Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,86

do.”

“How can they possibly do anything this quickly? And at this time of night?” I ask, incredulous. “It’s past one.”

I see amusement flash in his eyes. “Gemma, my family has had their fair share of indiscretions and interactions with the press. Things like this are the exact reason I pay my lawyers such a shitload of money. You could buy a private island with the amount the Crofts have spent on retainer fees over the past decade to cover up scandals and keep things out of the public eye.”

I wouldn’t touch that statement with a ten-foot pole.

“But they won’t be able to stop the story forever, right?” I ask instead.

“We’ll stop it.”

I wish I felt as sure as he sounds.

I sigh. “All my life, I’ve been hiding from this. And now… the press is going to have a field day. They’ll be like dogs with a juicy bone, sucking every drop of marrow they can get from this story. And if it were just me, that’d be one thing. But it’s going to affect my mother, too. They’ll drag her into it, upend the life she’s built without him…”

“I’ll have a man from my security team watch her. If the story breaks, the press won’t even get close enough for photos.”

“Thanks,” I whisper, meaning it. “But it’s not just that. Milo West…” My tongue feels awkward even saying his name, after a lifetime of resolutely refusing to acknowledge his existence. “He broke her heart. She fell in love with him, had a child for him… and he picked his perfect family over her. She never moved on, afterward. So, having all this ancient history dredged up and thrown in her face… I’m worried it’ll break her heart all over again.”

“And yours?” Chase asks, his tone soft as he takes a step closer to me. “What about your heart, Gemma?”

“You can’t get hurt if you don’t care,” I say automatically, the line well rehearsed after years of telling it to myself. “And I don’t give a shit about Milo West.”

I feel Chase’s fingers lace through mine and squeeze lightly. With a gentle tug, he pulls me close. His free arm wraps around my back and his cheek comes down to rest on the crown of my head, so I’m pressed hard against his bare chest, the steady thumping of his heartbeat strong beneath my ear.

“Sunshine,” he whispers against my hair.

“I’m okay. Really.”

And in that moment, despite everything happening in my life, it’s not a lie.

I really am okay.

Actually, I’m better than just okay.

I’m safe.

***

Despite my best intentions, I fall asleep curled up on the couch, watching the flames dance on the grate and listening to the murmur of Chase’s voice as he orders his lawyers to work their magic and stop the presses before they can further derail my life.

I don’t know how long I’m asleep, but it feels like hours later when I stir awake in Chase’s arms as he carries me through the dark apartment and settles us back in his bed, beneath his zillion-thread-count black sheets. I’m so exhausted I can’t even crack open my eyes or lift my head from where it rests against the warm skin of his chest.

“What did the lawyers say?” I murmur, my voice barely audible over the thundering of his heartbeat, directly beneath my ear.

“Shh, sunshine. Go back to sleep. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

He breathes the words into my hair, his arms banding tighter around my back so I’m snug and warm against him. I feel one hand slip up under my t-shirt, and seconds later, his fingers begin to trace soothing circles against the small of my back. The other hand slides up to caress the sensitive skin at the nape of my neck and his fingers stroke through the hair there, offering comfort in the simplest of ways. His touch is absentminded, totally natural, with none of the forced intimacy of my past conquests – like it’s something he’s done a million times before without even having to think about it.

He touches me like a habit.

I’m startled by how much I like the idea of making habits with Chase.

It should scare me — how easy, how perfect it feels, being with him. All of this should have me running for the hills. In the past, this exact thing — a guy pushing past the physical connection to real emotion — has sent me running for the hills.

But here, in Chase’s bed, drinking him in with every one