Exhausted, I battled with my rolling suitcase as I stepped off the elevator. “Work with me, here,” I muttered.

Head bowed, I trudged along, feeling around inside my purse for my keys. For such a tiny bag, everything got lost.

“About time you got here.”

My heart stalled when I spotted Chase sitting in front of my door. Climbing to his feet, he strolled toward me. And then his hands sunk into my hair and his mouth covered mine, tongue diving between my lips with wild abandon.

Sliding his hand to my nape, he touched his forehead to mine. “Missed this mouth.” He nipped my lip to prove the point.

Still dazed from his kiss, I ran my hands over his broad chest to his shoulders. Cursing the hormones, or the pheromones, or whatever it was that made me want to hold onto Chase so tight that he’d never leave, I smiled. “I missed you too.”

“You okay?”

The gentle tone and concern clouding his gaze made me squirm. “I’m fine. Just tired. What are you doing here?”

The pads of his calloused fingertips dug into the tension knots on my neck. “Waiting for you.” He pressed another kiss to my lips, gentle this time. “You said you’d call when you got in. Your plane landed over an hour ago.”

“Yeah, I had to stop by the office.”

A heavenly scent wafted up, and I blinked at Chase as I tried to place the aroma. Wrestling from his hold, I pushed him aside, searching. He chuckled low in his throat as I rushed blindly toward the three large bags with the familiar turquoise script propped against the wall next to my door.

“Franklin’s?” I gushed, nearly falling to my knees in worship. “You brought me barbecue … from Franklin’s?”

Somehow Chase managed to grab the handles on the bags before I ripped them open. “I take it you’re a fan?”

A fan? Franklin’s was hands-down the best barbecue joint in the city. Lines formed around the little shack at sunrise on most days. And when the food was gone, the owner placed a homemade sign in the window that simply read “Out.” That usually happened before noon.

“How did you manage to get Franklin’s Barbecue at this time of night?”

I scrambled to get the key into the lock, missing the target when Chase’s lips brushed my neck. “I told you.” His free hand slid to the juncture of my thighs. “I’m a resourceful guy.”

The heel of his palm slid against the layer of satin lining my skirt. The maneuver was bold, possessive … and totally hot. I thought about protesting. A brief notion that floated away as he applied more pressure.

“Open the door,” he growled into my ear. “I’m starving.”

Chase’s voice, raw with need, sent a quiver down my spine. If he was acting, it was an Academy Award winning performance. In the early years with Beckett, I felt wanted, cherished. But later I was more like his anchor. A familiar port in the storm that was his life. As much as I hated to admit it, I’d read the accounts in the tabloids from the other women who described a wild man that I’d never known. With me, Beckett was gentle, and I thought it was my fault, that I didn’t evoke that response.

But this—the way my stomach flooded with desire—it was all new.

Arm wrapped possessively around my waist, Chase followed me inside. The bags hit the floor with a thud, and containers rolled in every direction. And then I was off the ground, pinned to the wall, his hips holding me in place.

His mouth claimed mine, and his hands were everywhere. “So fucking sweet.”

The slit on my skirt gave way with a loud rip as he wedged himself between my legs. Fingering the lace on the top of my thigh-high stocking, he hissed. “Fuck. Didn’t expect these.”

“Wait … the food!” I protested when Chase scooped me into his arms. “I thought you were starving.”

He brushed a kiss to my lips as he carried me up the stairs. “I am.”

After setting me on my feet in the bathroom, he turned on the faucet and went about finding my favorite bubble bath.

“What are you doing?”

He wiped his hands on his jeans. “Making sure you’re good and relaxed.”

His lips ghosted mine as he fumbled with the seed pearl buttons on my blouse. Next came my skirt, and then I was standing in front of him in only my stockings, matching bra and panty set, and fuck me heels high enough to make a stripper blush.

Dropping to his knees, he kissed the swath of skin on my thigh, directly above the lace on my stocking. “Is there someone in LA I need to worry about, or are these for me?”

“N-no … they’re for me,” I stammered. “I mean, they match the outfit, and I like them.”

“Baby, I’m not complaining. In fact, I think you should wear them every day.” Eyeing the lace once again, he bit his lip. “Yeah … every day.”

He removed one shoe and then the other before making quick work of my bra. Lacing our fingers, he pulled me toward the tub and, pressing his lips to mine, he eased me onto the side. When he removed the two chopsticks holding my loose bun in place, my hair tumbled down my back.

“Interesting use of utensils,” he mused.

I grabbed the sticks from his hand. “They’re not to eat with. They’re for decoration. I got them in China when—”

Silencing my rambling with a soft kiss, he knelt in front of me and then dragged my stockings down my legs.

Fuck me. I had no idea removing my clothes could be this hot.

He popped to his feet, taking me along with him. “Up you go.”

Hooking his fingers into the side of my panties, he shoved them down in one swift move. He fisted the back of my hair as he scored his teeth along my jaw, to my neck, and finally my breast.

“Oh … God …”

Fireworks danced behind my lids as he nudged my legs open and sank two fingers into my slick heat.

“Baby, you better get into the tub or it’s you and me against the sink.”

“Come in with me.”

His lips curved into a smile. “Bathtub sex isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” I blinked up at him, because I had no idea. “Get into the tub, Taryn.”

When I still didn’t move, he swatted my ass. Hard. “Ouch!”

Rubbing the tender spot, he pressed another kiss to my lips. “Get in the tub.”

I placed one foot in the sudsy water. “Fine … but only because I want to.”

Easing into the fragrant bubbles, I groaned as the water slid between my legs, meeting the bundle of nerves dying for attention.

Chase was gone for less than two minutes, and when he returned he pressed a goblet of wine into my hand. “Found this in your fridge.”

“Oh, God … Thank you.”

After downing half the glass, I sank low enough that only the peaks of my breasts were visible. My nipples tightened as Chase dragged a soft sponge from my shoulders to the tips of my toes.

Kneading the ball of my foot with nimble fingers, he asked, “How’s that feel?”

I mumbled something unintelligible as he worked his way up to my calves, and farther up to my inner thighs.

“I want to make you come, baby.”

My lids fluttered open, and my mouth curved into a drowsy smile. “I thought bathtub sex wasn’t any good.”

He tipped forward, stealing the gasp that escaped when he eased a finger inside my channel. “This isn’t sex.”

His tongue slipped into my mouth as he added another digit, circling my clit with his thumb.

“Ahhh …” My head fell back, my toes curling as the pleasure rolled through me. “Oh … God … I’m coming …”

When I floated back to earth from the unexpected orgasm, he was smiling down at me. “I love the way you do that.”

“What?”

“Let me know exactly what’s going on inside your head.”

My cheeks flamed. “I do?”

A quick kiss, and he pushed to his feet. “You do. Now, stay put. I’ll be back for you in a few minutes.”

Boneless, I managed a nod, and my lids fluttered closed.

“Ugh … It was just getting good,” I complained moments later when Chase’s hand coiled around my arm to help me to my feet.

He laughed as he wrapped me in a fluffy towel. “I thought you were hungry?”

Franklin’s!

His arm banded around my waist. “Easy. The floors are slippery.”

Despite a mild protest, he swept me off my feet and carried me to my bed. The smell of jasmine from my favorite Yankee candles warred with the faint scent of mesquite that had my full attention. That is, until Chase stripped off his jeans.

He eased on top of me, his rock-hard erection digging into my thigh.

“Franklin’s or me?” When I hesitated for a millisecond, a laugh erupted from his chest. “Don’t worry, I’ll be quick.”

After sliding the condom in place, he took my hands and pinned them to the headboard. My back bowed, and he smiled, sucking one nipple into his mouth.

Wrapping both my wrists in one of his large hands, he kept me immobilized as he moved to the other breast. “Stop squirming.” He bit down on the pebbled peak. “Or no barbecue for you.”

He slid inside me with one thrust. My fingers throbbed as he tightened his grip. “I missed you,” he growled. “Fuck … I did.”

Our eyes met, and for a moment I felt a connection so deep it took my breath away. Before I could question it, his mouth was on mine and our tongues collided. His hand snaked between us, and with only the lightest touch to my needy bud, I shattered, taking him along with me.

“Fuck … fuck … Taryn …” He released my wrists as the spasms wracked his body. “What are you doing to me?” Rolling onto his back, he threw his arm over his face. “I think you’re trying to kill me.”

Struggling to drag air into my lungs, I nodded. “Yeah, that was intense.”

Chase propped on his elbow and his smile evaporated. “Jesus, did I hurt you?”

I stopped rubbing my wrist, which I wasn’t aware I was doing. “No, I didn’t even notice.”

Entwining our fingers, he brought my wrists to his lips for a kiss. “Just … you know … tell me next time.”

Tugging his hair, I forced his troubled gaze to mine. “You didn’t hurt me. I would’ve said something. I don’t like pain.”

The admission rang in my ears. Pain had been my constant companion for five years. An unwelcome guest. And I didn’t feel it as acutely when I was with Chase. But I couldn’t tell him that. Admitting it probably crossed some kind of friendship boundary.

I was still mulling it over when he returned from the bathroom. He scooped up the bag on his way to the bed. “Let’s see what we have in here.”

Pulling a piece of brisket out of the Styrofoam container, he took a bite and then groaned. “Damn, this is good.”

He pulled box after box from the bottomless bag.

“You know …” he said, feeding me a piece of brisket, “indulging in comfort food can be a sign of sexual frustration.”

The sheet slipped to my waist when I sat up, staring at my rapidly disappearing dinner. Chase had managed to inhale three ribs to my one.

“I wouldn’t know since you’re eating all the food.”

He laughed as he prepared another heaping serving. Propping some pillows behind him, he reclined against the headboard. “There’s plenty, baby. Come here.”

Since there was no way I could match his pace, I grabbed the plate, growling when he reached for a home fry.

“Greedy girl.”

We inhaled the entire contents of the bag in minutes, and then Chase ripped open a towelette, wiping the grease off my fingers. Rolling onto my back, I absently rubbed my belly. “That was so good.”

Chase dug around in the bag and produced one final treat. “Mmm … pie.”

Swiping a pillow while he was busy looking for the discarded packet of plastic ware, I shoved it behind my head.

Placing the container with the pecan pie on my stomach, Chase scooped a bite onto the spoon. The morsel wobbled as he lifted it to my mouth, but it slid off before it reached its target, landing with a plop on my chest.

Sweeping his tongue over the gooey sweetness, Chase winked. “Now that’s some good fucking pie.”

I brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, and when he smiled, I knew—he was going to kill me. Break my heart and leave it in a million pieces when this all faded away.