Holding my hand, Chase led me up the narrow staircase. Despite our hot and heavy make-out session in the hallway, my stomach churned with apprehension.

Are you really doing this?

A one-night stand.

Throughout my career, I’d seen more walks of shame from hotel rooms, tour buses, and broom closets than anyone should witness in three lifetimes.

But I’d never had one. I was a relationship girl.

My already queasy stomach dropped when I thought about where that had gotten me. All the years I’d wasted with Beckett.

You think too much …

Chase’s earlier statement bounced around in my head. And maybe he was right. Very wise for a guy who lived above a bar.

I glimpsed his ass as we climbed. With a body and a face like his, he could afford to be a free spirit. He didn’t have to spend much time in his loft with a room full of women downstairs who’d give their eye teeth to take him home.

We topped the stairs, and Chase flicked a switch, flooding the space with light. “You hungry?” he asked. “I could call the kitchen and order some appetizers.”

Without waiting for a reply, he let go of my hand, leaving me to gape as I looked around. If I were honest, I expected a dank space with empty cases of liquor and a mattress on the floor. But this was not that. Three white, overstuffed couches in the living area cupped a theater-sized flat screen. A formal dining table with hand carved clawed feet that seated … twelve? My breath hitched when I spotted the alcove lined with bookcases that went up, and up, all the way to the twenty-five-foot ceiling. And in the gourmet kitchen, surrounded by all the gleaming stainless-steel appliances, stood Chase, hands in his pockets, watching me.

“You hungry?” he repeated.

With his features schooled into a mask, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“I … uh … yeah, I guess,” I stammered.

I guess?

I sounded like a teenager. Biting my lip, I twisted the strap on the wallet attached to my wrist.

Chase inhaled a controlled breath and then slid around the island, his boots echoing like thunderclaps off the high ceiling as he closed the gap between us.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, concern painting his features.

Five minutes ago, I was ready to jump Chase in the hallway, but now, I flinched when he took my hand. If he noticed, he didn’t show it, placing a feather light kiss to each of my knuckles.

“Talk to me,” he urged as he laced our fingers and pulled me toward one of the sofas. I sank down next to him, and he slipped my wallet off my wrist and tossed it onto the table. “Now, what’s up?”

“Nothing.” I stared down at our joined hands. His were large. Not rough exactly, but not smooth. Capable. “I’m just …” I gazed around. “This is a really nice place.”

“Thank you.”

A nervous laugh bubbled up. “It’s not what I expected.”

Chase dipped his head, searching for my eyes. “What did you expect?” he asked, a small smile tugging his lips.

God, those lips.

“I don’t know. You’re a bar manager.”

It was his turn to avoid eye contact. Wrapping a strand of my hair around his finger, he examined the curl. “Actually …” He looked at me then, searching my face, “I own the place. The bar and the building.”

I felt my brows rise. “Oh …”

He tugged the wisp of hair coiling his finger, smiling. “You got something against bars?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Bar owners?” he persisted, inching forward. I shook my head, too enthralled by his voice and his eyes to form a verbal response. “Guys with tattoos?”

That startled an honest-to-goodness laugh out of me. “No.”

But then, he knew that. Chase knew everything about me, or at least he could without much effort. A Google search would yield anything from my kindergarten picture to a photo of me cussing out a photographer in the middle of Whole Foods.

I frowned, and Chase tipped my chin with his index finger. “There’s that look. You thinkin’ again, Sweet Taryn?”

My shoulders slumped, and I wondered how he did that—read me so well. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

A victory smile curved his lips, and he moved in slowly. “We can’t have that.”

His hand molded to my waist as he dropped a kiss to my lips. I opened for him, and our tongues tangled and twined. And then I was on my back, against the most comfortable heap of pillows I’d ever felt, with Chase on top of me.

“Fuck, you are sweet,” he rasped as he worked the buttons on my blouse. Not all of them. Just enough to expose my bra.

Chase scored his teeth down my neck to the tender flesh overflowing the sheer, lace cups. And then lower. When his mouth clamped around my nipple, I sunk my fingers into his hair, and he groaned in appreciation.

Heat pooled in my belly, and I rocked against him. “Chase …”

My brows dove together when I heard the echo. It wasn’t my voice though, but definitely female.

Chase heard it too because he cursed and propped up on his palms.

“Bridgette!” he bit out through clenched teeth. “Don’t take another fucking step!”

“Sorry,” he said to me as he pulled me upright and began to fumble with my buttons.

I brushed his hands away, my cheeks on fire. “I got it.”

He pushed to his feet and stomped toward the stairs. Hushed voices drifted up as I smoothed my jeans and tucked in my blouse. If there were another exit, I would’ve used it. When my focus shifted to the floor to ceiling windows, I briefly considered jumping.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Chase reentered the room, and to my horror, a redhead trailed behind.

Oh my God. He’s married.

But the woman didn’t seem angry. She was smiling. At me.

I blinked up at Chase, startled when his hand slid to my nape. “I’m so sorry. I’ve got a thing … downstairs. Can I get a raincheck?”

My gaze shifted back to the smiling redhead. His thing, I assumed. “Of course.”

Before I could bolt, he brushed a feather light kiss to my lips. “So fucking sweet.”

“Boss?” came a small voice, and Red smiled when we both looked her way. “I’m going to go downstairs. I can’t leave Megan in charge of the bar.”

“Yeah, go,” Chase replied, barely able to contain his agitation. “I’ll be there in a few.”

“She works for you?” I asked when we were alone. “She’s not …” Inclining his head, he narrowed his gaze and waited for me to finish. “Your girlfriend?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend, Taryn. I don’t really …” I held my ground while he fumbled for the words to let me down easy. “I’m not good at relationships.”

“Neither am I.”

Sadly, it was true.

A beat of silence followed the awkward admission, and then Chase pulled me close. “One more taste.”

He wasn’t really asking. But it didn’t matter. I gladly reciprocated, opening for him when his lips touched mine. Because I knew what this was. Not quite a brushoff. But a missed opportunity.

My chances of seeing Chase Noble again were slim. So I took the little bit he offered and tucked it away with the other could’ve-beens in my life.

Sitting in my car in the underground parking garage in my building, I frantically searched for my clutch wallet. After one final sweep of the floorboards and the backseat, I came to the inevitable conclusion that I’d left the damn thing in Chase’s loft.

Shit.

I dug my phone from my back pocket, then realized that I didn’t have Chase’s number.

With a frustrated sigh, I headed the three blocks to Nite Owl. Miracle of miracles, I found a parking space out front. Since I still didn’t have any cash, I hoped Seth the bouncer hadn’t gone home for the evening.

To my relief, he was still at his post. When the big bruiser saw me marching up, he was all smiles. “Back so soon?”

Unfortunately.

I gave him a little shrug as I passed.

The bar was packed four-people deep, but I spotted the redhead from the loft a mile away.

Inching between two occupied barstools, I waited to get her attention. Her eyes widened when she saw me.

“Taryn.” She gulped. Visibly.

She was doing that deer in the headlights thing, so I took the opportunity to glance at her name tag.

“Hi, Bridgette.” I smiled, willing her to focus. “I left something in Chase’s loft. I know he’s busy, but can you get him for me? Just for a second.”

Bridgette’s head tilted in a peculiar way, her brows drawn so close together they formed one red slash above her confused green eyes. “Um … I can’t right now. You know … he’s …” She pointed her finger at the ceiling.

I looked up, as if Chase might be hovering above the bar Mission Impossible style. Then I heard it. His smooth voice pouring through the speakers mounted to the rafters.

The fuck?

I swung my gaze to the small stage, and there he was, under a single spotlight, crooning into the microphone. His fingers moved effortlessly across the fretboard as he strummed the worn six string, a perfect marriage between the wood and the flesh. Few people found that balance. Beckett. Paige. A handful of others that everyone knew by name.

And that voice. Mesmerizing. Pitch perfect.

I vaguely registered Bridgette calling my name as I pushed through the crowd, then managed to secure a spot in the shadows at the corner of the stage. Regardless of where I stood, I knew I’d be anonymous. Nothing was visible to Chase beyond the borders of the single spotlight.

The small crowd cheered enthusiastically when he finished his song.

A woman in the audience shouted, “I love you, Chase!” and like someone well accustomed to living in the light of the darkness the stage provided, he smiled in the general direction of the voice, and said, “I love you back, darlin’.”

Applause rose up, and Chase adjusted the strap on his guitar, grinning wider.

“I’ve been working on some new stuff recently. Let’s see what y’all think.”

As he plucked the opening chords to a new song, my focus shifted to the guitar. A Fender Concert Series. The instrument was at least fifteen years old, and as seasoned as the man playing it.

Maybe our chance meeting wasn’t chance at all?

As the truth sank in, I committed each feature of Chase’s face to memory. Even if he offered nothing more than a good time, I wouldn’t see him again.

Back at the bar, I flagged Bridgette down. “Could you do me a favor?” I picked up a pen abandoned next to someone’s credit card receipt and then jotted down the address for Twin Souls on a cocktail napkin. “Can you tell Chase I left my wallet in his loft and have him mail it here?”

She looked down at the napkin, confused. “Sure, but he’ll be finished in like fifteen minutes. If you want to wait, have a drink, I’m sure he wants to see you.”

I’m sure he does too.

My nails dug into my palms as I balled my hands into fists. “No. That’s okay. Just have him mail it. Thanks.”

As I spun to leave, I ran straight into the guy behind me. Cold beer breached the rim of his mug, dousing my shoulder before trickling down the front of what used to be my favorite blouse.

And … it was official; the night couldn’t get any worse.

Mumbling an apology, I headed for the door, leaving Chase’s velvety smooth voice and handsome face in my rearview mirror.