With his arms beneath my thighs and his lips fused to mine, Chase crosses the apartment in quick, determined strides, carrying me into the bedroom and setting me down on his bed before I’ve even realized we’re moving. His hands are hungry, his kisses are lingering, as he stretches out over me.
“My clothes look good on you,” he mutters against the pulse point in my throat, where my heart beats a little too fast.
I crane my neck to give him better access, my nails digging into the crisp fabric of his shirt.
“Really?” I breathe, struggling to form coherent words with his hands on my body. “I think they’d look better on your bedroom floor.”
He doesn’t laugh, like I expected him to. Instead, his hands move, finding the hem of my shirt, and he tugs. Hard. Buttons fly in all directions as the fabric tears open, and I gasp at both the sound and the sudden feeling of his rough palms on the sensitive skin of my stomach.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he whispers, staring greedily down at me, drinking in the sight of his hands on me. I arch beneath him, bringing my mouth back to his as my hands find his waist and cling tightly.
“You ruined your shirt,” I whisper against his lips.
“I have more shirts.” His eyes are molten with pure, unadulterated passion. “But I’m fresh out of patience.”
My breath catches and I hold his stare, feeling a little reckless.
“Good.”
He moves so fast I barely process it, closing the space between us and lowering his mouth over mine once more. His lips are possessive, demanding everything I thought I could give and then more. He doesn’t let me look away as he kisses me. Our gazes hold as our hands explore unfamiliar territory, the moment filled with such intensity, I can’t tell whether my heart is pounding so fast out of fear or desire. I want to look away from him, to break his stare, but I can’t — I owe it to Chase, to myself, to see what this is between us, even if it scares the hell out of me.
Looking at me with fire in his eyes, he grabs my hand and leads me to a place I’ve never been before, where the brush of a fingertip against fragile skin, the hot exhale of a breath against an earlobe, is enough to set my very soul aflame.
And with Chase touching me, I finally understand. I finally get it — why little girls hold out hope for their Prince Charming, and still believe in fairy tales even when they’re seventy years old and he hasn’t arrived. I finally get why songwriters and poets spend their whole lives trying to put this feeling, right here — this stripped-bare, can’t-catch-my-breath, world-has-stopped-turning feeling — into words.
He pulls off my clothes, layer by layer, his mouth trailing kisses in the wake of his fingertips, and with each tangible barrier he removes, I feel another emotional wall crumble as well. The pure intimacy in his touch, the reverence in the way he looks at me — like I really am the only sunshine in his gloomy world — has me fighting back tears.
No matter what I try to tell myself, this isn’t just physical. It isn’t about the mechanical processes leading to a really earth-shattering orgasm, or a means to an end, or something I could feel with any good-looking Tom, Dick, or Harry I met at a bar. With Chase, I’m not filling a void, scratching an itch with someone I’ll walk — or, better yet, run — away from as soon as the sheets have cooled back to room temperature.
Because I want morning-afters with him. I want to know what his voice sounds like at dawn, groggy with sleep. I want to wake up in his arms, want his face to be the first thing I see when my eyes sliver open. I want to run my fingers through his messy bed-hair, and cook pancakes in our underwear, and spend lazy hours under his dark sheets, pretending the world outside doesn’t even exist.
I want to go to bed with him, and wake up with him, and do every inconsequential thing in between with him.
And even though that scares me out of my mind… the thought of letting someone like Chase slip through my fingers without ever experiencing those things is even scarier.
So, I kiss him back.
I push away the walls, those careful barriers I always keep in place to ensure things stay strictly sexual. I stop worrying about the fact that this — that he — might really mean something.
And I go all in.
Hard lips and greedy kisses, eager hands and tangled limbs.
His fingers trace my sides, hook on my underwear, and slide them down my legs, casting them away without ever moving his eyes from mine. My shaky fingers undo the buttons of his shirt, clumsy and careful, like I’m sixteen again and I’ve never removed a man’s clothes before. When I finally push it off his shoulders, freeing his chest from the confines of fabric, I inhale sharply at the sight of him in the mellow afternoon light — his skin glowing, bronze and sleek, the muscles so defined I ache to trace their curves.
“Gemma.”
Chase lowers his forehead to mine, breathing hard. His eyes are dark emerald ink, so intent I can actually feel them sliding over me, like water across my skin.
“Gemma,” he breathes again, and there’s desperation in his tone. Longing. And a question I thought he already had the answer to.
“Chase.” I brush my lips against his. “Yes. God, yes.”
We lose ourselves in the expanse of his bed, the world falling away until all I can see, feel, hear, smell, taste, touch is him. Chase. On my tongue, in my hands. His lips at my ear, whispering things I never thought I needed to hear until it was him, saying them. And when he finally slides inside me, his eyes locked on mine, I feel him everywhere, in every particle of my being, like an electric current moving through my body, affecting me down to an atomic level. We connect, and there are no flashing lights or explosions of color behind my eyelids. It’s not a fireworks display, or a moving of mountains, or any of the other ridiculous things COSMO promised.
It’s better.
“Look at me,” he demands, his voice rougher than broken glass. “Look at me, Gemma. Do you see it?”
Our eyes hold and when I look, really look, I see it.
I see him.
Right there, on the surface of his irises, offering me the world, if I only want to reach out and take it.
I see us.
An eternity of possibility, swimming in his eyes.
“I see it Chase.” He shifts and I gasp at the sensation. “I see us.”
I’ve barely gotten the words out when his lips are back on mine, even fiercer than before, matching the pace of his body as he lays claim to my soul. He moves in me, his pace unrelenting, uncompromising, and my chest clenches, tight with pressure and pleasure, as though he’s wrapped his hands around my heart and squeezed, until all the fissures and cracks made from years of insecurity and abandonment are sealed together.
There, in his arms, for the first time in my life… I’m whole. And when I shatter to pieces, rocked by an orgasm so intense it takes my breath away, it’s with a full heart inside my chest — one filled with hope and bottomless possibility — and it’s a million times better than anything I’ve ever felt in the past.
Because it’s more.
Because it matters.
Because it’s Chase.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rebel
The sudden light of Chase’s phone screen beneath the black duvet makes me squint.
“Damn. It’s almost five.” He whispers the words against my neck, the hand not holding his phone tightening around me. Pressing a kiss to my nape, his voice drops lower. “I have to go, soon.”
I turn in his arms, so we’re face to face. “I’m sorry, there’s no leaving permitted. You have to stay right here for the next several weeks until we either die of dehydration or get tired of one another.”
He chuckles, leaning in to bump his nose against mine. “Then I’d better stock up on water bottles, ‘cause I don’t see that second thing happening anytime soon.” A slow, satisfied grin spreads across his lips.
“Good,” I whisper, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his mouth.
“Believe me, su
nshine, if I didn’t have to move, I wouldn’t.” He sighs. “But I’ve got the gala tonight. I can’t miss it.”
“Damn. I forgot,” I mutter, snuggling closer. “How bad would it be if you blew it off?”
“How bad would it be if the new CEO didn’t show up to the ceremony announcing his tenure as CEO?” Chase’s voice is playful. “Probably pretty bad.”
I sigh. “Figured you’d say that.”
He stares into my eyes for a long moment, his expression conflicted.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“Chase.”
He cups the side of my face. “Come with me.”
“That’s not the smartest idea you’ve ever had.”
“Probably not,” he agrees. “But I’m still asking.”
“The press will be there. Brett will be there. You uncle, your business partners…” I shake my head. “It’s a bad idea.”
“Maybe.” He kisses me, soft and sweet. “But you’re the only person I want to spend tonight with — even if it’s at a stuffy business dinner.”
My heart flips as I stare back at him, totally indecisive. I know in my gut it’s a bad idea, but when he’s looking at me like that, asking me to be there for him… it’s not so easy to hold to my convictions.
“Do I have to wear a dress?”
He grins, sensing victory. “Yeah.”
“I’ll have to borrow something from Shelby.”
His eyebrows lift. “Does that mean you’ll come?”
I nod hesitantly.
“Sunshine,” he whispers, his eyes getting ultra-warm and melty.
“You owe me.”
His grin widens. “What do you want?”
“Oh. Um.” I tilt my head, trying to think of something. “Uh…”
He stares at me, waiting, and my cheeks start to redden.
“Well, I don’t have anything prepared right this second! But I’ll think of something. Eventually.”
“Sunshine.” He starts to laugh, his whole frame shaking with mirth. “We really need to work on your negotiation skills.”
“It’s not my fault! I can’t concentrate with you looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“All gorgeous and chiseled and dreamy.”
“Dreamy?”
“Yes!” I glare at him. “It makes my head foggy and then I get tongue tied and my cheeks get red and…and…”
The words dry up on my tongue as my eyes move over his handsome features.
“You forgot what you were gonna say again, didn’t you?” He grins, cocky at his effect on me.
I smack him on the arm. “I don’t like you.”
“I beg to differ.” He leans in, burying his head in the crook of my neck. “In fact, in the last hour, you told me several different times just how much you liked me. Very loudly, I might add.”
My blush intensifies. “Oh, go to your stupid gala alone, you big brute.”
He pulls back to look at me, the humor fading from his eyes. “You don’t have to come, if you don’t want to. I know it’s asking a lot.”
I reach up and run my hands through the hair by his temple, enjoying the sensation of the silky strands against my palm almost as much as the fact that touching him is starting to feel as natural as breathing.
“If it means spending time with you, I’ll go. Even if I have to deal with the paparazzi and make small talk with your family.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m tougher than I look.” I flex my bicep playfully.
“Oh, really?”
“Yep.” I grin, lowering my voice to a whisper. “I’m so badass, sometimes I don’t even safely eject my USB drives — I just whip them out of the computer and shove them back in my desk.”
“Wow,” Chase breathes, his eyes wide. “Living life on the edge.”
“That’s nothing.” I struggle to maintain my faux-serious tone. “Sometimes, I completely ignore the TEAR HERE label, and I open the chip bag upside-down.”
“Say it isn’t so!”
“Oh, yeah.” It’s getting harder and harder to keep a straight face. “And occasionally, at the grocery store when they have those little sample tables out, I pretend not to see the TAKE ONE sign… and I take two.”
“My little rebel,” he says, grinning as he pulls me close. I bury my face in his neck and let him hold me, for a while, until the humor has faded from my bloodstream and my heart has slowed to match Chase’s steady, metronomic beats. I’m so relaxed, I’ve almost fallen asleep, when the rumble of his voice snaps my eyes open.
“You have to be sure.”
I pause, considering his words, and he rolls me gently onto my back so he can see my face.
“If we do this,” he whispers. “If you go with me…”
I wait breathlessly for him to finish, my eyes trapped by his steady gaze.
“It’ll be making a statement that we’re together,” he says bluntly. “That this — you and me — is really happening.”
I inhale sharply.
“Are you ready for that?” His words are an intent whisper. “Are you ready for the world to know you’re mine?”
I open my mouth automatically, fully prepared to deny his words.
I’m not yours. I’m not anybody’s.
The words are there, on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t voice them. Because I know, staring at this beautiful man in front of me, that I’d do anything he asked, just as he’d do anything I asked of him. And that means I’m his, as surely as he’s mine.
So, instead of throwing the words in his face, as I would’ve only days ago, I take a deep breath and say a sentence that surprises even myself.
“I’m ready, Chase.”
He kisses me, then, all tenderness lost as his hands slide up my back and across my naked skin. And even though we’re short on time and my heart’s beating like hell inside my chest, we waste another hour beneath the covers together, laughing and loving and proving just how sweet it feels to belong to each other.
***
“Jesus Christ, Gemma, the security in this place is ridiculous. It’s like Fort Fucking Knox in here!” Shelby grins at me, then winks at Knox, who’s hovering behind her with his typical stony expression in place. “Puns intended, of course.”
I snort. “Not your best material, Shelbs.”
“Oh, whatever. You try shopping for three hours — not even for yourself, I might add — then lugging the entire contents of your closet across town, then being practically frisked by a leather-clad dude you’re pretty sure they based those Jason Bourne movies on, and still come up with A-grade jokes. It’s not easy.”
“Thanks for coming.”
“Don’t mention it.” With a grunt, she drops a huge pile of zippered dress carriers and paper shopping bags on the couch beside me, slaps her hands together, and pivots to take in the space. “Holy cow! This place is huge. You could film a porno in here.”
“Shelby!”
“What? One of the classy ones, obviously. With real talent and a plot. Not a corny, cheesy one with too much body hair and weird 70’s music playing in the background.”
“Ew.”
“That was a compliment!”
I glance at Knox and see the skin around his eyes has crinkled up, though his mouth is still set in a firm line. “Oh, this you find amusing?”
He shrugs, the eye-crinkle intensifying.
“Men,” I mutter, turning back to Shelby. “So, what did you bring me?”
“Three new pairs of jeans, some basic tops, and a few pretty blouses you’ll never wear. Just to get you through the next few days.” She grins shamelessly. “Plus, every dress I’ve worn in the past decade, with the exception of my wedding dress, of course. Nobody touches my Pnina Tornai. But we’ll find something for you.”
“So long as it’s not skintight or covered in sparkles, I’m okay with anything.”
Shelby makes a face and glances down at the pile of dresses. �
�Well, that rules out about half of these…”
I heave a heavy sigh.
This isn’t going to be pretty.
***
“Wow.”
“I know, right?”
“Really… wow.”
“I know!”
“Shelby….” My hands skim over the fabric, which drapes from my shoulders to the floor, the train just long enough to cover my toes in the front and trail along behind me as I walk. The dress is constructed of the softest, silkiest satin I’ve ever felt, lending it an elegance none of the clothes in my closet have ever had. The squared-off boat-neck cut and whisper-thin straps, coupled with a low back and a classic, fitted silhouette, make it look expensive. Elegant. Traditional.
It would be totally anti-Gemma, if not for the colors.
Because instead of using a plain black swathe of silk, or a sedate navy shade, whoever designed the dress did the unexpected and went with a bold, multicolored pattern. There are so many different hues coloring the dress, they blend together like brushstrokes on a palette. With each step I take, the colors shift and dance as the light plays across my silhouette.
I look like a walking piece of art.
A living, breathing kaleidoscope.
I know I should feel ridiculous — girls like me can’t wear dresses like this. Girls like me don’t even know how to walk in dresses with this much fabric, or heels this high. I don’t have Shelby’s toned Cross-Fit body, or Chrissy’s naturally perfect proportions. I don’t look remotely like a supermodel.
But, staring at myself in the mirror, taking in everything from my paint-palette dress to the pretty way Shelby’s pinned my hair at one side of my head, so it drapes over my left shoulder in a gathering of loose waves, I feel surprisingly confident.
Actually, I feel better than confident.
I feel pretty freaking gorgeous.
“I’ve never even worn it,” Shelby murmurs regretfully. “I bought it for a gala at the MFA last year, but Paul had to go away on business at the last minute so we gave up our tickets.”
I turn to face her. “Oh, Shelby… are you sure you want to let me borrow it?” My guilty eyes meet hers as my hands stroke the fabric covetously. “Maybe you should save it for yourself.”
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