Dirty Chase: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Brooklyn Brotherhood Book 2) (2 page)

I
f I had
any doubts about Gray and Kat, they disappear the moment he barrels into the store, frantically worried about her.

But I'm having trouble keeping my mind on them and off of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Holy-Shit-Look-at-Those-Eyes. They're so blue they almost glow. And I'm not just saying that because I had champagne for dinner.

I stifle the desire to let my greedy eyes wander lazily down and back up his body. For the eighty-seventh time since he walked in the door.

I take a deep breath and try to clear my head, but ever since Gray's friend came banging on the door, I'm feeling drunk—less on the alcohol and more on his presence.

What the heck is happening to me?

Gray has his arm around Kat, like he can't stop touching her, can't stop assuring himself she's okay. And it's a reminder to me: these aren't just big guys who are play-acting at being bad boys.

They're really bad…men. Or at least, they're complicated men in a criminal world that I have no clue about. And if he showed up frantic because she's in danger—then she's probably in danger.

They live in a dangerous world about as far from my life as possible. I can't even
imagine
one of them walking into my kindergarten classroom.

So I should not—
should not
—be thinking about taking the gorgeous stranger home…

At least. Not for more than one night.

What could one night really hurt?

Gray and the stranger are conferring, looking totally out of place in Madam Giselle's. Mandy the shopgirl is watching them both with equal parts fear and attraction.

And this new guy—he won't stop staring. At me. Even while Gray is leaning toward him, discussing something that looks vitally important, those baby blues are zeroed in on me. And they're the only thing about this man that could be described using the term "baby." They remind me of a German Shepherd, or a Husky; my favorite dogs. I'd wanted a big, bad, adorable dog all my life, but as a military brat and then a renter of the smallest apartment known to man (or woman), owning a dog hasn't really been in the cards for me.

But this guy? We could play around with some doggy poses.

Oh God. I mentally slap myself.
Snap out of it, Elle!

Maybe it's intuition. It's a feeling like I
know
him. Logically, I realize I've never met the man before. But, I
know him
. There's something inside me, calling to him. And it's not just my poor, lonely, neglected lady parts.

Okay, Elle. Get a grip
. I have a vibrator at home. I can go use it and…

…think about this man the entire damn time.

"What about her?" the stranger says to Gray, never taking those amazing eyes off me.

Kat cuts in, coming up to grab my arm, maybe shake me out of my trance.

"Elle, you've met Gray. And this is Chase. Chase, meet Elle, my oldest friend." Kat looks nervously from me to…Chase. He's called Chase. Of course he has a hot first name. Kat can tell something is going on. Everyone in the room can see the sparks flying between us. I'm surprised nothing's caught on fire yet.

Chase takes two large steps forward and he's in front of me. He towers over me, his dark jeans and dark T-shirt and dark hair and that gorgeous fucking beard making him appear like a delicious, tempting fallen angel.

"Pleased to meet you," Chase says, extending his hand.

I raise my hand up, like I'm in a trance, or like I'm the Queen of England and I expected him to kiss my lily-white knuckles.

Then again, I
am
wearing an actual diamond tiara.

I swallow as I realize I'm staring at the man of my dreams, and I'm still half-drunk and wearing kitten tights and a skintight bustier.

Chase envelopes my small hand in his large, warm, slightly calloused one. He doesn't even look down at my chest. Instead, he reaches up and gently runs his fingers through my long, blond hair.

"Oh," I whisper. It feels so good.

Then I realize he's adjusting the tiara. It had started to fall, and he put it back on my head.

"Elle. I'm Elle," I breathe, remembering to actually engage in conversation.

His hand momentarily tightens on mine. Like he likes my name and doesn't want to let me go.

Of course, he lets me go.

It would be weird if we just stood there for an hour, not speaking and holding hands.

Weird, but not unpleasant.

I am so dumbfounded—I don't want to say
love-struck
because that's bullshit, but
lust-struck
wouldn't be far off—that I don't even pay attention to what Kat and Gray and the salesgirl are saying.

It's like Chase and I are the only people in the room.

But then I realize that Gray is buying everything—
everything
—that Kat has tried on. And that he's obviously going to take her home and rip whatever she's wearing right off.

Right, that's my cue to go…

"You got her?" Gray says, and it takes a moment to realize that he's talking to Chase.

About me.

"I've got her," Chase says.

Kat looks nervously from Chase to me and back again. She starts to tell the guys we'd planned on going to dinner, that she can just meet Gray at home. I laugh to myself. Doesn't she realize Gray isn't letting her out of his sight tonight? Or maybe ever?

I smile as she babbles on, trying to save me from the wolfish man who looks like he wanted to devour me.

But I'm feeling just as hungry—and wolfish—as he looks.

This isn't like me. Kat knows that as much as I flirt, I don't take men home. I don't give up control, ever. But I'm fine with Chase driving me home. After all, he works for Gray, right?

If he tries anything I don't like, I'll tell Kat. And if Kat ain't happy, the big Russian mobster ain't happy.

I give Kat a look, letting her know via girl-ESP that I'm good. I can handle myself. I always have, always will. She raises her eyebrows at me.

He wants to jump your bones
. Kat's raised eyebrow tells me.
I want to protect you. Are you okay?

I shake my head and smile at her. The message I send is,
I'm totally cool, totally in control. I've got this
.

I don't know if I'm lying to Kat or myself. Because I'm
not
cool. I'm on fire. I'm standing as still as a statue, but inside I'm spinning out of control. All I can think is that I want him. But, that's insane, right? Who meets a guy, takes him home, and has her way with him for one fun, rules-free night?

Actually, a lot of women.

I've
certainly never done that. But maybe I should cross it off my bucket list.

Still, I play it cool as I turn back to Chase. I start to say it was nice to meet him and good night and—he completely ignores my words.

Chase takes another step toward me, and all I can do is watch as his, long, sculpted arms reach up and gently remove the tiara from my head. He hands it to the salesgirl and says, "Anything she tried on, bill to me. Chase Masters."

Chase
Masters
? Jesus. I think I just ruined my panties. Who the hell is this guy?

Then Chase seems to think better of it, takes the tiara back and positions it perfectly on the crown of my head.

And then he winks. "Keep it on. It goes with the kitten tights."

I'm not often speechless, buy my mouth just opens and closes like a little animated clownfish. I'm pretty sure that tiara cost as much as my yearly salary.

And then Chase takes my hand and I realize
he's taking me home
.

I have one second to wave goodbye to Kat before he drags me outside, into the warm summer night's soft air, and directly across the street to a double-parked, sleek black SUV. He opens the passenger door and holds out his hand.

I stop and pull back, suddenly nervous. This always happens. Kat used to tell me I draw men to me, like a moth to a flame. I guess it's true. But really, I feel like the fluttery, helpless insect most of the time. And I don't know what it is inside me, but when I get too close to someone I'm attracted to, I draw back. Afraid.

I don't want my wings to get singed, now that I'm finally free.

I don't want to give anyone the power to burn me, ever again.

"I'm not going home with you," I say, folding my arms both because it makes me look more like a bad-ass and because I feel like I need a shield, however paltry, between my nearly naked body and the Sex God standing in front of me.

Chase smiles, carefree and devilish. There's a darkness in his eyes, but also humor. Like he's laughing at the world, and himself. His complicated smile makes my defenses melt away.

I'm not sure it's long enough but, God, I just want to
tug
on that beard.

"Who said anything about going home?" Chase says, "I'm taking you out to dinner."

C
hase drives downtown
, smoothly, effortlessly. I came of age in Brooklyn and therefore had never learned how to drive. The subway and the occasional taxi took me everywhere I wanted to go.

Or, everywhere I could
afford
to go.

So watching Chase smoothly maneuver through the crowded city streets, just his left hand on the wheel, his long and lean body filling up the entire car, makes me feel a bit breathless. He's so casually powerful. He isn't even fazed by driving in New York City—one of my biggest nightmares.

This may be one of the largest cities in the world, but all of Manhattan is still just a little under twenty-three square miles. At night, the streets are like a maze—to me, anyway—with people, cars, flashing neon lights and reckless taxis filling every square inch. No one seems to pay attention to something as petty as traffic laws, but Chase keeps his cool.

I, however, am gripping the side of the armrest as drunk couples run out in front of us to cross the street, speeding taxis almost side-swipe us, and two police cars suddenly appear out of nowhere, sirens blaring—then pass us by.

Chase doesn't flinch when the cops appear to be right on our tail. I wonder how often he has to deal with law enforcement, in his line of work. I wonder what exactly what his line of work
is
…and although I'm wildly curious, I realize maybe he won't tell me.

Maybe I shouldn't ask.

I'm sober now, and wondering if I should've gotten in his car in the first place. On the pro side: Gray and Kat trust Chase, and I'm drawn to him in a way I've never been drawn to a man before.

Unlike Kat, who never really dated anyone until she married Gray, I go out a lot. People think I'm a party girl. Maybe because of my looks, or because I work hard all day, and at night I like to have a few drinks, shake my ass, let my hair down and my worries float away.

No one would ever guess that I've only slept with four guys. I'm of the school of thought that women should be as free to have sex as men, with no slut-shaming. But at the end of the day, I have a hard time opening my heart—and my legs—to someone I don't trust. And I don't trust very many people.

And it's been a long time since I've
wanted
anyone.

I close my eyes. The man next to me might be the first man I've ever desperately, mindlessly wanted. And he's not even trying to get in my pants.

Dammit.

For some reason, I think of my mother and my stepfather.

I frown and try to chase the memories away.

"You okay?" Chase glances over at me. "Cold?"

"I'm fine," I lie.

He glances at me, his eyes too observant for my liking. "You didn't look too happy there."

Well, he isn't saying much, but apparently he
is
observing me.

"I was just thinking about some work I have to do tomorrow," I fib. I paste on a bright smile, fluff my hair, and adjust my tiara with a comic flourish. "But who wants to think about work, right? Live in the moment, that's what I always say."

"Live in the moment? It's all you can do," Chase agrees, giving me a sidelong glance like he doesn't quite believe my carefree act. "So you might as well enjoy it."

Then he grins, for real, catching me with those baby blues before looking back at the road. It's his smile, I decide. When he smiles, it's like he's sharing a joke just with me. Just him and me against the world.

I know it's not true, but it's a nice fantasy. And it takes my mind off bad memories. And that's what I want, what I seek every night when I go out—just a rush. I want the excitement and pleasure of being alive.

Without dark thoughts. Without regrets. Life's too short to not relish every moment. My mother, against her will, taught me that.

Chase's hand finds my thigh, and I exhale. I hadn't realized I was holding my breath. His hand is large and covers my whole leg. It's warm and slightly calloused and heavy. I like its weight.

"You sure you're okay?" he says. His voice is low, a rough bit of thunder. "I can take you home. I charge less than Uber."

I laugh. He pats my thigh and then removes his hand. I can't tell if I want him to keep touching me, or not.

"No, it's okay. I'm hungry," I say. And I realize not just for food.

I lean back in the luxurious seat and watch the buildings fly by. We've traveled south and passed the chaos of Central Park, and now we're entering Greenwich Village. The streets are smaller, quieter, with fewer people and more trees. Even riding in the massive SUV, I can still feel the slight but steady bump-bump-bump of the cobblestone roads below us.

"Why did Gray send you to find Kat?" I say.

Chase hesitates. "He has a lot of enemies. Now, because he married her,
she
has a lot of enemies."

I
am
suddenly cold. Kat's married to a man she loves, but it's beyond scary to think that he comes with an entire criminal underworld's worth of baggage.

And that she could be hurt.

"That's terrifying," I murmur.

Chase nods. "You should be careful, too, Elle. Have someone Gray trusts take you home when you see Kat." He glances over at me. "I don't mean to scare you, but—sometimes it's smart to be scared. So you can protect yourself."

"Do you tell this to the women you date?" I ask.

"I don't date, darlin'. I spend one night with a woman." He winks. "Safer that way."

Huh. Okay. "For you—or the woman?"

"Both."

"And Gray trusts you?" I say.

He grins and holds up his phone. I read the text on the screen:

Do not fucking sleep with her. She's like Kat's sister. She's FAMILY.

I sniff. "From Gray?"

Chase nods.

"And you're going to do as he says?

He keeps his eyes on the road. "I do whatever the fuck I like, Princess."

I gasp as Chase pulls to a stop in front of Il Duca. I've obviously never been inside the swanky Italian restaurant—not on my teacher's salary—but I recognize it from my guilty-pleasure addiction to tabloid magazines. It's
the
place to come for
anyone
who's
anyone
—and for anyone who doesn't want anyone else to see what they're up to.

You can find buildings like this all over the Village—the beautiful red-brick structure is probably more than one hundred years old. But there's only
one
Il Duca, Two young valets stand outside, along with four or five paparazzi waiting for their chance to get a shot of a celebrity coming in, or, better yet, leaving drunk with their arms around an old—or new—lover.

But Chase doesn't pull up to the valet station. Instead, he drives around the corner, turns down a dark alleyway, and stops in front of an unmarked door. A young guy runs up to the car and catches the keys Chase tosses his way.

"Where are we?" I say.

Chase looks back at the building, then at me. "Il Duca. Back entrance. Nice and private this way."

I stare at him in horror.

"Chase, I'm not going in there. I
can't
."

Chase frowns. It strikes me again how unbelievably good-looking he is. He's tall and strong, with defined, lean muscles.

"Why not?"

And those eyes. Men always compliment me on my blue eyes, but mine are a pale watercolor version of his. Couple that with the dark, messy hair; a fierce, strong jaw that his close-cropped dark beard can't hide; and that bright smile that promises so many dark, delicious things…

He's perfect.

At least, he
looks
perfect. I know as well as anyone that looks can be deceiving. But appearances do matter, if you're strolling into one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city. Chase fits right in; he's gorgeous, bad-ass, effortlessly cool.

I, however, am wearing kitten pants.

"I'm wearing leggings," I say. "Leggings with cat faces all over them. And I basically have a bedazzled bra on and not much else."

Chase studies me for a moment, his face grim like he just realized we have a serious problem. He crosses his arms, puts his hand on his chin, and studies me. He's able to keep this fake-serious look going for about ten seconds before he throws back his head and laughs.

Damn, it's a nice laugh.

"Feeling underdressed, Princess? Don't forget: You've got your tiara." He effortlessly grabs my hand, tugs gently, and I fall out of the car and into his arms.

Damn. Nice arms.

"And you could be wearing a paper bag and you'd
still
be the classiest lady in this place." Chase's eyes twinkle. When he smiles, sexy laugh lines form around the corners of his eyes. How old he is. Late twenties? Early thirties?

"But don't worry. I know the owner," Chase says. His voice takes on a darker edge when he says, "He'll definitely let us in."

I eye the back door dubiously, allowing myself to enjoy those strong, warm arms for approximately 3.5 seconds, then stand up on my own two feet. I feel for the tiara on the top of my head. I actually keep forgetting it's there, it's so light. Who knew so much money could be condensed into something I can barely feel?

Not that I'm keeping it.

"I'm borrowing this for tonight and tonight only," I say. "I hope you kept the receipt. Or maybe you'd like the crown?" I cock my head and pretend to examine his face. "It'd look good with the beard."

He laughs again, putting his arm around my waist and turning me toward the restaurant.

"I'll tell you a secret, Princess. You get in my bed, and I'll wear whatever the fuck you want." He pulls me closer for a moment, bending down to whisper in my ear. Damn, his beard
does
feel good when it rubs against my skin. "Or maybe you'd prefer I don't wear anything at all?"

I can't control the shiver that runs through me at his words, at his touch. And he notices, damn him.

His smile gets even bigger. "I know I've been imagining
you
wearing nothing but that tiara—and your smile—ever since I met you."

"Oh, for a whole twenty minutes, then?"

I'm about to tease him some more when a blinding white light flashes like a beacon on our right. It takes me a second to put together the flash, the sounds of a shutter clicking, and the footsteps of the paparazzo moving backwards to keep us in his lens. Holy crap, we're being photographed?

When my eyes recover from the lights, I see a middle-aged white guy with a baseball cap, a hoodie, and a huge, expensive camera pointed directly at us.

"Oh my God." I start laughing, but I also try to cover my exposed chest with my hands. "We're not famous! Save your time—"

And then Chase turns into an animal, a blur of black and blue, and attacks the man.