Star-Crossed Letters (Falling for Famous #1)(31)

“It’s beautiful,” he says.

When I turn to him, he’s looking at me and not the house.

“Just like I imagined,” he murmurs, tearing his gaze from mine and taking in my childhood home, as if fascinated.

“Imagined?”

A car passes, and he turns his head, his arm coming up to block his face. It reminds me we’re in the open, where anyone could walk by and snatch a photo.

But would that really be so bad?

“Well, I guess this is goodbye?” I don’t know why I say it like a question. He’s leaving tomorrow. This will be the last time I’ll see him, unless you count on a movie screen or in a magazine. Sadness flickers at that thought.

A line forms between his eyes. “I guess it is.” His voice, low and rough, skates over my nerve endings.

But instead of walking away, he closes the distance between us with a step. My pulse races. A gust of wind whips my hair into my face, but I don’t move. I can’t. I’m frozen by his intoxicating nearness and intent gaze. He leans down and pushes my hair back with gentle fingers, tucking the strands behind my ear.

I snuggle deeper into his jacket. It smells of him, as if I’m being wrapped in his embrace. I don’t want to give it back. Ever.

The silence between us stretches like a band about to break.

Take a risk, Olivia. You won’t get this chance again. Don’t waste it. That thought whispers through my mind, as clear as if Nanna is standing next to me speaking it.

“You must be tired. Can I offer you a cup of coffee?” I say before I change my mind. “You can take it to-go. If I know Daisy, she doesn’t have much more than a box of Pop-Tarts and maybe olives for martinis in her kitchen. It’s the least I can do.”

As embarrassed as I am at my forwardness, I’m also proud. There’s a rush of freedom that flows through me. I took a risk.

He doesn’t say anything for a long minute, as if debating my offer. My fledgling pride at my boldness starts to deflate. Gah. Risks are overrated.

“Never mind. You must be so busy.”

“No, I mean yes—I’d love to. Duncan will be a while. And you’re right. The odds that Daisy has coffee are not good.” His gaze flicks over my abundant cleavage before returning to my face, and I self-consciously burrow myself into his jacket.

“Awesome! Great!” And then I panic, trying to remember if I tidied up before I left for the club last night. I’m generally neat. I actually enjoy keeping a clean house and find domestic chores relaxing. But even so, there is normal neat, and then there is entertaining-the-Sexiest-Man-Alive neat.

He follows me up the stairs, and I’m conscious of the drooping roses. No matter how hard I try, I don’t have the green thumb Nanna did. And then my awareness shifts to something even more alarming. He’s behind me while we walk up the stairs. Why the hell am I worrying about my gardening skills when Chase James is getting an up close and personal look at my cellulite in the light of day?

I tug my dress down with one hand while my other roots around my purse for keys. I come up empty. Finally, my fingers settle on a familiar metal shape in the corner of my bag.

“Hurrah!” I hold up the keys in triumph.

When Chase smirks like he is now, one side of his mouth curves higher than the other. It’s so ridiculously sexy.

After I get the door open, I usher Chase into the house. Early morning light filters through the lace curtains in the bay window, settling a soft glow on my cluttered, cozy home.

Chase studies the photos that cover the wall of the entry hall. “You?” he asks, nodding toward a photo of a dark-haired girl reading a book.

I smile. “My brand was strong even from the beginning.”

“Brand?”

“Quiet, bookish girl. Only thing I grew out of was the pigtails.”

“I don’t know. I think you’d look cute in pigtails.”

His smile is warm, and when our eyes meet, all my thoughts flee.

He returns his attention to the pictures. A nude woman in shadow poses among sand dunes, juxtaposed against a tree. The light is like a blade, cutting sharply through the image with deep blacks and highlights. Another photo from the series that I’ll probably need to sell next.

“My nanna,” I say. “She was a model when she was younger, before she married my grandfather and became a photographer herself.” I gesture to a series of photos on the wall. “After Granddad died, she went full circle and photographed male nudes. When I was young, I’d come home from school, and all the furniture in the living room would be rearranged and there’d be naked models posing, everything hanging out. She was scandalous,” I say with a grin.

“And what about you? Do you have a scandalous side?” he asks, tilting his head as he assesses me.

I can’t help but laugh. “Only in my imagination. I save that for the stories I write. I’ve been told I have an old soul. It’s hard to be a badass when you’re twenty-five going on eighty-five, you know?”

“You just swam in a fountain and almost got arrested. That’s scandalous.”

“That’s all Daisy,” I protest. But secretly, I’m a little pleased he sees me that way.

We’re standing so close that if he leans down, and I stand on tiptoes, our lips will meet.

Don’t jump him. Don’t embarrass yourself.