Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,112
his ass. Totally wasted.” He snorts. “The man is dying from a lifetime of heavy drinking — does that stop him? No! He’s got one last public appearance as company CEO — does he at least feign normalcy? Sober up for the occasion? Of course not!” Chase wipes at his eyes as another round of chuckles overtakes him. “My first act as Croft Industries CEO was to have the highly-inebriated former CEO escorted off stage. Sunshine… that’s not just funny. It’s fucking hilarious.”
I plant my hands on my hips and stare him down. “You’re a loon.”
He grins and stands upright. “You’ve told me that before.”
“Well, you probably deserved it.”
“I didn’t.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, what were you doing at the time?”
“We were in an elevator,” he murmurs, the laughter fading from his eyes as he thinks back. “I’d just dragged you out of Brett’s apartment.”
“Oh,” I say, trying not to melt when he’s looking at me like that. “So, you were being a caveman. You totally deserved it.”
He takes a step toward me, his eyes on my mouth. “You don’t seem to mind when I act like a caveman.”
I move back a step. “I do, actually.”
“Really?” He takes another step. I retreat until my back hits the hard edge of the kitchen island.
Danger!
“Yes, really,” I tell him, ignoring the butterflies flying in a vortex around my stomach. “It’s very annoying.”
“I seem to remember that elevator ride ending with your legs around my waist.” His voice is low as he closes the last sliver of distance between us, his body pressing me back against the counter so I couldn’t move even if I wanted to.
“I don’t remember that at all,” I breathe, my eyes on his bottom lip.
“I guess I’ll have to remind you.”
Without warning, his hands hitch beneath my thighs and he lifts me onto the counter. I’m barely settled when I feel the rough pads of his fingertips on my bare calves, hiking the length of my dress up past my knees, until it’s pooled against the marble in a swathe of color. Stepping closer, his hands trail against my skin as his eyes find mine in the dark.
“Is any of this coming back to you?” he murmurs, his lips dropping to my neck.
“Not really,” I breathe as my legs lift to wrap around his waist. My feet, still strapped into heels, lock behind his back so he’s flush against me.
I feel his grin against my skin. “I guess I’ll have to work harder.”
“Definitely.”
His hands trace higher, up over my bare hipbones, searching for fabric that simply isn’t there. I enjoy the flash of surprise in his eyes when he pulls back to look at me.
“Oh,” I murmur, my voice playful, my eyes wide and innocent. “Did I forget to mention I’m not wearing any—”
I never get to finish my taunt because Chase moves forward, his mouth slanting down over mine and swallowing the rest of my words. It’s an open-mouthed, no-holds-barred kiss, consuming me with what can only be described as desperation. He kisses me like the purity of our mouths moving together might be enough to erase the scars our families carved into our souls tonight. His hands slip beneath the hem of my dress, stroking across my skin like a hard brush against canvas, like a chisel against stone, as though his touch can turn my limbs into art.
My hands wind around his back as I press closer, losing myself in every beat of his heart, every trace of his touch. I hear the distant rustle of a belt sliding from its loops, of clothes falling to the ground, but I’m far too lost to pay much attention. There are more important things commanding my senses.
The pleasure-pain of stubble scraping against soft skin.
The sensation of hot breath on the hollow behind an ear.
The taste of pure desire on the pad of my tongue.
All teasing and laughter is long gone from the moment. We’re totally silent as we explore each other in the dark, each motivated by an unspoken need to erase the horrors of tonight with the purity of us. To scrub away the darkness with the glow we create together.
I’m half-gone with passion by the time Chase pushes inside me, filling me in a way I’ve never before experienced. It’s more than a physical joining — it’s as though he’s reached inside my chest and taken my heart between his palms.
He’s holding my life in his hands — one wrong move might kill me.