Chrysalis: The Box Set (A Steamy Romance): The Complete Story of Brie's Journey in One Volume! Read online

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  Bright street lights flickered through the closed lids of her eyes as the bus entered the outskirts of the city. She startled awake, and peered out the window watching storefronts and cars speed by. Her nose pressed the glass and her gaze travelled up and up to see where the towers of lights ended. Even though it was almost two in the morning there were still lots of people on the street.

  A knot of fear gripped her; she really needed to pee. She rose, walking hand over hand along the seat backs to the back of the bus. She pulled the washroom door open and scurried inside, barely making it in time. Her fingers laced her cheekbones as she sat doing her business. What the hell had she been thinking? New York City? They’d eat her up and spit her out for the fun of it. It wasn’t too late. She could get a return ticket and get the hell of there.

  She finished up and washed her hands in the small stainless steel basin. When she looked into the mirror over the sink, her eyes widened. Oh my God, she looked like she’d aged ten years since that morning. Dark shadows scooped under her red rimmed eyes and her forehead looked like a sheet of paper, so pale and dry.

  When she emerged, the bus was making a turn into a humongous building. She ducked and gazed out the window before resuming her trek back to her seat. The sign below the geometric pattern of steel girders on the second story, read ‘New York Port Authority’. Oh my God, the building seemed to stretch the whole block!

  The air brakes hissed and she lurched when the bus came to a halt. This was it. She straightened her body, returned to her seat and grabbed her coat. Slipping her arms quickly inside the warmth, she only stopped once to let an elderly woman struggling to her feet, get in line before her. The old woman’s face became even more creased when she flashed a small smile at her.

  Brie’s heartbeat raced in her ears and her feet felt like blocks of wood advancing to the exit at a snail’s pace. Her hand slipped into her pocket and she felt the feather between her thumb and forefinger. She set her mouth. It would be alright. It had to be. There was no going back.

  Chapter 3

  Her stomach fell when the door of the two story townhouse opened and a portly man with a pinched expression appeared. She’d thought the owner would be a woman. Chris sounded like a woman’s name. Maybe this was her husband? He was wearing a silk robe, white, with a pattern of oversized daisies loosely sashed.

  “I’m Brie. I messaged you about a room?”

  His eyebrows rose, creating soft furrows in his brow and he nodded quickly. “Yes. Come in. I’m Chris.”

  She stepped inside the marbled entrance and the scent of eucalyptus filled her nostrils as she gazed past him at the high ceilings and ornate woodwork.

  His pale grey eyes were like laser beams taking in her face and then scanning over her entire body to her heavy boots. “No bags?”

  “Uh, no. I’m not staying long and didn’t need to pack much.”

  His hand rose to his fleshy hip and he shifted his weight there, still giving her the once over, his mouth drawn tight. “You’re a university student?” He certainly wasn’t; he had to be forty if he was a day.

  His look showed his disbelief but she plowed on anyway. “Yeah. I’m switching to Columbia at the end of the year and wanted to check it out.” Her palms became sweaty and she stuffed them into her coat pockets, fingers twisting nervously.

  “Oh?” He looked down for a moment and when he looked at her again, there was a small smirk connecting the puffy, pink cheeks. “Sorry, but you don’t look like a student to me.”

  “I am though.” Her voice was soft. The heat and sweet aroma of the foyer made her feel faint under his scrutiny.

  “Sure. What’s your major?” His slippered foot tapped against the hard surface of the floor.

  She took a deep breath, looking over his shoulder, her mind going ninety miles a minute. Oh God. She’d never been good at lying. “English.”

  “Oh yeah? Do you study classics, Chaucer and the English regimen or do you focus more on American authors…or perhaps communications?”

  The sharpness of his gaze reminded her of something…It was like that pigeon earlier on the bridge. Oh shit, just take a stab at it. “American authors.”

  “I see. And your favorite author is?” He closed his eyes under raised eyes brows, shaking his head all the while.

  She sighed. Her mind went completely blank. Even though she’d studied some American classics in high school, they totally eluded her now. “Oh God.” It came out as another sigh. For a moment she could only stand there. Tears welled in her eyes and she turned to go.

  “Wait.”

  That one word, the commanding tone gave her pause. She turned and looked into his eyes which now were wide with alarm. “What?” She sniffed.

  “What’s your story? You’re not a student. Why are you really here?” His voice was soft and his head dropped to the side, looking into her eyes. When he reached out and touched her arm, the floodwaters she’d been holding back, burst forth.

  She couldn’t speak; her throat was drawn tight as a drum while her lower lip quivered. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Her hand rose to smear them away and she took a deep breath. “I left my husband today. I walked in while he was fucking some skank in our bed. I got on a bus to get away, start a new life.”

  “Oh shit. That’s rough. Come in. I’ll make some tea and you can stay the night.” He extended his arm, motioning her into the hallway beyond the entrance. Stepping by her, the click of the deadbolt sounded before he spoke. “Where’re you from? He’s not following you is he?”

  Her hands rose to cover her face, sobbing hard as she shook her head. Fat chance of him following her. He was probably still with the skank, although he’d be mad that he had to cook. Glad the tacos busted. Hope he chokes on them.

  Chris pulled her hands away from her face and as gentle as the touch of a parent, he unbuttoned her coat, murmuring ‘there, there,’ all the while.

  She let him help her out of the coat but when he hung it on the hook by the door, she bent to remove her winter boots. Oh God. They were old and scuffed…so ugly on the gleaming golden floor. Her fingers clenched the tops together and she made a move to put them in the foyer. The look of disdain on Chris’s face as he glanced at them set another round of tears off. She didn’t deserve to be treated kindly, even her old boots showed that.

  He adjusted his robe, pulling the sides together tightly and pulled the belt taut before retying it. “Come in, hon.” He slipped by her, the silken robe gently swaying with each step, leading the way down the hall.

  Her feet were damp and she looked over her shoulder to see if her footprints were marking his floor. There was a chandelier hanging in the hall, casting myriads of light over the floor and on the woodwork. The place was old, probably built early in the last century but the décor and furnishings were modern, feminine in the pale pastel shades of pink.

  He turned into a small kitchen with matching brushed aluminum appliances and a small pine table. His smile was warm as he held the chair for her. When she was settled he turned and plugged a tall kettle into the wall. “Now tell Uncle Chris all about it. Sometimes when you get things out in the open, they don’t seem so bad.”

  He took two earthen ware mugs from the cupboard and set them on the counter. “Earl Grey, I think…or would you prefer chamomile?”

  If the truth were known, she’d prefer coffee but asking might seem rude. She’d never had chamomile but had heard of the other. “Earl Grey, please.”

  “Good choice.” He smiled and sat in the chair next to her, tapping her knee lightly with his fingers, the way you’d pat a dog or favorite pet. “Tell me all. Don’t leave anything out and feel free to cry anytime you want to.”

  The kindness in his voice and the affectionate hand on her knee produced more tears. He got up and tugged a tissue from a box on the marble countertop and placed it in her hand. “Big honk, Brie. You can do it.”

  She looked up at him and returned the grin on his face. Chris wa
sn’t like most men she’d ever met. He was easy to talk to.

  With a honk as loud as any goose from Canada, she blew and saturated the tissue. When she went to hand it back, he sniffed and shook his head. He turned and opened the cabinet door under the sink to reveal a stainless wastebasket. She rose and slipped the used tissue inside, grabbing another from the box on her way back to the seat.

  “Rob, that’s my husband…He dropped a lot of weight recently. When we lost our jobs, he got a job at a gym. We’d always been a little heavy, both of us, but…”

  “He became buff and thought he was too good for you then. After he shed the pounds?” His mouth pulled up at the side and the sneer made her heart light.

  She nodded.

  “Just for the record dear, you’re curvy, not fat. Ever seen old pics of Marilyn Monroe?” He blew air through pursed lips and he shook his head.

  Her eyes opened wider and she sniffed loudly. “Who?”

  He rolled his eyes and got to his feet. The kettle had just begun a soft whistle and steam drifted from the spout. “An actress from the sixties. Waaaay before your time and some of mine. Look her up on your phone later. If she were around today, she’d be what you’d call curvy. Not my type of course, but still, I understand the attraction.”

  His last comment was the final penny dropping into place. She watched him pour the water into the two mugs, the way he held back the drooping sleeve of the silk housecoat…hell even the floral print and fabric. There was no ‘Mrs.’ in this house. Chris was gay!

  Her only contact with a homosexual was a guy in high school. Most of the other guys, all jocks and their ilk, had teased him and given him a wide berth—all but Rob. No, he’d accused Tim of making a pass at him in the lockers after a gym class. Then he’d beaten the shit out of him after school. Her stomach felt queasy recalling that she’d never said anything nasty to Rob about it. Now, here she was and a homosexual was taking care of her.

  “He must have met the skank at the gym. God knows, he hadn’t touched me in months. But to bring her home, to our bed?” She sighed.

  Chris plunked the steaming mug on the table in front of her, sloshing a little onto the surface. “God girl, you’ve got to get some hate on! Stop that sighing and sit up straight!” He set his own mug down and sat once more. He reached over and squeezed her arm, hard. “One more thing…”

  She pulled her shoulders back and straightened her spine before glancing to his face. Oh my God! He looked pissed, his cheeks flaring red and eyes narrow.

  “Call him what he is! He’s a low life pig!”

  Her jaw set and she blurted, “Yeah! Do you know he told me to make dinner while he went back into the bedroom with her?”

  “Get out! That’s the penultimate in piggery! You should have! But the dish’d be laced with spit. That would have served him.” He banged the table with his fist.

  “No! Not spit. I should have taken the plate and…and…PEED on it!” Her jaw clenched and the blood raced in her veins.

  “NO WAY! You should have SHIT on it!”

  Her mouth fell open before her lips curled up at the corners. He chuckled and once more patted her hand. She giggled at first, which gave way to a chuckle and finally a belly laugh, picturing it. When she thought of her bout in the toilet of the bus, she laughed so hard, tears once more ran down her face.

  “Thanks.” She looked into his eyes, managing to get the laughter under control. He looked happy to see the change in her.

  “Okay, enough talk of the turd you left, no pun intended. What are you gonna do?” His fingers pinched the string of the tea bag, dipping it up and down in the hot water.

  “I don’t know. Get a job, I guess.” She looked down at the table, her shoulders once more beginning to curl down over her chest.

  “Brie! I liked the girl who shit on the dinner plate better than the girl wilting before me.” He took a sip of the tea, watching her over the rim.

  Her gaze flew to his eyes and tears once more threatened to fall. God, he was being so nice. She exhaled loudly and squared her shoulders. “I’m going to get a job and find a place to live. I’ll never go back there. No one’s ever going to call me stupid or fat anymore.”

  Chapter 4

  She woke up with a start. Outside, cars blew their horns, or sped by drowning out the murmur of people walking on the streets. Where was she?

  Her eyes closed and she sank back onto the eiderdown pillow, as the series of events that had landed her in New York City, specifically in the home of Chris Jones, flashed in her mind. The funny thing was, that aside from being pissed that Rob had fucked someone in their bed and then had the nerve to tell her to make dinner, she really felt nothing. No hurt, no jealousy, no sadness.

  Her eyebrows drew together and she sat up. That was odd wasn’t it? But maybe it was like the story where a frog will sit in a pot of water, never trying to escape even when the water heats up and comes to a boil. The last six months with Rob had been like that. He’d killed any feelings of love with his vile mouth and constant criticism.

  There was a light tap at the door and she tugged the bed covers up to cover her naked breasts. “Yes?” Oh God, it came out like a rumble, shooting pain through her throat. She tried to swallow and her eyes narrowed at the soreness behind her tongue.

  “Brie? Would you like some breakfast?” Chris’s voice sounded way too cheery first thing in the morning.

  Her stomach fell as the thought of food, but coffee or juice would be nice. Plus, she wasn’t sure if a full breakfast was part of the fee Chris had quoted. She’d have to be careful with the money she had. Actually, she’d better get up and ready to go look for a job.

  “Just coffee if you have it. I’ll be right out.” She rose and slipped into her jeans and sweater, finger combing the mess of dark curls into some kind of order.

  “Take your time, dear.” The floorboard creaked as he moved down the hallway.

  She threw the covers over the bed and reached into the drawer of the night table for her wallet. That little stash of money was the only thing she had and she’d be damned if it ever left her side. Plus, this was the big city, who knew who you could trust and not trust? She’d watched enough crime shows on TV to know that.

  After putting her socks on, she took a quick look around for anything else she might have left. The bedspread was so pretty, an ivory background where trails of roses were strewn. Even the bed skirt matched, picking up a hue from the flowers. The walls and curtains all coordinated, just like in a magazine. Chris sure had good taste.

  She stepped out of the room and made her way down the hallway to the kitchen. Chris’s hefty frame was perched at the table, sipping tea while scanning the screen of a tablet. How long had he been up? He was dressed in khaki trousers and a white button down shirt.

  “Hi.”

  His head jerked up, dislodging the slight comb-over of blonde hair on the back of his head. For just a moment his eyes widened and his face flushed before his hand flew to fix the hairstyle malfunction. “Hi yourself. How’d you sleep?”

  She poured a glass of orange juice from the jug set out on the counter. “Good, all things considered. The sound on the street woke me up. It’s a lot noisier than Mumford.”

  “ Welcome to the Big Apple, Brie. So what’s the plan for today?” He took a sip of tea, watching her over the rim of the mug.

  At the first sip of the icy juice, she grimaced and lowered her chin to her chest.

  “What’s wrong? You don’t like orange juice?” He got to his feet and walked to the fridge. “I think there’s tomato or apple…” He turned to look at her, seeing for the first time that she was in pain. “Are you alright? Actually your face is flushed.”

  She shook her head but he stepped toward her, and his soft hand landed light as a butterfly on her forehead.

  “You’re burning up.” His grey eyes were wide, staring at her.

  “I’m fine.” She croaked. She needed to get out there and find a job. There was no time to ind
ulge a cold.

  “Uh unh. You need to go back to bed and rest.” From the tone of his voice and sternness in his eyes, he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

  She closed her eyes, throat still smarting from the acidic juice. “I can’t. I don’t have a lot of money. I need to find work.” Her body was weak and for a moment she felt like she was going to collapse on the floor. She took a deep breath and leaned her hip against the counter. Maybe a coffee would help.

  “Nonsense. What you need is rest and certainly some drugs.” He took her hand leading her from the kitchen back to the bedroom. “Face it sweetie, no one’s going to hire you today, not looking like something the cat dragged in.”

  She flopped onto the bed, powerless in the face of his concern. He actually clucked, shaking his head from side to side.

  His mouth was set in a straight line. “You need to get out of those clothes.”

  She made a move to rise to her feet, her eyes wide. True, he may be gay but still, there was no way she was going to take her clothes off.

  “Relax. You’re not my type.” He shook his head and walked to the doorway, pausing to look back at her. “I’ll lend you a robe. One other thing…I’m going to wash your clothes. When you ARE well enough to job hunt, at least you’ll have clean clothes.”

  Her brows knitted together. “Why are you doing all this? Being so nice to me? You don’t even know me.”

  He smiled and deep laugh lines appeared at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. “Maybe, I’m doing this for me, ever think of that? My penance for past sins.” He gave a small chuckle. “Besides which, I kind of like taking on a new project. But first things first. We’ve got to get you over this cold.”

  With that he was gone, humming softly to himself as he walked down the hallway. In a few minutes he returned, an indigo satin robe draped over his arm. “This is your color if no one’s ever told you. With your dark hair and almond complexion, you’re a winter.”