Inside my head, I’m sputtering for a response to Chase’s outrageous claim that I would help him paint a wall. I manage to keep my face set in stone, but I’m sure that my eyes reflect my astonishment.
“I don’t paint, Mr. Monroe.”
It’s meant to be a kind of dig and put some distance between us, but amusement flashes in his eyes. Those sexy as hell, molten chocolate, panty-melting, shiver-inducing eyes.
Get it together, girl!
Ten years of abstinence and in a matter of days, it goes out the window?
Pathetic.
I stifle a sigh at my turbulent emotions—and physical reactions—and glare at Chase. He winks at me. Ugh—damn sexy, fucking wink. Is there anything about this guy that doesn’t scream naked bodies and twisted sheets?
“Dr. Monroe.” Obviously seeing the confusion on my face, he continues, “It’s Dr. Monroe. Feel free to call me that in the bedroom. Otherwise, it’s Chase, babe.”
This time I can’t keep from stammering out loud, fighting off the heat that nickname just shot straight to my core. “I don’t—that’s not—I don’t do bedrooms either.”
“Seriously?” Chase looks utterly flabbergasted. “You sleep on the couch in your living room? I hope you aren’t camping out on the floor. Mice and bugs and stuff.”
His shudder is over the top and his laughing eyes give away that he’s teasing.
“First of all, you would never find mice or bugs in my apartment. Second, I meant I don’t do bedroom activities with the opposite sex.”
Immediately, I want to call the words back.
“Really now?” Chase looks intrigued. “With the way your body reacts to me, I wouldn’t have pegged you for a lesbian. Or…do you mean to tell me that your bedroom activities are limited to you and Mr. Buzzy? Which, by the way, you could do so much better if you upgraded to a doctor.”
I stand there, my mouth open, wordless, and feel heat on my cheeks spreading down to my neck. I can’t remember the last time I blushed, which renders me even more speechless. Once I get myself together, I finally speak, “I’m not having this conversation with you.”
I applaud myself for my even and somewhat haughty tone, convinced it will shut him up and close the door on this ridiculous topic.
“You know that ‘sexy librarian’ voice is a total turn on, right?”
At this point, I’m so flustered I can’t think straight. Lucky for me, Darla returns at that moment and Chase is distracted. His entire countenance changes, becoming agitated and serious. I want to ask him about it, dig for the reason behind this change. But, that might prompt him to think he has been given the green light to do the same with me.
Darla drops the can on the counter and turns to the register, tapping her fake nails on the side of the machine. Chase thumbs the counter with his knuckles impatiently. “I need you to open it, please.”
She rolls her eyes and turns back to the paint can, prying it open, then placing her hands on her hips and raising a brow, her own impatience radiating. I want to snap at her to stop being such a bitch, but it’s Chase’s fight, not mine. So, I stay silent.
He examines the paint, turning it right and left, inspecting it close to the swatch. Finally, he seems somewhat satisfied and returns the lid to the can.
“That’s close enough.”
Again with the eye roll—this girl is getting on my nerves.
I put on my bitchiest, Ice Queen face and lean slightly forward, satisfied with my intimidation factor when she steps back awkwardly. “I sincerely hope that you are simply having a bad day and don’t treat all of your customers this way. Even so, your personal life should not affect your professional life. Now, I suggest you put a smile on your damn face and at least pretend you know what customer service is, and treat Dr. Monroe with some respect.”
Darla blinks and then smiles tremulously. “Let me just seal that lid back up, Dr. Monroe. Will there be anything else for you today? Or for you?” She swallows and casts me a timid glance. “Ma’am?”
“Nah, we’re good Darla, thanks.” Chase’s voice sounds weird, so I turn to look at him and see him struggling valiantly not to laugh. I narrow my eyes at him, daring him to let it out and ruin the intense atmosphere I’ve created.
He purses his lips and turns back to inspecting the can of paint Darla has just placed before him on the counter. After paying, he thanks her with a brilliant smile and a wink. She blushes and I feel an odd, sharp sensation in my chest. A growing irritation at their interaction. I don’t like to see him winking at another female. I’m struck when I come to this realization. Holy shit, I’m jealous. Unacceptable Tor—Victoria.
We leave the store and return to Chase’s sweet ride. Even for someone who doesn’t know much about cars, I understand the sex appeal of this one. It’s an orgasm on wheels and with Chase as its driver, the combination is lethal. The ride back to my office is quiet, but it’s a comfortable silence, without the aura of awkwardness I expected.
He maneuvers the car into the drive and puts it in park. He turns to me and reaches out, tucking stray strands of hair behind my ear. “I’d walk you up, but I get the feeling I’ll have an easier time getting you to come over tonight if I don’t piss you off.”
I almost laugh, but I focus, needing to make it clear that I will not be joining him this evening. Before I can get a word out, he sticks out his hand in front of me, palm facing up. I stare at it, not understanding the gesture.
“Phone, babe.”
He smiles at me and before I even realize what I’m doing, my phone is in his possession and he is tapping away. Then I hear his cell start playing “Highway to Hell.”
Seriously?
“Now you’ve got my number,” he says as he tosses my phone back to me. “What’s your address? I’ll pick you up tonight at seven.”
I start to shake my head, but he cuts off any reply I might have made, “Nope, you’re not going to meet me at my house. I’m not giving you the chance to back out last minute. Besides, I don’t want you taking the train so late at night. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
With a reluctant huff, I ramble off my address.
Then he leans over and places a chaste kiss on my cheek before running a finger down my nose and taps the tip. “Now scoot, you’ve got work and I’ve got shit to do.”
There’s that smile again…
In a daze, I grab my purse and get out of the car, meeting his eyes one last time before turning and walking to the entrance of my office building. Despite the presence of the valets and the fact that it’s broad daylight, he waits until I am inside before driving slowly away in that chick magnet of his. I hope his speed was indicative of the fact that he was staring my way as well, seemingly a little bit lost in a fog caused by me.
Many minutes after he’s gone, the hazy fog in my own brain begins to clear and I am suddenly able to think again. What just happened? The little devil on my shoulder is laughing and pointing at me. You got handled.
At six fifty-eight, my doorman rings to tell me I have a visitor. I’ve spent the better part of the last two hours trying to figure out how to get out of this. I barely noticed when it was six-forty-five, used to burning the midnight oil at work. Luckily my high rise condo is less than a ten-minute walk from my office. I rushed home and put on a slightly more casual outfit, pressed khaki pants and a navy and white striped top, with three-quarter sleeves and a boat neck. Finishing off with pretty, navy ballet flats, makeup in check, hair in my typical style.
I tell the doorman I’ll be right there and fetch my purse and keys. For some reason, I don’t want Chase to see my apartment. Okay, I know exactly why. My condo could grace the pages of a magazine, but even those homes have a personal touch. The décor is done in cream and different shades of brown. The walls are all adorned with sepia photographs of the city from different angles, but no people. There are not pictures of anyone in fact. No homemade blankets or pillows, no candles, sentimental knick-knacks, nothing to make the space seem personal. I’ve never had an issue with my apartment, but for reasons unknown, I don’t want Chase to see just how cold and empty I am.
After entering the hall, I lock the door and take the elevator down to the lobby. Chase is at the counter shooting the shit with Gary, my doorman. When he sees me, his eyes light up and I go all squishy inside. He straightens up to his full height which has to be several inches over six feet because even in my heels, he’s several inches taller than me. Right now, in my flats, he towers over me and I can’t help feeling dainty and feminine.
He walks up to me and kisses my cheek, and when he moves back, I see Gary gaping at us, his jaw practically unhinged. I frown at him and he immediately snaps his mouth shut and busies himself at the desk. I don’t understand his reaction, it’s not like I don’t have guests. My mother has visited me a few times and Lindsay stopped by once or twice before we lost touch. I’m wracking my brain to figure out who else has been at my place since I bought it five years ago.
I don’t like the answer.
Chase looks me up and down, smirking, but all he says is, “Let’s hit the road, babe.”
The damn nickname flusters me, like every other time he’s used it. I should argue, insist on staying home, nip this in the bud, but I don’t. I don’t want to. For the first time in almost ten years, I admit to myself, I’m lonely. So, I let him guide me out to the vehicle, idling near the valet stand, which practically screams, “For a good time, spend an hour in my backseat with the owner.”
He holds my door while I climb in, shuts it and jogs to the driver side. He gets in and glances over, “Seatbelt, Tori.”
His tone is firm, a little rough even. I don’t usually forget, but I find myself burning brain cells from the heat he inspires inside of me. After I click it into place, he pulls out of the circular drive, carefully navigating the streets of the city—not an easy task when there are six-way intersections. The city planner was paid off by a notorious gangster to design it this way, making it easier to slip away from the police. Unfortunately, it also means more accidents and I find myself breathing a little harder from anxiety. Thank you, Al Capone. Chase practically crawls through each light until he gets onto the freeway for a short distance before exiting into a residential area.
Eventually, he stops and parallel parks on the street in front of a charming, greystone townhouse. He shuts the Challenger off, gets out, and rounds the car to my side, opening the door and offering me a hand to help me out.
Staring up at the house, I ask, “This is yours?”
I can’t keep out the touch of awe in my voice. I definitely didn’t picture him having a place like this.
“Yep. Bought it, gutted it, and am restoring it.” He eyes me, “Why? What were you expecting?”
I chuckle quietly, my cheeks heating once again. What is with that? “I guess I figured you’d have a flat in some trendy neighborhood by the university.”
Chase laughs and the sound reverberates through my body, putting my hormones on high alert. I bite back a groan of frustration.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Tori. And a lot I don’t know about you, but my goal is to correct that sad state of affairs.”
He leads me to a tall wrought iron fence which surrounds the tiny front yard. The gate is particularly tall, with an arch at the top, an old-fashioned gas lamp hanging in the center. Once he’s unlocked it, we step through and I get the full view. On the right side are steps leading up to a small covered porch, the stone arching over the entrance, and a gorgeous, mahogany door, with a stained glass center, set back inside. The house rises to a second level where a tall, rectangular window breaks the pattern of the greystone. The left side of the house expands outward with a bay window, the design stretching from top to bottom. Each section contains their own set of three windows, each with the stone arching at the top. There is also a rather large window near the ground, indicating a high basement. It’s amazing.
Chase takes my hand, and we walk up the steps, where he unlocks the door and I find myself once again stunned speechless by the beauty. The natural woodwork is everywhere, the floors, the molding, and throughout the entirety of the staircase which takes up the right wall. It’s shiny and looks new, but it is also obvious that it’s the original, lovingly restored. To the left of the staircase, is a long hall with a lot of doors and I absolutely have to know what’s inside them all.
Chase squeezes the hand I now realize he hasn’t let go of. His smile is proud and amused at my enthusiasm. “Want a tour?”
“Yes!” I blurt out in excitement.
He chuckles again and begins walking me around from room to room. The main floor is complete, a front room which was once a parlor, now a warm space intended to welcome its visitors. A full dining room, with a massive wall unit built around a large fireplace, a half bath, an office, and…oh my. The kitchen of my dreams is at the back of the house, rusty cream cabinets, white appliances, sand colored granite counter tops. Somehow it all looks vintage. All of this taking up the majority of the three back walls, with a center island. However, it’s the large window over the sink—which overlooks the big, fenced back yard, and a beautifully carved back door, painted to match the cabinets—which sells me on the room.
The yard is perfect and someday, Chase’s kids will play out there, frolicking and having fun, and with no gate in the fence, he and his wife won’t have to worry. A cloud settles over me and I spin around, dropping Chase’s hand, and march out of the kitchen.
“Where to?” I ask in a brisk tone.
He’s looking at me with an unreadable expression, but he doesn’t verbalize his thoughts. He lifts his chin toward the stairs and we visit four bedrooms and two baths, all works in progress. Finally, an unfinished basement which will eventually be a “play area.” I beat a hasty retreat out of that room as well.
Once again in the upstairs hall, I ask, “So? Where is this torture to take place?”
Chase smirks and shakes his head, “You can’t be painting in those clothes, Tori. Don’t you own any ratty stuff for messy activities?”
I stare blankly at him.
“Okay,” he says, understanding dawning, “not a messy activity kind of person.” A sly smile slithers onto his face. “One more thing we are going to change.” He moves toward the stairs and grabs my wrist, dragging me up alongside him.
We enter the largest bedroom, with the bay window overlooking the street, and he disappears through a door. He reemerges with an old, paint-stained T-shirt and sweatpants.
I raise a cynical eyebrow at him. “Please tell me you aren’t expecting me to wear those?”
Chase beams at me and my resolve melts a little. “I have no doubt you’ll make it work, babe. And look fabulous while doing it.”
I want to argue, but seriously, what’s the point? He’s right, I can’t wear these clothes. Ones I’d worn, sure that I would be able to get out of painting. I can tell that will not be the case, so I snatch the clothes and motion for him to get lost. “Shoo.”
He grins and taps the tip of my nose; one more thing I find adorable and don’t want to. “I’ll be right downstairs if you need any help.” I roll my eyes, push him out the door, and slam it in his chortling face.
The T-shirt could be a freaking nightgown, coming half way down my thighs, and the sweat pants have to be rolled down to get them to stay on my hips. I avoid the mirror when I leave the room, confident I’ll have a panic attack should I see what I currently look like.
Chase had told me when we’d visited the living room that it was where our project would be. I pad down the hallway to the room and find him laying drop cloths over the furniture, the supplies already set out. I move closer to the wall, studying it, and then running my fingers over the coating. “This paint looks practically new, Chase. Why does it need another coat?”
Chase is pouring paint and assembling rollers, but he mutters, “It was the wrong fucking color.” I wait for more explanation, wondering at his aggressive tone, but receive none. He finishes his task and hands me a paint roller. “We’ll hit the main sections and then do the edges by the tape.”
I reluctantly take my tool, my nose scrunching in disgust, then with a sigh, I get to work. The rhythmic movement and the soft swish of the roller is actually quite soothing and we chit chat about nothing as we move closer to each other, finishing up when we meet in the center.
Chase looks from the wall to me and bursts out laughing, the sound deep and husky, full of rich sound. His laugh is seriously a turn on, and it’s also quite infectious. I know what he’s seeing, but I play innocent.
“What?” I ask with a small pout.
“All that paint, how the hell did you get more on you than the wall?” he shakes his head, still snickering. “So fucking cute.”
Without warning, he slides his hand around my neck and tugs me to him, bending and landing his mouth over mine. I stiffen for just a moment and he pulls back immediately, regarding me thoughtfully. There is raging lust swirling in his chocolate depths and something inside me snaps. He must feel it too, because the next second, there is no air between us. I’m plastered up against his body, his hands diving into my hair, scattering pins all over. Our mouths are attacking one another’s—tongues tangling, breaths choppy—whenever we take the chance to suck in some air. A tingling starts at my lips, spreading through my head, down my neck and shoulders, to my breasts where my nipples become hard, then down to my center where my wet pussy is soaking my panties.
I feel as though I’ve found an oasis of fresh, clean water after having walked in the desert for an eternity. Chase moves forward, until I find my back pressed up against the wall—not the freshly painted one thank God—and his hands slide through my hair, down my throat, running his palms over my aching breasts, then traveling around and down to grab my ass. He molds his hands over the cheeks, yanking me forward even as his body presses me harder into the wall. With the tiniest lift, my legs automatically circle his waist.
Holy fuck. Oh shit, fuckity fuck.
An exceptionally large, scorching, bulge snaps right up tight to my center. Shivers rush through me from tip to toe, becoming shakes, and growing in strength. Then with a rock of his hips, I splinter apart with an all-consuming orgasm, the world turning into a kaleidoscope of color, spinning and making me dizzy.
As the feeling subsides, I attempt to calm my racing heart and breathe normally. That’s when I register that we aren’t moving, everything is still. I open my eyes and Chase is staring at me, his face full of shock and wonder.
“That is hands down the sexiest damn thing I have ever seen in my life, baby.” He continues to watch me and I begin to feel the effects of what has just happened. Guilt flushes through me and I wiggle, trying to let him know I want to be put down.
He groans and buries his face in my neck, his breath tickling and teasing me. “Don’t move like that, Tori. I’m hanging by a thread here.”
I immediately still. “Please put me down, Chase.” I ask calmly despite the panicking lunatic I’m barely able to contain. I keep my tone light, but there is no mistaking the tension.
Chase’s head flies up, and the dark brown of his eyes are swirling with questions. I can’t keep his gaze and look over his shoulder to avoid more eye contact.
“Tori.”
I cock my head to indicate that I’m listening, but don’t speak.
“Tori, look at me.” He shakes me just a little and I furrow my brows in annoyance at being forced to face him.
Whatever he sees brings sadness to his eyes and he slowly releases my legs, sliding them slowly to the ground. The sadness is still there, but it’s being pushed away by determination, and he grabs onto my face with both hands.
“Don’t, for one second, think that this was a mistake. It was amazing and I swear to all that is holy, it will happen again. There is something here, baby, and, I’m not going to let you ignore it.”
My eyes begin to slide away again.
“Tori, look at me.” His voice is firm and my eyes come back to his in surprise. “This is happening, and you need to learn to accept it. Because eventually, we’ll make it up to the bedroom where I have more pleasure in store for you.”
I don’t—I can’t think straight. He can’t replace Ben, I don’t want him too. This is all wrong, that feeling from Sunday was a fluke. I shake my head at Chase and rip myself from his hands. I open my mouth, but have nothing. I don’t know what to say. So I bolt from the room, into the half bath, and slam the door shut. Sinking to the ground, the dam that was cracking bursts free and anguish takes hold, drowning me.