Chasing You (Thirsty Hearts Book 4)
Chasing You
Kris Jayne
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Epilogue
Also in the Thirsty Hearts Series
About the Author
Copyright © 2016 by Kris Jayne
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Kris Jayne/Write Shout
kris@krisjayne.com
www.krisjayne.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Chasing You/ Kris Jayne. -- 1st ed.
ISBN: 978-1-944460-07-5
Created with Vellum
Chapter One
White. Everywhere. Startling white sunlight blasted her eyes open. More white surrounded her. She blinked, then ducked her head under the cloud of bedding.
This isn’t my bed.
Only hotels had bed sheets bleached this white. Alexa’s heart jumped. Where was she? London? That was a month ago. A stopover in New York. A weekend in Vegas. Oklahoma for Christmas.
Dallas. Last night. The slamming New Year’s party.
What time is it?
The vodka-induced pounding of her head muddled her mind. She had no clue where her dress was—or her underwear. A heavy ache anchored her legs, and her stomach roiled.
Alexa hadn’t allowed herself to get that drunk in years. The hangovers. The stupid decision making. The calories.
Melissa, her New Year’s Eve accomplice, probably wondered where she was. They had a lunch appointment with good-luck black-eyed peas and collard greens. She could use some luck to pull her year out of the ditch. She was sputtering already, and it was only day one.
First, she had to leave the warm bed, find her clothes, and get the hell out of…wherever she was.
“Mornin’, sweetheart.”
A masculine, sleep-rasped voice snatched her breath. Alexa snapped upright then yanked the duvet up over her bare chest.
There he was—smiling, naked, and awake in more ways than one.
His eyes were half open, sleepy, and wanton under a fringe of golden brown lashes. Her eyes slid down the lean stretch of muscle and tanned skin next to her on top of the covers.
“Why can’t you disappear in a puff of smoke?”
Her heart thundered as if she’d finished an hour of wind sprints. Somehow, the words that sprang up in her head had come out of her mouth.
* * *
Graham woke up steeped in the satisfaction of his New Year’s Eve success. The details blurred, but he could practically feel the firm ass in his hand, soft lips on his, and the tight squeeze on his cock. An easy, pleased-with-himself grin spread across his face.
She stirred, rustling in the cocoon of bedding.
“Mornin’, sweetheart.”
She shot up. He caught a luscious view of dark-tipped breasts before she clutched the comforter up to her chin. Ginger ale eyes widened at him. She pressed her lips tight, beguiling dimples appearing in her cheeks.
Graham wanted to banish Miss Prim and bring back the woman who’d bucked and clawed astride his lap a few hours before. She threw her face into her palms.
“Why can’t you disappear in a puff of smoke?”
“That’s not the magic act I do, but drop the sheet, and I’ll show you another trick.”
“Then I’ll disappear.”
She swung away from him, fighting the bed sheets to get her feet on the floor.
“Don’t go. Come on.”
He touched her back, and she arched away and jumped out of bed. Graham got a fantastic view—long, naked curves of creamy café au lait skin.
“No. I’m not…no.”
She scrambled to snatch her dress, handbag, and lace underthings off the floor, then raced into the bathroom. The door snapped shut.
Graham leaned out of bed to grab his cell phone out of his pants pocket and reorient himself with the world while she attended to herself for several minutes.
The muffled rush of water filled the room—first from the sink and then the shower. A clang of objects against the hard countertop surprised him. How much could she have in that tiny purse?
And what would she look like in the shower? Rivulets of water streaming down the curves of her naked body. Her back would arch, pushing her breasts forward and up.
His hand roved down to his twitching groin, but then he slapped his thigh and thought about football. The Dallas Cowboys. Tony Romo. Defensive line woes.
He couldn’t have her walk out and see him tugging on himself like horny teenager who’d just seen his first boob. Plus, he still hoped to convince her to stay. He’d need that hard-on.
Then, the door flung open as purposefully as it had been slammed shut. Somehow, she looked polished and bright—even in last night’s spangly mini-dress.
“I have to go.”
“Why?”
“I have plans. I’m probably already late. What time is it?”
Her dispassionate tone sliced off each word flung in his direction. Graham sat up and turned the clock on the nightstand toward her.
“10:22”
“Shit.” She flipped her gaze around the room, dark curly hair bouncing, then found her shoes tumbled over in the corner. Balancing like a dancer on one leg at a time, she strapped the spiked heels to her feet. “I have to get back to my hotel.”
“Give me two minutes. I’ll drive you.”
“No. I’ll manage.” She strode toward the door. Another second, and she’d be gone.
“Where do you have to be in such a hurry on New Year’s Day? I figured we could relax. Go have breakfast. Or order room service.”
She turned to face him. With the morning light dancing off the silver sequins of her dress, she looked like an angelic go-go dancer. His body stiffened again, which he made no attempt to hide from his guest.
Her eyes darted to his erection and then locked back on his.
“I told y
ou. I have plans. And I need to go back to my hotel and change.”
“Let me drive you. It’s the least I can do.”
Her hand flew to her hip in a fist. “Since I did you the favor of having sex with you?”
Shit, she was a beast. His interest wavered even as she threw her sparkling hip to the side. “I’m attempting to be nice.”
She huffed. “Fine. Are you going to shower or something?”
“Yeah. Two minutes.”
Game on. So what if she was a little bitchy? Her body was killer, and he’d love another turn.
Graham bounded to his feet and into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door. He threw on the shower and stepped inside. As soon as he closed the shower curtain, he heard the heavy thud of the hotel room door.
Damn. He didn’t even remember her name.
* * *
Alexa strutted across the posh lobby of the Ritz Carlton as if taking a turn on a fashion runway—not a walk of shame.
She needed a ride and a coffee and a toothbrush.
When she hit the valet stand, the shining sunlight blinded her. A headache split her skull like an ax, and her stomach did another pirouette.
“Do you need a cab, ma’am?”
“No. I have a ride on the way.” Alexa glanced at her phone, checking the progress of her Uber. “Two minutes.”
She held the phone up to indicate that she was on top of the situation.
“Quite the party last night.” The valet gestured toward the lobby bar.
“Apparently.”
Alexa scoured her memory for details of her New Year’s Eve. She and Mr. Mystery hadn’t gone to the bar. They left the house party around one a.m. and checked into a room at the Ritz. Or maybe he already had the room? No. He’d stopped at the front desk. Slips of details surfaced like old receipts in her purse.
What was his name? She knew he’d told her. Ryan something? As far as Possibly Ryan knew, her name was Lola. She and Melissa argued about her using her fake name while inching through the line for the bathroom.
“How are you going to connect with the guy if he doesn’t know who you are?”
“He’s only looking for a party. A party doesn’t require a name.”
Melissa had pressed up to her tiptoes to shout into Alexa’s ear. “That guy is smoking hot. And he’s into you. You could do better than a one-night stand.”
“I’m not going to have a one-night stand. We’re just dancing.”
The bathroom door had opened, and Melissa headed inside. “Whatever. Let’s get more of those fruity shots. Those are really good.”
Alexa’s stomach wrenched at the memory of the sweet, alcohol-laden mini glasses of hangover. As soon as she got back to Austin, she was doing a cleanse.
She fell into the back seat of the ordered car and willed herself not to throw up. Alexa had a stellar rider score, and she intended to keep it that way.
Chapter Two
Rather than stew over the skid marks Lola scorched into the hotel carpet, Graham called his best friend, Jonah, to check on his sorry ass.
Jonah’s girlfriend was pregnant, and he wasn’t sure the baby was his. Pretty sorry business if you asked Graham, but his friend was in love—crazy, turn-down-a-New-Year’s-screw-with-a-hot-girl love.
Jonah had stormed out of the New Year’s Eve party in a shitty mood, and Graham figured he could at least make sure the guy hadn’t done something stupid—like drunk dial the woman or go all John Cusack in Say Anything.
Graham and Jonah agreed to meet for a late lunch at a greasy diner near downtown. Maybe the fat would soak up the alcohol that left Graham’s mouth dry and his head with a low-pulsing pound.
Jonah was already seated in a bright red, vinyl booth, with water and coffee. Red, white, and grey tile covered nearly every surface of the restaurant, no doubt because it would be easy to scrub the place clean in the event they decided to do so.
The lingering smell of fried everything hung in the air, and Graham’s nose scrunched. “Nice pick.”
“Look at this.” Jonah pointed to the menu. “Hash browns covered in nacho cheese and bacon. That’s New Year’s Day food.”
Graham slipped into the booth. “If you say so. How’re you doing this morning?”
“Okay, actually.”
His upbeat tone scared Graham. “Did you talk to Shannon?”
“Not yet. But I will. I want to work things out with her.”
Forgiving a woman for cheating on him? And maybe getting pregnant with another man’s baby? Graham couldn’t do it. Ever. But his friend looked happy. Excited, even.
Telling him to snap out of it lingered on Graham’s tongue.
Jonah sipped his coffee. “Whatever you have to say. Save it. I don’t need advice.”
“If you’re sure…do what you’ve got to do.”
“Thank you.”
“Look, it’s your life. I hope it works out.”
Graham knew when a cause was lost.
Jonah grinned. “Thanks, man.”
Graham saw the waitress heading over with another glass of water. “Let me figure out what I’m going to eat.”
After they ordered their breakfasts of cholesterol and sodium, Jonah pressed Graham for the details of his evening. Graham recounted what he could remember with the tone of a kid who had eaten his favorite cookie, but was mad he couldn’t have another.
“All in all, it was a good evening, I guess. She was smokin’ hot.”
“Did you get any details?”
“I was trying to remember. I think she said her name was Lola.”
Jonah laughed himself breathless. “Really? Lola?”
Graham shrugged. “That’s what she said.”
“Glad you had a good time with Lola.” Jonah capped off his snide tone with air quotes around the name.
“That I did. Even if she’s was kind of a witch this morning. Jesus, she was hot.” Graham pounded his fists lightly on the table.
“You mentioned that.” His friend’s words were as parched as Graham’s throat.
He took a long sip of ice water. “I wonder how she got her invite?”
Someone must know who she was. He could probably find her on Facebook. Pictures from the party were already filling up his newsfeed.
“Who cares?”
“No one. I’m just curious. Maybe you’re right. Maybe her name isn’t Lola.”
“Of course it isn’t. No one’s been named Lola since the 1920s. Was she eighty?” Jonah snickered.
“Screw you. I’m being the good guy. All supportive and shit, and you’re busting my balls.”
“Sounds like that already happened this morning. Did she take them with her in her purse?”
Graham nearly popped back that Jonah was one to talk, but didn’t want to needle his friend. Jonah’s situation was serious, but his wasn’t.
“I have to admit. I wouldn’t mind getting another taste of that.”
“Dude, it doesn’t sound like she’s interested in a repeat.”
“You didn’t hear her moaning all night.”
Jonah faked a gagging reflex. “Thank God. I don’t need images of you humping in my brain.”
“You might learn something.”
“Doubtful. You going to track her down or what?”
“Not necessarily. I may see if she’s on Facebook.”
The faux casual high pitch in his own voice made him cringe—as did the smug, mocking look in Jonah’s eyes.
He didn’t necessarily care if he saw “Lola” again, but if he could track her down, he’d take another run at her. The night was fun. She was Maxim Hot 100 hot. And he knew he could make her wish she’d stayed for room-service breakfast and bloody Marys.
Graham sniffed again at the pungent odor of hot grease permeating the diner.
He already wished she had.
* * *
“How was the party last night?” Alexa’s cousin, Taryn, ladled black-eyed peas into Alexa’s bowl and then Melissa’s. They sat i
n bar stools at Taryn’s kitchen counter.
Alexa made it back to her hotel and changed clothes while her friend dragged herself out of bed and got ready. She refused to answer any of Melissa’s questions so she wouldn’t have to repeat the tale for Taryn. The less she talked about it, the better.
“Fun. What I remember of it. I started doing shots, which was a massive mistake. Slamming booze doesn’t agree with me.”
Melissa reached over and lifted a piece of cornbread out of the pan on the counter. “How many vodka sodas with lime can you drink?”
“It’s the cleanest drink I can have. You get your zero-calorie hydration along with your booze. Ask for extra limes to get some vitamins. Sip slowly.”
Taryn added collard greens to their peas. “You don’t sound like you were sipping slowly last night.”
“Those sugary drinks always do me in. This food will do me good. I need greens, too. Even if it’s all swimming in pork fat.”
“Pork fat is the signature part of the dish.” Taryn topped each bowl with a square of bread and slid them toward her guests. “Other than the drinks, what else? Were there any single guys there?”
“And now we get back to the key point of the evening.” Melissa rubbed her hands together, her ebony, chin-length bob swinging as she twisted excitedly in her seat. “You left the party with that guy, and I want details.”
“You left with a guy?” Taryn screeched.
Alexa picked up her fork and launched into the story. “I was dancing with this guy and doing shots. He had nice moves and a sexy smile. He smelled like bergamot. Really clean.”
“Clean?”
“His smell. He was shorter than I am, but that might have been the heels. He had nice forearms.”
Melissa slapped her forehead. “Forearms?”
“This is what I remember. I liked his forearms, and he had strong fingers. Then, it was midnight. Everyone was counting down, and he slipped his hand behind my neck and laid one on me.”
Alexa paused, remembering the kiss—not a simple New Year’s peck. His lips were soft and strong. The kiss was gentle, but intense. And it went on and on. She cleared her throat and continued. “After Auld Lang Syne, another song came on, something kind of slow. And we danced.”