The Ivy House - By Drea Stein Page 0,50

so she could feel his desire, hot and hard for her.

Phoebe lost all rational thought as his hands cupped her backside and then one came around to skim the edge of her waistband. Then, it was gone and his hand found her left breast, his fingers pulling gently at her nipple, which sprang to attention at his touch. His mouth moved down her neck, while one arm braced her back and she arched into him as his lips and teeth slid slowly down her neck, to the v of her t-shirt and then nipped lightly at her nipple, which puckered and pebbled under him.

She felt her knees go weak and a flash of heat and wetness between her legs. Chase stopped for a moment, his eyes darting wildly around, and then his hands picked her up and she was on something hard, a steamer trunk, while he kept kissing her, and she could feel that he was just as aroused as she was.

He looked at her for a moment, his gaze intense, lust darkening his eyes. She couldn’t say anything, but just nodded at him to keep going. Not waiting for more, he kissed her again, and she rose up to meet him, as his hands traveled down the length of her shirt.

Chase pushed up the thin fabric of her shirt and found the sensitive skin. Hot hands brushed against her and she moaned again, arching into him, wanting him, wanting more.

Phoebe couldn’t remember how long this went on because there was another crash and then a shout, loud and hearty.

“Chase, where are you?”

She sprang away from him, but his arms still held her, and he looked down at her, his eyes hazy with want and she felt her lips stinging from his attack.

“And that would be my floor guy.” His voice was hoarse, ragged.

“Floor guy?” Phoebe repeated, glad he still had his arms around her, since her knees were shaky.

“This isn’t over,” Chase said, his voice a low, sexy whisper, and Phoebe almost felt herself sway so that Chase straightened her, brushed a finger along her jawline, before shouting to the intruder below.

“Up here. I’ll be down in a sec.” Chase took a moment to gain control of himself, while Phoebe sat up, straightened her shirt, and tried to fix her hair.

He turned and started down the ladder.

“Are you coming?”

Phoebe shook her head, hoping that it would shake the lust out of it. It did, but barely.

“I’ll be down in a minute. I just want to look around some more.”

He threw her a smile and said, “Take the flashlight. We’ll just be talking shop.”

She watched as his head disappeared down the ladder and then let herself sag against a stack of boxes marked Trafalgar Square while she let her heartbeat return to normal. She closed her eyes. She had almost just had wanton sex with Chase Sanders on a steamer trunk belonging to her grandmother. What had she been thinking? And she had wanted it, desperately wanted what Chase had started. Or had she started it? Oh God, Phoebe thought, what was she thinking?

Chapter 22

Phoebe tasted a handful of popcorn kernels, deciding it needed just a bit more salt.

“Are you ready yet?” Lynn’s voice echoed from the other room where a gigantic flat-screen TV was set up, the DVD player primed with a string of old Savannah Ryan movies.

“Just a minute.” Phoebe added the salt and carried the popcorn into the family room. With Lynn’s parents away, they had the house to themselves and were set up for another girls’ night in.

It had been four days since Chase had come to Ivy House and found her. He had left soon after Jake, the floor guy, showed up. Jake was good to his word and promised her “the friend of a friend’s” discount. What’s more, he could start immediately. Until then, Lynn had offered a place to crash. Within the week, Phoebe would be able to live in Ivy House while fixing it up, and it was starting to dawn on Phoebe that this was it. The rest of her life was starting to unfold before her. It was unsettling and so the comfort of spending some time with a girlfriend, in a real house, was strangely appealing.

“Wine and popcorn. Who could have thought of a better combination?” Lynn said, grabbing a handful and taking a sip of the wine. She had traded her scrubs for a pair of cotton pajama pants and a faded sweatshirt. With her dark hair