by Melinda Hale
Dean ran a hand through his hair, the motion igniting her need to run her own fingers through it.
“I take it you don’t want to go to the sleep out?” he teased.
Chelsea stared impassively at him. After seeing the decadent room, she didn’t want to turn it down. And with the charming grin on Dean’s face, she knew he’d wanted her to take it. Seems like he’s the type to always get his way.
She swallowed heavily and raised her head. “I changed my mind.”
“Nice to see that you’re observant though,” he added. “There’s no furniture in there, it’s a mess right now, so that room is your only option.”
Chelsea smiled, attempting to act nonchalant. “I’m okay with the room. This house is really nice. Spring Lake seems like a haven.”
Dean nodded, and gestured for her to take a seat in the living room. Chelsea lowered her gaze. Hopefully she’d given the impression that she didn’t want the room, but settled for it. It was her own way of standing up to him, to show that she wouldn’t be affected by his charm even as she helplessly fell into desire.
Chelsea stepped past him and strode over to the couch. It was so tempting to look back at Dean, to lower her gaze to his broad chest. She sat down on the couch which didn’t have her bags. Her heart was racing. A clock ticked loudly from above the fireplace, and she glanced idly around the room before she settled on Dean. He was standing near the door, regarding her with amusement.
Chelsea turned away.
“It’s why I come here,” he said. “Sometimes the city life gets too much for me.”
Chelsea felt him move behind her and flinched, imagining him reaching out to run a hand through her hair, and caress her skin. All of her nerves were on end as he passed her to lean against the doorjamb at the kitchen.
She’d thought the sexual tension was bad enough at the bank – now it had doubled in intensity. Being alone with Dean in his grand house only encouraged her fantasies. After all, he was a millionaire, this was professional. She wouldn’t end up in bed with him.
He made her feel alive. Chelsea couldn’t deny that her sex drive was on overdrive around Dean.
“I, uh, tend to live here more than my place in New York,” he admitted. His comment surprised her. As a playboy millionaire with an avid presence in the media, he preferred to live in quietly wealthy Spring Lake, alone in his house.
“Would’ve thought you loved the nightlife.”
He looked at her warily. “That’s what the media portray me as. But you’ll find I’m much more than that.”
Chelsea smiled. “Oh, we’ll see.”
A chill went through the room and she shivered, clasping her pink tipped fingers together. Dean glanced at her. For a moment she wondered if he would approach her, offering to warm her up. His stare lingered on her, almost intimately.
“I know our arrangement must be slightly…awkward for you,” Dean remarked. “I want you to enjoy your stay here. If there’s anything you need, ask me.”
You. Chelsea immediately thought. How could she keep hiding it? If she continued to deny her feelings, she couldn’t relax. Dean was sexy. It was purely lust.
But she wouldn’t give into it.
“It’d be nice to get to know you better,” Dean added. “I know you want your privacy, as I do. Dinner will be ready at six. Hope you aren’t vegetarian?”
Chelsea smiled. “Not at all. Haven’t had meat in months. My ex-husband, Ryan, was a vegetarian, so I cut it off the grocery list. There’s nothing wrong with organic vegetarian luncheon or mince. But I missed a good steak.”
And with those words, she knew what she truly missed. The way her life was before all the financial troubles that plagued her marriage. Money. Freedom. The security in having a man by her side.
Dean nodded understandably, but his eyes flickered with what seemed like jealousy – or wariness. About her.
“Was he always like that?”
“No,” Chelsea replied, wondering if she should elaborate. When she met Dean’s gaze as he leaned against the doorjamb, she recognized the hesitant curiosity on his face. She felt a deep fluttering in her stomach. He’s interested in me.
“He watched a documentary about animals, and swore off meat,” she continued. “I complied of course. I did everything I could to make him happy.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you.”
She shrugged, feeling ambivalent towards the memories. “He wasn’t the one for me.”
Dean absentmindedly licked his lips, the motion drawing her gaze to his mouth. Chelsea tried not to stare, and quickly looked away. Her pulse was racing, her body tense from the constant need to kiss him.
“Sorry, I’ve forgotten my manners,” he announced. “Would you like a drink? I’ll get the fire going.”
Chelsea looked at him gratefully. Obviously he wasn’t used to having a woman live with him. Has he ever been in a relationship?
“Of course.”
“Coffee, tea? Soda?”
The only coffee she enjoyed was from Starbucks, and there was no hope of getting one here. One sacrifice she didn’t mind. Change was inevitable, after all. She accepted that the moment she got into the van with Matt.
“Just water, thank you.”
Dean’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before he stepped out of view into the kitchen. Chelsea let out a breath, not realizing how tense she had been. She heard him moving around in the kitchen, singing softly to himself.
She expected him to act superior as he had when they first met. Chelsea wondered if Dean enjoyed her company. They were getting along, but good things didn’t last.
Then he emerged, carrying a glass of water for her. As she reached for it, she felt Dean’s rough, warm fingers underneath hers. Her lips immediately parted. Dean released his hold and stepped back, his brows creasing his face.
The glass felt cool in her hand, but her thirst had faded. His touch made her think of nothing but him. Yet she couldn’t understand the way he’d jerked his hand back as if she’d hurt him. Chelsea hastily looked up at him, confused by his reaction. Did he hate being around her? Or was he tormented by the same desire coursing through her body?
“I’ll be in the kitchen,” he said, before leaving her alone with the unlit fireplace.
Chelsea stared after him in stunned silence. This was how he was going handle a moment’s touch? She already felt tense around him and this wasn’t helping. Life with Ryan had been tense and she didn’t want to go through that again. Chelsea got to her feet, intent on talking to him.
Dean needed space. His attraction to Chelsea was getting in the way of his goal, and only reminded him not to get involved with women. As he leaned against the kitchen counter, looking at the two door refrigerator, he reminded himself that he only needed her to showcase he was in a long term relationship. Once the media backed off, he would have no need to worry, and Chelsea would be on her way.
And he decided it was time to upgrade to another refrigerator.
Dean heard her rise up from the couch, and reflexively looked towards the living room. Chelsea was walking towards him, her eyes troubled.
“If I’m making you uncomfortable…”
Dean looked at her, hoping she wouldn’t move any closer. The coat fitting tightly to her body accentuated her slim figure, and he could see the round shape of her breasts. Hell, he didn’t feel uncomfortable, but increasingly turned on. If she came closer, he wouldn’t be able to resist taking her into his arms.
He cleared his throat. “I’m just letting you have your privacy, as you requested. I’m not one for small talk.”
Her wide, curious eyes were locked onto him and he could feel himself hardening as he imagined kissing her. Damn. Chelsea Levin knew how to get to him in a subtle way, unlike the women who blatantly showed their attraction to him.
“I don’t want to sound harsh,” she said softly. “I really am grateful.”
“Glad to hear it.”
She looked stunned by hi
s dismissive response, and narrowed her eyes at him. He didn’t look at her directly, but his desire got the better of him. Dean never needed to resist how he felt, until now. Hell, I have to get this over with.
Dean straightened and closed the distance between them, lowering his face to hers.
He heard her gentle breath as her lips parted. Chelsea’s eyes held their gaze on his, and she didn’t step away. Feeling her body so close to his threatened to overwhelm him with need. His heart was pounding, and desire stirred in his loins, threatening to reveal his attraction to her.
In that moment, Dean knew she wanted him to take her. A stark moment of clarity. Chelsea did want him. Her indifferent display earlier had been a façade.
But as much as he wanted to have her, he couldn’t.
“I need to start getting dinner ready,” he said, his voice husky.
If she’d noticed the arousal in his voice, Chelsea didn’t show it. The gleam in her eyes faded as she stepped away from him. The distance between them cleared his mind, but didn’t stop the raging need for her.
“I imagine that’ll be a hard task for you,” she retorted, before pivoting away from him and leaving.
Chelsea carried her bags to her room and dumped them next to the bed, closing the door behind her. Dean was infuriating, she couldn’t understand him. A swirl of desire tightened her stomach as she recalled the moment he stepped close to her, his face inches from hers.
Watching his firm chest rising and falling nearly made her whimper, longing to feel his touch. Of course, she felt crazy for imaging that. Dean made no move to kiss her, and dismissed her without a hint of interest.
“Arrogant millionaire,” she muttered to herself. Dean noticed her attraction from the start, and was using it to boost his ego. Men like him were infuriating, but luckily she’d met his type enough to know how to act. Her one mistake by showing she wanted him would be easily forgotten.
That is, if Dean could push something like that aside.
Anger tightened its hold on Chelsea. It was directed at herself more than him, for letting Dean affect her.
Had he noticed how she tilted her head towards him in anticipation of a kiss? It was a moment of desperate need, and excitement that Dean made the first move. It meant nothing. She didn’t feel convinced. Her stomach felt heavy. It was a mistake. All a man like him wanted was sex. But what troubled her was the fact she wouldn’t be able to resist if he offered.
As time passed, Chelsea felt her anger lessen. Expecting Dean to kiss her had been foolish, but her attraction to him outweighed any reason. She wouldn’t let it happen again. Remembering Andrea, she considered calling her but there was a knock on the door. Dean.
“Dinner’s getting cold,” he called out to her, his voice gentle. “Can I come in?”
“No.”
The door opened and he stood there, his eyes glimmering with concern. Chelsea stared in surprise, but pressed her lips together firmly. Dean’s money and status brought him whatever he wanted, and she could understand that he’d lost his manners over the years. That didn’t mean she would fall for his playboy ways.
And there wouldn’t be a repeat of the near kiss in the kitchen.
“I don’t want you to think badly about me -”
“Too late for that,” she retorted.
Dean grimaced. “Look, about what happened earlier, I’m not used to having a woman living with me. If you aren’t happy, I can send you to a hotel to stay, free of charge.”
Chelsea observed his chiseled face with a hint of stubble. Looking into his green eyes, she realized he was trying to make it up to her. In some way, this was his apology. She smiled. A simple sorry would have worked, but now she was starting to see Dean from a different perspective.
He was vulnerable in his own way, just as she was.
“I understand,” she said. “See you downstairs.”
Dean stood there for a moment, looking dejected before closing the door. Chelsea lowered her gaze, sighing deeply. She hadn’t expected him to apologize, and for that she respected him. Perhaps he wasn’t the type she assumed he was.
When Chelsea made her way downstairs, she’d changed into a red tank top and loose black pants. As she descended, she felt Dean’s eyes on her, and looked towards the living room to see him waiting expectantly.
Chelsea smiled as she closed the distance between them, noticing that he glanced at her chest. A typical male reaction, she thought. Yet it filled her with a tingling desire knowing that he found her attractive.
The fire was roaring behind him, sending a comforting orange glow across the room. The warmth touched her skin and she watched as Dean motioned towards the dinner plates he’d set on the table between the couches.
“Figured we could eat near the warmth of the fire.”
Chelsea nodded as she sat opposite him. “Sounds good.”
There was a brief silence as they began eating.
“So, where’re you from?” he asked.
“Born and raised in Newark. Not much of a story there.”
“I’m from Brooklyn. My parents moved here a few years before the accident.”
She nodded, scooping food into her mouth. The roasted meat was incredibly juicy and tender. “Do you have any siblings?”
When he didn’t answer, she began to wonder if Dean heard her over the crackle of the flames.
“I have a younger brother. Jake.”
“Does he live in Spring Lake?”
Dean lowered his gaze. “No, he’s in New York, occasionally takes business trips over to Canada.”
Chelsea bit her lip, noticing how he seemed hesitant to talk about him. “I don’t have any siblings.”
“Lucky you,” he joked. He shoveled a large amount of food into his mouth. Chelsea noticed how he ate quickly, before she was halfway through her meal, Dean had already finished.
“This is nice,” she commented. “Did you cook it?”
“I taught myself. I don’t want to depend on anyone. It’s how I was raised. My father always said people are selfish, too hard to trust.”
“Sounds like he had trust issues.”
“You could say that. I don’t know if he was truly happy with my mom.” Pain briefly clouded his eyes. Dean cleared his throat. “I figured just because money makes things easy, doesn’t mean I’m letting go of my independence.”
Chelsea quirked an eyebrow. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Neither are you,” Dean retorted. “You’re…”
His voice trailed off and Chelsea looked into his eyes, feeling her cheeks warm under his gaze. He was staring at her intensely. Is he thinking about kissing me? When Dean leaned forward, she was drawn to him, recalling how they almost kissed.
“Why do you really want me here?” she breathed, trying not to succumb to the temptation to kiss him.
“To help you.”
She smirked. “There has to be more to it than that. You’re a millionaire. You wouldn’t give money to a homeless person.”
Dean flinched and leaned back from her. She held her gaze, knowing he wouldn’t be offended. Her words were nothing compared to what the media would’ve said about him.
“My motives are my own. This is a personal arrangement. Something made you accept my offer.”
She frowned. “Because I had no other choice!”
“Is that so? Or is it because you want me?”
Chelsea scoffed, stunned by his arrogance. “Like I would! Haven’t you noticed I’m not throwing myself at you? I’m not begging for you to take me. You’re just a…playboy millionaire!”
Dean grinned, raising an eyebrow at her. “And you like that.”
“I don’t.”
He stood up from the couch, suddenly leaning over her. His arms were raised on either side of her, his hands resting against the couch. With her body enclosed within his, Chelsea pushed her dinner aside. She stared up at Dean, feeling a sudden heat of desire and frustration. He knew she wanted him. This was his way of pl
aying with her. As much as she hated it, she didn’t want him to stop.
Her heart was racing as his breath touched her skin. Dean lowered his mouth, slowly, hovering above hers. Chelsea could see the glimmer in his eyes, his skin tinged orange from the flames. His lips lowered, inches away from a kiss.
Fear froze her against the couch.
I’m afraid to give into him.
“I-I don’t want you,” she breathed, struggling to compose herself. Her gaze lowered to Dean’s chest, where she could faintly see the outline of his muscles through the shirt. Before she could look any further, his mouth was suddenly on hers in a rush of heated passion.
Chelsea cried out against his lips, but made no move to push him away. Her mind was still. All she could feel was his firm lips on hers and the flicker of his tongue as he gently ran it across her pouted flesh.
Her body burned for him. An intense tightness claimed her below, weakening her resolve. Chelsea fell back against the couch, tasting Dean passionately, their lips meeting again and again in a wild, desperate need for each other.
His rough, warm hand slid underneath her top. A delicate shiver danced across her skin. Dean moved his hand, every inch of his touch heating her. His lips pressed harder against hers, overwhelming her. He tantalizingly began to caress the small of her back. Chelsea reached for his chest, longing to feel him. I need you, Dean Westley, she thought fervently. I need you inside…
He tore away from her, breathing heavily. Chelsea stared in disbelief, her hand reaching up to her lips where he had kissed her so desperately. It was over.
Dean swallowed and leaned away from her. His eyes still glimmered with desire, but there was something unreadable on his expression. Then he stepped back and moved away from the couch, leaving her breathless with her legs wide open.
“You didn’t stop me,” he pointed out, his voice husky and sensual.
Chelsea quickly closed her legs. She gaped at him, struggling to form thoughts again. How could one kiss leave her breathless and desperate?