Before filming wrapped, one of the half a dozen assistant producers I’d met earlier came up to me with a bound set of papers. “You’re Chase’s PA?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. Phoebe Fairchild,” I said extending my hand to introduce myself.
“Yeah, okay. Chase needs these for next week. Script has changed, new lines,” I nodded and took the pages that were marked CONFIDENTIAL—CHASE SMYTHE (DETECTIVE YOUNG).
I clipped the thick stack of pages into the clipboard and said, “I’ll make sure he has these and understands they’re for next week,” assuring the producer. He nodded and was off.
After the shoot wrapped around one fifteen in the morning, Chase hopped into his trailer for a shower. It wasn’t until two o’clock when Chase sauntered over to me where I was slouched, half asleep in the chair I’d claimed as mine. His hair had only been towel dried which gave an incredible, ruggedly handsome effect, and he looked supremely chivalrous as he held out a hand. “Sorry that took so long. You look like you could fall asleep right here. Ready to head home?” he asked.
“Home,” I sighed. It sounded so good. For a brief moment, my childhood home in Napa Valley came to mind. But then I remembered Mom wasn’t there anymore, and it was just Dad. Bad Mood Dad, probably. And even though I had only been in New York a couple of weeks, my apartment certainly felt like home. The big queen-sized bed definitely sounded like heaven. I reached up and took Chase’s offered hand, and he gently lifted me.
We walked quietly to the car, the scent of him was soothing—the soap and shampoo from his shower and his skin. No cologne this time, I noted, just fresh, clean Chase. I could even smell the Good & Plenty on his breath.
We reached the car, and with a regal gesture, Chase ushered me in. Once we were both inside the car, I leaned back into the soft leather and closed my eyes, so incredibly tired. I chanced a glance at Chase who was looking at me with his hungry look. I clutched the clipboard hoping it would block the heat coming from him, and protect my heart. Absent mindedly, I started thumbing the papers.
“Oh! The producers have new pages for you,” I said, fumbling with the clipboard, I freed the stack and handed them to Chase. “They’re for Monday.” He nodded and took them.
“Mind?” he asked, pointing at the interior light on his side of the car.
I shook my head and closed my eyes, as Chase opened the pages and started reading.
CHAPTER 16
I must have dozed off because I woke to darkness and Chase holding my hand. I looked at him, his eyes catching the streetlights and throwing back the midnight blue.
“It’s all because of you,” he said after a few moments.
“What’s because of me?” I asked.
“You make me a better person,” he practically whispered. “I’d be nowhere if it weren’t for you.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, groggy and more than a little annoyed. I stretched and breathed in deeply, Eau du Chase filling my senses. This game he was playing was not fair. Especially when he played dirty by looking and smelling so fucking fantastic. I glanced up at the driver and when I noticed that a black glass had been raised between us and him, I was now wide awake. “We’ve only known each other a few days.”
“You give me hope. You give me reason.” He leaned in close, his eyes pinning me to my seat, and in those eyes, I got lost. My awareness was now doubled and I was hopelessly lost. My heart was hearing the words. My heart! How did I give him hope or reason? Did I really make him see the error of his loose ways? Was it my offer to listen to him as a friend? Did I really make him want to be a better person?
To be honest, he didn’t really seem like the kind of man Dana had described, nor the one in the tabloids. He didn’t even really resemble the guy of his Twitter feed. He’d been on time and worked hard the past few days. He wasn’t drinking. When I thought about it, his Twitter feed had actually been quiet from the past days. Usually, there were Tweets and TwitterPics about him out with a new girl, or group of girls, every night. The next night drunker than the night before. Had the years of being with every empty-headed bimbo that came along finally caught up with him? And spending time with a college student, namely me, who was smart and not falling all over him, lead him to see things differently?
“Say you’ll give me a chance. Tell me that you think I’m worthy of a chance,” he whispered, his lips inches from mine, his manly scent and the spicy Good & Plenty breath flooding my senses.
I nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Say it. Please?” he pleaded with a gentle kiss warming my lips.
“I’ll give you a chance. You’re worthy,” I breathed. And with that, I kissed him back, mind and body, savoring the slight licorice taste on his tongue. He was worthy. His arm slid around my waist, pulling me to him. My hands instantly went to his incredible hair, which I noted was now free of hair product. Not that the product had bothered me earlier. It was a mousse and gave texture to his hair, but without, it was insanely soft. My mind recalled his lips working on my neck and suddenly I needed his lips there. I gently tilted my head to the side, and his lips worked their way across my jaw to my neck. He eagerly sucked and nipped at the soft flesh. His hands on my hips flexed before sliding upwards gently grasping my breasts.
I both heard and felt him growl into my neck. His hunger fueled mine, and all rational thought was gone. I pulled his head back up and eagerly sought his lips; feeling like it would be the only way I could breathe. Since that first kiss, I’d been hungry for more. Then his second kiss…Third time is the charm, as they say. I dropped my hands to his strong back. Under my fingers I felt his rippling muscles and mentally mapped what I touched. I’d seen his back in the tabloid and fan magazines. And now I was touching it. His lips were on me. His hands wiggled in between the two of us and I felt him go to work on my buttons. Good idea, I thought. It was getting warm in here.
His swift work at my buttons was impressive, and welcome, because I was overheating. He sat back and looked over my exposed torso, and black lace covered breasts. He bit down on his lower lip, hard, and I thought he might break the skin as his eyes raked over his unwrapped discovery. His eyes traveled slowly down, and back up resting on my eyes. I held my breath fearful of his appraisal. I wasn’t the size zero he was probably used to. “Are you real? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful,” he said breathlessly.
“Find out,” I invited, feeling bold and insanely horny. He lowered himself to my lower tummy, the part I was least happy with on my body, and kissed slowly upward, his fingers simultaneously exploring my waist and sliding upwards. Okay, maybe that part of me wasn’t so bad. When he reached my breasts I was desperate for attention. My breath was rapid and body writhing. His mouth came down over the right side with the lacy black covering, and tongued my nipple, while his hand gently squeezed and sought to pebble my left breast. My past boyfriends were always too eager to remove the bra and this new sensation of attention through the lace was enough to send me to orgasm then and there.
I knew I was moaning and I couldn’t have cared less. I wanted him on me. I pressed my thighs together and felt how soaked I was. Yes, he had certainly wound me up. I didn’t sleep around. I didn’t do one-night stands. I only slept with guys I was in a committed relationship with. Granted, over the past three years, that happened to be four guys already. But I was okay with that. However with Chase, I was desperate for him to finish what he’d started. I knew that Chase wouldn’t be around in a week or two and I’d be soon forgotten, and every logical part of my brain said this was a bad idea, but my body was screaming for something else entirely.
“I bet you’re soaked,” he growled. “You smell incredible.” His mouth worked its way back down to my hips where he nipped gently, sending my hips thrusting off of the seat.
The car stopped and Chase and I both glanced out the window. We were at his hotel.
“Come up,” he begged, looking up at me with wonder and lust in his eyes.
Wh
at was I doing? This wasn’t me. I wasn’t even going to let him kiss me, let alone take off my clothes in the back of a limo. Now he was inviting me upstairs? This was my job. This was Single Summer.
“That’s a really—” I started.
“—terrific idea,” Chase finished, cutting me off. “I know. I’m full of ’em.”
“—bad idea, was what I was going to say,” I said.
“In the back of this car is a bad idea. I agree. But you and me? No. We owe it to ourselves to see what this is,” he said waving a hand between the two of us. “You’ve felt it since that first day. You didn’t fan girl, but if you can look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t feel that crackle in the air when we were near each other… and that kiss in your apartment… You are unlike anyone I’ve ever been with. I promise I won’t—”
“Don’t go making promises you can’t keep, Chase Smythe,” I said cutting him off. “I have a feeling I know exactly what I would be getting into with you if we were to go upstairs to your room right now. And…” I couldn’t finish my sentence. My thought was too bold.
“And?” he asked dragging a finger across my chest.
Moments later I was pressed up against the wall in Chase Smythe’s hotel room. I knew it was a bad idea, but my body didn’t seem to care. He leaned into me with all of his weight…his amazing, strong weight, his body lowered for maximum effect. He knew what he was doing.
He shoved his hands into my pulled-up hair and roughly sought the elastic that held it loosely on top of my head. He eagerly worked it out then fluffed my hair as he did the other day, pulling the waves from being wrapped up around my face.
“Always wear your hair up, okay?” I cocked my head in confusion. He seemed to like my hair down so much and he was telling me to keep it up? “I want to be the only one to see you like this.” Thud. I nodded. I would agree to anything at that moment.
His mouth crashed back onto my mouth and he pressed his hips into mine, his need throbbing at my apex, as his hands pressed on my breasts. Hastily this time, he undid all the buttons again on my shirt, and stepped back after he pushed it over my shoulders. With the dim light from the one lamp that was left on as a part of the turndown service, watching Chase watch me made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world, size twelve or whatever.
Chase delicately palmed the black lace bra covering my girls, and growled.
“Not fair, Chase. You still have your shirt on,” I challenged.
He shot a smug look at me, stepped back, and in an Irish brogue, he said, “Are ya gonna do some’tin about it, girl?”
With a dancers stride, rolling my hips as I walked, I dropped my shirt behind me. I made my way to where he stood, adoring the way he backed up as I advanced. “Are you enjoying being chased, Chase?” I asked.
“Maybe,” he said, his voice gravelly and low. He was as turned on as I was, and the tent in his jeans was further evidence.
When I reached him, I slowly pulled the tails from the waistband. I noted that his fists were balled up at his sides, as he shot me a warning look, almost willing me to move faster. Nope. If I was having a one-night stand with the legendary Chase Smythe, I was going to work this for every smutty second.
His shirt fully released, I went to work on his buttons with the same measured pace. I enjoyed watching his breath quicken, his tongue wetting his full lower lip, and his hooded eyes. I was never a bold one in my past romantic entanglements, aside from Dickwad, but that was because he liked to role-play, his favorite being the bad boy and the teacher fantasy. It wasn’t very exciting because he could never stay in character and the tables were always quickly turned and he was in control two minutes after we started and it was over. I could see that not only was Chase enjoying that I took control, but he was willing to let me hold the reigns for as long as I wanted, and he wanted this to take as long as I did.
Completing the task of the buttons on his shirt, I slid it over his shoulders, and let it drop to the floor. I stepped back and admired the form in front of me. As a dancer, I was often around half naked men in the dance troupe. No matter that many were gay; a fine body was a fine body. But Chase’s body was more than a dancer’s body. His muscle was bulkier and harder. His pecs were, well, fantastic, with that nice blonde sprinkling of curly chest hairs. I reached out and ran my fingers through those hairs. I delighted in the trembling I felt from Chase as I gently explored. Slowly, I lowered my hands to his incredible six-pack abs, exquisitely accentuated with a drool worthy V pointing to the treasure in his jeans. As my fingers ran over his abs he whimpered. He actually whimpered.
“The man with the gift for gab can’t speak?” I teased.
“You’re killing me, Phoebe,” he said, his voice thick with need. And as I glanced lower, I saw just how thick. “My turn?” he asked his eyes raking over my jeans.
I flourished my hands downward over my body. “Be my guest,” I said, biting my lower lip, hoping that he was going to throw me on the bed that must be somewhere in this suite, and fuck me silly. I was shocked when he fell to his knees in front of me. He leaned forward and slowly flicked his tongue just below my belly button. The cool trail left behind fanned the flames.
His hands came up to my waistband and slowly unhooked the button, then, even more slowly, pulled the zipper down. When he saw that my black lace panties matched my bra, he shot me a look. A look that I hoped meant we’re-gonna-fuck-hard-and-fast. But when I saw him swallow, I knew I was in trouble.
He slid his hands into my pants at my hips and he moaned as he lowered my jeans. Dropping his nose to my surely soaked girly parts, he inhaled as he nuzzled. My legs almost gave out as he groaned, and I placed my hands on his head, gripping his hair to steady myself.
“Good lawd,” he whispered. It was in a southern accent. Not a character I recognized from him. But character placement left my mind when his hand came around from behind pulling my pantied pink parts to his mouth. His tongue ran over the lace protecting my swollen clit and I saw stars. I literally trembled, and I was sure I would have fallen over if his strong arms weren’t supporting me from behind and my hands weren’t clenched in his hair.
“Chase, please,” I begged.
“Please what?” he said, continuing with his southern drawl.
“I need to lay down or I just might pass out,” I said trying my best for southern belle. If he wanted to do southern, I was in.
He quickly rose, sweeping me up, cradling me against his iron chest, and whisked me to what I presumed was the bedroom of the suite. As we made our way, I toed and kicked off my boots and jeans that were hanging on my knees. He stopped at the doorway for a second to hit the light switch with his elbow giving me a glimpse at the room with a giant king-sized bed outfitted with black sheets—as per his rider, I smirked to myself.
I was in this for the challenge. But now I was a dead man. I was about to take this incredible woman to my bed, and I was… scared? I’d slept with a lot of girls and women. Sometimes at the same time. It always felt good and I made sure they were satisfied, but with Phoebe…I wanted this to be so much more. And now I was starting to freak out.
The connection we shared in the Town Car when my Uncle Brock called…when she simply took my hand, and didn’t ask questions or push. She was just ‘there’ for me. I’ve never had someone really reach out like that, emotionally or physically—other than my family members. But this wasn’t like family. It was friendship. Supportive friendship. Phoebe was a fantastic balance of confidence and innocence, of gentle and firm. She had a pure heart. When she took hold of my hand, I never wanted to let go. And now, I didn’t want to just have sex with her and leave her satisfied, I wanted her to fall for me, as much as I was falling for her. Was it love? I couldn’t tell. I’d never been in love before. I didn’t even really believe in love, to be honest. Not because I didn’t believe it existed. My mom and dad loved each other, but he died. That love didn’t last. Her second marriage ended badly. She loved him, but he didn’t love her enou
gh. It didn’t last. I was certain a love for me wouldn’t last either. And I was surrounded by so much falseness I couldn’t even tell anymore what love would be like. Sad, for a man of twenty-four, but being in the public eye for most of my life, I didn’t have much that was real. But what I had here in my arms, right now…this was real. What we felt for each other was undeniable and very. Real.
I was so screwed. I didn’t have a script and I was feeling out of control. I could only hope I wouldn’t fuck this up.
CHAPTER 17
As he held me against his chest, cradled in his strong arms, and my arms around his neck, I rested my head on his shoulder and inhaled his delicious, spicy, soapy, Chase scent. I could hear heartbeats. Beats. Not just my own, but I could hear his, too. Was he as thrilled and scared as I was? Impossible. He was Chase Smythe. The man who had a Midas touch with everything he was involved with. The TV shows, the movies, and even the charities. Maybe he thought he was making a mistake and that scared him. Maybe this was all a mistake. Well, no maybe about it, but it was too late now. It was as if we were both in an uncontrollable attraction. A magnetic force that was inseparable. Stronger than the 45 tesla hybrid magnet, that I’d learned about in physics class. No…not magnetism. That wasn’t strong enough to explain what was happening to us. This was atomic fusion. Our electrons fusing to each other’s atomic structure.
I looked up to find his eyes looking down on me, his blues so intense right now that they almost looked black. The hotel was spinning, or my blood sugar was low. I was lost in those eyes. I was lost in him.
Chasing the Dream: Dream Series, Book 3 Page 12