I can feel her pulse race at my rough, quick words. I lace my long fingers through hers. I need to make her understand just how special she is. I caused this, and I need to fix it. She must know that every part of her is deeply wanted.
“Any guy would be so fucking lucky to have you. To be yours. The only thing I know is, this guy…he doesn’t deserve you. And I’m sure, wherever he is, he knows the value of what he lost. And that he’s lost without you. Because who wouldn’t be?”
Her mouth opens in surprise, eyes wide with a questioning stare.
I tilt my head back, and I watch her through slitted eyes. She leans toward me, and I inch toward her. Inch by infinitesimal inch. I’m obsessed with the way her top lip is almost as wide as her bottom. I have to have a taste.
Between us, my phone on the table rings.
She jumps back. “Aren’t you going to answer it? It could be important,” she asks tentatively when I let it ring.
Nothing is as important as she is. Not blockbusters or awards or supermodels calling. But a second more and I’m going to kiss her, and possibly hurt her worse than I already have. I want to build her up, give her back a little of the confidence I stole from her as Remington. And I can’t do that if I selfishly take this further than friendship. There’s no future in us for so many reasons. I don’t want to risk her vulnerable heart for something so temporary.
I need to put distance between us.
So, as much as I hate it, I know this phone call is saving me from doing something stupid, something I’ve been trying to keep myself from, even as I want it with every atom in me.
I answer the call. “Hello?” I keep my attention on Olivia as she stands and walks toward the kitchen.
“Chase. I’m glad I caught you.”
“What’s up, Patrick?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know why I’m calling,” my agent chides. “You’re supposed to be in LA. Your meeting with the director is done, and you have a photo shoot scheduled for tomorrow. I’ve already rescheduled it twice. It’s for a cover feature in the biggest men’s magazine. It’s not something you can just blow off again. And we need to discuss the rest of your week.”
As I pretend to be interested in my agent going over a long list of appearances and meetings that are coming up, my brain is fixated on what almost happened. We almost kissed. I know what I need to do. I need to walk the line of making her feel like a beautiful, appreciated woman to undo some of the damage I did rejecting her as Remington, while keeping enough of a distance to not make things worse.
I can manage that. Maybe.
Just one more day with her. And possibly one more night.
CHAPTER 17
Olivia
I put on the kettle in the kitchen and try not to overanalyze what just happened. Did Chase almost kiss me?
I rummage through the cupboards and find, along with coffee and tea, a gourmet tin of hot chocolate, perfect for spending a rainy day with a movie star, I decide. When the hot chocolate is ready, I take two mugs back into the living room. Chase is still on the phone, but he catches my eye and smiles as I hold up his mug and set it on the coffee table.
I walk over to the large window, not wanting to appear to be eavesdropping, though, admittedly, I am.
“Send over the script and the schedule. Just don’t book me for anything more until I’ve approved it. And tell the magazine I’ll be there tomorrow to do the shoot with Cassidy.”
The slow love song about rainy days and crushes playing in my head screeches to a halt. He’ll be flying back to his glamorous life to do a photo shoot with Cassidy Reynolds, his incredibly beautiful costar.
But, a sneaky voice whispers, I already know he isn’t mine. If I acknowledge that this is just for now, why can’t I have fun? No questioning it, no second-guessing, no worry. Just living in the moment. Just taking risks, like I’m supposed to be doing.
Chase hangs up the phone and picks up his mug from the table.
He takes a tentative sip. “Hot chocolate? You know, I’ve never had hot chocolate before.”
“No way!” I say, shelving my inner musings for some other time. “How is that possible?”
“I didn’t have the typical childhood with hot chocolate and marshmallows.”
“Mr. Hollywood, hot chocolate is a prerequisite for any kick-ass rainy day.”
He sips the steaming drink, moaning a little when he tastes it, and I feel that sound reverberate through every nerve ending.
“Damn, this is good.”
It’s ridiculous how happy his simple compliment makes me. I try to contain my smile but fail.