Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,73
staying away anymore, Gemma. I can’t. I won’t. And I could give a fuck who knows it.”
“You barely know me,” I whisper.
“I know enough.” His words are so adamant, I don’t question him.
For a moment, we’re quiet.
“You’re wrong, you know,” I say after a while, looking back at the water.
A pause. “About?”
“You’re not all shadow and darkness. Maybe Brett is, maybe your family is, but not you.” I scrape together the courage to say the next part. “You’re kind and caring, even if you hide it beneath that dominant, bossy, pain-in-the-ass arrogance. And when you laugh…” I inhale sharply. “You make the world light up.”
His hand squeezes mine and I force myself to look at him. His eyes are burning so bright, it almost hurts to meet his gaze.
Almost.
“People who laugh like you do aren’t dark, Chase,” I whisper. “Not where it counts.”
His expression is serious as he echoes my words. “You barely know me.”
I pause. “I guess I know enough.”
And then, before I have time to prepare, his arms go around my back, his head dips to mine, and he’s kissing me like the rest of the world can go to hell, because all that matters is this — us — lips pressed close and hands entwined in a hold I couldn’t break even if I wanted to.
Chapter Twenty-One
Wreckage
Just when things are starting to get good — hands slipping under hemlines, tongues joining in on the action — Chase breaks the kiss, pulling back so his forehead rests against mine and our hurried breaths mingle in the space between our faces. A whimper of protest escapes my lips, and he bumps his nose against mine.
“We’re going back to the city now. Specifically, to my apartment. More specifically, to my bed,” he says, his voice rough. “We aren’t leaving until we’ve worked out whatever this is between us — so, you might want to clear your schedule, sunshine. I have a feeling that’s gonna take a while.”
There’s an unmistakable promise in his words that makes me shiver.
“So bossy,” I whisper playfully, staring up into his eyes. “It makes me wonder…”
His eyes are intent, watching my mouth form words.
I lean closer. “Are you this bossy in every aspect of your life, Mr. CEO?”
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, he laces his hand with mine, turns, and starts tugging me back toward the house, his long strides eating up the stretch of beach so quickly, I’m practically jogging to keep up.
“Chase!”
His pace doesn’t slow.
“Chase!”
He slams to a halt so fast, I nearly run straight into his back. I open my mouth to ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, but before I can get a single sound out, his eyes cut to mine and the words evaporate on my tongue.
Holy shit.
His eyes aren’t just warm — they’re boiling over with passion, with sheer need, and I realize he’s hanging onto his control by a thread. I know intuitively if I push him any further, at this moment, I’ll find myself naked on the rocks at my feet faster than you can say beach sex.
I’m not too proud to admit I consider testing that theory.
My eyes watch his mouth as he takes a step closer.
Danger!
“Never mind,” I whisper, considering the ramifications of a public indecency charge and, more pressingly, the not-so-fun side effects of getting sand in places sand is not meant to end up.
He nods, pulls a deep breath in through his nose to regain some control, and starts pulling me toward the house again.
This time, I don’t protest.
***
“Call and check in, when you get back. I want to make sure you’re home safe.”
“I will, Mom.” I lean in and press a kiss to her cheek, my arms squeezing her willowy frame in a tight embrace. “Thanks for letting me stay here, last night. And for, well… you know.”
I don’t have to say it — she knows what I mean.
For bringing Chase to me.
She pulls back to look into my eyes, her hands on either side of my face. “He’s a good one, baby girl. A keeper. Give him a chance.”
“I’ll try.”
Staring at me, her voice drops to a whisper. “Not every man is your father.”
“I know that, Mom.”
“Knowing something and believing it are two different things, baby.” She shakes her head. “Your dad — well, that was just plain bad luck. And me… well, I know I wasn’t the best mother—”
“Mom! Don’t say that.”
“I’m too much of an artist — too scatterbrained to make sure your lunches were packed and your permission