Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,81
the sensation of arms carrying me through the air. The sound of the balcony door clicking shut pulls me back into full consciousness.
“Chase?” I mumble, my voice laced with sleep.
“Shh.”
His hold shifts as he sets me down on the bed and, seconds later, the mattress depresses as he stretches out beside me. I feel the hard expanse of his bare chest pressed against my side, the gentle touch of his fingers in my hair, brushing loose strands off my face. My eyes flicker open and he’s right there, his face inches away, and his gaze is soft and warm when it meets mine. My heart starts to thud too fast in my chest as I take in the sight of him — the tan column of his throat, the chiseled slope of his shoulders. His abs are so defined they look air-brushed, complete with a trail of hair that leads straight down to the waistband of his black boxers.
Oh. My. God.
I’m not sure whether I’m more relieved or disappointed to find he’s not completely naked.
Relieved. Definitely relieved, I chant over and over in my mind, not above lying to myself. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
“Hey,” I whisper, the word cracking in my throat.
His lips tug up in a half-smile. “Hey.”
“Thought you were mad at me?”
“I am.”
“Oh,” I whisper, thinking he doesn’t seem mad with his hands in my hair and his body this close.
He leans in and brushes his lips against mine. They’re somehow hard and soft all at once, and they feel absolutely perfect pressed against my own. I kiss him back with enthusiasm, and he doesn’t stop me… until I try to deepen the kiss. With a gentle push, he moves us apart, so a few inches separate our faces. He’s breathing hard, and his eyes are hazy and dark when they meet mine. His fingers trace the chilled skin of my arms in a lazy caress.
“You’re cold.”
“I’m fine,” I insist.
“It was fucking freezing out there.”
I shrug.
“You’ve got enough problems right now without adding pneumonia to the list.” He curses under his breath. “There’s a perfectly good bed right here. What were you thinking?”
I’m grateful for the darkness — maybe it’ll conceal my blush.
“Gemma.”
He wants an answer. His tone practically demands it.
Damn.
Maybe if I say it really fast, he won’t fully process my words and thus it won’t be so embarrassing?
“Ididn’twanttoclimbintoyourbedwithoutyouokay?”
It comes out as one long slurred word, and as soon as it’s out of my mouth, I want to pull the covers up over my head and disappear. Or maybe suffocate myself with a pillow.
I feel my cheeks getting redder the longer the words are out there, hanging in the silence between us. After nearly a minute of total quiet, I probably look like Chrissy after her honeymoon in Cancun a few years ago, when she had so many margaritas, she forgot all about sunscreen and turned into a lobster.
I freeze when I feel Chase shift, closing most of the space between our faces until I’m forced to meet his eyes. I’m surprised to find they aren’t mocking or mean — they’ve gone soft again, and there’s a look swimming in their depths I can’t quite decipher.
“You’d be a real pain in the ass if you weren’t so damn cute.”
My lips twist in a half smile, half pout. “I’m sure there’s a compliment mixed in there, somewhere.”
His voice gets gruff. “You planning on being a bitch again?”
I think about it for a minute. “No. Not tonight, anyway.”
There’s a short pause as he processes that, before his mouth stretches into a grin.
“Good.”
Then he’s kissing me again, and this time, there’s nothing soft or restrained about it. His arms slide around to the small of my back, and in one tug, he’s pulled me on top of him, so I’m sprawled against his chest. I press closer, wishing I could sink into him and let Gemma Summers disappear, at least for a little while.
Maybe forever, if it means feeling like this for the rest of my life.
The thought startles me so much, I plant my hands on his shoulders and try to push myself up to look at him. He doesn’t let me — his abs flex as he curls up, keeping his mouth fused to mine. If I’m going to get my protests out at all, I have no choice but to mumble them against his relentless lips.
“Chase,” I whisper, but with his lips on mine it sounds more like chzz.