The Chase Page 8

  ‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ I ask, when I notice that Jase has grown quiet, his brows pulled into a little V over his nose.

  JASE

  ‘Nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all,’ I say. ‘I’m just taking it all in, Em.’

  And I am, because the view stretching out in front of me is stunning, all ocean blue and golden sunshine. But that’s not what’s on my mind. I’m thinking about the life that Emmy has here, and how rich it is. Not with money, because it’s clear from her tiny apartment and her crappy car that she lives on a tight budget.

  No, I’m talking about the family she’s made for herself. Tyler and her friends. All of them close by, living in this beautiful place where the sun shines nearly every day. How can I ask her to leave all this and come back to London with me? And is that what I want? Not the ‘her coming with me’ part, but the one where I go back to London too. Am I ready to leave the life I have there behind and move here permanently?

  I don’t really have any answers, except for one, and that’s that no matter where I am, I need her to be there with me. By my side. We’ve skipped straight past casual dating and fallen headfirst into the heavy-duty emotional shit, and that means I want her living with me. Or hell, me living with her. I don’t give a fuck how it’s phrased; the important thing is that we’re together.

  I just hope she feels the same way.

  ‘Are you hungry for lunch yet?’ she asks, pushing her sunglasses up on her head as she looks up at me.

  I give her a wolfish smile. ‘Starving.’

  ‘Good, because I’m going to take you to my and Ty’s favorite place.’

  We head into the beach town, making our way past the colorful shop windows, until we reach a little Mexican restaurant that looks like something out of a movie. It’s got sand on the floor and a palm-covered front patio, with mariachi music playing loudly over the speakers. The waiters and waitresses smile and wave at Emmy, making it obvious that she’s a regular. A few of those smiles are sly ones as they nod their heads at me, and she’s blushing again as we slip into a corner table out on the patio. We put in our order, and they immediately bring out the two ice-cold drinks we asked for, along with a basket of hot, salty tortilla chips and the most amazing salsa I’ve ever tasted. We get stuck in, and by the time our main orders arrive, every single table in the place is filled and the order-to-go section is rammed.

  I’ve never eaten much Mexican food, so I’ve let Emmy order for me. She gets me an enchilada platter that tastes so good I actually moan when I take my first bite, which has her giving me a cocky I told you so look.

  Emmy’s ordered a plate that’s loaded with what she tells me are flautas. They’re filled flour tortillas that have been fried to a crisp, then topped with guacamole, salsa and sour cream. They smell delicious, and my own meal is awesome, but all too soon our food is the last thing on my mind, and I’m sucking in a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm the hell down.

  ‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ she asks me for the second time that hour. But unlike before, when I’d been getting lost in my head, this time it’s my other damn head that’s the problem. ‘Is it too spicy?’

  ‘No, the food’s incredible.’ I give her a wry grin. ‘It’s just that watching you put those things between your lips as you take a bite is making me hard.’

  Her eyes go wide, and then she bursts out laughing. ‘Are you telling me my flautas are making you think of me giving you head?’

  I shrug a little as I take a drink of my cola, because what can I say? I’m a guy. If something is long and thick and going in a woman’s mouth, odds are our minds are going to head straight for the gutter. And given how much I fucking love being in this girl’s mouth – the only one I want to be in ever again – it’s a hell of a job getting my brain to focus on anything but how good it feels when she’s sucking me off.

  With a soft snort, she jiggles her last flauta a little bit over her plate. ‘I don’t get it, because this thing is way smaller than you. I mean, there really isn’t any comparison.’

  ‘Jesus,’ I mutter, closing my eyes as I suck in another deep breath. ‘You talking about how big my dick is is not helping me get control, Em.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she says with a quiet laugh, and I feel the gentle touch of her hand against the side of my face. ‘But you’re just too adorable. You’re even blushing.’

  ‘I’m not blushing; I’m burning up,’ I scrape out, giving her a heavy-lidded look as I grab her hand and bring it to my mouth, pressing a hot kiss against her palm that makes her shiver. ‘Christ, a thirty-two-year-old man should have more control than this.’

  She arches one of her golden brows and grins at me. ‘Want me to take you home and show you how much I love it when a particular thirty-two-year-old man I know loses every ounce of his precious control and nails me to the wall?’

  ‘That’s it,’ I growl, letting go of her hand to signal the waiter for our bill. Looking back at Emmy, I say, ‘Give me your sweater.’

  ‘Why?’ she asks, picking up the lightweight cardigan that she’d brought along in case it was too breezy by the water. ‘Because I don’t think it’ll fit you.’

  A husky laugh rumbles up from my chest. ‘I’m not going to wear it, Em. I’m going to hold it over my arm so it covers my dick while we walk back to the car.’

  ‘Oh!’ She starts to laugh again, her brown eyes shining with humor, and I can’t resist reaching over, curling my hand around the back of her neck, and tugging her towards me. And then, even though we’re surrounded by people, I lean forward and take her mouth with every bit of hunger and craving that I have for her. I take it like I need the feel and taste of her mouth to satisfy some raging fire inside me. Like I need it to soothe me. To make me whole.

  I kiss her like that because it’s true. Every goddamn part.

  By the time we make it back to the car, I’ve got myself under control, and we drive along the coast for a bit before heading back to Mission Beach, where she lives. As we travel down a palm-lined street not far from her place, she tells me that the Spanish-tiled little bungalow we’ve just passed is where Tyler lives, and I’m not surprised that he’s so close by, given how much time they normally spend together.

  Emmy’s building is a two-story block of four apartments, with a small parking lot in the back for the residents, so I’m able to park the Ferrari right out front on the street. The sleek sports car is more extravagant than I need for a rental, but I’d wanted to have something fun for us to drive around in, and just seeing how much she enjoys it is worth the hefty fee the company is charging me.

  We head inside, and I’m already calculating how quickly I can get her out of her little shorts and blouse, feeling like I haven’t had her in months, when we must have fucked at least five or more times yesterday. I’m not too proud to admit that I’m completely addicted to her, and in a way that I know, in my gut, isn’t ever going to fade. It doesn’t matter how many times I touch her or taste her, I still get that heady jolt of adrenaline, and the unfamiliar feeling that I’m right where I’m meant to be, doing exactly what I’m meant to be doing, every single time.

  I toss my keys on to one of the end tables, then turn, and just as I start to make my way over to where she’s standing in the center of the room, watching me with a gaze that’s just as heavy and hungry as mine, someone knocks on her door.

  I halt my steps, fighting back a frustrated growl, and can’t stop my lips from twitching when I see that she’s scowling at the door, as if she can’t believe our shitty luck.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ I murmur, since I have something special I’d like to say to her father if it turns out to be him again. But as I flip the lock and pull open the door, I don’t find myself staring into Phillip Reed’s light brown eyes. No, I’m looking at what feels like a mirror image, only twenty or thirty years older. The man standing on Emmy’s doorstep has my same olive-toned skin, height and muscular build. Same dark hair. Same blue eyes.

  What the ever-loving fuck?

>   ‘Jasper Beckett?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I mutter, getting a bad feeling in my gut. ‘Who the hell are you?’

  ‘My name is Douglas Hart. I . . . I knew your mother. I was hoping we could talk for a moment.’

  ‘How did you even know you could find me here?’

  He lifts his right hand, showing me a printed photograph of me and Emmy dancing together last night. ‘The restaurant you were at last night took this photograph and posted it on their social media sites. They probably saw the car you were driving, heard your accent, and looked you up, thinking you might be famous.’

  ‘I’m not fucking famous,’ I growl, at the end of my patience.

  ‘But you are a wealthy, good-looking Brit who’s dated some famous women,’ he murmurs, ‘and that was enough for one of the local gossip blogs to pick it up. It just so happens that my assistant follows this particular blog, and she brought this photo into my office this morning to show me, because she thought the resemblance between us was uncanny.’ He folds the photograph in half and slides it into the back pocket of his designer jeans. ‘When I looked the article up and saw your name, I knew I had to find you. I tried the Hotel Del first, but they said you weren’t in your room. So I thought to try Miss Reed’s address.’

  ‘And how the hell did you get it?’ I growl, confusion and anger building so quickly I’m getting a mother of a headache, my skull feeling like someone’s taking a hammer to it.

  He gives me a tight smile. ‘Let’s just say that I have a neighbor who’s connected with the government, and who owes me a few favors.’

  A gritty laugh of disbelief rips up from my chest. ‘So you’ve invaded our privacy, breaking God knows how many laws, just so you can tell me that you knew my mother?’

  ‘Actually,’ he says, rubbing a hand over his jaw in the same way that I do, ‘I came to tell you something a little more important than that. May I come in?’

  ‘Just spit it out, Hart.’

  His dark gaze bores into mine. ‘All right. Alistair Beckett isn’t your father.’

  I hear Emmy gasp, but don’t show any outward reaction of my own. It’s like I’m locked down, frozen to this spot, my breath trapped in my lungs, while my mind is in bloody overdrive.

  The man clears his throat a bit, looking uncomfortable as hell as he grunts, ‘I am.’

  ‘If this is your way of trying to get money,’ I snarl, ‘it won’t work.’

  With a small shake of his head, he says, ‘I don’t need your money, Jase. I have my own.’

  ‘Then what the fuck do you want?’

  Hart jerks his chin toward the inside of Emmy’s apartment. ‘I want you to let me in.’ And then, for the second time in a week, I hear the words, ‘Because I need to tell you a story.’

  Thirty minutes later, I’m shutting the door behind Douglas Hart. As I turn around, I find Emmy studying me with a worried gaze, clearly trying to determine if I’m all right.

  ‘We should’ve just stayed at the restaurant,’ I mutter, trying to crack a joke. ‘Because sporting wood in front of the world has to be better than this shit.’

  A breathless rush of laughter bursts from her lips, before it quickly fades, replaced by a soft look of concern. Coming over to me, she says, ‘God, Jase. Are you okay?’

  I shake my head a little. ‘I . . . I don’t know.’

  ‘Here, sit down,’ she says, taking my hand and leading me over to the sofa. ‘I’m going to make you a cup of tea, and then we can talk about what happened.’

  I watch her walk out of the room, wanting to chase after her, and grimace. Christ, I’m like a puppy. But I’ve been floored, and Emmy is the fucking rock I need right now. The thing I need to cling to, because she’s the only thing in this entire world that I completely trust. That I know is real.

  My phone starts buzzing in my pocket, so I reach down and take it out. I have an urgent message from Martin, and as I read what he’s written, I feel my blood run cold. Not only is someone screwing with my Thailand deal, but it seems that Caroline has called several of the county councilors that are involved in my plans to build homeless shelters for teens across London and told them that I’ve left the country for personal reasons that are causing my family grave concern. Martin has already contacted the councilors and assured them that I’m simply taking a vacation, and all the plans are still a go, but the damage she’s done isn’t going to be so easily fixed.

  The psychotic bitch has gone too far this time, and I have to fight the urge to throw my bloody phone at the wall in a burst of rage. But I hold it back, because I’m not going to act like a destructive, belligerent dickhead in front of Emmy, which is exactly what Caroline wants. Me losing my cool and being an arse, then rushing back home to fix the mess she’s created. Fuck that. I’m going to stay right here and keep my shit together, continuing to build what Emmy and I have.

  I move to my feet when she comes back into the room, setting our cups of tea on the coffee table. Then I step close to her, and wrap my arms around her.

  ‘This has been a crazy freaking day, hasn’t it?’ she says with a heavy sigh, hugging me back. ‘I mean, I’m almost afraid who might knock on the door next.’

  ‘No shit,’ I agree, dropping my forehead against hers. And then, quietly, I say, ‘I’ve got an idea.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Why don’t you pack up a bunch of stuff and we’ll head over to the hotel? Hide out there for a few days, where no one can find us.’

  She blinks up at me as I lift my head, and I can tell that she wants to ask, ‘And then what?’ But she doesn’t do it. Instead, her lips twitch into a little smile, and she says, ‘I’d love that. But I’ll need to bring my laptop. I have to get started on the ideas for my next article.’

  I haven’t told her about what Caroline has done yet, or the weird things happening with my Thailand build, so I just say, ‘I’ve got some things that I need to work on too. We can open the balcony doors and use the suite’s sofa and coffee table as an office, while we listen to the waves crashing on the beach.’

  ‘That sounds perfect. And I’m not surprised you have work to do,’ she says with a cheeky grin. ‘You’ve been playing hooky for a whole two days.’

  ‘Mmm,’ I murmur, lowering my head so that I can nuzzle the tender side of her throat. ‘And they’ve been the best two days of skiving that I’ve ever had.’

  Best two days ever, bar none.

  And all because of the woman I’m holding in my arms.

  Chapter Six

  JASE

  On our way past the manager’s office, I drop in to have a word, making it clear that we want to have complete privacy during our stay, and make it a point to mention the information that was given to Douglas Hart when he phoned the hotel. When we get to the luxurious suite, Emmy calls Ty to let him know that she’s staying with me for a few days, makes another call to her mother, making sure she knows to call Emmy’s new mobile instead of her home number, and then we decide to head down to the beach, figuring a walk out in the late afternoon sunshine might help us unwind.

  With the iconic white, red-roofed hotel behind us, we walk along the sandy shore, our feet getting wet as the waves crash and roll up against the beach.

  ‘Do you want to talk now?’ she asks me, giving my hand a little squeeze.

  ‘I don’t really know what to say, Em. I have no fucking clue who Douglas Hart is.’

  ‘No one in your family ever mentioned him?’

  I shake my head, thinking about the things Hart had told me. That he’d been working on a nearby estate, the company he’d worked for contracted to carry out an extensive renovation on the historical manor there, and had met my mother at one of the local village fetes.

  According to Hart, they’d fallen in love, and were lovers, even after Sarah had learned that she was pregnant. And after my birth, she’d been positive that Hart was the father. But while he’d been desperate for the two of us to return with him to the States once his work in the British countryside
was completed, Sarah had refused.

  Believing she’d turned him down because he wouldn’t be able to give her the same affluent lifestyle Alistair’s money provided, Hart had returned to America, determined to build an empire of his own. He was so driven that he’d managed to become a multi-millionaire within four years, but he hadn’t contacted Sarah. By that time, he was apparently too bitter over her refusal to leave Alistair. It wasn’t until the elderly widow who’d owned the manor he’d once worked on had passed away, that Hart returned to Kent for the funeral. And when he’d seen Sarah again, it’d been impossible for them to stay apart.

  Deciding to remain close until he’d finally managed to convince her to take me away from Beckett House and go to America with him, where they could start a new life together, he’d rented a home in one of the nearby villages. But she’d died before he was successful, and her death had nearly destroyed him.

  He’d also said that he’d tried to get the local police to investigate the circumstances of her death, but that they wouldn’t listen to his concerns. And after all these years, he still refuses to believe that she took her own life. But maybe Hart had just been too self-centered to correctly read her emotional state, or to see what the stress of their affair was doing to her.

  As I’d listened to his story, I’d been pissed off that he didn’t do a better job at protecting her, even if it were from herself. Surely there had to have been signs that she was suffering from severe depression. And the timing bothers me. Did his coming back into her life push her into a deeper state of melancholy? And if he’s telling the truth, and Alistair’s not my father, did she fear discovery? Is that why she took her own life?

  But why do it in my playroom? Was that some kind of sick message to Hart? To Alistair? To me?

  Fuck, I don’t have any answers, and probably never will. Not about her reasons. Her demons. Her choices.