He only laughs harder at my outrage, until he’s turning red in the face from lack of oxygen. Until he’s doubled over, clutching his stomach; gasping for air with tears forming at the corners of his eyes.
“Chase!” I smack him on the arm, fighting off my own round of incredulous giggles. “How is anything about this funny?”
He looks at me, shoulders still shaking with mirth, and grins so wide it splits his face in two. “It just is,” he manages to gasp between chuckles.
“How?” I demand, trying not to laugh myself. I can’t help it — watching him like this, near giddy, is enough to trigger my own hilarity.
“Sunshine, he was drunk off his ass. Totally wasted.” He snorts. “The man is dying from a lifetime of heavy drinking — does that stop him? No! He’s got one last public appearance as company CEO — does he at least feign normalcy? Sober up for the occasion? Of course not!” Chase wipes at his eyes as another round of chuckles overtakes him. “My first act as Croft Industries CEO was to have the highly-inebriated former CEO escorted off stage. Sunshine… that’s not just funny. It’s fucking hilarious.”
I plant my hands on my hips and stare him down. “You’re a loon.”
He grins and stands upright. “You’ve told me that before.”
“Well, you probably deserved it.”
“I didn’t.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, what were you doing at the time?”
“We were in an elevator,” he murmurs, the laughter fading from his eyes as he thinks back. “I’d just dragged you out of Brett’s apartment.”
“Oh,” I say, trying not to melt when he’s looking at me like that. “So, you were being a caveman. You totally deserved it.”
He takes a step toward me, his eyes on my mouth. “You don’t seem to mind when I act like a caveman.”
I move back a step. “I do, actually.”
“Really?” He takes another step. I retreat until my back hits the hard edge of the kitchen island.
Danger!
“Yes, really,” I tell him, ignoring the butterflies flying in a vortex around my stomach. “It’s very annoying.”
“I seem to remember that elevator ride ending with your legs around my waist.” His voice is low as he closes the last sliver of distance between us, his body pressing me back against the counter so I couldn’t move even if I wanted to.
“I don’t remember that at all,” I breathe, my eyes on his bottom lip.
“I guess I’ll have to remind you.”
Without warning, his hands hitch beneath my thighs and he lifts me onto the counter. I’m barely settled when I feel the rough pads of his fingertips on my bare calves, hiking the length of my dress up past my knees, until it’s pooled against the marble in a swathe of color. Stepping closer, his hands trail against my skin as his eyes find mine in the dark.
“Is any of this coming back to you?” he murmurs, his lips dropping to my neck.
“Not really,” I breathe as my legs lift to wrap around his waist. My feet, still strapped into heels, lock behind his back so he’s flush against me.
I feel his grin against my skin. “I guess I’ll have to work harder.”
“Definitely.”
His hands trace higher, up over my bare hipbones, searching for fabric that simply isn’t there. I enjoy the flash of surprise in his eyes when he pulls back to look at me.
“Oh,” I murmur, my voice playful, my eyes wide and innocent. “Did I forget to mention I’m not wearing any—”
I never get to finish my taunt because Chase moves forward, his mouth slanting down over mine and swallowing the rest of my words. It’s an open-mouthed, no-holds-barred kiss, consuming me with what can only be described as desperation. He kisses me like the purity of our mouths moving together might be enough to erase the scars our families carved into our souls tonight. His hands slip beneath the hem of my dress, stroking across my skin like a hard brush against canvas, like a chisel against stone, as though his touch can turn my limbs into art.
My hands wind around his back as I press closer, losing myself in every beat of his heart, every trace of his touch. I hear the distant rustle of a belt sliding from its loops, of clothes falling to the ground, but I’m far too lost to pay much attention. There are more important things commanding my senses.
The pleasure-pain of stubble scraping against soft skin.
The sensation of hot breath on the hollow behind an ear.
The taste of pure desire on the pad of my tongue.
All teasing and laughter is long gone from the moment. We’re totally silent as we explore each other in the dark, each motivated by an unspoken need to erase the horrors of tonight with the purity of us. To scrub away the darkness with the glow we create together.
I’m half-gone with passion by the time Chase pushes inside me, filling me in a way I’ve never before experienced. It’s more than a physical joining — it’s as though he’s reached inside my chest and taken my heart between his palms.
He’s holding my life in his hands — one wrong move might kill me.
But, instead of breaking it… he just lets it beat.
Thump, thump, thump.
Gemma, Gemma, Gemma.
Chase, Chase, Chase.
His hands are planted on the countertop beside me, my fingers are in his hair, our mouths are pressed together. We’re not even kissing — we’re just breathing each other in, our lips skimming and parting, skimming and parting, like the million stones I’ve skipped across the waves in Rocky Neck. I stare into his eyes as he pushes me over the edge, and with each stroke of his body, each touch of his hands, each lingering look, he takes my fragile heart and breaks it a little more.
Not by pulling it to pieces; by filing it with so much emotion, it’s nearly bursting. Until it’s so full of us, there’s simply no room left for all the years of pain and sadness and unworthiness that defined me before.
He loves me, and it breaks my heart…in the exact way it needs to be broken.
When I was little, Mom and I drove past a burning field, the plants scorched down to the earth, the blaze so bright, no life could possibly survive it. I asked her why the farmers would do such a thing to their own crops, and she said, Slash and burn, baby girl. Slash and burn.
Sometimes, you have to raze things to the ground before you can start over. Sear away the past, to pave the way for a bright future.
At age five, this concept made no sense to me.
But with Chase slowly breaking me apart and building me back together with sheer force of will, with his hands and his touch and his words fitting my fractured pieces together better than they’ve ever done before, I finally see.
You have to rebuild a broken heart before it can love again.
So, I don’t fight it. I let him slash me open, burn me down to my most basic levels, beneath the barriers, beneath the scar tissue and damage built up by years of disappointment. Down to the very heart of me.
Then, I let him piece me back together, thrust by thrust, our gazes locked, until there are tears streaming from my eyes at the sheer beauty of the moment.
And as my heart, whole and healed, beats strong inside my chest, in perfect sync with Chase’s pulse, I know I’ll never be the same after this. After us.
Thump, thump, thump.
Us, us, us.
***
Later, we’re sprawled in Chase’s bed, skin bare and limbs tangled, our eyes long-adjusted to the darkness of his room. I’m tracing circles on his naked chest with my fingertip, while he plays with the ends of my hair.
On the surface, it sounds like a simple moment: the casual aftermath of two lovers on crinkled sheets, doing nothing at all exceptional or exciting. But there’s nothing simple about the way I feel when he touches me — thoughtlessly tender, with absent affection. And, really, it is kind of exceptional that we’re here — Gemma Summers and Chase Croft. Two people who don’t make sense on paper, whose broken, blunted pieces shouldn’t fit together.
&nb
sp; And yet, here we are.
Fitting.
A week ago he was a stranger. Now, I’m beginning to wonder how I ever made it through the day without him.
I suppose I didn’t know what I was missing.
“Tonight kind of sucked,” I murmur eventually.
“Ah, just what a man likes to hear when it comes to his sexual prowess.”
I lift my head to look at him. “Not you, dummy. I meant tonight, the gala. You know, before the staggering show of sexual prowess.”
He snorts. “Glad to hear it.”
“I just mean…” I sigh again. “Between Rat Bastard Ralph conniving with Bat-Shit Brett, meeting my half-sister, nearly coming to blows with Vanessa in the bathroom, and then Jameson’s Grey Goose sponsored speech—”
“Back up.” Chase’s eyes narrow on mine. “You bumped into Vanessa? You never mentioned that.”
Shit. I hadn’t meant to tell him about her.
“Didn’t I?” I ask, my voice innocent.
“No.”
“Huh, that’s odd. I could’ve sworn—”
“Gemma.” His voice is stern. “Cut the shit. What did she say?”
I feel my cheeks start to heat with color. “Nothing.”
“Gemma.”
“It isn’t a big deal.”
“Then why are you blushing?”
Damn.
“She was very predictable, really — nothing I hadn’t heard before. It didn’t bother me at all.”
“Then tell me.”
“It was just a little something about me not being good enough for you.”
“That sounds far too magnanimous for Vanessa,” he says bluntly. “Gemma, tell me what she said.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Because!”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Well, it’s the only one you’re getting.”
He groans. “Christ, you’re a pain in the ass.”
“Oh, like that’s going to help your case.” I roll my eyes. “Insult the person you want answers from. Real smart.”
“You’re deflecting,” he points out.
“Am not,” I snap, my voice defensive.
He catches my eyes and I see his have gone soft. “Come on, sunshine.”
His voice is warm, cajoling.
“It’s embarrassing, okay?” I mutter, the words rushing from my mouth too quickly to stop. “She maybe, possibly, equated me to a shiny new toy you’ll use up and throw away as soon as you get bored with me. She basically called me a sex doll. Just not as succinctly.”
An angry sound rattles from Chase’s throat.
“But it doesn’t matter,” I continue, before he’s sent into a rage blackout. “Because Phoebe was there and she totally handled Vanessa. Seriously, it was kind of awesome to witness. Apparently, she caught her in a compromising position at some charity event last ye—”
“Gemma.” His voice is so low, I instantly fall silent.
“Y-yeah?” I stammer, trying to keep my cool as he shifts suddenly, so he’s leaning over me, his eyes trapping mine in an intent stare.
“You believed her.”
“No, I didn’t,” I insist, even though it’s a half-lie.
“You did.” His voice is pissed-off. “You still think this is just about sex for me. Just about the chase. Something to scratch an itch, or keep me amused for a few weeks.”
“I…um…well…” I struggle for words, not knowing what to say to him.
“Fuck, Gemma!” he growls. “You really think that’s all this is for me?”
“Um…No?” I wince at the hesitation in my own voice.
“Christ,” he mutters, falling back against his pillow beside me, his eyes on the ceiling. “If you think that, what the hell are you doing with me?”
“I guess, I just thought…” I press my eyes closed and force myself to say it. “I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never had anyone look at me the way you do, touch me the way you do, take care of me the way you do. I’ve never felt like anyone truly understood me, until you. And I figured, everyone deserves to feel this way, at least once in their life, right? Even if it’s not meant to last. Even if the other person doesn’t feel the same.”
“Sunshine—”
“Look, I know better than anyone that love isn’t always perfectly balanced — it doesn’t break even, doesn’t weigh the scales equally on both sides. Someone always cares more. So, I figure it’s okay if I’m that person, with us. It’s okay, Chase. Just because it’s not perfect, doesn’t mean it’s not real.”
He stares at me.
I try out a smile, but it’s a little shaky. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to freak out or anything, and start stalking you.”
He keeps on staring.
“I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just, well, you asked. And I’m not a very good liar. One time, Chrissy asked me to cover for her with Mark because they were on this couples-diet thing and she was, like, dying, so she snuck off to get some Pink Berry, and when he asked me where she was I told him she was learning to play the ukulele with a—”
“Gemma.”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
I huff. “Don’t tell me to shut up, mister— hey!”
My squeal of protest escapes just as Chase grabs me by the shoulders, pins me flat to the bed, and rolls so his entire body is sprawled on top of mine. I try to push him off, but he’s too heavy to budge even an inch.
“Get off!” I complain, squirming futilely. “You’re heavy!”
“You’re the loon.”
“Excuse me?”
“You. You’re the loon, in this relationship. Not me.”
“Am not!”
“Gemma, the amount of nonsensical bullshit you’ve talked yourself into believing in the space of just a few days could set a world record.”
Rude!
“Well, I’m so sure,” I say snottily, glaring up at him.
His eyes narrow. “You’ve got yourself convinced that I don’t care as much as you do, that I’m not as invested in this as you are, and that I don’t feel the same way about you. And all that would be bad enough — but on top of that, you’ve also convinced yourself that it’s somehow okay to feel like that. That it’s not totally fucked up for you to be in a relationship where you’re the only one invested, where the guy doesn’t give a shit about you.”
“Well—”
“I’m talking now.” His voice leaves no room for argument, and my mouth snaps shut. “I know you’ve never done this before, I know you think we’ve got different definitions for what this thing is between us, so I’ll lay it out for you, plain as day. My definition.”
Oh, boy.
He leans so close, his lips are practically pressed against mine. “We’re together. You’re mine. Which means, I give a shit. I’m always going to give a shit. We’re going to fight, we’re going to make mistakes, we’re probably going to drive each other fucking crazy because, like I said earlier, you’re a loon.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he keeps on talking.
“Don’t tell me I don’t care about you, because it’s bullshit. Don’t tell me I’m not in this with you, because I am. I’m in it, sunshine. And I care — a hell of a lot more than I ever thought I would.” He drops his forehead to rest against mine, and his voice loses a tiny bit of its edge. “This relationship — it’s happening. You and me — we’re partners. Equal partners, with equal feelings, and equal fucking chances of getting hurt. You got me?”
I’m silent for a long time, processing his words. He just stares at me, his eyes burning into mine, his body pressing me into the bed, and waits for me to say something. Anything.
“Are you done?” I ask finally.
One side of his mouth tugs up in a smile. “Yeah.”
“Can I say something, now?”
“Yeah.”
Tilting my
head up, I bring my mouth to his and kiss him with every ounce of passion I can muster. And with my hands and my lips, I tell him exactly what I think of his definition of us.
***
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless, lying on our backs with matching grins on our lips. I roll to lay my head on his chest, just over his heart — which is quickly becoming my favorite place in the world — and listen to the comforting thump as my own heartbeat returns to normal.
“Who knew, when we met, that your family would be just as screwed up as mine?” I ask, after a while, my voice quiet.
A soft kiss lands on my temple. “Yours may be screwed up, but they’re not half as bad as the Crofts.”
“I don’t know, does your family saga include an illegitimate love child that will destroy the family if the media ever catches wind?” My voice is teasing. “Because mine does. And, speaking as said illegitimate love child… it’s not as fun as it sounds.”
His mouth opens, like he wants to say something, then promptly snaps closed again. I see the muscle jumping in his cheek as his eyes swim with indecision.
“Chase?”
He lifts his gaze to meet mine, and the stark pain in it makes my heart stutter in my chest.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“You asked whether the Crofts have an illegitimate love child in the mix, that’ll destroy the family if the media ever finds out.” His jaw tightens. “Yes. We do.”
“Chase…” I whisper, my mind racing through possibilities so fast I can barely keep up.
“Me.” His voice is flat, revealing none of the emotions swimming in his eyes. “I’m the bastard.”
My heart aches as he forces out words that are nearly enough to break him.
“Jameson isn’t my uncle. He’s my father.”
***
It all makes sense, now.
Why Brett resents him so much.
Why he hates being called Mr. Croft – hates being a Croft.
Why he left, five years ago, when he learned the truth.
Why Jameson would leave the company to a nephew, instead of a son.
“So…” My voice is gentle, hesitant — as though one wrong word might make him shut down… and shut me out. “Your mother… she…”
“Cheated on her husband with his brother.” Chase nods. “I barely remember the woman, but she sounds like a wonderful person. Honest. Faithful. Exactly what a wife and mother should be.”
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