Cut to the Chase (14 page)

A
lthough he would be anxiously awaiting Chase's phone call signaling that they had arrived safely at their destination, Paul felt more relaxed than he had been in a long time. The thought that his sister was physically putting distance, over a thousand miles' worth, between her and the motherfucker eased his tension somewhat, enabling him to put his focus on the task at hand.

Mia brewed espressos while he located a canister of chocolate biscotti in the pantry. The combination of caffeine and sugar would give them the manufactured energy they needed to review Mia's notes and analyze what they had discovered over the past several hours. By two in the morning, they had formulated a well-thought-out plan for tomorrow, which included a visit to Dr. Mitchell Morris's former place of work, Scott Morris's old office and the soup shop across the street from the cemetery.

Paul watched as Mia let out one yawn followed by another. With her legs outstretched on the couch, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion, she looked like she was going to pass out at any moment. “The caffeine has clearly worn off. I think we should call it a night,” he said.

Mia shook her head and said, “I'll head to bed in a bit. I just want to look over the questions I'm going to ask Dr. Mitchell Morris's staff one more time.”

She was either stubborn, determined or a beautiful combination of both, because she opened her composition notebook and dove right in. Paul stood and took their miniature-sized mugs to the kitchen, where he gave them a quick wash and rinse before putting them on the drying rack.

“What time do you want to start out tomorrow?” Paul yelled from the kitchen.

No answer.

“Mia?”

Silence.

Paul rounded the corner to the living room and found Mia sleeping soundly, her composition book lying facedown on her chest. He couldn't help but stare at her, study each curve of her face. Her hair had been in a loose pony tail for the majority of the evening, but sometime over the last hour, the remaining strands of hair had finally broken free of her black hair tie and now fell naturally over her delicate shoulders. Paul was thankful that the book was covering her breasts. He might be more of a gentleman than most, but even he had his limits and would have been tempted to take a peek if they had been exposed.

Paul debated whether he should move her to her bedroom, where she might be more comfortable. But as he listened to her breathe, finding her serene and in such a deep sleep, he didn't want to risk waking her. Paul went to her room and returned with a thick down comforter. He lightly peeled her fingers from the book and placed it on the coffee table. She stirred, but only slightly, and when he rested the comforter on top of her, she nestled in, wrapping herself into a tight white cocoon.

He reached over her head and turned off the lamp. The room was bathed in darkness, which only emphasized the sweet sound of Mia's exhalations. He wanted to bend down and kiss her, feel her lips part as he slid his tongue in to mingle with hers. He had tasted her in the park that afternoon and knew the moment their lips had touched that he would never get enough of her.

“Good night, Mia,” he whispered, before heading to his bed without her.

Mia's eyes flew open at the bloodcurdling scream. It took a few moments to decipher where she was, which only added to her mounting fear. She determined that they were coming from down the hall…from Paul's bedroom. Mia fumbled through the darkness and located her purse on the kitchen counter. She withdrew her pistol and then crept down the hallway. She didn't bother to knock on Paul's door, as she didn't want to give the intruder Paul was having a scuffle with forewarning.

But as she stared from the open doorway, she realized that the only thing Paul was grappling with was a nightmare, and from the looks of it, his dream was not releasing its grip anytime soon. Paul was thrashing in his bed, clutching the sheets between his fists and cursing at someone only he could see. Mia had read somewhere that it wasn't wise to wake someone while they were in that state, but she couldn't let it go on. She walked toward his bed, but the sound of her name stopped her midstride.

“Mia…Mia…Mia…No!” he screamed.

Beads of sweat pooled on his forehead. Mia didn't know for certain what was tormenting him, but in that moment it didn't matter. All she wanted to do was make it stop. Make his demons stand down…until the next time. Mia placed her pistol on the nightstand and then knelt on his bed, careful not to stir him. The anguish on his face was too much for her to bear. Against her better judgment, she reached out and touched his face, smoothing each line. His body went from rigid to relaxed at her touch and she sighed with relief. His breathing returned to a safer pace and the expletives ceased immediately.

She was just about to pull her hand away when she felt his hand grip her wrist and pull it to his chest. Panicked that she had awaken him and that he would now find her hovering over him in his bed, she looked at him for confirmation. With his eyes closed and his breathing pattern steady and deep, he was still very much asleep.

Thank God.

Mia tried to tug her wrist away but she was met with resistance and instantly stopped. What the hell was she supposed to do now? Maybe if she stayed with him, his body would relax even more and in turn, he would release her wrist. Mia gently slid next to him and lay on her side. From that angle, she had a great view of his profile. She felt like some kind of voyeur as she admired his strong jaw and full lips. His hair was mussed from all the activity his nightmare invoked, making him look young and playful. Her eyes travelled southbound and she was surprised to find that he was shirtless. She must have been completely distracted with trying to calm him. That would have been the only reason she hadn't noticed that muscular chest.

Her gaze drifted from his torso to his partially covered, ripped abs. Staring at the traitorous white sheet, which covered him from the waist down, Mia definitely felt like she was moving into pervert territory. She was tempted to pull back the sheet and see what lay beneath, but in the end refrained from making such a bold move.

With only inches between them, her hand on his chest, his wonderful scent invading her space, Mia found that she was in her own personal hell. She was so aroused and wound up that it was becoming painful to be this close to him. To alleviate the tension, she closed her eyes, snuffing out the delicious view. But within seconds, she realized what a monumental mistake that was. Her thoughts immediately took her back to the park, to that kiss, and she felt her panties become moist.

Mia had to get out of his bed. Her initial intentions for coming into his room were honorable, but now…not so much. All she wanted to do was rip that damned sheet away and feel him inside her. But if she did that, he would discover just how inexperienced she was. He would be expecting her to know certain things, like how to please him, how to position herself to maximize their pleasure. But she had no sexual repertoire to pull from…nothing.

Disheartened and feeling very pathetic, she gently pulled her hand away and was grateful that he didn't resist this time. Mia shimmied out of the bed, grabbed her pistol and walked toward the door. She looked over her shoulder, stealing one last glance. He was sleeping peacefully, the nightmare forgotten. But she would never forget how his body responded to her touch, how the sight of him made her want to give herself to him completely. Shaking her head out of frustration and angst, she shut the door behind her and went to her bedroom for what she prayed would be a dreamless sleep.

T
hey were an hour into their flight when Chase noticed that Erin appeared distracted. She had been staring out the window, remarking from time to time how beautiful things were, how peaceful things seemed to be from thousands of feet up, when he finally got the nerve to ask her if there was something, excluding the usual, on her mind. Erin glanced over at Andrew, who was enjoying a much-needed rest, and then looked back at him.

Chase got the feeling that she needed privacy for what she was about to say. Without a word, he grabbed her hand and led her to the cavern at the back of his jet.

“Your jet has a bedroom?” she said, pleasantly surprised.

“Comes in handy on long flights,” he said.

“But this isn't a long flight. We should be landing in an hour or so,” she said, her eyes mischievous.

As much as he wanted to take advantage of that naughty little glint in her eye, Chase knew that something was bothering her. “I brought you back here so we could talk, not that I wouldn't enjoy using this room for other things,” he said. She smiled, as if what he said set the stage for what she wanted to discuss. He walked her over to the bed and sat down next to her.

“Chase, I'm worried that you feel like…like you need to be…this is not coming out well,” she said, obviously frustrated.

“Just say it, Erin. I don't want you to hold back,” he said.

Her face seemed to brighten at his words. “Well, I guess that's it. I don't want
you
to hold back. I don't want you to feel like you can't be yourself around me. Before you found out about my rape, you were more…forthcoming in bed. I think you're censoring what you say, choosing your words wisely in order to avoid offending me in some way.”

Chase watched his girl bare her soul and loved her even more for it. “And you miss that? The words I used to arouse us both?” he asked, aching for her. Chase felt his cock swell as he digested what she had said. She was a perfect combination of naughty and nice. And she was his.

Her face was a beautiful shade of pink when she nodded.

“After you told me what happened to you, well, I wasn't sure what to do, how far I could take things without making you feel…”

She kissed him before he could finish talking. Her leg swung over his, straddling him on the full-sized bed. “You make me feel beautiful,” she said leaning over. She kissed him. “You make me feel wanted.” Another kiss. “And you make me so hot for you, especially when you use those filthy little words,” she whispered in his ear.

He groaned and flipped her on her back. “Hard or slow, Erin?” he asked. He had already removed his shirt and was unbuckling his pants when she answered.

“I want you to take the gloves off and give it to me hard and fast. I need it, Chase,” she begged.

He practically ripped the clothes off her body and buried himself deep into her tight heat. She arched her back and screamed for him to fuck her. He lifted her legs onto his shoulders and slammed into her over and over again. Her body quaked around his pulsating cock, which only sent him down his own road to release. He didn't want the incredible feeling of her shaking beneath him from pleasure to end, but he couldn't hold back anymore, and with one forceful thrust he filled her with his seed.

“Erin…Fuck!” he yelled. His cock continued to pump inside her as she milked him of every drop.

P
aul awoke at dawn and could not, despite several fruitless attempts, fall back to sleep. The nightmare he'd had still lingered and he decided it was best to put his focus on preparing breakfast. He hoped Mia was more of a salty than a sweet type of person, as he found the ingredients for a bacon-and-Swiss omelet instead of what was required to make pancakes or French toast.

He crumpled the cooked bacon into the frying pan and scattered the shredded cheese on top of the eggs. With spatula in hand, he leaned back and peered down the hallway in the direction of Mia's bedroom. He must have checked on her over a dozen times within the past hour. Each time he poked his head into her bedroom, she was sound asleep and wrapped up in her blankets. At some point during the night, she must have awakened from where he had left her on the couch and moved to her bedroom.

Paul heard the coffee machine chime, signaling that the pot of coffee he had brewed was good and ready. As if on cue, he heard the door to Mia's room open, followed by soft and careful footsteps. Erin had similar timing. He often remarked how she could be in a sound sleep one minute and up and ready to go the next, especially if freshly brewed coffee was awaiting her.

“I hope you're hungry,” Paul said, flipping the omelet over perfectly.

“Starving,” she said.

Paul turned to tell her that the coffee was ready, but stopped when she came into view. It was obvious that she had just woken up. She was wearing the same clothes as last night, as was he. She had tied her hair back into a ponytail. And from the looks of it, she wasn't wearing any makeup, which he loved. She was so natural, so real, that he almost forgot what he was doing and nearly burned their breakfast. He came to just in time to remove the overly cheesy omelets form the pan, and shuffled them onto two plates.

“And you made coffee, too?” she asked, walking toward the coffee maker.

“I can't start my day without it. I'm highly addicted. I can admit it, though,” Paul said, trying not to stare at her ass as she poured a cup for each of them.

Disgusted with himself, he went to the fridge and retrieved ketchup and hot sauce, as he was unsure which condiment she desired with her eggs. Mia was seated at the bar sipping her coffee when he returned. He joined her and took a gulp of his coffee. “That's perfect,” he said.

“Little cream, a lot of sugar. It wasn't a lucky guess. I just overheard you ordering our drinks at Dunkin' Donuts yesterday,” she said, between sips.

Paul noticed that she appeared a little tired, as if she could use a few more hours of sleep. He wondered if she'd had a restful sleep, if her dreams had been peaceful, unlike his. He couldn't get his own nightmare out of his head. It was the same recurring nightmare he had been having for over a year now, except last night it had morphed into something so horrific that even the light of day couldn't minimize its effects.

The nightmare had started off like it always did; with him walking down that cobblestone street. The scream pierced the air, prompting him to move swiftly toward whatever was making that god-awful sound. In the dream, as in what happened in real life, he found a mask-wearing man violating a young woman. He beat the shit out of him by punching and kicking him until he was barely conscious. Pleased that the bastard couldn't move, he checked on the girl, and it was then the dream had mutated. In every dream, as in reality, the trembling woman had always been his sister. But last night the frightened woman was Mia, and it occurred to him, even in his nightmare, that he had failed again. He had not kept her safe.

Paul couldn't remember anything after that. Thankfully, his nightmare had come to an abrupt end for one reason or another. Lying in his bed, trying to recall the details of that nightmare, he swore he detected Mia's unforgettable scent on the pillow next to him. It was wishful thinking of course, but it had given him the motivation to get moving and prepare for another day with Mia.

Paul smiled at her. “You passed out on me last night,” he said.

Mia was in the middle of chewing her first bite of omelet when her face went fire-engine red. Paul wondered what he had said wrong to evoke such a reaction. “I just mean, one minute I was talking to you from the kitchen, and the next…out for the count on the couch.”

Mia swallowed her food, though it looked like a struggle. “Do you not like eggs?” he asked. She looked like she was going to be sick.

Mia shook her head and smiled. “No, I love eggs, especially with hot sauce.” She reached for the little red bottle and doused her omelet with the spicy liquid. He liked her style, as he too favored hot sauce over its safer counterpart. “Sorry for being so lame last night. I was more exhausted than I thought.” Her complexion returned to normal and as much as he wanted to know what had caused Mia to blush, he knew they had more important things to discuss.

“I know I'm deviating a little from what we planned last night, but for the sake of saving time, how about we split up this morning? While you go to the soup shop and dig around to see if anyone working there recalls seeing or hearing something that night, I'll go interview Dr. Mitchell Morris's staff and Scott's,” she said.

Paul didn't think and just said the first thing that came to mind. “No.”

“Oh. Did you want to do the interviews and I'll go to the soup shop?” she asked, looking confused.

“I mean, no, we are not splitting up. In fact, you're not going anywhere without me,” he said. Paul could only imagine what he sounded like, but he didn't care. Mia wasn't going to be traipsing around Philly unescorted. Paul wanted to blame his heightened insecurities entirely on the disturbing nightmare he'd had and the text that Chase had received, but he would be lying to himself. Even if he had dreamt of horses and rainbows last night, he would still insist that he accompany her everywhere she went.

Mia stared at him for a second with what looked like annoyance, maybe even anger. But it quickly dissipated and was replaced with concern. “I know you're worried, especially after what happened in the cemetery. So, okay, we can investigate together if you like. I was just trying to multitask, that's all,” she said.

Paul felt like a total shit for being such a domineering asshole. Her initial reaction, the one where she appeared pissed off, told him that she wasn't used to, or very fond of, being told what to do. She softened, of course, when it dawned on her that he was probably behaving in such a way because of what had happened in the cemetery. Mia couldn't be more wrong. The reason why he was being a demanding prick was much more caveman-like. He already, and for no logical reason, considered her his. She belonged to him.

He reached for his coffee and took a few sips. Nodding, he said, “Good. I think we should start our day at the soup shop.”