Why was her aunt, Chan’s mother, calling Natasha’s mom?
Della let out a shuttered breath. She cut her eyes toward Chase, but he hadn’t seemed to put Chan’s last name together with the person who was calling.
The slight sound of the mattress rising filtered through the door. Then footsteps left the bedroom. The click of the bedroom door shutting reached Della’s ears, but it somehow sounded different. Distant. Too distant. Immediately, the closet seemed to grow darker. Instead of a hiding place, it felt like a prison.
Della turned to tell Chase she wanted to leave—she wanted out of there, away from the pain—but it wasn’t Chase sitting next to her.
Chapter Twenty-four
Fear was her go-to emotion, but when she went there, the fear faded into a whole different kind of feeling. Something that gave her butterflies in her stomach. Good butterflies.
With her shoulder against his, she stared at the guy, trying to understand. He had dark brown, almost black, almond-shaped eyes, smooth skin the color of coffee with lots of cream. His short hair was black and hung in loose curls over his brow. His features were … perfect, except for a scar that was still red over his left brow. Something about him tickled her memory bank, but she couldn’t quite grasp it. Yet she had the oddest desire to run her finger over the healing wound.
All of a sudden, another recollection whispered across what little brain power she had. She didn’t see everything, but had vague flashes of a fight, and she knew he had gotten that wound trying to protect her.
He stared at her with warmth and passion. She wanted to close the distance between them, but then she didn’t have to. He leaned closer, his mouth a whisper from hers. His light breath touched her lips.
He was going to kiss her.
Correction. He was kissing her.
No, not her. He was kissing Natasha.
He was Liam. And Natasha was kissing him back.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, pulling back from her mouth, running his finger over her lips, moist from his kiss.
“I am not. My hair’s caked in mud, I need a shower.” She chuckled.
“That’s not what I see,” he said.
“Then good thing it’s dark in here,” she countered.
He kissed her again, and this time the kiss went from soft to hot. His mouth tasted so good. Sweet and tangy like blood. Her blood. His blood.
They must have just fed off each other again. But this time she wasn’t repulsed. She was too into the kiss, too into Liam, to care.
She may be facing death, but right then she wanted to feel alive. To feel passion. To touch. To be touched.
The next thing she knew, they were lying on their sides. The hard dirt beneath her didn’t even feel bad. All she cared about was Liam. He rested beside her. His shirt was off. She traced a tattoo of an odd-looking cross symbol on his shoulder.
His hand slipped under her shirt and the kisses grew hotter, sweeter.
Natasha moved her hand down his abs and around his waist.
They should stop before it went too far, but then logic intervened. All they had right now was each other. How could it be wrong to cling to that?
His fingers slipped beneath her bra and brushed over her nipple. It felt heavenly and so real. Even more real than before.
She turned her head, let her eyes drift open and saw a tennis shoe. Natasha’s shoe. Natasha’s closet. The she felt a hand again, on her breast.
“Shit!” Della muttered, snapping out of it. “Get your hand off my—”
“Shh.” Chase’s other hand, the one that wasn’t fondling her boob, pressed over her mouth.
Della instantly remembered why they had to be quiet. But his hand, still gently cupping her breast, stayed where it was. And while she hated admitting it, it felt heavenly. But also wrong. Crazy wrong.
“Move your other hand, now,” she whispered through his palm in a voice low enough he couldn’t complain, but he must have heard her deadly intent, because his eyes widened.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t … I wasn’t.” His voice came lower than a whisper, for her ears only. “Oh, hell, I’ll move my hand if you move yours.”
My hand? Still struggling to connect with her own body and to leave the vision, her breath caught with the startling realization. Chase wasn’t the only one getting touchy-feely. Her hand was down the back of his jeans, under his soft cotton underwear, and gently caressing his butt. Blood rushed to her face instantly.
She yanked her hand out of his pants.
“Easy,” he said again, slipping his hand out from under her shirt and pulling her against him. She started to struggle and he whispered, “You’re going to hit the wall and we’re going to get caught.”
Caught making out in Natasha’s closet while her parents were downstairs, a voice inside her said. She listened, not to the voice, but to what was happening in the house. Sure enough, she heard voices, a male and female.
She took a deep, sobering breath and slowly shifted away, getting a few inches from Chase. But it didn’t make her feel better. How could it?
She’d just gone to second base with the Panty Perv. Unintentionally. But it still counted, didn’t it?
She tried to remember anything about it—him touching her, her touching him—but all she could remember was being Natasha and being high on Liam’s kisses.
That’s when she knew Chase had been inside Liam, just as she’d been inside Natasha. Did that mean she couldn’t get mad at Chase? Probably. Somehow, she got the feeling he hadn’t been the one to slip her hand in his pants. She’d done that all by herself. Or with Natasha’s help.