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.
He breaks the spell by stepping away and wanders over to three typewriters sitting in an orderly row on one of the floor-to-ceiling shelves that line the wall. He presses a key, then shoots me a glance. “Typewriters?”
“My mom was a writer, and she always wrote on a typewriter. She hated computers.” I don’t mention that she was a famous writer, a name most Americans would recognize immediately, even if they hadn’t actually read a word she’d written.
“At one time, we had about ten typewriters. These are the last of them.” I think about Remington. What would he say if I told him about Chase James being in my house? About the unexpected kiss?
I look down and spread my hands. “I don’t know why I told you all that. I babble when I get nervous.”
He frowns. “I wanted to know. I asked you about them, didn’t I? Why are you nervous around me?”
“Are you kidding?” I laugh self-consciously. “I have a movie star in my living room, and we’re talking about typewriters. It’s been a weird night. And maybe an even weirder morning.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Could you ever see me as a regular guy, not a movie star?” he asks tightly, as if he’s not really sure he wants to know the answer.
“Let’s face it, you’ll never be just a regular guy, even if you weren’t famous. You’re ridiculously beautiful.” I slap a hand over my mouth. “Oh shit. Did I just say that out loud?” There’s a five-alarm fire of a blush happening on my face.
He leans down so close that I can see golden flecks in his eyes. “You can’t call a guy beautiful.” His low rasp sends tingles down my spine. “And I’m glad you told me a little about your family. I wanted to know.”
I try to ignore the feel of his breath against my cheek. I want to touch him. I want him to touch me. To kiss me. Everything about him draws me in, so I step away on shaky legs before I’m nothing but a pile of want at his feet.
I still don’t understand why he’s here. Why he’s interested. “It’s just… You ask a lot of questions. That’s not a critique. But you can’t possibly be that intrigued by my life.”
“Why do you say that?”
I wave at him. “Because you’re—”
“Don’t say it again. Don’t say ‘Chase James’ like that.”