Slow Dancing (The Second Chances Series Book 4) Read online

  “I’m fine, Cray. Really.” He looked at his wound like it was a perplexing conundrum under a microscope. His mind split between the pain in his hand and Bethany until thought of Bethany faded and the sight of blood coaxed the bile to begin its ascent up his throat.

  Oh shit.

  “Hold still, suh!” Malcolm Burton, one of Oliver’s men moved in and even before Oliver could blink took out the huge chunk out of his palm.

  “Bloody fuck!” Drake hissed through tight lips. People close by gasped and moved away.

  Serves them right. Nosy crowd.

  “Very good, suh!” Malcolm remained unperturbed.

  “Looks like you’ve heard Oliver swear all the time,” Drake murmured, watching as Malcolm staunched the blood with another thick napkin. He was having an out of body experience watching Malcolm out of curiosity than dread.

  “Not only him. All of them. Including me.” Malcolm replied. He pressed down hard on the wound causing Drake to inhale harshly and hiss. The cut was burning now and he could feel it through his veins right down to his feet. “Keep pressing down while I get the kit.”

  Beads of sweat started to break on Drake’s forehead. He swallowed slowly several times so those around wouldn’t notice. The contents of his stomach twisted in his gut. Fuck. He wasn’t going to blow in front of all these people let alone a church.

  That was disrespectful.

  He started breathing deep.

  In, out, in, out. You can do it.

  “Need a chair?” Luke strode to him unfolding a chair he took out of the marquee. He looked at Drake with both mockery and concern. Gracie stood to one side with Flynn and Theresa.

  Drake nodded. He didn’t trust himself to talk. He had already spilled blood. No need to add vomit on the suits of his friends to cap his humiliation.

  He lowered his arse on the seat, finding the scent of the grasses’ evaporating dew and the earth a tonic for the queasiness that threatened to unman him.

  Bethany would have known what to do to stop his queasy stomach. She had tended the cut above his left brow after his fight with Andrew Tabler. She had been trembling then and the tears that coursed down her checks had all but dried. He’d joked to stop her from crying, telling her they were now bound forever because they had similar scars on their brows. A tremulous smile lifted her mouth but soon disappeared in the face of her haunted eyes. Her uniform had been torn and her knees were scraped and bleeding. But she had still attended to his wound first before she tended to her wounds. Always others first before herself. After that, Drake gave her all of his heart.

  He turned to face the churchyard’s wall. There were people streaming in and out of the yard and others who stayed watching the scene unfolding where he was on centre stage. He wanted to call her, shout to her to come over. She may not hear him at first but she’d be able to read his lips. Damn fucking propriety.

  But Bethany was gone.

  * * *

  Despite the cool air, sweat still filmed Bethany’s armpits and trickled in between her breasts. She smelled rusty, like the oil that coated a bicycle belt. But damn…she felt good.

  She didn’t always like walking the trails going up and down rugged terrain. She wasn’t exactly a willing participant to hiking when Cinzia introduced her to the joys of open spaces. Cinzia nagged her until Bethany caved in just to keep her friend quiet. It had been hard the first time.

  Bethany had become fidgety the closer they got to the Peak District to try a trail just off Snake Pass. Ten minutes into the trail, she started to relax. Every step after was like shedding off the old skin to allow what was underneath to feel the sun’s warmth.

  Sandbanks was a new place in the Lake District she and Cinzia decided to explore, but never in all her dreams and nightmares did she expect her past to come hurtling through the church yard on the heels of the memories of fifteen years ago.

  Her feet couldn’t move deciding to take root on dry ground. She wanted to look away but she couldn’t, unable to avert her eyes from drinking in the only person who could make her heart breathe and stutter at the same time.

  Drake.

  “Bettina, cara?” Cinzia Marchetti looked at her, bemused. “You’re paler than a ghost. I can see the hills through you.”

  Her gaze locked with Drake’s. His eyes had widened then narrowed. Her heart sank and soared at the same time like one of those amusement park rides where she was suspended fifty feet up in the air before it fell in a whoosh with the ground below getting a speedy introduction to the contents of her stomach.

  Bethany wanted to move closer to see whether she was dreaming or not. If she wasn’t, she wanted to move past the church gates and throw herself into Drake’s arms and give him a few of the kisses she had kept under lock and key only for him, knowing that he’d catch her and keep her safe.

  At the same time, she wanted to hide.

  “Bettina!”

  Her sharp intake of breath joined the gasps and dismay of the crowd when the glass Drake held in his hand broke and blood started trickling down his wrist.

  He hates blood.

  “What’s happening to you? You’re paler than pale.” Cinzia took a step back, giving Bethany a once over. Her dark brown eyes were filled with concern. “Are you sure the air didn’t cause this? What about something you ate?”

  Bethany pulled her gaze away from the scene in the church grounds and when she did her heart beat a little faster. The recognition in Drake’s eyes from a distance flushed her cheeks.

  “Sorry, I didn’t get you.” She looked at her friend’s mouth.

  “Your pallor, something you ate or the thinner air here?”

  “No, I actually haven’t eaten,” Bethany replied, her voice husky. “Let’s go and grab something.” She wasn’t hungry but she needed to get some air into her lungs. Seeing Drake made her forget how to breathe.

  “Okay.” Cinzia looked around before pointing to a small coffee shop just opposite the church. “Let’s try there.”

  “No.” Bethany gripped Cinzia’s arm so tight it made her friend’s perfectly trimmed brows rise. She eased her grip. Now wasn’t the time to apologise. “I saw a deli when we got here. Remember the one I said probably looks like what we’d see in New York?”

  “Ah si, the pastrami one.” Cinzia’s face cleared, though she still had a dubious look. “Let’s go then.”

  Bethany couldn’t keep her pace sedate. She averted her gaze from the commotion inside the church yard hoping the people who surrounded her past gave her time to disappear again. The cool wind lifted her now-blue-black tresses from her nape, licking the sweat from there as well as rustled the colourful buntings above them that festooned the main street. The small flags made flicking noises as though cheering her on to get to the pastrami place in a race against time.

  Knowing Drake, he wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted. If things had been different, Bethany would have loved the chase. She would have delighted in the exhilaration and excitement of hiding from Drake and being found by him. They used to play that game and she always looked forward to being enveloped in his arms after he caught her, sharing kisses that made her drunk on his taste. Things were different now. Drake catching her would no longer lead to a good thing.

  Walkers and a group of tourists strolled along the only main street of the village. It was easier to camouflage herself among those with the same brand of dark blue parka she wore.

  The deli’s door was wide open with the queue ending outside the shop. The few tables inside were already taken until a couple stood.

  “Over there.” This time, Bethany didn’t have to pull Cinzia with her. Her friend honed right towards a corner table, smiling at the couple who vacated the table.

  Cinzia took the chair facing the shop entrance.

  “I’ll sit there.” Bethany lifted her chin while she unzipped her jacket.

  “And let that man to die for see you?” Cinzia’s perfect brow rose. “That one who stopped you cold, you nearly turned
into a ghost instead of seeing one?”

  Bethany flushed under her friend’s stare until Cinzia’s gaze softened. Cinzia had been there when her life was spiralling out of control. Her friend knew her more than she knew herself.

  “I saw what happened, cara. He was the one who got away, wasn’t he?”

  Bethany shoulders sagged, tension washing out of her in the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She sank down on her seat easing it a little with her bum making the legs scrape the wooden floor. The voices of staff and customers deciding about what meats to put into the bread of choice were mixed with conversations over coffee and tea and the ka-ching of the till.

  “What kind of sandwich do you want?” Cinzia fished out her purse from her jacket pocket. “I’m going to assume you’re hungry after our walk.”

  “I’ll have an espresso.”

  “Hmmm….” Cinzia tapped a finger on her mouth. “Not so sure if they have that kind of sandwich.”

  “Cinzia.” Bethany sighed. She rubbed her right temple where a headache was slowly waking. She wasn’t in the mood to kid around, too shaken at seeing the past that caused her sleepless nights, wondering where he was.

  Even when she was with someone else.

  Cinzia smirked then left.

  Bethany covered her face with her hands. She had evaded Drake for so long. Of all the places she’d see him again it had to be this remote village smack in the middle of almost nowhere that was more a destination for walkers, not a wedding.

  She knew Drake recognised her even though she had dyed her hair. Disbelief came first before his face became as hard as chiselled stone. Crushing the champagne flute in his hand after he caught a glimpse of her was proof positive that he was angry with her. The fleeting pleasure she saw in his gaze almost made her want to dig up the hope she buried all those years ago.

  Only just.

  “Ecco.” Cinzia gently placed a demi-tasse in front of Bethany. “Come, Bettina. Drink.”

  Bethany smiled her thanks, sighing as the tendrils of the espresso’s scent filled her nose. Strong, dark, aromatic liquid gold. Just like Drake.

  “Don’t look now, but your man just passed the deli,” Cinzia said conversationally.

  Bethany caught herself at the last minute, nearly giving her presence away but the stark ugliness of what she had become stopped her cold, careening her down to earth and burning to the nothingness she knew she had no hope of escaping from.

  “Talk to me,” she whispered.

  Cinzia’s eyes widened. “About what?”

  “Anything.” She lifted her eyes, pleading.

  “Cara.” Cinzia reached out her hand. “Shouldn’t you be the one to talk? To let that tension out since you saw him in the church?”

  Bethany looked down at her demitasse as she squeezed her friend’s hand.

  “Getting it off your chest might just be the thing you need.” Cinzia spoke again.

  Bethany looked at the woman who rescued her from a life she didn’t want in the first place, taking in Cinzia’s jet black hair to her thickly fringed lashes and the slash of her trademark red lipstick to her Roman nose, slanted cheeks and slightly wide mouth that drooped at that moment.

  Cinzia was right. She needed confession and her unconventional priestess would give her the temporary absolution to keep her going before she got sucked into the whirlpool once more.

  It might just be the closure she needed in order to let go.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Drake entered his flat and threw his car keys into the Lalique crystal bowl in the centre of the foyer table.

  The impact echoed through the open plan loft of polished hardwood floors and pillars. He sauntered to the living room and switched on the plasma television that dominated the wall. The Bloomberg channel and the faces of the anchors filled the flat screen. Two reporters from Wall Street and Bloomberg’s headquarters were talking about a hostile takeover bid for a bank by a bigger bank. Like big fish eating smaller fish before they were swallowed by a great white.

  Drake wasn’t interested in that. He was more concerned in the shares of companies he had invested in, how they were doing, and automatically calculating his profit or loss margin. He had also joined the Bitcoin revolution and had amassed a fortune from it, taking out his money before the price plummeted. Rouen Abelard may deal with many of their group’s investment portfolios, but Drake enjoyed playing the stock market. He didn’t think he’d have the knack for anything other than street fighting and bullying the bullies, rising to the top as one of the toughest MMA fighters to beat. It wasn’t the life he had planned for himself.

  Then again, he learned the hard way that nothing went as he wished.

  His nostrils flared at the dull pain on his palm when he flexed his hand. The moment the anaesthesia that Malcolm jabbed into his palm wore off, his wound was going to fucking hurt. The blood Malcolm stemmed with his beautiful stitching seeped into the white gauze like the red tide scourge that was a fisherman’s misery.

  You’re such a big pussy. You bash men’s faces until they don’t know where to find their noses and you’re scared of a fucking scar?

  He let the TV drone while he went to the wet bar and poured himself a cognac. The clink of glass gently hitting glass ricocheted inside the flat. He drew an inward breath when the liquid slid down his throat to crash and burn his insides and hose down the clamminess inside him. It should have been enough liquid courage. Right, like it would give him the strength to look at his hand.

  Fucking stupid masochist.

  Malcolm’s stitches were so fine he could have been a tailor for all Drake knew, instead of being a member of Oliver’s team known for slitting men’s throats without a thought.

  Drake sat his ass down on the fine grain leather sofa, his head leaning on the backrest. He was in no mood to leave the flat but had to be at the cage fight that evening. His fighters were counting on him.

  Fuck.

  Scowling, he knocked the remainder of his drink back and walked to his bedroom, shedding his clothes as he went before entering the bathroom. He adjusted the water’s temp and stepped letting the harsh and hot water drench him from head to foot. He didn’t wince when his wound got wet, too engrossed with moving his head from side to side against the soothing heat.

  His thoughts returned to Bethany. Why did she change the colour of her beautiful hair? It never crossed his mind that his Bethany would change her hair. Why did she cover the sunshine with permanent dark clouds? What the fuck happened to her? Where did she go? And now, where the fuck was she?

  Drake lifted his head to let the shower pelt him. Unconsciously, his forehead pulled to the centre.

  After impatiently waiting for Malcolm to finish stitching him up, Drake went to search for Bethany. Did she think she could slide in with a bunch of tourists and he wouldn’t know? He had a personal homing device that beeped loud inside his head if Bethany was around.

  Sure, it was rusty after he left Wood Park High fifteen years ago but it went back on line the minute it honed in on his golden girl. He had seen the woman who was with Bethany inside the pastrami shop. He had seen Bethany with her back towards the door.

  He didn’t go in when he should have.

  Then what, asshole? Tell her you’re sorry you left her to fend for herself against wolves and sly bitches?

  He didn’t have time for this shit and fuck if he knew where to find Bethany again. He was beginning to regret not barging into their conversation.

  Maybe Caius was right, Drake thought while absently soaping his body. Maybe he should sell low but make sure his fighters were cared for. Lowering the bar was just tempting if it stopped him from seeing blood. Maybe then, he’d be able to concentrate on finding Bethany once more.

  The shock of seeing Bethany catapulted him back to a time where he wished their paths converged instead of splitting. He had taken stock of the minute changes in the girl he knew. Bethany exhibited a haunting quality on her face. Yeah, hard life did that to p
eople.

  Drake tilted his face to the shower. He liked the layer of mystery that surrounded her. He just didn’t like the idea that she may have gone through shit to get it and he wasn’t there for her.

  He inhaled the cedar wood scent rising with the shower’s steam. His balls were heavy and he needed pussy. An image floated up: Bethany riding him to oblivion. Drake took himself with his uninjured hand, slowly sliding it across the length of his cock before rubbing his palm over and around his cock head before proceeding to find a pleasurable pace.

  Bethany was smiling. Drake felt her pussy squeeze his cock. She leaned over, her breasts dangling in front of him. He took one tit into his mouth and she moaned as she rode him. Drake gripped her waist keeping her there while he widened his legs to pump his hips upward fast and hard. He felt her pussy suck him, submitting to his hard thrusts until his balls tightened. He came with a guttural groan all over the shower wall, pumping his cock until he was empty.

  His fantasy receded with the normalising beat of his heart and he was alone once more.

  Just like the existence he had been forced to accept the moment he lost her.

  Towelling himself damp, he sauntered naked to his walk-in closet where his shirts were arrayed according to colour while his slacks and jeans neatly lined another closet. His phone rang as he took out a dark purple shirt. Annoyance rose like a spectre invading his personal space.

  “I told you I’d be there,” he snapped. “What’s the fucking rush?”

  “Just want to make a good impression.”

  “This is my fucking business, Harvey.” He jerked the shirt from its hanger and swore when the shoulder ripped. “If your contact can’t wait and you piss me off with your whining, the deal is off the table.”

  “Drake ˗˗˗”

  He ended the call and balled the deader-than-dead shirt and threw it against the corner of the walk in. Who gave a shit if the ruined clothing cost the entire monthly salary of an administrative assistant in a school? The time of worrying where he’d get money to buy his next meal was long gone. He could throw money around and there’d still be more where it came from.