by Drea Stein
But it meant he generally met a certain kind of woman. Tall, athletic, gorgeous, but usually with an agenda, one that included using him to help themselves. Phoebe was the first whose arm he’d had to practically twist to take his help. And she was making it difficult by not allowing him to use her connection to Savannah. Still, he could understand her desire to make it on her own.
Chase tossed the covers off and got out of bed. He wasn’t going to sleep anyway. Pulling on a pair of jeans, he walked into the living room and threw himself on the couch, where he could look out and see the water. The lights of the marina were dimmed now, and boats bobbed peacefully in their slips. It was calm, quiet, and well ordered, and when he had come here as a kid to work in his dad’s store, he had dreamed of this. Of looking over it all and wanting it, wanting it to be his. And now he had it. But it just wasn’t enough anymore.
He scrubbed his hands through his hair. It was almost morning: time for him to get up, maybe take a run, work out some of these kinks.
Truth was, it wasn’t enough anymore because he wanted something more. Sure, he thought it had been the house, but once he had seen her, all of a sudden, it had been her. He wanted Phoebe Ryan, in his bed, but now he wasn’t ready to let her go.
As the sun rose, its rosy fingers painting streaks in the gray dawn sky, he smiled. He had a plan. Every good sailor needed a course, a strategy to get from A to B, to win the race. And if there was one thing he was good at, it was taking his time and working a plan.
Chapter 31
“Sorry about dinner last night,” Lynn said, shaking her head. “Would you believe me if I told you it was Caitlyn’s idea?”
Phoebe pushed the coffee table out of the way and kicked the rug so that it unspooled across the sheen of her newly refinished floor.
“Really? I hadn’t guessed.”
Lynn scowled at her sarcasm. “Yes, she wanted to get to know you a little better. And get you and Chase to help out with the fair. She’s great, but a little relentless when it comes to making things happen. Not that I’m not grateful, since the clinic needs every penny it can get, but, well, I wouldn’t want to say no to her.”
“Glad I didn’t,” Phoebe said, and she was. She was happy to help.
“Nice rug,” Lynn said, “but I don’t know why you want to put all the furniture down when you still have to paint.”
“Not all the furniture.” Phoebe pushed back a strand of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. “Just enough so I can live here and move out of your spare bedroom. Besides, it’s good to live in a house for a while before deciding on the paint. You need to see how the light plays in the room.”
Lynn laughed. “Well, when I finally move out of my parents’ house and into my own place, promise me you’ll give me some decorating advice. I spend all of my time in baby-blue scrubs and around vomit-green walls. I’ll need all the help I can get.”
“Color is easy,” Phoebe said absently, her mind drifting.
“I don’t suppose you found any lost treasures up in the attic?”
“I’ve barely had time to go through it.” Phoebe had been busy working on the designs for North Coast Outfitters and handling the existing orders for business.
“There’s no time like the present.” Lynn jumped up.
“What are you talking about?”
“Please, I’m totally dying for a chance to poke around Savannah’s old stuff.”
Phoebe hesitated for a moment. It was her stuff to poke through if she wanted. She’d been avoiding it, unsure if she was ready for what she was going to find. Phoebe took one look at the expression on her friend’s face. It was so eager.
“Get ready for some dust,” she warned her as they made their way up the stairs and to the attic.
“Wow, Savannah really was a packrat,” Lynn said, as she moved a stack of old clippings aside. “Look, a bra.” Lynn held up a black lacy number.
“Ugh. That must have been from a movie. I don’t think she would have kept it otherwise.”
“Yeah, but which one? There’s nothing in here that says which one.”
Phoebe walked over, looked at the bra, then looked at the stack of clippings. “See, these are all reviews of The Black Orchid. It was a throwback to film noir. The bra was probably a part of it.”
Lynn closed her eyes, “Oh, yes, now I remember. Wasn’t she the fallen lady with the heart of gold?”
“Something like that. So, I guess the black bra was an integral part of the costume.”
“You know, sewing up knife wounds may not seem that glamorous, but at the end of the day, I’m glad I don’t have to sit around in my underwear in front of a million people,” Lynn said.
Phoebe shook her head. “Never seemed to faze Savannah. And she could pick up any object in her apartment and tell you what movie it was from, who her costar was, whether it was a hit or a flop.”
They were quiet for another minute, before Lynn asked her.
“Are you going to tell me about it or make me use my imagination?”
Phoebe groaned. “Was it that obvious?”
Lynn nodded. “Absolutely. If I hadn’t fallen asleep so early last night, I would have gotten it out of you then. So…”
Phoebe couldn’t help the smile that stretched across her face. “It was pretty unbelievable.” Just the memory had a smile flooding across her face and heat spreading across her body.
“Wow. And you let him walk off last night? You didn’t go back for seconds.”
“I think it would have been thirds. Or fourths,” Phoebe said, failing to keep the smugness out of her voice.
“Argh, you’re killing me. Not really. Keep talking, just because I work crazy hours and barely have time for a shower, let alone a date. I need my vicarious thrills.”
“Like I said, it was pretty unbelievable. But somehow I don’t think your mom was too keen on me slipping away with him for a night of steamy sex on his boat.”
Lynn rolled her eyes. “Yeah, moms can be like that, even when they’re not your own.” As if realizing what she said, Lynn’s face contorted. “Man, I am so sorry. I shouldn’t be complaining about my mom…”
“…when I don’t have one,” Phoebe finished for her lightly, trying to put Lynn back at ease. “Don’t worry about saying the wrong thing. You shouldn’t be sorry for having a mother, even though she sometimes annoys you, just because I don’t. That’s life.”
“Wow, you sound so serene about it,” Lynn said.
Phoebe laughed. “Therapy. I had a lot of it after they died. And then one day, I realized I had to keep on living and so did other people. And it’s sort of nice to know someone’s looking after me. I think it probably kept me from making a mistake.”
Lynn snorted. “What sort of mistake is Chase Sanders?”
Phoebe didn’t know what to say. Sex with Chase had rocked her world. It had never been like that with anyone else, the physical sensations. But there was more. More to him and to the sex. She was afraid she was getting entangled.
“It’s funny,” Phoebe said. “All my life, guys have been into me because I was related to Savannah Ryan. Struggling actors, wannabe playwrights, even my old boss—they all thought there was something more to me because I was related to someone famous.”
Lynn sat on an old steamer trunk. “OK, so I get it. You had your own weird version of groupies. But what does that have to do with Chase?”
Phoebe looked at her and there it was like a sucker-punch in the gut as she said it aloud. “I think Chase might be the same way.”
“What do you mean? He doesn’t seem that way.”
“Associating with the Ryan name would be great for his business. I told him I didn’t want Savannah’s name mentioned, at least until everyone can judge my work for what it is, but I know he thinks I’m being foolish. I don’t think he can resist the allure of the romance of the century—the modern-day version—at least from a marketing perspective.”
Lynn looked at her, so Phoebe pulled out her phon
e.
“My friend sent this to me,” she said, as she called up the headline. “Déjà vu—Ryan Revives Famous Love Nest.” It’s short on details, but it talks about how I inherited the house and am intent on bringing it back to its former glory. It goes into Leland and Savannah.”
Lynn took the phone from Phoebe and scanned through the article. “So?” she asked.
Phoebe took her phone back and glanced at the article. “It might only be a matter of time before someone makes the connection between this house and the fact that Leland Harper’s grandson lives in this town. And then it will be romance of the century, part two.”
“And you think that’s a bad thing?” Lynn asked.
Phoebe shook her head. “It would be if Chase was behind it. I told him that I didn’t want to be known as Savannah Ryan’s granddaughter anymore. I have to stand on my own two feet, on my own talent.”
“Surely you don’t think?” Lynn asked.
Phoebe shrugged. She hadn’t had a chance to ask. And besides, Chase had promised he wouldn’t, but perhaps he couldn’t be trusted.
“For what it’s worth, it totally seems like he’s into you,” Lynn said carefully, taking a sip from her water bottle.
Phoebe leaned back against a box. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She looked at the picture again. She wondered how the press had gotten onto her efforts to restore Ivy House? And would this be the last of it? The story did mention Ivy Lane’s website. She’d already seen a jump in orders today. Perhaps, it would be good for business to play up this angle.
Lynn shook her head. “I don’t know, but I think the way he keeps showing up here, finding you at the flea market, buying all of that stuff…I think he wants to be with you. Phoebe Ryan—you—not anyone else.”
Phoebe wanted to believe her friend, she really did.
Chapter 32
Chase found her, after dark, in the attic. Phoebe looked up, startled, hearing the tramp of steps and then was reassured when she heard his voice calling up the stairs. She had forgotten to lock the door again, and there was Chase’s head popping up into the opening of the attic.
She had turned on the light and plugged in one of the lamps that was lying around, so she hadn’t noticed it growing dark outside. Phoebe was annoyed that so much time had passed—she had meant to see what the light looked like in the living room around dusk. She felt herself filled with nervous anticipation when Chase fully emerged into the attic.
“You’ve been busy,” he said, by way of a greeting.
She looked at him, standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet, looking like his usual cocky, assured self.
“I brought dinner. Chinese, I guessed,” he said, still smiling, “Since you didn’t bother to answer your phone or reply to my texts.”
She shrugged. “Chinese is fine,” she answered coolly.
“What are you doing?” he asked, one eyebrow arching up.
She had to swallow to bring her body under control. Had she really thought that just once with him would be enough? That she could respond to him calmly, rationally.
“Just sorting through some old things. Savannah left a treasure trove of stuff here.”
He came over closer to her and she could smell him, his warm dusky scent.
“Is that a photo album?”
He took it from her. “You do look a lot like her, you know.”
Phoebe nodded. “My poor mom. She was dark, but my dad was light. I got all of the Ryan genes. Whenever I was with Savannah, people thought I was her daughter. She liked that better than being called a grandmother. Always concerned with what people thought.”
“Is that why you’re against using her name?” he asked.
“Savannah lived and died by what the public thought of her. She was obsessed with it. She let them paint her as a home wrecker, a bitch—a slut, even—if she thought it would keep them interested. She was always the actress, never herself, because she was always playing a part.”
Phoebe looked up at Chase, who was holding her tight in his arms. “I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be someone’s publicity piece or be used to sell something. I want to be myself. The papers will take anything and turn it around. You’ll say it doesn’t matter, but if it starts to make you money, you feed into it, you let it happen because you think it’s for some greater good. And what’s more, people believe it. The most outrageous things, they’ll believe, and then you start to buy into it.”
“If they want a show, give it to them.”
“Exactly,” Phoebe said, looking down. Her hands were dirty and she probably had dust smudges on her face. “But I don’t want to be the show.”
“Hey,” he said, catching her chin in his hand, “what’s bringing all this on?”
“I told you I’m not an actress, Chase. I’m Phoebe, not Savannah. I’m not some sexy blond bombshell with a smart mouth and a plucky sense of courage.”
He smiled. “I like you just the way you are. Sure, I liked Savannah’s movies, but unlike all those Hollywood types, I can separate fact from fiction, and, Phoebe, I know the real deal when I see it, when I feel it.”
“No,” she said in frustration, “I’m just a private person. I don’t like being used.” She pulled out her phone and showed him the article from earlier, about her and Ivy House.
He glanced at it and shrugged. “It didn’t come from me.”
“That’s it.” Phoebe felt a flash of anger. “How can I be sure I’m not being used? You told me yourself that you do things all the time for publicity’s sake.”
“Used? You think I’m using you to further my business?” His voice rose a bit, and he put both hands on her shoulders and pulled her close to him.
“You’re the one who drew up the contract,” Phoebe pointed out, her voice sounding breathy even to herself.
“And I changed it. Before we had sex. So, I wasn’t using you then. Or would you like me to tell you that I am using you?”
Phoebe gasped as his lips brushed against her hair, nipped at her earlobe. “For your body, that is, ‘cause, babe, you have one hell of a body. And your hair. I can’t forget your hair. Or your lips,” he had whispered. “I know I am definitely using you for your lips.”
Phoebe felt her body respond to his words, the heat starting between her legs and spreading throughout her. It was just one article, one of the minor gossip sites, easy to forget.
“I guess being used isn’t so bad,” she said as his lips brushed along her jaw.
“Feel free to use me back. Whenever you want. Because what happened yesterday was pretty good, better than good. I would hate to see all that go to waste because you’re afraid I’m after your famous name or your house.”
“You’re not after the house?” Phoebe managed to breathe. “Or my name?”
“Babe, I thought you knew what I’m after,” he said, pulling her into him, nudging her legs apart as he pushed his leg in between them. She tightened over him, feeling heat lick through her.
His hands slid around her shoulders.
“Then we should give them something to talk about, don’t you think? Give them a real show, ride this little thing to the end,” she said, wanting it, wanting him.
Unbidden, Phoebe wrapped her arms around Chase, and he pulled her close, his hands fisting in her hair.
“I missed you,” he said when he came up for air, and his sapphire eyes held her, turning her into liquid on the inside.
“I was right here,” she told him, and then words and thoughts left her as his hands found the tender flesh of her breasts through the thin fabric of her t-shirt. She responded to him as he touched and tugged and pulled.
“Do you have a bed yet?”
“Second floor,” she managed to breathe out, as his hands cupped her bottom and he swung her around.
Suddenly, she found her feet leaving the floor as he lifted her up and over his shoulder. In a flash, he was down the attic ladder, and she had a vision of her hall
way swirling before her as he found the right door. They were in the bedroom now, where all she had was her bed, a dresser, and boxes.
Chase had found the master bedroom with ease, the only door on the second floor with light spilling out of it. He nudged the door open with his foot and headed for the bed, just a lumpy futon. He lowered Phoebe onto the comforter and stepped back. She reached for him, but he stepped out of the way, surprising her.
He let his eyes roam over her, from the way her red-gold hair spilled over the pillows, the way he could see her nipples ready for him underneath the thin fabric of her t-shirt, to the way her jean-clad legs seemed to stretch on for miles.
Her blue eyes were bright, alight with desire and her hands reached for him again. He took them, held them, holding and kissing her long, elegant fingers one by one.
“We have no need to rush this time,” he told her.
“I thought you had dinner waiting?” she teased.
“I plan on feasting right now,” he said as his hand circled her belly button and brought on a shiver of pleasure. Chase wanted to take his time with her, and savor every moan, shiver, and bit of pleasure he could give her.
“Last time, it was fun.”
“Fun?” Phoebe sat up, ready to be offended.
“Fun. But I don’t think I got to take my time, really figure out what makes you tick.” His hand brushed in between her thighs, and even through the thick fabric of her jeans, he felt her body respond.
“That works,” Phoebe managed to say, as his hand hooked the waistband of her pants, and he pulled her towards him. She tried to reach for him again, but he moved out of the way.
She sat up and he lifted her shirt off and tossed it on the floor. His hands cupped the lacy fabric of her bra and he brushed his hands over them. Phoebe’s back arched and Chase unhooked her bra, tossing it to the side. Her breasts sprung free and he lowered his mouth to feast on them, feeling her come alive beneath them. Her hands held him close, and he started on the button of her jeans.