I smirk, and toss him a wink. “That would be perfect.”
Chapter Two
Yep, she’s a spitfire. No doubt about it. And that little interaction she just shared with the bartender proves it. There is no way she regularly drinks a bottle of anything. She’s got to be a hundred-twenty pounds soaking wet. But I don’t mind playing this game with her. Not only is she beautiful, I love that she’s not intimidated by me in the least. And most women are, especially once they find out what I do for a living, and how much money I make.
The bartender strolls over to a walk-in cooler to retrieve the champagne, so I figure I better take advantage of us being alone while the moment exists. “I really would like to apologize for this afternoon.”
Her eyes, a deep blue color that reminds me of the twilight sky reflecting against the ocean just after the sun sets, drift up to mine. “For which part?” She teases, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Crashing into me.” She lifts her hand and displays two fingers like she’s making the peace sign as she continues, “twice. Or for your little frat brothers’ comments, or for calling me a spitfire?” She rolls her eyes as she gives me a little head shake, the smile on her face making it obvious she’s teasing me.
There’s a small pop further down the bar as the bottle of champagne is opened, and I chuckle, recognizing the dramatic effect it just gave to her line of questions. Her brows arch high at my reaction. “You think it’s funny?”
And of course, that makes me want to laugh more, but I tamp it down and smile broadly instead. “I think that as beautiful as you look angry, it’s the last thing I want to make you, so definitely not laughing at you.”
“Uh-huh.” She drawls, clearly not convinced.
“I have an idea.” I decide a new approach is required and stand up to leave. “I think we need to start over.” Without another word, I turn and walk out of the bar.
I stand outside the entrance, making sure I’m out of sight, count to sixty, then stride as casually as I possibly can up to the bar where she’s sitting. Her eyes are glued to me, watching every move I make, curiosity furrowing her brow. I point to the stool next to her. “Pardon me, is this seat taken?”
She laughs. And it’s perfect. Soft and feminine and sexy. Her laughter converts to a smile so breathtaking, I know I want to make her do it again and again. She gives a quick shake of her head. “Nope. It’s all yours.”
I slide into the seat, still warm from my earlier occupation of it, and turn to meet her eyes. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Sure.” She rolls her eyes dramatically, but through a large smile, so I know this is okay. “How about a glass a champagne?”
“How about a bottle?” I suggest, looking at the bartender, who’s standing across the bar from us again, the open bottle of Veuve in one hand, a curious look on his face as he plays catchup.
“What the hell.” She lets out another laugh, tossing a hand in the air. “Jim, I’ll take that bottle of Veuve please.”
“Okay.” His response coming out slow as he tries to figure out what the hell happened while he stepped away. He fills a flute with champagne and then places it in front of her, before reaching for another flute for me.
I wave off the drink. “I’ll just have an ice water please.”
Her head tilts in my direction. “You won’t have a glass with me?”
“I’m training.” I leave it at that for now, changing the subject by extending my hand to her. “I’m Jasper, by the way.”
She lifts her hand then slowly slips it into mine, squinting in suspicion as she stares back at me. “Earlier, your friends called you Chase?”
“I thought we were supposed to be meeting for the first time?” I chuckle, but clarify. “Jasper Chase. Those morons were my teammates.”
“Ah, okay.”
She starts to slide her hand out of mine, but I tighten my grasp, holding it prisoner, her fingers tensing in response until my next question explains why. “And you are?”
Her hand softens inside mine, her head tilting slightly, a smile lifting her cheeks. “Megan Lewis.”
I release her hand and lift my glass of water to click it against the rim of her flute, making sure my eyes find hers. “It’s really nice to meet you Megan Lewis.”
“Nice to meet you too, Jasper Chase.” She raises her glass, stopping midway to its destination, tilting it toward me. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” I smile around my glass as I take another sip of my water, watching as she takes a taste from the flute, her eyes closing for a brief moment as she hums out her approval. “Good?”
“Very.” She takes another drink, longer this time, then sets the glass on the napkin in front of her. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” And I mean it. I could watch her wrap those luscious lips around anything, anytime. I shift in my seat, trying to hide the physical reaction starting to happen below my waist at the very thought. Sweet Jesus this woman is sexy, and she isn’t even aware of it. Which of course makes her even more so. I definitely appreciated her legs and perfectly round ass in the fitted dress she was in earlier, but even in jeans she’s stunning.
“So, teammates?” Her voice interrupting my thoughts. “I should assume it’s for some kind of sport and not chess?”
“What, we don’t look like we know how to work a board?” I joke, knowing full well that even well-dressed, we are quite the burly bunch.
Her eyes roam over my form before she replies, one brow arching high. “I think you’re missing a pocket protector and geeky eyewear.”
It’s a good thing she can’t see what’s happening between my pockets, otherwise she just might be running for some protection. Of course, I won’t be commenting on that. “I play football. We’re playing in the divisional playoff game this Sunday against Los Angeles.”
“So, it’s a big game?” She takes another drink, giving a slight shrug of her shoulders. “Sorry, I don’t really follow sports so I’m kind of clueless here.”
I smile, actually a bit relieved to know that I’m with a girl who has absolutely no idea who I am, as opposed to some super fan trying to get in my pants. “Yeah, it’s a big game.”
“So, what team do you play for?”
“New England.” I state proudly, but feel the need to say more when her expression remains completely blank. “The Patriots.” She shrugs again, a small frown pulling at her mouth, so I say more. “We’ve won the Super Bowl championship several times over the last few years.”
“Oh, that must have been exciting.” She sort of perks up when she responds this time, but it’s obvious she has absolutely no idea who I am, let alone anything about football. “What do you do on the team?”
I could tell her. I could. But it’s clear she won’t have a clue what I do, even if I do explain my position on the team, so I shift things back to her. “What about you Megan? What are you doing here in La La Land?”
She finishes the last of the champagne in her glass, and I motion to Jim for a refill, which he does promptly. “Would you two like dinner menus?”
We both nod yes, and she turns back to me. “I’m training some physicians on a new software my company is implementing at the UCLA Medical Center.” She rolls her eyes and laughs. “I know, pretty tame compared to what you do.”
I give her a once over this time, her brows furrowing as she looks down at herself to see what I’m looking at. Before she can ask, I joke. “I was wondering where you were hiding your pocket protector. Sounds like I’ve got a brainy pants in my midst.”
“Well, I can play a mean game of chess.” She grins back at me. “But I’m proud to say, I haven’t let that impact my fashion choices.”
“From what I’ve seen so far, anything you’re wearing looks good on you.” I watch as her cheeks flush a light pink, her fingers reaching out to play with the end of her braid, her gaze trailing slowly up my torso to my face.
“The same could be said about you.” A coy smile dances across her lips as she
takes another drink, her gaze on mine before she turns to focus on the menu in front of her. “Should we order something to eat?”
I wasn’t sure at first, but after the look she just gave me, I think she's as attracted to me as much as I am to her. I know what I’d like to have for dinner, but I’m not sure if it’s on the menu. “Something to eat sounds great.”
We order from Jim, then continue talking, sharing details about ourselves as we get to know each other better. I find out she grew up in Connecticut, is an only child but has a best friend, Leah, who she loves like a sister. They met in college and now share an apartment together in New York City. Her dad died when she was twenty, but her mom is alive and still lives in the house she grew up in. She never got her license and still doesn’t know how to drive, which makes Leah crazy whenever they go anywhere outside the city. In school she swam and rowed crew, so is definitely athletic, but, as demonstrated earlier, knows absolutely nothing about football.
And here’s what I learned by just watching her. She ordered a chef salad, which came with each of the ingredients displayed in perfect rows over the lettuce. After she poured the dressing, she mixed everything together, then proceeded to pick each ingredient out individually and eat it one at a time. It wasn’t until her third glass of champagne that she seemed to completely relax and look me in the eye each time she spoke. And every time she did speak, she waved her hands in the air, adding a dramatic flair to every story she told. She swipes her tongue across her lower lip each time she takes a drink of her champagne, drawing my attention perpetually to her divine mouth, which I’ve come to want against my own more than anything.
“Oh my God.” Her hand slaps over the lips I’m craving, her eyes latching onto mine as they widen. A short puff of laughter escapes between her fingers as she lowers them. “I’m so sorry! All I’ve done is talk about myself. You must think I’m the most self-centered person ever.”
I lean forward, sliding my hand over hers until our fingers entwine, hers still warm from her breath. “Don’t apologize. It’s a nice change of pace.” And it really is. It’s hard to go to many places now without being recognized, and when I do, I’m usually cornered and bombarded with questions. It was refreshing to have a conversation with someone and get to know them on an authentic level. I love listening to stories about someone else for once.
“No.” She protests. “I want to know about you too.” Her fingers squeeze mine in a gentle plea. “It’s your turn. Tell me about you.”
So I do. I tell her about growing up right here in Southern California with an older brother and a younger sister, and about my mom and dad. Somehow she gets me to tell her about my first girlfriend, who was also my first heart break, but then just as quickly, has me smiling again when I tell her how I helped my high school win its very first state championship football game ever. Of course, I have to explain to her how important football is to me and my dad so she can understand what that means, but I think she gets it.
After spilling my guts, I sit back, running a hand over my beard to smooth it down. It’s definitely bushier than I’d like. She must sense my disdain, because her next question is about it. “What’s with the beard?” She waves a hand in the air when my brow shoots up at her bluntness. “Not that I mind it.” I’m momentarily surprised when her fingers reach out and skim over my cheek and then down the beard. “It’s softer than I would have thought.” I smile as she continues. “I just wouldn’t think it would be comfortable when you’re wearing a helmet.” Her eyes move to mine. “And hot as hell.”
I let out a short laugh, because she has no idea how hot and itchy it gets when I’m playing. “Yep, it can be.” I drag my fingers down the length of the growth. “It’s a superstition kind of thing.” She sips from her glass, listening intently as I try and explain. “It started a couple years ago. It’s a routine kind of thing. I started out not shaving for a game or two, and played really well. Then the whole team played well. And we were winning, and kept winning. You keep doing whatever you did before the game to keep whatever energy there is behind it going. So, no shaving. And now here I am, with this.” I tug at the end of the beard as I shrug.
“So, where’s the rest of the team tonight?” She leans into the back of the stool, my eyes zeroing in on the curve of her breasts as her back arches, my dick jerking to life again. I lean forward in an attempt to hide my growing arousal from her, but I think she notices when her eyes bulge slightly after a glance in the direction of my waist, her cheeks flushing as her gaze shoots back to her glass.
I’m not sure if I should apologize, or compliment her for how my body is reacting to her, but the last thing I want to do is make her more uncomfortable, so I stick to a safer subject and answer her question. “Most of them are probably in their room.” I motion to Jim again when I notice her glass is empty, and continue talking as he empties the last of the bottle into her flute. “We actually have a curfew.”
“Seriously?” She says a little too surprised. “I’ve almost drank this whole bottle.” She smacks a hand over her face. “You must think I’m a lush.”
“Definitely not what I’m thinking.” I admit, not hiding my attraction as I lower my voice.
Her hand slides down her face in slow motion, her eyes lifting until they lock onto mine. Neither of us say anything as we stare at each other, our silent intensity fueling the desire that’s been building between us all evening. The tip of her tongue, shiny and pink, pulls my attention toward her mouth as it sweeps over her bottom lip for the twentieth time tonight, a jolt shooting straight to my cock when she speaks. “Maybe you should walk me to my room before you break curfew then.”
Chapter Three
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! I can’t believe I just said that out loud to him. I think he might be slightly shocked too, based on how quickly he just threw his credit card at Jim when he brought the bill. I don’t do things like this. I don’t ask men back to my room. EVER. But good lord, this man is so damn hot, and sexy, and every wet dream I’ve ever had, I honestly don’t care. The hell with principles right now; I want this man, more than I can remember ever wanting anyone.
Every single time he took a sip of his water, or adjusted the chunky, expensive looking watch on his wrist, or motioned to Jim, I could not stop looking at his forearms. His finely corded and tanned forearms, the muscles shifting each time he moved, drawing me in like a bee to a flower dripping with pollen. I don’t know why, but it turns me the hell on. Wondering what those hands could do to me. Seeing the strength they obviously have. Good lord, I wish I had worn panties under my jeans instead of going commando. I’m so afraid my arousal for him is going to become obvious pretty soon.
He scribbles his signature on the bill, leaving a huge tip for Jim, which scores him bonus points. He stands, extending his hand to help me off my stool. I slip my hand into his, the strength of his fingers surrounding mine as they close possessively. I sway as I rise, not sure if it’s from the champagne or from being this close to him, but my other hand lands on his chest to steady myself. Whoa. Hard as a damn rock.
“You okay?” His caramel eyes meeting mine with concern.
“Yes.” I assure him, my hand reluctantly lifting off of him to demonstrate how okay I am. “Think that last glass of champagne went right to my head.”
“Then I definitely need to make sure you get to your room safely.” His hand pulls at mine as he begins to walk toward the exit. I follow, willingly, my body drawn to his like a magnet as my shoulder leans against his. It’s the first time I notice how good he smells. I close my eyes and inhale, hoping the singular sense of smell will enhance the pleasure of his scent. I savor the spicy aroma floating from him and let out a hum of approval. My eyes flutter open to find his face turned to mine, a crooked smile on his face.
“Did I just do that out loud?” I giggle trying to hide my embarrassment, then explain, my voice lowering an octave. “You smell amazing.”
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open
. We wait a couple seconds as a few people step out, and then we step inside, him looking over at me. “What floor?”
“Twenty-three.” I breathe out, my heart racing as I realize that I’m really doing this as he presses the button. The door slides closed with a soft clunk, and before I can blink, his hands move to my waist to turn and push me up against the wall. His entire body hovers an inch from mine, the heat of it radiating against mine as his face looms over me. My eyes trail to his mouth, his bottom lip wet from the swipe his tongue just made, my own bottom lip caught between my teeth.
“Look at me.” His voice is husky and deep. My eyes shoot up to his. “I need to know you want this. That it’s not the alcohol speaking.” A hot breath flares from his nostrils before he continues. “Cause Lord knows no matter how badly I want you, I won’t take advantage of you.”
I surge forward, closing the distance between us as I fuse my mouth against his, his body tense for less than a second before his grip on my waist relaxes. One hand trails up my body to wrap around the back of my neck as he deepens our kiss, his tongue pushing against the seam of my lips until I open wide, my hands fisting the material of his shirt as I cling to pull him closer. His body crushes against mine, and I feel every defined inch of him as he molds to me. Holy shit.
I push him away abruptly, panting as our eyes meet. “I want this.” I tilt to press an insistent kiss against his mouth. “I want you.”
As if on cue, the elevator slides to a stop with a ding and the doors open. He doesn’t hesitate. He grabs my hand to lead me out of the elevator, looking at me for direction.
“Room 2380.” I point. “It’s the very last door on the left side.” I use my free hand to fish my room key out of the back pocket of my jeans as we walk down the hall, swiping it over the sensor when we reach the door. Jasper pushes the handle down, shoving it open as he pulls me into the room, the door slamming behind us. The sound causes us both to freeze, our heads snapping in the direction of the loud noise, momentarily interrupting the urgency we felt only a second ago.
Catching Chase Page 2