“He didn’t,” I snapped. “He wouldn’t.”
“Look.” Phoenix’s eyes looked crazed. “When she got back from Vegas she had cuts up and down her arms and a scar on her wrist, an ugly-as-hell scar that looked like someone had burned a cigar into her skin. I’m not saying Chase did it. I’m just not saying he didn’t, either.”
“That why you’re being such an ass?”
“Well that.” Phoenix smirked. “And he did sleep with my sister.” His face sobered. “It’s a strange feeling.”
“What is?”
“Wanting to kill someone yet be their friend at the same time. Sometimes I’m scared of my own brain, my own emotions. I swear everything keeps building inside me, Nixon and I don’t know how long I can keep it all in.”
I slapped him on the back. “Don’t be dramatic. You’ll be fine.”
But after that conversation he’d changed. Everything had changed. He wasn’t the same Phoenix. And he died before I could find out the truth of what had changed him. The only clue was Mil.
Something had happened to her. Something Phoenix was protecting her from. I jerked away from Trace and grabbed my cell. No calls from Chase.
“What’s wrong?” Trace mumbled sleepily.
“Nothing.” I sent Chase a quick text. “Go to sleep.”
Me: Get her to trust you then ask her what caused the scars — mention Phoenix, but be ready.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Mil
By the time I got back to the room, Chase was in the bathroom. The shower was running, and I could have sworn I heard him singing some sort of Frank Sinatra song, but it’s entirely possible I made it up. Trace hadn’t been the only one drinking wine.
With a flourish I fell across the bed and let out a huge sigh — the type of sigh a girl lets out when she’s trying to let the person next to her know that something’s not right.
Lucky me. All I had was a wall.
Right, so I was sighing at a damn wall.
I sighed again.
Well, no time like the present. I wasn’t sure which side of Chase I was going to get tonight. The hot-as-hell arrogant ass**le, who made me want to slap him almost as much as I wanted to kiss him? Or the funny, easy-going, hormonal teenager, who had left earlier this evening after staring at my boobs like he was twelve?
I smirked at the thought. Me and my sigh would take either one. The water turned off in the bathroom. The door swung open. I glanced and almost fell off the bed.
Chase naked.
Chase. Was. Naked.
Clearly he wasn’t aware that I was in the room. He didn’t turn, just ran the fluffy white towel around his dripping body. Licking my lips, I felt my pulse jump as he wiped a few droplets that streamed down his face. Damn, I wanted to run my tongue along the trails the water created. My breathing picked up — and I swore under my breath as that same towel ran down his ridiculously tight abs. I was completely wrecked, my body strung so tight I was afraid to keep breathing — afraid that it was too loud — and I didn’t want the show to end.
“How were the girls?” Chase asked without turning around.
Aw, crap. Embarrassed, I cleared my throat and scolded my eyes for continuing to remain on his muscled body. Just one more look, I promised myself, and then I’d be fine.
“Good.” I continued my bold stare. His ass was fine. Seriously. Fine.
“You get some wine and food?” he asked, wrapping the towel around his waist. Bummer.
“Yup,” I squeaked, my voice sounding all kinds of immature.
“So,” he padded over to the bed and sat, “dinner and a show, huh?”
“I, uh—” Laughing, I scooted away from him toward the pillows. “I was going to say something, but—”
“Cut the shit, Mil.” Chase smirked. “You were ogling.”
“Girls don’t ogle.”
“Oh?” That gorgeously perfect idiotic face mocked me with every ounce of hotness. Damn Chase Winter. Damn beautiful man. God should have at least taken pity on the female race and made him short or fat or anything but what I was staring at. A muscled god with dark skin, bright green eyes, and a smile that made a girl immediately want to do anything she could to trap him into marriage.
“What’cha thinking about?” He smirked again.
“Stop smirking!” I yelled then covered my face with my hands. Stupid wine making me loose-lipped and ready to attack my husband with every ounce of strength my five-foot-ten body possessed.
His smile fell.
And immediately I wished I could take it back.
Chase smirking was one thing. Chase devouring me with his eyes? Yeah, totally not something I was sure my body could handle. He hadn’t even touched me, and I was buzzing with pleasure. My skin felt so sensitive I could have sworn someone had put something in my drink, and I was just now feeling the effects of it. Warmth spread all the way to my toes, melting every defense I’d carefully erected when it came to Chase.
A moment. He’d said he didn’t want a moment. He wanted forever. But how do you do forever with someone who doesn’t even know the real you? I could offer him a moment, and he’d take it thinking it was more than that. And I’d feel like crap knowing that I was keeping everything from him. I self-consciously rubbed the scar on my wrist. Like a reminder, of what I had done in the first place when I’d asked Chase to marry me. Protection. Safety. If he only knew how he’d really saved me when I was fourteen. How he’d saved my life.
“Mil?” Chase closed the distance between us. Desperate, I threw a pillow down between our bodies, like a freaking teenager.
Chase snorted. “You think a pillow’s gonna stop me?”
“No.” I gulped.
Crap! I pulled into myself, wrapping my arms around my knees as if to protect my body from his close examination. My self-control was always at a zero when it came to Chase, and right now, all I wanted was for him to tell me everything was going to be okay. I wanted a repeat of our first time together — only I wanted it to mean something more. Did I even deserve to have that with him?
Liar, my brain shouted at me. You’re a liar.
Chase tossed the pillow to the floor and walked to the edge of the bed tugged my feet so hard my legs straightened, then he and his towel decided to straddle me. My body shook as he pulled the towel from his waist — it happily joined the pillow on the floor. Stupid towel. I was jealous of a towel because it had touched Chase. It had wrapped itself around him. And given the chance, I’d do the same thing — well given the chance, I’d probably do exactly what I was doing.