Page 12 of Chase

“No thanks,” I replied, walking past him in the direction of the tube station. He reached for my elbow, and I pulled it from his grip. Spinning to face him, my hands gravitated to my hips. “What the hell do you want?” He flashed me a sexy smile, and I attempted to return a grimace. This man I hardly knew, but felt bizarrely connected to, was causing sensations of lust to run through me that I didn’t want to be feeling. Guilt stabbed violently, reminding me I was on my way to meet his brother.

“Merely to escort a lady to her appointment. We wouldn’t want you to run into any issues like the other evening. It was lucky I happened to be there; those thieving bastards in the alleyway weren’t going to give up easily. Perhaps you could even call me your knight in shining armor.”

“Knight in shining armor, more like the devil in the shadows,” I replied with a laugh. “Every time I turn around, you’re there. I can look after myself.” He stepped forward, his hand reaching for mine but retracting. “What do you want, Russell?” I repeated. “What you’re doing makes no sense; I’m seeing your brother.”

“I know,” he whispered, his eyes dropping away. “But I can’t get you out of my mind. I need to know you’re okay. The thought of you walking these streets on your own is unsettling.”

“I don’t walk the streets!” I hissed, offended. “I’m not a fucking hooker.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you bloody know it.” His expression, which had softened briefly, hardened once more. He narrowed his eyes, then a smirk appeared on his lips. “But you used to cater to very specific needs from what I hear. I know all about your past, Trouble. You are a woman of many talents.”

“Stop calling me that!” I snapped, furious with myself for the thrill that ran through me with the pet name. “My name is Samantha. Actually, Miss Coleman, and make sure you use it.”

“I will endeavor to use it in the future, Miss Coleman,” he said, his words blunt but rolling off his tongue like silk. His fingers lifted unexpectedly toward my face, and I stepped away. His face contorted, and he lowered his hand to his side. “What the fuck? I was reaching for your cheek. Did you think…”

“It’s not your fucking cheek to touch,” I shot back, embarrassed by the small indication of fear I allowed him to see. I’ve lost count of the number of men who thought striking a woman was appropriate. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

His focus never left my face, but he allowed the moment to pass with no further questions. “Is it my brother’s?”

“Is what your brother’s?”

“Your cheek. Does it belong to him?”

“No, I’m no one's. All this…” I opened my hands wide. “Is mine and only mine to do with as I please.”

“Well, I want to make sure this delectable self-owned property gets to its destination in one piece.” He gestured to his car once again. “Let me take you to The Level. Connor will appreciate my chivalrous ways. It’s not something many people see.”

I laughed out loud then, and his eyebrows drew together in confusion.

“Does a gentleman stalk a lady? Because you know that is what this is, right?” The confusion marring his features didn’t subside. “You being everywhere I am is stalking, you understand that? Being a lawyer, I would assume this was covered within your degree. You know, between what is right and what is wrong.”

“I’m not stalking you. I’m looking out for you,” he challenged.

“You tell yourself that. Now, I need to go. I have a date.”

“Yes, I know,” he muttered, clearly annoyed. His obvious jealousy of my relationship with his brother was perversely enjoyable. The man likes people to think he has a heart of stone and is an asshole through and through, but my senses tell me he’s putting up a façade. Russell Chase isn’t as brave or nasty as he likes to appear. Underneath it all, a confused teenage boy is screaming to get out, aching to be loved—he just isn’t sure how.

“I’ll see you later, no doubt,” I told him, then turned to walk away.

“Please…” he pleaded. “Let me drive you.” I ignored him and continued to walk in the direction of the station. It only took a matter of minutes to arrive at the steps, and as I descended, I was aware of a large form walking on the other side of the dividing handrail.

“Are you leaving your car there?” I asked him, and he grunted a barely audible sound. “You’re a braver man than me.”

“It’s insured.”

“Well, I hope your deductible isn’t too high.” I glanced in his direction. “Because I would bet that there will be no wheels on it by the time you return. You’re on the wrong side of the walkway, by the way,” I added, now keeping my eyes fixed straight ahead. “People will think you’re a dickhead.”

“That fact isn’t up for debate; I am a dickhead.” His confession caused my lips to quirk briefly, then I rearranged my features, not wanting him to know he made me smile. “But this dickhead is too busy stalking his prey to care.”

“So now you are a stalker…”

“Stalking as in the verb, not the noun.”

“Smart-ass,” I teased, and he chuckled.

We arrived at the platform, both of us coming to stop at the thick yellow line marking the edge. He stood close enough that if I’d reached out an inch, our little fingers could link easily. The situation was completely different from every other time we had boarded the train together these past weeks. This time, we stepped through the same open doors in synchronization. We both grabbed the central pole, his hand sitting fractionally above mine. Our journey was made in silence, the carriage relatively quiet. There was only us and a handful of others to begin with, but with each stop, more travelers climbed aboard and filled the space around us quickly.

With every addition, our bodies moved closer to each other, the reduced space causing us to move in the other’s direction until my breasts connected with his sleeve after we swept around a corner. I moved to turn away, and his hand shot out to grab my hip.

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