Gunnar A Motorcycle Club Romance - Nina Levine Page 0,72
I say as I carry her into her bedroom.
“Macey Mace,” she mumbles, flinging her arm around my neck. “I love you, but you too angry with her. She loves you so much…. Be nicer, ’k?” With that, she passes out on her bed, leaving me thinking about the shit that just came out of her mouth. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about; if Chelsea loved me, she wouldn’t be fucking married to another man.
Chelsea’s in the kitchen when I go back out, bent over the dishwasher trying to rearrange it to fit more dishes in. I rest my ass against the kitchen counter and cross my arms while running my eyes over her body. She’s wearing the fucking shortest red dress known to man tonight. It’s distracted the hell out of me all night, allowing me to get my fill of her legs.
Straightening, she looks at me. “I’ll just finish cleaning up and then I’ll go home.”
“You’re in no state to drive.”
“I know. I’ll call an Uber.”
“No.” I jerk my head towards the hallway. “Stay here.”
She looks at me like I’ve just suggested the absolute worst thing ever. I probably have, but fuck if I want her out there where Hearst’s enemies can get at her. She mentioned during her conversation with Alexa that he’s away for a couple of days; I don’t want her home alone, especially not when she’s drunk and not fully alert.
“I’m not staying, Mason. I’ll—”
I push off from the counter. “You are staying. It’s not fucking safe out there for you to be on your own, and since your fucking husband didn’t make sure of your safety, I’m making sure of it.”
Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t say anything.
I grab my toolbox and stride out of the kitchen, needing to put some space between us before I do something stupid again.
I work on Alexa’s showerhead while trying to stop thinking about Chelsea and that damn kiss. If I could shut that shit off, I’d have half a chance of stopping my thoughts from constantly circling back to her. For now, though, my brain is hell-bent on keeping that kiss on repeat.
I’m in the bathroom for a good forty minutes before I finish what I’m doing and have just turned the shower on to confirm the leak is gone when Chelsea comes in. The look in her eyes causes my gut to tighten. And when she speaks, I know for fucking certain that we’re doing this all over again.
“It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you to fix things,” she says with what I know is fake confidence. I know this because of the way her eyes hold all the hesitation in the world. I also know this because I fucking know this woman. I only have to take one look at her to see she desperately wants me to listen to what she’s saying and that she’s nervous I won’t. And fuck knows why, but I give her this.
“What was it then?” I ask, the shower still running behind me.
She takes a step closer to me, that hesitation in her eyes intensifying. “You couldn’t have fixed it, Mason.”
“Why? What the fuck was so bad that I couldn’t fix it?”
“My dad would have ruined you.”
“I would have gone to prison and done my time for you. That’s what you’re not fucking getting. I would have preferred that than you fucking marrying another man.”
More fucking hesitation in her eyes. “And what if you’d been in prison for decades?”
“Fuck, Chelsea, I wouldn’t have. Not for what they were trying to charge me with.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do fucking know that.”
She comes even closer, right to me, her hesitation shifting into that fight of hers I love. “You don’t fucking know that!” She jabs me in the chest, her eyes now blazing with determination. “I was so fucking scared for you and what they’d do to you. That’s what you’re not getting.”
It’s what I hear in her voice that does it. That grabs my fucking heart and squeezes all the hate from it. This is the Chelsea I fucking love. The Chelsea I never stopped fucking loving.
My hand hooks around her neck so I can pull her lips to mine. She stumbles as I pull her, and we end up under the running shower. Neither of us gives a fuck. We’re all lips and hands and desperation, oblivious to the water soaking us.
Our last kiss was intimate; this one’s frantic with need.
Chelsea pushes herself against me, her fingers clawing