by J. Lynn
“Or what?”
She bit down on her lip. “Or Madison could lose the funding after third quarter next year.”
“Really? Shit.” He took the curve up ahead and immediately had to brake as there was a line of people turning into the parking garage serving the theatre. “How much money do you guys have to raise?”
“A lot?” she said, letting out a little laugh. “We needed to hit close to five mil and we’re about a million short.”
“Whoa—that’s a lot, but you guys probably have some donors with deep pockets, right?”
“We do, but we’ve maxed most of them out. So we’re shooting for a Hail Mary with this.”
They’d finally slid into a parking space and Chad killed the engine, facing her. “What happens if you guys lose your funding?”
Bridget unbuckled herself when it was evident Chad trusted her to do that all by herself. “There’ll be a lot of cutbacks. Madison will be fine.”
His dark brows furrowed. “I know Maddie will be fine. If she lost her job due to cutbacks, she has Chase. What about you?”
She reached for the door. “They’d probably get rid of my position. I’d either be sucked into another department, or I’ll be let go.”
“What?”
“Yeah, look, this is really kind of a sucky conversation. I’m sure everything’s going to be fine and we’re going to be late to the movie.” Bridget forced a smile she really wasn’t feeling. If Chad thought the fact that she could lose her job was terrible, then he’d probably be horrified by how much in debt she was. “And you’re adoring public is awaiting you.”
Tension pulled at the corners of his lips, but he nodded. She met him around the side of his car, and he took her hand like she expected. For a moment, they both stood there and stared at each other.
The lopsided grin appeared once more. “You do look very nice tonight.”
Her lips pursed. “Just jeans and a sweater—nothing amazing.”
“They look good on you.”
Feeling her cheeks heat, she looked away. The simple compliment that was probably meant to put her at ease shouldn’t have gotten her heart racing, but it did. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” she said.
“Damn. There goes my master plan to get you in bed just by saying you look nice.”
She cracked a grin.
“Come on,” he said, tugging her toward the entrance. Just as they reached the double doors, yellow light spilled from inside the building onto the dark sidewalk. His cell phone went off. Reaching into his front pocket with his free hand, he pulled it out and snorted.
“What?” she asked, nervous about heading into the crowded lobby.
Chad laughed. “It’s from Miss Gore.”
“Goody.”
Shaking his head, he slipped his phone back in his pocket. “She wanted to make sure I was holding your hand.”
Bridget laughed. “Aw, she’s like your mommy giving you pointers.”
After opening the door for them, he arched a brow at her as he led her in, and she laughed. A smile formed on his lips in response. As soon as he turned, facing those in line for buying tickets, the double takes started. It was almost comical—one head turning right after the other.
The purchase of tickets was rather uneventful, but as they waited in line to buy popcorn and drinks, because God help them if they let Miss Gore down, the whispers rose like a wave and the stares grew pointed.
Bridget shifted her weight from one foot to the next and kept her gaze leveled on the glass counter ahead. The tips of her ears felt hot.
“Large popcorn with extra butter and salt and…” Chase paused. “A cherry soda, right?”
“Perfect.”
“Make that two cherry sodas, then.”
As they waited, Chase let go of her hand and slipped his arm around her shoulders. Turning so that his body blocked most of hers, he bent his head and whispered, “They’ll get bored with us soon enough.”
Grateful he was blocking most of the stare-mongers and even a few who were snapping pics on their phones, she turned her face toward his chest. God, he smelled great. Spice and pure male.
Once they got their popcorn and headed toward some action movie, they were stopped for an autograph. Chad handled it gracefully and then there was another autograph. She thought they might get mobbed inside the room but was shocked to discover that hardly anyone was at the showing.
Chad stopped at the back row, letting her squeeze past him. She picked a seat in the middle and sat, helping him with the sodas.
The previews—her favorite part of going to the movies—started seconds later, but as soon as the movie started and stuff was blowing up left and right, her attention wandered…right to the man sitting beside her.
He was watching the movie—at least that’s what it looked like to her. In the shadowy theatre, his profile was starkly defined, really a work of art. There was no wonder he was voted sexiest man alive.
Tight coils sprung in her belly as her gaze drifted over his cheekbones and lips. His shoulders were wide—
“You’re staring at me,” he said gruffly.
“No. I’m not.” She popped a kernel into her mouth. “Your imagination.”
He cast a sidelong glance her way. “Terrible liar.”
“You’re not watching the movie, either,” she pointed out and snuck another handful of popcorn.
His lips curled up on one corner as he leaned over so his arm was pressed against hers. Lowering his head to her ear, he moved the popcorn to her lap. “Well, there is something more interesting going on.”
Bridget turned to him and gasped when her lips brushed his chin. Neither of them moved for a few seconds, and then his lips were on hers. No other warning. The kiss was long and deep.
“You taste like butter,” he groaned against her lips, and she flushed. “I like it.”
She placed a hand on his chest, to push him away or pull him forward she wasn’t sure, but then he kissed her once more. Her body—her entire being—was so caught up in the way his lips tasted her and how his hand gripped her shoulder, his fingers flexing like he wanted to move them elsewhere but didn’t, and damn if she didn’t want to arch her back, showing him just exactly where she wanted him to touch her.
This was insane.
When he pulled back, his eyes searched her face for something.
“We shouldn’t be doing that kind of stuff,” she whispered, dazed. “No one is looking…”
His eyes were latched onto hers. “I know, but I wanted to and I pretty much do what I want.” Smiling, he turned back to the screen. Someone was chasing someone. “This is a damn good movie.”
“Yeah,” she breathed unsteadily. “It’s a very good movie.”
But what was going to happen when the movie ended… Bridget shivered, seriously doubting her self-control for the umpteenth time that night.
Chapter Fourteen
Saturday night was supposed to be like a slumber party. Not that Chad had ever had a slumber party in his entire life, since the last time he checked in his pants he was a dude. But that’s what Miss Gore said tonight would be like.
They did a late dinner at Tony’s and Tony’s, an Italian-style restaurant Bridget had been convinced was run by the mob. That made Chad laugh before he’d accused her of her Irish blood showing through.
The dinner was good. After a little while, Bridget relaxed and she seemed to be handling the attention a bit better, but every time someone would approach their table, she would grow very still or dip her chin forward, using her hair to shield her face.
He couldn’t figure that out. Bridget was a total babe. Guys were checking her out when they came in the restaurant. One guy was staring at her like she was the finest piece of steak, and that hadn’t made Chad all happy, happy, joy, joy, either.
Which was really strange, he realized as he took care of the check. Normally, he didn’t give two shits about guys checking out his dates.
“Thanks,” he said, ha
nding over the signed check to the waiter. “You ready?”
Bridget picked up her clutch and stood, and hot damn, he wasn’t a big fan of the turtleneck thing she had going on, but he loved how the skirt clung to her legs, and those peekaboo-fuck-me heels were all right in his book, too.
They were going back to his place.
Bridget was going to stay the night.
Tonight was going to be a very, very long night.
“Do you think people are waiting outside?” she asked as they neared the front door.
“Ah…” He stretched up to see beyond some dumbass bronze wall. A light snow fell outside, blanketing the sidewalk. Waiting on the curb were two men huddled down in their jackets, cigarettes in hand and cameras around their necks. Speaking of jackets…
Chad looked down at Bridget and frowned. “Where is your jacket?”
She shrugged. “I don’t like them.”
“It’s snowing outside.”
“Is it?” Her eyes popped wide as she craned her neck. Glee lit up her face. “Oh! It is! I love the snow.”
But not Christmas, apparently, he thought. “You should be wearing a jacket.”
“You’re not,” she pointed out as he led her around the bronze wall and past a group of businessmen who looked like they were seconds away from pouncing on Chad.
“I’m a guy.”
Her answering huff brought a grin to his face. Outside, he pulled her under his arm and tucked her close while the valet got the car. Of course it was just because of the snow and she had to be cold and there were the picture people, snapping away, and no other reason than that. Excuses. Excuses.
“Hey, Chad!” one of the photographers called out.
He turned at the waist, recognizing the young guy who usually covered the games. “What’s up, Morgan? You’re a little far from the stadium, aren’t you?”
Morgan grinned as he swaggered closer, his gaze moving to Bridget and then darting back to Chad, but not fast enough that Chad missed it. “Nothing’s going on tonight, so they got me stalking you.”
“Made your life, didn’t it?” Chad could practically hear Bridget’s eyes roll.
“You’re a big deal.” Morgan glanced at Bridget again. Snow dotted her hair and cheeks like a transparent veil. Morgan extended his hand to her. “I’m Morgan—Chad’s favorite photographer.”
Bridget smiled and shook his hand. “I didn’t know he had favorites.”
“He’s just shy about his affections, especially when it comes to talking about you. Everyone is dying to get your name.”
She glanced up at Chad and then took a deep breath. “Bridget Rodgers. Pleasure to meet Chad’s favorite stalker.”
Morgan laughed, and Chad knew Morgan was filing that name away by the look of eagerness on the photo-hag’s face. Luckily, before more questions could be asked, the valet showed up and Chad got Bridget in the Jeep. He blasted the heat as she ran her hands through her hair and back from her face as she smoothed the tiny snowflakes out of her hair. The motion arched her back, thrusting her chest out. The front of her sweater stretched, and it was a damn good thing he wasn’t driving yet because he was like a sixteen-year-old-boy and—
“There’s no turning back now,” Bridget said, lowering her arms. She looked at him. “Right?”
Chad dragged his gaze to her face. Yeah, there was no turning back.
“Now that they know my name?” she added, brows arched. “There’s no turning back.”
Oh. Yeah. Right. She wasn’t talking about her and him, heading back to his place. Chad nodded. “No. There’s probably no turning back.”
As he pulled into traffic, Bridget twisted in her seat. They went about a block and her brows furrowed as she faced the front. “Are we being followed?”
His gaze flicked to the rearview mirror. A dark Suburban that had been parked along the curb at Tony’s and Tony’s was right behind them. “It’s not Morgan. Probably the guy who was outside with him.”
“Man, Miss Gore really knows her stuff.“
It was why Bridget was staying the night and would be for at least three more weekends. “If they can get pictures of you going into my place and leaving in the morning, then it’s the real deal.”
Distaste pulled at her full lips. “Are you okay with this?”
“Hmm?”
“Okay with people following you around all the time? Knowing when you have people staying over and stuff like that?” she elaborated. “You have an army of stalkers.”
“I don’t know. Warmed up?” When she nodded, he hit the down arrow on the thermostat. “I really don’t think about it.”
She appeared to consider that. “Because you’re used to it?”
Chad nodded. “I guess you can say that.”
“Well, you’ve been playing ball since you were twenty, right? That’s ten years of this, so I guess you would be.” She paused, and he was surprised that she knew when he’d started playing ball. Had to be Maddie. “Still seems like a total violation of privacy.”
“Comes along with the job, though.”
Bridget didn’t respond to that and a companionable silence lasted until he pulled into the parking garage. They swung by her car to grab her overnight bag. Of course, the thing was the size of a small van and featured a kaleidoscope of colors.
“Bag?” he asked, offering his hand.
“Why?”
He smiled. “Trying out the gentleman thing and was going to carry it for you.”
“There’re no cameras around.” Then she lowered her voice. “Are there? Oh my God, are they inside?”
“Just give me the bag.”
Bridget handed it over, and he steered them toward the door. “No one is inside. The security won’t let them into the garage or the doors downstairs.”
She followed him into his building and down the empty hall. Once inside his toasty apartment, he dropped his keys on the counter and then dug out his cell, leaving it there.
“Which guest bedroom do you want?” he asked. “There’s one downstairs, but the bathroom is out in the hall. The two upstairs have their—”
“I remember,” she said, eyeing the stairs. “I’ll take the bedroom downstairs.”
“Suit yourself.” He carried her bag over to the door under the stairs and nudged it open with his hip. The room was really bare. Just a bedside table, a bed with two pillows and a thin cover, and a small TV mounted to the wall.
“I like the walls,” she said, following him in.
Chad smiled to himself. It was the only thing with color—red walls. “I’ll get you a heavier blanket. I turn the heat down at night,” he offered as an explanation. He put the bag on the bed and shoved his hands into his jeans. “You can also order any movies you want.”
She looked around, her gaze dropping to the hardwood floors. “Is this what you do when you normally bring women back to your place?”
Hell no. Usually he took them straight to one of the guest rooms—never his—or they didn’t even make it that far. Bridget had been the first woman he’d taken to his bedroom, and he hadn’t even realized that until now.
“No, Bridget, this isn’t what I normally do. You should remember what I normally do.”
She let out a soft, low laugh that had his stomach muscles clenching. “This is so awkward.”
Chad stared at her a moment, his gaze soaking up the deep red of her hair, the delicate arches of her cheekbones, and the lush swell of her breasts. He forced himself to look away before he took her to the floor and buried himself in her so deeply that he wouldn’t know where he ended and she began. “Want a drink?”
“Yeah, that would be great.”
They went back into the kitchen, and he opened the cabinet where he stored the drinks. “Your choice.”
Bridget peered over his shoulder. “I better stick with wine. Something sweet, if you have it.”
He found some bubbly champagne that Maddie had given him but he’d never drunk. While he poured her a glass and g
ot a little scotch out for himself, he watched her wander aimlessly through the kitchen and into the living room once she had her drink.
Chad took a few moments in the kitchen to himself. Closing his eyes, he swore under his breath. All night he’d been fighting the urge to crush his mouth and his body to hers. He strolled into the living room and checked out the window. A wry grin pulled at his lips. “We’ve got company.”
She came to his side, and he inhaled her jasmine scent. “Is that the Suburban that was following us?”
“Yep.”
“And he’s going to sit out there all night?”
“Yep.”
She backed away from the window, eyes narrowed as she took a sip of her champagne. “You’ve been through this a lot, haven’t you? With other women you were…well, you weren’t pretending with?”
Chad turned from the window. “Not to sound repetitive, but yep.”
Sitting down on the leather couch, she kicked off her heels and tucked her feet under her. A weird feeling occurred in his chest, followed by the even more bizarre thought that she looked good sitting there on his couch. Like that made any fucking sense.
A couple of moments passed and then she asked, “Do you really think this is going to work?”
Walking over to Bridget, he sat on the ottoman in front of her. “I don’t know.” He shrugged, taking a drink. “Miss Gore seems to know her shit. I haven’t gotten any angry calls from my manager in a few days.”
A small smile appeared. “But what about afterward? It’s really going to be…”
“Me changing my ways?” he supplied, and then he laughed. “Yeah, I have to cut back on the partying.”
Bridget watched him through those soulful green eyes. “And the women?”
“The women aren’t as many as people think they are.”
“Uh huh,” she murmured. “Can I ask you a question?”
Leaning forward, he nodded. “Shoot.”
“If you know that you have these photographers following you around and people are constantly snapping photos of you while you’re out, why do you do the things you do? You have to know it’s going to be all over the papers.”
The glass dangled from his fingertips. “And should I live my life differently because of that? Is that fair?”