Chapter 5

Lauren

I pout at the Google page on my computer screen.

For the past hour, I’ve been trying to find out who Chase really is. I’ve typed Chase Donner in the search box and gone through literally dozens of profiles.

I want to find out more about the man I’ve been fantasizing about. So sue me.

I haven’t been able to come up with anything, though. None of the Chase Donners I’ve read about match the Chase on the ranch remotely, not in looks or information.

I go to my bed, with a sigh, and place one of my pillows on my lap. I fidget with the top button of my pajamas, and my thoughts wander.

All right. So maybe he’s not active on social media. That’s possible and not entirely uncommon. Weird, maybe, but not uncommon. But I can’t find anything, not even anything about his Chef Donner dad or about how he got his injuries. Surely, something like that would be reported in the news somewhere?

If only I knew the name of his wife, maybe I could pull up her obituary or something. Kind of morbid, but okay. Though that wouldn’t prove anything about Chase, either, just tell me what I already know – that he had a wife and she’s dead.

I know so little about him. I hug my pillow and lie down, stare at the ceiling.

How can I know so little about the man I want so much?

Or maybe the question should be: Why do I want a man I know so little about?

Maybe that’s why I want Chase so much. Because he’s new and mysterious. Exciting. Dangerous.

But what if he’s a wanted criminal? What if the reason I can’t find anything about him is that he’s not who he says he is?

My thoughts are interrupted by a thud out in the hall.

I toss the pillow aside, spring to my feet and scramble out of my room.

Chase stands in the hallway, all 6-foot somethin’ inches of him, broad shoulders, breathtaking.

God, what’s he doing here?

He shifts and another shape sways into view: dad, hanging from his neck. He’s drunk again, the fumes pungent in the small space.

“I told Dad he should stop drinking since his alcohol tolerance isn’t as good as it used to be.” I walk to my father’s side and sling his other arm over my shoulder. “But he won’t listen.”

Chase grunts as he takes another step forward. “Guess that whole stubborn thing runs in the family.”

I don’t argue – he’s got a point and my father’s not exactly the lightest guy around. I struggle under his weight.

Chase sniffs then takes most of the burden. We drag dad into his bedroom at the end of the hall, and Smoke scurries in behind us. We lay dad down on the bed, and I place the blanket over him.

He stirs and grunts but doesn’t open his eyes.

“Thanks,” I mutter as I sit beside him. “I’ll take it from here.”

Chase’s gaze bores a hole in my back and I don’t dare meet it. I’ll drown in him again if I do. And who knows what will happen this time?

Just being in the same room with him makes me clench up, dries my mouth.

“Okay.” Chase finally leaves. The door closes behind him, and I let out the breath I’ve been holding.

I pull the covers up to Dad’s chin, then brush a kiss across his lined, weathered forehead. Smoke lies down on the rug beside the bed, with a huff-groan.

I get up and pat him on that white sweet spot. “You get some sleep, old boy.”

Another groan and brown doggy eyes drift close. Out for the count.

I head for the door, glance back at dad in the bed. He’s so frail and small like this. So old.

My shoulders sag. I’ve never complained about responsibility in my life, and I’ve always loved this farm, but studying in the city is a relief at times.

Guilt besets me at the thought. He’s not a burden. He’s an old man who needs help. He’s your father and he cares about you.

I shake my head, slip out of the room, and head downstairs to clean up. I’ll work off the dumb thoughts and doubts.

I grab the empty bottles of beer from the table in the living room and walk into the kitchen. My grasp slips and I catch the bottles from falling.

Chase stands beside the fridge.

Is he – is he waiting for me?

“Chase?” I look away from him and set the bottles down by the sink. “I thought you’d already left.”

“I was going to,” he answers. “Your father gave me a warning today. He warned me to stay away from you, Lauren.”

He takes a step closer, and his body brushes mine. He’s right behind me.

I tense up. “Then why are you still here?”

“Because I can’t heed that warning.” He takes tendrils of my hair in his fingers and brings them to his lips. Heat washes over me all the way down to my toes. My knees buckle, and I lean on the sink.

“I don’t understand what you mean.” It comes out as a squeak.

“You do.”

He grabs my arm and spins me around. His hands slip beneath my hair, and his mouth crashes down on mine.

I don’t respond. I’m too shocked to move. I can barely breathe. Chase sucks every breath out of my body, his lips crush mine, his hips pinning me to the edge of the sink.

I close my eyes and desire overtakes me, heat sears through every vein in my body.

I grab the front of his shirt, fingers twisting the cotton. I push up against him, part my lips and his tongue immediately slips in, and tangles with mine.

It is soft and warm and wet. My pussy’s the same, a stain forming in my panties as my body melts from the core. And the taste?

It’s sweet and slightly sour like the sauce I made for dinner but no alcohol. He’s completely sober this time. I’m the one who’s drunk, my head spinning and my knees so weak I lean against the sink as I let his tongue explore my mouth.

His hands slide down to my neck, his thumbs rubbing against my pulse points there. He pushes my head back, his tongue delving deeper into my mouth.

I wrap my arms around him, cling to him.

His other hand pulls me closer.

His bulge rubs against my pussy, friction through layers of clothing – my level of desire skyrockets to a new high.

Chase wants me, and god, I want him. Like I’ve never wanted anything in my life.

I moan as I run my hands across his back, arching up against him. He grips my hips and leads me away from the sink toward the table beneath the pots and pans.

He brushes the basket of vegetables aside, and hoists me onto its edge. The table quakes and creaks. I hit my head on one of the pans, and it rattles against the one beside it. I don’t care.

I bury my hands in his curls, my tongue sliding across his. His fingers work on my buttons, and I shiver.

He unbuttons the last one and pushes the shirt off my shoulders. I let it slide down my arms, then toss it aside. In turn, I grab the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head.

My gaze rakes over his chest, my eyes narrowing at the cuts and bruises on his pale skin. The stunted wheels in my head turn again - this man in front of me is a stranger.

I run my fingers over the biggest bruise between two muscles of his chest and Chase draws in a deep breath.

I withdraw my hand.

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing.” He places his hand beneath my jaw. “Just a minor accident. It doesn’t matter.”

Then his mouth descends on mine again.

Minor? What kind of accident?

My thoughts drift away as his hand cups my breast, the pad of his thumb rubbing against one engorged nipple. I gasp into his mouth, trembling. He does the same with my other breast, holding both in his palms and I moan, swelling, throbbing.

I want nothing more than to continue, to let Chase put his hand over where I’m aching the most. Instead, I wrestle back my thoughts and muster my self-control, pushing him away.

I want him but not like this.

“It matters, Chase,” I tell him, panting as I splay my fingers across his chest. “There’s so much I don’t know about you, like why are you really here. Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Don’t you have family, friends? Why are you on a ranch in the middle of nowhere, settling for living in a shabby barn that’s on the verge of collapse among strangers and a measly paycheck? And why do you take cash?”

He doesn’t answer, silencing me with a kiss. Again, I push him away, more firmly this time, as I jump off the table.

“And why are you wounded?” I continue. “What accident did you get into? Are you sure it’s an accident? Are you in some kind of trouble? Are you running away from something? Someone?”

“Lauren…”

“Are you really Chase Donner? Because I’m starting to believe you’re not.”

Still, Chase doesn’t answer. For a moment, he stares at me. Then he kisses me.

Again. And yet, this time, it’s different. His lips aren’t crushing mine. They’re soft, caressing. His tongue doesn’t conquer. It dances with mine. A slow dance, almost teasing, as his thumb moves back and forth across my cheek.

It’s a tender kiss and yet, it takes my breath away all the same. I clutch his waist with trembling hands, butterflies fluttering under my skin.

Then his mouth is gone, his cheek against mine as he holds me close. His breath tickles my ear as he whispers, “Stop looking for the real Chase Donner, Lauren. You can’t handle him.”

He kisses me again, deeply, tenderly, as he grips my shoulders, then looks into my eyes. “You should stay away from me.”

I nod, breathless. “I will.”

He lets me go, and picks up his shirt from the floor, then walks out of the kitchen in long strides.

I kneel on the floor where my shirt is, sitting on the linoleum as I put it back on. My hands are still trembling so it takes a while for me to fasten the buttons.

I finish up, then back into the wall, pulling my knees against my chest. I thought I’d finally get some answers but now, I’m more confused than ever. And frustrated.

I hoped Chase would trust me. I hoped he would see me as something more than some sheltered Daddy’s little girl. But he doesn’t. Worse, he wants me to stay away from him.

Fine.

I stick my chin out proudly.

If Chase wants me to leave him alone, I will.

I’ll show him that I don’t care one whit about him even if he is the most exciting thing to walk into Little Peace Ranch. Or my life.