Meg shifted and stretched, her eyes popping open when the searing pain in her hand protested her movements. She struggled upright, blinking at her surroundings. Her hand was wrapped in a thick gauze bandage, and burned like the time Bailey slipped with the freakin' hair straightener.
The blood.
Chase.
Her mind spun when the day’s events came rushing back. She remembered Chase and his dad driving her to the hospital but not much after that. Her hand wasn't the only body part throbbing; her stomach was pissed off that she'd missed lunch and apparently, dinner. She scanned the room. It was one AM, according to the clock beside the bed.
Not her bed.
Holy crap, she was in Chase’s bed.
She flung the covers off and froze when her feet hit the floor.
He'd tucked her in. God! Was it even humanly possible for a guy to be this sweet?
She'd never been in his room. She'd seen it from her window, of course. It was a cool room. He liked movies. DVDs spilled from the shelves he had on one wall. His desk was littered with video game components. He had a bunch of controllers – one in pieces – a few hand-held games and even an ancient Game Cube system strewn across his desk. In a pile on the floor beside the desk, he had art books – sketch pads, history texts, boxes of pencils and charcoals. But it was the pictures stuck to the mirror behind his door that grabbed her heart. Pictures of his parents, his grandparents, his brothers – and two of her that she didn't remember taking. The bed smelled like Chase, a mix of his sports-scented body wash and sweat, and she stood up to escape its power, only to be clobbered with a pressing need for the bathroom.
She found her battered old canvas shoes next to the bed. She slipped them on, but couldn't find her sweatshirt anywhere. Her phone and house key were in the pocket. No matter; she shrugged. She could jog around the block and climb in the bathroom window. With a slow twist of the door knob, she was at the door to his room but couldn't resist turning back for one last look.
It was the only time she'd see it.
In the dim hallway – they'd left the light on for her -- she crept down the stairs to avoid waking up the rest of the family. Tomorrow, she'd bake them brownies to say thanks, but right now, she needed to pee and eat and sleep, in that order. Tip-toeing across the first floor, she'd just reached the front door when a deep voice rasped, "Where the hell do you think you're going?"
She spun with a hand to her mouth to cover her startled shriek. "Chase! Oh, my God, you scared me to death."
He was stretched out on the sofa in the living room, a thin knit blanket barely covering his lean torso. He tossed it aside, got up and met her at the door, naked to the waist. Meg tried hard not to notice. He reached for her bandaged hand, examined it from every angle and muttered, "Yeah, I guess we're even then. You gave us a damn good scare tonight."
Meg tugged her hand back. "Yeah, about that. Um, thanks."
Chase frowned down at her. "No problem. Go back to bed."
Her eyes popped. "What, here? I can't! I have to go home."
He was shaking his head before she finished her sentence. "Uh-uh. You heard the doctor; he released you into our care." He angled his head and slowly ran his eyes up and down her body. "How do you feel? Any headache or nausea?"
"Um, just a little dizzy, but that's because I'm hungry."
That rallied Chase into action. "Right. Come on." He grabbed her good hand and walked toward the kitchen, but she dug in her heels.
"Chase, I have to--"
"Eat. You have to eat. Come on, I'll make you something."
Eat? How could she possibly eat with him wearing nothing but sweat pants and staring at her with stormy green eyes? "Fine. But after that, I have to go home."
"You're not going anywhere except back upstairs. You try, and I'll wake up the whole house."
The threat got her feet moving before she could think of a convincing counter-argument. She must be more tired than she thought. In the kitchen, he pulled out a chair and practically shoved her down on it while he found bowls, cereal and milk. Without asking, he grabbed a banana from a huge bowl of fruit on the center of the table and sliced it over Rice Krispies.
"Uh…"
"What?"
"I need to--" She waved a hand around, hoping he’d get the hint.
"Oh! Yeah, sure. It's that door."
Meg escaped into the small powder room in the hall that led to the kitchen, flipped on the light and stared at her reflection. Her hair stood on end, her face was pale, and her eyes were all red and puffy. "Kill me."
With one hand, she fumbled with her jeans, managed to tug them down. That wasn't so bad. Getting them back up after she'd finished and flushed – yeah, so not happening. She tugged and shimmied and when she let out a frustrated grunt, Chase knocked.
"You need a hand? I'll close my eyes, I promise."
Meg smirked at the door. He totally would. That was the thing about Chase; he did what he said. She had to admit, she needed the help. "Yeah. Keep your eyes shut." She opened the door, unsurprised to find his eyes clenched.
"Okay, just take my hands, show me, uh, you know, where you--"
"Yeah. I got it." She directed one of his hands to the waist band of her jeans, currently stalled at hip level. "Can you just maybe pull them up?" In the mirror, her face was a flaming red and she thanked God he couldn't see.
Chase slipped his fingers through her belt loops, his knuckles grazing her bare skin and Meg jumped.
"Oh, God, did I hurt you?" He snatched his hands back and covered his eyes.
"No! I'm fine, good. Your hands are just, um, cold."
"Sorry." He rubbed them together and reached for the loops again. "Better?"
Better? Meg held her breath and shut her eyes but that just made it way too easy to imagine Chase sliding his hand lower. She forced her eyes open and managed to mumble a weak "Yeah" and held her breath. If she opened her mouth, if she so much as twitched her lips, they'd fuse to Chase in a kiss that would swallow them both whole.
Chase gave a tug that lifted her jeans and then her to her toes. Before she could say anything, he shifted his hands to her fly, fastened the button and raised the zipper.
She waited for him to move but he just stood there, his hands on her waistband, his eyes closed, half a smile on his lips. She could see the pulse pounding under his jaw. A second later, he stopped breathing, too. If he'd pull her closer, she would go. If he'd curl his fingers tighter into her pants, she would not stop him. If he'd lower his mouth to hers—
Her stomach growled.
Chase's eyes flew open, his hands fell to his sides and he took a step back.
"Your cereal is getting soggy."
She shoved her way past him and spooned cereal into her mouth like it was the first time she'd seen food. After a few minutes, Chase did the same. When she'd swallowed the last bit of puffed rice, he poured her a second bowl without a word.
She ate that one, too, and only then looked up into Chase's furious face.
"Talk," he demanded.
This time, she arched an eyebrow at his authoritative tone. She didn't take orders – not from anybody – and especially not from Chase. As if he read her mind, his face softened and his hand reached to her uninjured one. "I thought we were too late, Megan. I really thought you were dying on me."
His eyes trapped hers under their spell and she gasped at the tension rolling off him. He cared; that was obvious. That she cared he cared scared the hell out of her.
"It was a really crappy day, Chase. I was upset. And tired. And hungry. I tried to use an Xacto knife on an apple instead of walking back downstairs to get the right knife. This is my fault."
He let go of her hand and pulled away from her. "I get why you didn't call Bailey's grandparents. But you damn well should have called us." His eyes burned with that same palette of pain and betrayal and disappointment she'd practiced painting for so long.
She straightened her spine. "I didn't think it was that bad."
His frustrated sigh told her otherwise. "You know, I used to think you were the smartest girl in the world, Megan."
Her blood simmered. "And now?" she asked before she could feign disinterest.
"And now, I think you're the most scared. What I can't figure out is why."
"I'm outta here." She bolted from the kitchen table, got about three feet before Chase's strong arms caught her and carefully turned her around.
"Guess again."
She struggled until she realized Chase was much stronger than she'd imagined so she gasped in pain, clutching her injured hand. Chase cursed and released her.
"Jesus! Are you okay?"
She darted past him and made it to the living room. This time, he grabbed her and pulled her to the sofa where he'd been sleeping, pinning her there with his own body. She couldn’t resist the taunt. "Not bad for the girl who used to be the smartest one you knew."
His lips twitched but he didn't smile. "You that desperate to get away from me?"
"Okay." She surrendered. "I'm sorry. Let me up."
"No. I like it here." This time, he did smile.
"Chase, I'm serious. Get off me." She wrestled under his weight and he went still. His mouth dropped open and his eyes went from green to damn near black in the space of a few heartbeats.
"Megan. Don't move," he ordered through clenched teeth.
There was tension in his voice, not to mention his body and after a second or two, she figured out why. In one sudden move, Chase was up and under the blanket, sitting at her feet, his face flushed.
After a moment, she nudged him with her foot. "You okay?"
He shot her a glare. "Awesome. Go back to bed. It's late and I'm cranky if I don't get enough sleep."
"I can't sleep here."
Chase groaned and flung his head back against the sofa cushion. "Megan, you're not going home, you're going back upstairs to my room and going to sleep. You can't even button your own pants! What are you going to do if that starts bleeding again and you're alone?"
"I'll call you. I promise, this time, I'll call."
He shook his head. "Forget it. My dad would kill me."
Meg blew out a loud a sigh. "Look, Chase, this is so incredibly weird, I can't stay here, in your bed—" she snapped her mouth shut before weird morphed into creepy.
He turned to face her, took her good hand and held on. Meg's pulse skipped once, twice, then settled into a fast pace when he circled his thumb over the back of her hand, his eyes peering into her soul. "You feel it. I know you do, so don't bother trying to lie to me. It's intense. It's deep and it's real. Not weird."
Meg lowered her eyes, stared at their clasped hands, and pulled in a slow, careful breath and prepared to stab deep. "I'm sorry, Chase, but I don't feel that way about you."
She braced for his reaction. A frown. A sigh. An argument, or something. Instead, his eyes glinted with humor.
He leaned closer.
She pulled back.
He grinned, flashing a smile that was purely predatory, and before she could form any protest, kissed her. Damn it! She knew what he was trying to do. His lips teased hers. Well, she was not going to play -- oh! His fingers skimmed softly down her arms, carefully around her injured hand. No, she was stronger than he—God! His hand reached her thigh and squeezed and she couldn't remember what she wanted to say, couldn't remember her vow until he whispered in her ear.
"Bull."
Meg opened her eyes, found Chase back on his side of the sofa looking all smug. In half a second, her scattered thoughts, her erratic breaths, her fluttering belly – it all collided, leaving her some place halfway between angry and hurt. She tried to get up, to run, but he was ready for that and grabbed her hand.
"Meg, stop lying to me. I want us to be together." The arrogant grin disappeared and his grip on her hand tightened. "Why don't you want me? Tell me the truth this time. I think I deserve that much."
Her eyes burned, her hand throbbed, and her head spun but damn it, he was right.
He was right.
He did deserve the truth. Any guy who'd clean up his room and tuck her in his bed and pull up her jeans (without peeking or copping a feel) and make her Rice Krispies deserved so much more than her. She shut her eyes, let her body sag, and blurted out the thing that weighed heaviest on her heart.
"I don’t want you stuck having to love me."