“I want to do work that matters to me. Max Thunder isn’t it. Thanks to The Wanderers, I have more money than I can spend in a lifetime. I don’t want a yacht or an island somewhere. I want the freedom to choose work that interests me and to not be chased by paparazzi.”
He smiles at me, and the joy in his face echoes the joy in my heart at his words.
“I want to be able to live wherever I want,” he says. “I want to date the girl of my dreams and show her that, despite the lies we started with, what we have is very real, and I can be trusted with her heart.”
The heart he refers to is beating overtime. “So, that other place you want to live?” I ask.
He scratches his chin. “I wouldn’t mind San Francisco.”
I tilt my head. “I kind of like Malibu, at least for part of the year. The weather is pretty nice in the summer. And that girl you want to date?”
“Her name is Olivia. Sometimes she goes by Typewriter Girl.”
“Hmm. Typewriters? That’s kind of old-fashioned.”
“I’m an old-fashioned guy.”
“Well, it beats texting. Texts are temporary. But letters are forever. Mr. Jensen reminded me of that at the beginning of the summer.” I grin. “Speaking of Mr. Jensen, should we rejoin everyone? They might be waiting for us, and I am the host.” I say it, but the truth is, I don’t want to go downstairs. I want to stay right here in my bedroom with Chase, possibly forever.
His eyes are warm. “I vote no on going downstairs. I want you right where I have you, and I’m not letting go anymore,” he says teasingly, but his expression is serious. “What I want with you isn’t temporary. It’s forever.”
He bends down and captures my mouth. I’m shaking from the relief of kissing him, when I thought I’d never feel this again.
I lean in, standing on my toes. He backs me up to the wall and lifts me until we’re lined up as he settles between my legs.
He moans into my mouth as he grinds against me. We go from rated G to R in the span of a minute, but I can’t get enough of him, of the feel of his body against me. He cups my face in his hands.
“God, I missed you,” he says when we take a break to breathe. He traces his finger over my face, my lips. I reach out and touch my tongue to his finger and revel in his taste. But his hand is on the move, down to the edge of my lavender dress.
I love this dress; it’s cute and quirky, a little retro. I bought it last week in my experiment to find my style. But right now, I want it off, especially when he dips his fingers below the material, pulling it down to expose my plain bra. I wish I’d also bought a matching set of sexy lingerie.
The look on Chase’s face tells me he doesn’t care. He’s not comparing me with the women he’s been with in the past. His eyes are hot, his gaze covetous, as if the beige cotton bra were black silk and lace.
His fingers make me tremble as they edge closer to my nipple. It’s an extended bud now, straining to be closer to him.
“Hey! What are you doing in there? We’re hungry! Should we wait for you two or start eating?” Mrs. Maple calls from behind the bedroom door.
“What if they kick us out? I want that roast chicken. It looks amazing.” I hear Audrey say.
“If they kick us out, I’m taking back my cupcakes,” Daisy threatens in a loud voice.
I bite my lip, debating, because I know I’m weak, and if Chase pushes even a bit—hell, if he so much as touches me again—we’ll be staying in this room forever.
He must sense my torn thoughts, because he gives me a pained smile and sets me back on my feet, my body sliding down his with every inch. He taps me on my nose. “When we do this, I don’t want any distractions. I can eat really, really fast,” he says, his voice rough with desire.
I smile slowly. “So can I.”
He shakes his head. “The timing could be better, but come on, Typewriter Girl, let’s host our very first dinner party together.”
I grin up at him.
We walk out of the bedroom and are greeted by Daisy, Audrey, and Mrs. Maple lounging in the hallway.
“Did we interrupt something?” Mrs. Maple asks innocently.
“Damn, Olivia bagged a movie star,” Audrey says.
“How many times do I have to remind people? He’s not a movie star, he’s my brother. I don’t want to think of her bagging him,” Daisy says.
We follow them down the stairs, and the doorbell rings.
“Are we expecting anyone else?” Mrs. Maple asks.