Free Last Second Chance by Caisey Quinn Page A

in his fantasies.
    His dick twitched as the image flashed in his mind. Despite the temptation, he didn’t take care of himself. Aching for her felt necessary. Restraint was a small price to pay. He didn’t even allow himself to imagine how wet and willing she’d be for him. Nothing his mind could conjure could possibly compare to the real thing.
    Her warm, sweet vanilla and honey scent enveloped him as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Dreaming of her—her slow, sensual walk, the small smiles he had to work so hard for, the determination in her eyes that wavered only when he got too close—kept the nightmares at bay.
    Pulling himself from an excruciatingly vivid dream involving tasting her, he woke with knowledge he almost wished he could forget.
    Stella Jo Chandler was beautiful. And she was intrigued by him. That much was obvious. But as she teased and taunted him in his dreams, he realized how very similar they were.
    I belong here. I want to be here.
    Her words echoed around him. Distracted by the bruises she was inflicting upon his ego, he’d missed it. Missed the hollow longing in her eyes, the carefully masked loneliness she carried.
    I’m happy here. I feel at home. Wanted. Needed. I’ve never felt that way before.
    It was the last part that struck the deepest chord. She’d never felt happy, or at home, or needed.
    Christ.
    He was broken. He knew that. His childhood made the most horrific depictions of Hell look like paradise. The angel who’d rescued him from his living nightmare had abandoned him, shattering him into a million fragmented pieces. That combined with the fame and the drugs had ultimately twisted him into a destructive monster of a man. One who inflicted pain and damage and felt no remorse for it.
    He was broken beyond repair, and Stella Jo Chandler was empty inside. The dangerously compelling need to see her, to look into the endless depths of her eyes and confirm what he already knew, almost sent him outside in the middle of the night.
    She wouldn’t be able to fix him, and he couldn’t possibly give her the kind of love she needed, but a new brand of torture descended upon his already decimated soul.
    He wanted her to try to fix him. And he had no idea how he was going to stop himself from at least attempting to fulfill the lust-drenched need that lingered in her eyes when they were together. Since he’d lost his angel and taken on the world alone, he’d never been denied a single thing he’d wanted. Because when Van Ransom wanted something, he didn’t ask for it.
    He took it.
     
    “Y ou don’t look well, Mr. Walker. How have you been sleeping?” Dr. McLendon frowned at him as if she were disappointed.
    He settled into the plush chair in her office and shrugged. “I haven’t been. Not much, anyways.”
    “Any particular reason why?”
    He cleared his throat. “You tell me, Doc.” Feigning nonchalance he did his best not to think of the reason why. His new strategy was to force himself to focus on his recovery—or at least learn how to fake it so that he could get out of here and back on the road with his band.
    An empty woman couldn’t fix him and neither could any of these doctors.
    “What do you think about when you’re lying there not sleeping?”
    He shrugged and gave her the obvious answer. “Getting high. Getting the hell out of here.”
    She wrote something down quickly before raising her eyes to meet his. “That all?”
    He shrugged again and took a long look around the room. Bookshelves full of thick books, probably about why fuck-ups like him did what they did. Shiny degrees in expensive wooden frames perfectly lined up along the walls. Everything perfect, even, and in its place. He was the one thing that didn’t belong. Just like he didn’t belong in a world with someone as beautiful and graceful as Stella Jo Chandler.
    He inhaled and took a moment to appreciate the scent of the leather. Which reminded him of the riding crop and the saddles down at the