Chapter Twenty-Five

Stalking upstairs from what Chance called a basement, but which was more like an armory that trailed off to who knew where, Suede cocked her head at the sound of water running. Again? That man took more showers than anyone she’d ever known. Either he was locked up in his office or under the showerhead, yet he wouldn’t let her take over the cooking. What was up with that? She didn’t care about the whole politically correct thing or what everyone thought about gender specific roles. She liked to cook and he liked to eat. Get over it.

Now’s my chance. Her lips cracked into a smile at that incredibly clever pun. My Chance. Get it? Not like he was hers, but they certainly seemed compatible. They even slept together, though not in the marital sense like most of her generation. What was up with that?

At the refrigerator, she pulled out another slab of peppered bacon, his favorite, a dozen eggs, green onions, and the last of the tomatoes. He liked her salsa, so he was getting a Spanish omelet with four slices of artisan toast along with a hearty helping of salsa. How he’d arranged with a company to deliver fresh groceries by drone amazed her. What a novel way to live in the middle of nowhere.

Suede whipped up her specialty, lit the front burner on the gas stove, and breakfast was on the table by the time Chance arrived with a towel around his neck. She froze at another mouth-watering sight. Him. With his hair wet. His eyes bigger and blacker than usual. That funny half-smile quirking at his lips like he knew something she didn’t.

Just like every other time he’d caught her in the kitchen, and there had been many because Suede Tennyson was nothing if not persistent—he winked. The funny guy. Chance filled the doorway. He was a paradox of bottled-up angst glossed over with the charm of a playboy, what had become a lethal combination, and her fatal attraction.

If she hadn’t promised herself to a higher standard this time around, she’d run at him and jump into his arms. He’d catch her and she’d wrap her aching legs around his belly and let his sexy mouth ravage her neck and breasts with those hot, steamy kisses he’d given her before. She’d give him the best breakfast of his life was what she’d do, only…

I’m not that person anymore, she told herself even as her heart fluttered with a million butterflies that seemed to be calling her a liar. I’m not.

His brows lifted. “You’re not what?”

She rolled her eyes at her big mouth. Apparently she’d said that last bit out loud. “Umm, I’m going to be a better marksman by the time we’re through.” And I’m going to learn to keep my thoughts to myself and my big mouth shut.

His mouth quirked as he offered her one of those manly ‘attaboy’ chin nods guys gave each other. “Tell me something I don’t know, but I’m sure you meant markswoman.”

Her head bobbed because she didn’t dare speak. She didn’t want to be Mark’s woman, whoever Mark was. She wanted to be Chance’s woman, just… not… yet. She had to prove herself first. Snuggling under the covers with him at night was one thing, but commitment, that was what she wanted, out of herself first, then out of the man who could stand to live with her.

Suede swallowed hard. She wanted more than just a guy tolerating her this time around. Was she destined to be the slut she’d portrayed herself to be, just a good time, party-girl, easily discarded and just as easily forgotten? Was that how life worked, you made one mistake and were branded with a big scarlet ‘S’ you couldn’t escape the rest of your life? Her father hadn’t wanted her. York certainly didn’t. How could Chance?

Breakfast didn’t smell so tasty any more.

“Aren’t you joining me?” Chance asked from where he already sat at the table.

She nodded, no longer sure of herself. Her life felt like a yo-yo. One smile or a sexy wink from him sent her flying, but too soon, self-doubt wiggled into every happy moment and spoiled it. She couldn’t shake off the stranglehold that York wasn’t done with her yet, that he waited just around the corner. Or that Chance was too good for the likes of her. That she’d be smart to leave the protection of his cabin before this fairytale crashed and burned. Before she got him killed.

Chance cocked his head. “I’d give anything to know what’s going on behind those big blue eyes of yours right now.”

Suede sat stiff as a board at the lovely kitchen table she’d set for two, her throat gone as dry as the paper napkins she’d found in the cupboard. “Just, umm…” Wishing I was someone else. Someone better.

His brows slammed down over his eyes, hooding them until he was looking at her through thick, ebony lashes. “Something’s bothering you. Come on, spill. You can tell me anything.”

Do I dare? Suede took hold of the table edge at each side of her empty plate, wishing it were that easy. Maybe that was exactly what she should do. Spill her guts, then leave and go somewhere else to become that better woman. Separation was good for the soul, wasn’t it? Didn’t it make the heart grow fonder? Would time away from Chance give her what she needed to be good enough for him?

His head moved slowly from side to side as if he’d read her mind and disagreed. The napkin in his fingers dropped to his plate. “No,” he said, his jaw clenched. “Damn it, Suede, no.” He jumped to his feet and came around that table like a bull in a china shop. Silverware tinkled to the floor and poor Gallo scrambled out of the way. “You’re not leaving me.”

But I never said that. Thought it, yes, but I’m still here. Kind of. Worried now, she tilted into the back of her chair, fully expecting to be slapped for challenging him, even though she hadn’t. Not really. Thinking about leaving didn’t count.

He dropped to one knee instead. “I can’t do this anymore,” he ground out, his shoulders bowed and his face pressed into her lap. “I can’t pretend I don’t care, that I...”

Suede ran her fingers through his thick, wet hair, loving the way it curled around her fingertips, trembling at this sudden outburst but needing to comfort him. York would’ve knocked her flat by now. He would’ve screamed and cursed, belittled her until she would’ve wanted to crawl under a rock. But Chance seemed angry with himself, not—me.

She drew in a deep breath and believed enough to trust that he wouldn’t hurt her.

When his head lifted and his chin came up, she was drowning in pools of tormented amber. “Stay,” he commanded, his voice raw and deep. “I can’t teach you to protect yourself if you leave me now.”

She nodded because compliance had always worked in the past. Agreement bought time. Every abused woman knew that. Stall. Say whatever he wants to hear. Then run and hide. Only Chance wasn’t threatening or hurting her. The thought of leaving him was.

“You don’t believe me,” he ground out. “I can see it in your eyes. You don’t trust me, do you?”

“It’s not you…” She let her answer die in her throat. It’s me. I don’t know who I am yet. Not really, and if I’m not good enough for me, how can I be good enough for you?

“How can I prove I’ll never hurt you? Tell me,” he begged, his eyes so deep and dark she felt as if she were falling into wells of melted maple syrup.

Like the fool it had been from her birth, her mouth whispered, “Kiss me.”