elle. She's annoyed, though I can't tell if she's mad I'm basically stalking her, or jealous that her teacher-friend is shaking her ass in front of me.

"I'm Lorraine," the brunette smiles up at me. "Elle's co-teacher."

"Chase," I say, taking the other teacher's hand. " Elle's friend."

"Really?" The woman squeezes my hand, then turns to look at Elle. "She hasn't mentioned you."

"We're not
friends
," Elle says. "And Lorraine and I have to get the kids back inside and ready for pick-up."

"We just took them to the library," Lorraine says to me, not moving an inch despite Elle's death-glare. Lorraine gives a good eye-fuck, I'll give her that. If I'd never met Elle, I'd be more than happy to take Lorraine out for coffee and a few after-school activities.

Actually, we'd probably both skip the coffee.

But I can barely force myself to keep talking to the overly friendly teacher. My eyes drift back to Elle. She's looks like she wants to slap me, kiss me, bolt—or all three.

"Pleasure to meet you," I say to Lorraine, before Elle literally pushes the woman away from me and toward the last of the kiddos in line.

"I'll catch up with you in one minute," Elle calls to her. She glares back at me. "Thanks for the dessert," she says, then turns to walk past me.

I don't think. I grab her arm—gently, but with enough force to stop her.

"You're gonna leave without saying a fucking word to me?"

Elle stiffens under my touch, and even though it's animalistic and instinctual, I get fucking pissed off that
my
woman doesn't want me to touch her.

Not that she's really my woman.

But still.

I pull her—gently but firmly—toward my body. Right up next to me, my heat. Because suddenly I feel on fire.

Elle looks up at me, her body in line with mine, but her eyes burning…with anger.

"You're mad that I'm leaving without saying more than ten words to you?" Elle says. "Turnabout's fair play. You got me naked, got between my legs, disappeared and then
sent me a text
."

I pull back, suddenly appeased. She's mad, but she's mad because she
wants more of me
.

She's mad I left her.

It's fucked up, but the fact that she wants me and cares enough to be pissed off makes my fucking day.

"I didn't want to leave you." I lean down and whisper in her ear, getting off on the little shivers that run through her as I touch her. "When's school over, Princess? I'll take you home right now and finish what we started."

Elle pulls back. Her cheeks are flushed and even under that ridiculous shirt, I can see she's taking deep breaths. Trying to calm herself. Good. Because so am I.

What the fuck is happening between us?

"I don't think so," Elle says stiffly. "I wouldn't want you to
break your rules
. After all, you only see a woman once."

I smile, and enjoy how my smile makes her narrow her eyes with anger. She wants me, bad. Just like I want her.

"I only fuck a woman once," I allow. "But we haven't fucked. And we still have a bet—if that tiramisu I sent you is the best damn thing you've ever tasted…" I lean toward her again, kissing the spot just below her ear that I know makes her entire body tremble.

Yep. Works every time. I like getting to know Elle—I mean, her body.

"…I get to fuck you."

Elle puts her hand on my chest. For a moment she just rests it there, over my wildly beating heart. Then she looks me in my eyes, and forcefully pushes.

I don't move. It's not her fault she's a tiny little thing.

I wait a beat and take a step back, though. I want her in my bed, not running from me.

Not that I don't like a good chase, now and again.

That must be what this is. The thrill of the chase. I'm used to women falling into my lap or onto the closest bed—that must be why I'm not even mad that she's acting so fucking cold.

I just like that she's different, that's all. That she has a mind of her own.

A little voice inside me whispers that I'm as good at bullshitting myself as I am other women. I run my hand over my beard and take a deep breath, telling that inner voice to shut the fuck up.

Elle watches my movements, her lips slightly parted, her eyes unfocused for a moment.

She wants me.

"So did you taste it?" I drawl.

"Cut the crap, Chase," Elle says, putting her hands on her hips. "Enough with the bets and the bullshit. Yes, the tiramisu was good. I don't know if it was the best I've ever tasted, because honestly? I normally order cheesecake. I'm a full-fat, full-flavor-bomb sort of girl."

I can't stop smiling. She's so fucking sexy and cute and powerful and fragile all at once. I cross my arms to keep from grabbing and kissing her.

She'd probably smack me if I tried it right now.

I shouldn't be getting hard at the thought…

"Okay, good to know," I say.

"I don't like your rules. I admit, I do like you—"

"The feeling's mutual, darlin'."

Elle rolls her eyes. "But I don't like playing games. If you want to be with me, I get that you aren't boyfriend material. But I don't like being left high and dry—"

"Sweetheart, you most assuredly were not
dry
when I left your apartment."

"Oh my God!" Elle throws her hands up, then turns around and begins stomping toward the school. "You're impossible."

I take a few easy strides, covering the distance between us. "Give me one more chance, Elle," I said. "I can't date you. Doesn't mean I don't like you. Doesn't mean I don't respect the hell out of you."

I lean down, whispering into her ear as she walks. "Doesn't mean I don't think you're the most goddamned beautiful thing I've ever seen, and doesn't mean I can't get the sight and taste of you out of my mind."

Elle ignores me, but from how pink her cheeks are, I can tell I'm getting to her.

"Fine," she hisses as she climbs the stairs. "Wait here. School's out in five. You want another chance? It's now or never, lover boy."

I grin. "For you, babes? I'll wait fifteen minutes."

"Oh my God. Fuck you, Chase Masters," she growls, turning on her heels and running into the school building.

"That's the idea!" I call after her.

I can't stop fucking smiling.

H
e's here
. He's outside. Holy crap. This is happening.

The last bell has rung, and I'm waiting for Wyatt's dad to pick him up. Why is Wyatt's dad always late? I suck on another breath mint and check my face in the window's reflection for the twentieth time.

Lip gloss? Check. Hair reasonably secured? Yep.

Entire body all tingly and anxious?

Check and motherfucking check.

"I'm sorry I'm late!" Wyatt's dad rushes in, and I just nod at all his apologies and gently push Wyatt out the door.

And then I'm free.

Don't run, don't run like a freak, do not run like a lonely, hard-up freak toward the hot hitman with the maybe-ten-inch dick waiting on the sidewalk…

I run. But just down the school halls. When I reach the main doors, I stop so suddenly my tennis shoes squeak on the gleaming linoleum . I take a calming breath, and walk outside and into the sunshine. It's the last week of school, and the air is warm and balmy, with summer just around the corner.

I don't have to fake the smile on my face.

I won't worry about what happens after Chase leaves. It might hurt, but if I
don't
act on this insane attraction, I'll probably regret it for all my days. Or, you know, at least five years. I already regret a lot of unfortunate haircuts, sexts with former boyfriends, and at least half of high school.

I don't need more shit added on to that pile.

"Princess," Chase says. He's leaning against one of the old-fashioned lamp posts on the sidewalk, and damn, he looks good: he's wearing dark jeans that hug his muscled legs perfectly and a light-blue T-shirt that brings out the color of his eyes. And don't even get me started on that thick five o'clock shadow.

I can still remember how it feels between my legs, the sweet burn across the sensitive skin of my inner thighs…

I clamp my thighs together.

"Okay, let's do this," I whisper to myself.

I can't help it; I race down the steps to the street. Chase is smiling, so wide-open I almost check behind me to make sure it's really
me
he's looking at. Then I realize I have the same smile on my face.

The quiet street is awash with screaming, happy children and gossiping, relaxed parents. There are only four more days of school, and the good weather and imminent freedom of summer are causing everyone to act crazed, students and teachers alike.

Maybe
that's
my problem. Just a little pre-summer fever.

Just before I reach Chase, three of my kids step in front of me: Riley (the girl), Riley (the boy) and my five-year-old queen bee, Jessamyn. I open my arms to hug and/or shoo them away, when I realize they're not trying to talk to me—they're trying to talk to Chase.

"What's your name?" Jessamyn demands, her cute little pigtails swaying as she looks up at Chase. He looks like a towering tree over her tiny, little body.

That's when I realize: he also looks…
scared
?

"How tall are you?" Riley the Boy asks.

"Are you a giant?" Riley the Girl chimes in.

"Riley!" a mom yells, and both kids turn around. It's Riley the Girl's mom, and she comes running up to rescue her children from the big, bad stranger—then she looks up and up into Chase's perfect face.

He's turning kind of red.

"Hellooo," Riley the Girl's mom says, her voice changing from a panicked
don't-kidnap-my-kid
tone
to a panicked
did-I-brush-my-teeth-today-and-how-does-my-ass-look-in-these-yoga-pants
breathy whisper.

"Whose dad are you?" Jessamyn demands. She pokes Chase in the knee.

I take a step towards Chase. For a fearless bad guy, he's looking pretty terrified.

"I'm no one's dad," Chase says, his eyes meeting mine.

"Come on, guys, break it up," I say. "School's over, and we need to clear the sidewalk."

"How old are you?" Riley the Boy asks.

"Thirty," Chase says.

Somebody's toddler sibling walks up, then falls onto Chase's giant, black leather boot. The baby just sits there. Riley and Riley and Jessamyn have joined hands and are walking in a circle around Chase's long legs, chanting something about giants and bad guys.

"Are you here to pick up…your child?" Riley the Girl's mom practically pants.

"No," Chase says. He's trying to step away from the small army of children who seem to be magnetically attracted to him. "Actually, I've got to go."

He shoots me an uneasy glance. Chase's normally healthy, tanned face looks pale as he escapes the chanting circle of children. He has to lean down and remove the toddler from his leg. Then he straightens up, looks me dead in the face and says, "I'm sorry, Princess. I can't do this."

He takes a few steps backward, and I realize he does look out of place. A tall, dark, rugged man, surrounded by screaming children and elements of a world he doesn't belong in.

As he walks backwards, he moves from the sunlight into a tree's shadow.

I can't believe he's really leaving.

I have a million questions, but I'm also furious. Hurt. My pride doesn't want me to chase him.

But I do.

I take a few steps, following him into the shadows.

"Chase! Stop!"

He does, letting me catch him near the entrance to the subway. We're on the edge of Brooklyn Heights and downtown Brooklyn, where the leafy trees fade into business offices, bodegas, government buildings and a moving mass of humanity.

"What the hell was that?" I hiss. Businessmen and women rush by us, a moving mass of people all around us.

"Elle," Chase says. He's breathing heavily, but I know it's not from walking quickly.

"What's wrong?" I want to reach out, touch his arm. Instead I wrap my arms around myself. I'm already acting desperate; I don't want to move ahead to pathetic and clingy.

Then he touches me, like
he
can't help himself. He runs his hand down my arm, then pulls me off the middle of the sidewalk and toward an office building's wall.

"You sent me cake," I say, cringing at my own ridiculous statement. I can't keep the hurt out of my voice.

"I shouldn't have," Chase says. His voice is firm. He no longer looks afraid. He looks resolute. "I shouldn't have sent you a gift. I shouldn't have gone to your apartment."

He takes a deep breath, and for one second those blue eyes look—angry. Furious.
Tortured
.

"You're a good girl, Princess. Too good for the likes of me."

"What the hell does that mean?" Now I'm furious. And my stupid, aching heart actually
hurts
. I put my hand on my chest and rub, trying to make the pain go away. "I already know you don't do relationships. You don't need to feed me some bullshit line to end things. Don't worry about it. We never even got started."

I don't like how cold my voice sounds.

Chase's blue eyes hold mine, and he looks so sad and so understanding it's killing me.

"Elle," he says, and there's something in his placating, overly kind tone that makes me know he's not going to change his mind. Whatever he's decided, it's done.

Despite myself, my eyes fill with tears.

I blink them away, look up toward the sky. The damn, pure blue sky that will always remind me of his eyes.

I'll move to Portland. Seattle. London. Someplace where it always rains.

Maybe Antarctica. The sun can't shine
that
much at the end of the world, can it?

"It's not a line. When I first saw you, I thought
goddamn
, she's like fucking sunshine spun into the perfect woman."

"Shut up," I whisper.

"I knew you were good. You were good and pure. You're a fucking
kindergarten
teacher. And I'm a selfish fucking bastard because I wanted you anyway. Even when I knew I couldn't have you."

He pauses, sticking his hands in his pockets. I wonder if he's struggling to not reach out and touch me, like I'm holding back from grabbing him.

And shaking some sense into him.

"I said I was cool with living in the moment," I say. I can finally meet his eyes. My eyes are dry now, and I'm not going to cry.

"See? The perfect woman. But I just saw it back there, at your school, Elle." Chase moves closer, and like an idiot I follow his lead. We're so close now. Not touching, but he's leaning down—we could almost kiss.

Instead, Chase keeps talking, his sweet Southern drawl and leather-meets-sunshine scent enveloping me. "You live in the sunshine—with kids and moms and playgrounds and all that innocence—and I live in the shadows. And I know I can't change. I was born into a shitty world, and I know how to survive. I know how to fucking prosper. But I'm never going to be a good person. I'm too far gone for that." He leans closer, and one strong hand wraps around my neck, pulling me so close our foreheads touch.

I can almost taste him.

We aren't looking at each other, just leaning forehead-to-forehead, breathing each other in. I can see his chest heaving in front of me, feel his lips kiss my forehead one time before he speaks again.

"Elle, you don't belong in my world. And I'm a selfish bastard, but maybe the one thing keeping me from being a truly evil piece of shit is that fact that I'm
not
going to drag you into the shadows with me."

I clutch his shirt, press my face against it, breathing him in. He doesn't know how many shadows and scars I already carry.

"Gray married Kat," I say.

"To save her life," Chase answers. "I'm gonna save your life by not—by not touching you. By not corrupting you."

He gently pushes me away. "You're too good for me, Princess. And that's not a fucking line."

Chase starts walking backward down the street.

"So that's it?" I say. I won't cry, I won't cry. "I'll never see you again? Even though you work with my best friend's husband?"

A shadow of some odd, unnamed emotion crosses Chase's face. "I won't be in New York long. You won't have to worry about running into me."

He takes a few more steps back. "But if you need me, Elle, if you're ever in trouble—you know I'll help you. I'll always have your back, if you need a friend."

I don't say anything. I just watch him, his sapphire eyes taking me in, as he gets further and further away.

And then he turns and blends in with the rapidly moving pedestrian crowd, and within a few minutes my dark, beautiful giant disappears like a bittersweet dream.

I won't cry. I won't cry. I won't fucking cry.