Star-Crossed Letters (Falling for Famous #1)(66)

We stay like that for I don’t know how long, both floating in the light, facing each other, only our eyes connecting. The world narrows to just the beat of my heart, the sound of our breaths. I don’t touch him; he doesn’t touch me.

“You can touch, you know.” His voice is a caress in all my most intimate places.

“What?” My heart stutters.

“Your feet can touch the bottom now. We’re at the shallow end,” he elaborates.

“Oh,” I say, feeling stupid, my mind on a different kind of touching.

I stop treading water and realize he’s right. It’s still deep, but my tiptoes can touch the pool floor.

A breeze chills my skin.

I think he might bridge the distance and touch me, kiss me. I hold my breath, waiting, wanting, but instead he steps back into the shadows and the moment is gone.

Feeling exposed and foolish now for everything I was thinking, everything I was hoping, I look away and spot my wrap near me at the side of the pool. I grab it and cover myself. The mesh-like fabric doesn’t hide everything, but it helps, giving me a layer of protection. We’re just friends, I tell myself. Friends swim together. Not usually naked, but still.

“I can get used to this,” I say, pretending a casualness I don’t feel, pretending I hadn’t just been wishing he would take me in his arms and kiss me.

“Used to what?” His voice sounds rough in the night.

My mouth tips into a wistful smile. If he had reached out to me, I would have said “you.” Instead, I settle for another version of the truth. “This weather, this pool, this view, this estate. It’s magical.”

He turns away from me slowly, and looks around, taking in the place he calls home. His expression is tight, but when he speaks, his words are light. “I love this estate. It’s another reason I’ve stayed here so long. Sebastian and Ryder are great, but living with them can get a little insane between Sebastian’s parties and Ryder’s late-night jam sessions, even if I have my own space.”

“I heard that Gretta Blake built this house?” Sebastian’s grandmother was a Hollywood icon and a pioneering feminist.

He nods. “Did you know she built my cottage for her hookups?”

I laugh, letting the tips of my fingers play with the water, creating wave patterns. “Go, Gretta.”

“I read her biography when I first moved in. This estate was rocking back then.”

“It’s rocking now, I imagine.”

“Sebastian helps keep up the rep,” Chase says with a slow smile that sends a shiver down my spine. “So, how are you doing with your risks?”

“They’re uncomfortable. But I’ve also gained some experiences I wouldn’t have wanted to miss out on,” I answer honestly. Tonight is one of them, even if I feel too exposed, like a live wire.

His smirk causes every part of me to tingle in the cold water. “Like skinny-dipping?”

At his rough murmur, my nipples pebble and heat rushes between my legs. He causes that response with just the skim of his eyes, the velvet reach of his voice, when he hasn’t even lifted a finger to touch me.

“Like skinny-dipping,” I confirm with a bemused smile, trying my best to ignore the sensations he raises in me. “I guess I’ve always been afraid to take risks. I like to take adventures in my imagination and in stories, not for real. It feels safer that way. My mom took too many risks. I became her opposite. And when my grandmother got sick when I was in high school, it reinforced all my natural tendencies to retreat from life.”

I tilt my head back, letting myself just feel. The air on my face, the heat of my body beneath the water, the exquisite vulnerability of baring myself in more ways than one. “Have you ever felt like you’ve been sleepwalking through life?” I ask softly. “And worry that if you don’t wake up, ten years will have gone by and you won’t have much to show for it?”

When I turn back to Chase, he’s watching me with an intense look I can’t decipher. “It’s probably just me. I mean, you’ve obviously got things figured out.”

“No, I know exactly how that feels.”

“Really?”

He gives me a ghost of a smile. “I’m human. Not some robot. I have feelings. Mostly I feel like I don’t fit in anywhere.”

“But everyone wants to be around you,” I say, backing away a little. It’s easier to concentrate on his words, easier to ignore the ever present pull I feel toward him, when there’s more space between us.

He shakes his head. “People only want their projected image of me. The real me would disappoint them. They want the red-carpet version, but that’s far from the reality.”

“What’s reality?”

“The reality is that I’m not so different from you. I stay home, probably way too much. I know you’re going to roll your eyes at me when I say this, but I don’t like attention.”

I snort. “Yeah, right.”

“No, really. I didn’t get into this career because I wanted fame. I fell into it because I needed money.”

“Well, what makes you stay? I imagine you have all the money you need now.”

“I love telling a story, giving people something to connect to, somewhere to escape for a few hours.” He smiles. “Don’t get me wrong. I like the money. I just hate the fame that comes with it.”