Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,45

keeping my eyes locked on Brett’s chin because his too-pleased smile is creeping me out a bit, if I’m being honest. “My personal extension is on the business card in your binder. Which, you know, you can just keep here, in case you want to look at your paintings. And ‘cause, well, we’ve got like twenty of them at the gallery and I’m sure Estelle — that’s my boss — would want you to have access to all our artists’ collections without having to drive across town.”

Brett’s grin steadily widens as I’m speaking. By the time I fall silent, it’s so big, I can see practically all of his teeth.

Like I said — creepy.

“How considerate of you, Miss Summers.” He leans closer and his grip tightens on mine. “Though I wouldn’t mind the drive. In fact, I’d love to visit your gallery sometime.”

My mouth falls open a little when I hear something that sounds suspiciously like a growl from the other side of the room. It’s the first sound Chase has made since he arrived, and it is not a good one. In fact, it’s a downright scary one.

“Well, I really have to be going now,” I say, my voice going up in a nervous squeak as I attempt to pull my hand out of Brett’s. My tug is no match for his grip, which only tightens around mine — not quite painful, but almost. His hold feels like a threat, and yet, despite the fact that it’s my fingers getting crushed, somehow I don’t think the threat is for me.

My gaze darts in Chase’s direction and I see his eyes have gone scary. They’re locked on my hand —which is starting to ache, by the way — and there’s a lethal edge to their intensity.

I gulp down a breath, trying to stay calm, though I must admit, most of my energy is concentrated in an effort not to pee my pants where I stand — which, in case you weren’t paying attention, is between two terrifying men whose anger management problems are only outweighed by their family issues.

“Um,” I say — squeak — in an attempt to get myself far, far away from ground zero of the Croft Civil War. “I have another appointment in an hour and it seems like you two have lots to catch up on, so if you’ll just let go of my hand, I’ll be out of your hair and—”

“Let her go,” Chase says, finally speaking. His voice is emotionless, cold, totally contained, and his eyes are locked on his cousin. “Now.”

Brett chuckles. “Well, since you asked so nicely…”

His hand loosens and I instantly pull mine away, feeling a rush of pins and needles shoot into my fingers as blood flow returns. My relief is short-lived. I don’t even have time to step back, to turn for the door, to freaking move, when my hand is snatched up again. My eyes drop and catch a glimpse of large, calloused fingers wrapping around mine, but I don’t have time to process the fact that they’re Chase’s, or that somehow, he crossed the room so quickly I missed it, because suddenly, I’m moving.

Fast.

My coherent thoughts and protests are left behind as he drags me from the room without a word, his hold so tight the bones in my fingers grind painfully together. Distantly, I hear Brett’s laughter chasing us out of the study, down the hall, into the living room, and before I know it, we’ve reached the front door and I’m being yanked into the hallway. I don’t have the wherewithal to fight, at the moment, so I follow — my feet moving automatically, forced to jog if I want to match Chase’s long-legged strides. And even though it’s a pain in the ass to run in heels, not matching his pace isn’t an option. I’m pretty sure he’s so mad, even if I tripped and fell to the marble floor, he’d just keep going, dragging me behind him like a child drags a toy doll through the mud.

Only when we’re alone in the elevator, descending rapidly down twenty floors to ground level, do I finally realize how flipping angry I am — at Brett, at Chase, at the whole goddamn situation.

He’s still holding my hand. I tug at it, trying to free myself, but his grip never loosens.

“Let go,” I hiss, turning to look at him.

His jaw is clenched tight, the vein in his neck is pounding, and there’s a muscle jumping in his