Star-Crossed Letters (Falling for Famous #1)(39)

“You don’t need to do that,” Chase says and reaches over to stop my hand that’s finger-combing the tangles from my hair. “You’re cute all mussed.”

In the night, I’d shifted my chair, so it was up against the sofa he slept on. I told myself it was so I could check on him without having to get up. But in reality, I loved being close.

Tingles spread from where he touches me, but he drops his hand all too soon. I try to let go of my self-consciousness and focus on Chase.

“You look better.” I lean forward. His forehead thankfully feels cool to the touch.

He scans my face, a small smile playing on his lips. My hand falls from his forehead as I realize how intimate my gesture is. It’s something you might do to a child or a loved one, not a casual acquaintance.

He was so sick last night that I became familiar with his body—a deceptive familiarity, I realize. It’s not as if I gave him a naked sponge bath or anything—though that sounds like a fun idea—but I passed a good portion of last night memorizing every line and shadow of his face, the strength in his neck and shoulders and chest. But that was conditional on me playing nurse. It’s not something I can continue, as tempting as it is.

“Sorry. Force of habit. You were really sick yesterday.”

He brushes a wisp of hair away from my face in return.

My eyes widen at his touch, and my heartbeat speeds up. Well, okay then. I guess the familiarity works two ways.

“So, how long have you been awake?” I ask, breathless.

“Not long. A noise woke me,” he says with a secretive smile.

I pray my blush isn’t as bright red as it feels. He couldn’t have heard my sexy-time dream. I’ll die.

Deflection needed, I gaze out the window and at the rain that’s still falling in buckets. “Wow. It’s really coming down out there,” I say, my words flying fast. “You probably don’t remember, but it was storming all night.”

He turns to look. I stand on shaky legs and wander over to the window to get some space. There are no cars or people on the street down below. The water pools onto the road, turning it into a shallow stream, and trees list to the side with the force of the wind. While the storm rages outside, the two of us are in a peace-filled bubble, with only the gray light of the rain-soaked day and the sound of the storm lashing against the windows to keep us company.

I sense his movement behind me, and I turn to him, worried.

“Are you sure you feel better?”

He nods. “The worst of it is gone. I’m just a little tired. And I’m desperate for a shower.”

“Well, I should get going, then,” I say, unsure of myself.

Now that he’s better, there’s no excuse for me to stay.

“Look at it out there. You won’t get anywhere. The road is practically flooded.” His eyebrows come together.

“But I can’t stay here now that you’re well. I don’t want to bother you.”

“You spent the night taking care of me.” He smiles gently. “So, no, I’m not going to thank you for that by sending you out in the middle of a storm.”

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Olivia, you’re stuck with me until the rain stops, so you might as well get comfortable.”

The look in his eyes, as if he likes what he sees, melts away any objections I might have. Not that I have many; his company is addictive, storm or no storm.

“Okay, Chase, you win.” I can’t help but grin back at him.

“You finally called me Chase.” His smile grows even more devastating. “About time.”

“Why wouldn’t I call you Chase? It’s your name.”

“You usually call me by my full name. Not just Chase.”

It’s true. I still have a hard time seeing him as just a regular guy. He isn’t regular—he’s special. He’s magnetic. His talent and face belong on film. They blind and disarm.

But watching him sick and vulnerable changed the way I view him.

I’m not sure how to explain that to him without sounding like a lovesick lunatic, though, so I go for a light, breezy change of subject. “So, Chase, what’s on the agenda for today?”

“Well, Olivia, I can think of a few things,” he murmurs.

Down, girl, I scold my overeager imagination.

“Such as?” I ask, pretending he doesn’t affect me.

“We could play some games.” His smile is mischievous, as if he knows what he’s doing to me.

“I’m great at Scrabble.” I force myself to say blandly.

“I’m thinking more along the lines of truth or dare.” His mouth tilts up.

Is he flirting with me?

“Um, sure, ’kay,” is all I manage.

“Great,” he says. Our gazes hold.

He looks away first and clears his throat. “But before that, I really do need a shower. Do you want the bathroom first?”

“I’d love to freshen up,” I say, hopping up.

“It’s down the hall on the left.”

I grin. “I’ve been here all night. I found it.”

He laughs. “Right.”

“I’m just going to…” I point my thumbs toward the hallway.

He watches my awkwardness with a raised eyebrow.