Not You It's Me

by Julie Johnson

  “Well, I’m so sorry not everyone uses your wrecking-ball approach to barging into other people’s lives!” My words are practically dripping with sarcasm. “Not everyone moves at hyper-speed, Chase. I’ve known you about a minute! I wasn’t aware I had to inform you of every little thing that happens in my life!”

  “I’m not asking for total transparency, Gemma. I’m asking you to be smart. I’m responsible for you, and—”

  “Why?”

  His eyes flash. “Excuse me?”

  “Why are you ‘responsible’ for me?” I snap. “You’re the one who said he didn’t do relationships, who said he didn’t date. And here you are, trying to control me, like some overprotective, overbearing boyfriend!” I’m practically vibrating with anger. “News flash: you’re not my boyfriend — you made it pretty clear where you stand on that front the first night we met — so why don’t you stop acting like this is anything more than you wanting to get in my pants and trying to make up for your sociopathic cousin!”

  I don’t mean it – not a single, stupid bit of it. I want to snatch the words back as soon as they leave my mouth.

  But it’s too late. They’re already out there, floating in the air between us. I watch their impact — the way Chase’s eyes go flat, how his mouth sets in a firm line, and a wave of remorse crashes over me. My lips open, ready to apologize, to take it back, to fix it.

  “Chase—”

  “There are t-shirts in the top drawer. Should be an extra tooth brush beneath the sink.”

  “What?”

  He doesn’t acknowledge my question as he rises to his feet. “Don’t leave. There are reporters stationed outside. Your apartment isn’t safe. And, if you go, I’ll just have Knox track you down and drag you straight back here.” His words are so controlled, you’d think he was talking to a total stranger as he walks to the elevator without another glance in my direction. “Goodnight, Gemma.”

  The doors slide open, he pushes a button, and he’s gone before I have time to muster outrage at his orders. Yet, even as the minutes tick by, alone in the dark apartment, the anger still doesn’t come.

  All I feel is regret.

  ***

  I try to stay awake, to wait for him to get back from wherever he’s gone to escape my bitchy words — something I really can’t blame him for doing — but I’ve had a crap day, not to mention a full glass of scotch, and every muscle in my body is aching with pure emotional exhaustion. He’s been gone mere minutes when my eyes start to droop. It’s not long before I find myself wandering out of the main room, so tired I barely process the fact that I’m in Chase Freaking Croft’s humongous, gorgeously decorated bedroom.

  I don’t bother turning on the lights as I move through the space, my eyes picking out the massive dresser even in the dark. I cross to it, slide open the top drawer, and grab a plain black t-shirt off the top stack. Even though he’s not here, there’s something intimate about undressing in Chase’s bedroom — I can almost feel his eyes on me as I slide the jeans over my hips, wincing as the dried blood from my glass-sliced kneecaps sticks to the fabric. I hurriedly pull off my shirt, unclasp my bra, and drop them to the floor in a pile, feeling exposed and vulnerable, standing nearly naked two feet from Chase’s massive bed.

  His shirt is huge on my frame, draping to mid-thigh, and as soon as I slip it over my head, I’m hit with a wave of Chase — his clean, masculine scent invading all my senses.

  For a moment I just stand there, breathing him in with my arms wrapped around myself, hugging the fabric to my chest and pretending he’s the one pulling me close in a comforting embrace.

  It’s a poor substitute for the real thing.

  With a regretful sigh, I slip into his private bathroom, barely able to meet my own eyes in the mirror as I brush my teeth with a spare toothbrush and wash my face. I pee, gulp down a glass of water from the tap, and douse the lights as I wander back into his bedroom, coming face to face with the massive bed frame which dominates the space. Black sheets, black headboard, black pillows — it’s a man’s bed, with no trace of frills or femininity. The sight of it makes me shiver so hard, I can’t imagine what climbing into it will do to me.

  And I’m not about to find out.

  Not tonight, at least.

  Skirting around the bed, I grab the soft gray blanket folded across the end, cross to the glass balcony doors, and step out into the cool night. It’s freezing, this high up, but my breath doesn’t catch just because of the cold or the magnificent view.

  Standing at the tallest point in the entire city, with all of Boston’s lights sprawled out below like a blanket of stars, and nothing above but clouds and open air… I’m untouchable. The very world is out of reach — reduced to smudges of color and motion so far below I can’t make out their shapes. Even the stars overhead seem dim and distant, obscured by the steady burn of Boston’s lights.

  Nothing can reach me here — not Brett, not Ralph, not even my own fears or insecurities.

  I’m safe.

  Protected in a way I’ve never been, even back when I was a kid.

  Thanks to Chase.

  The thought makes my heart ache, so I push it away. Ignoring the cold, I turn from the railing and scan the deck, my eyes moving from the built-in pool and hot tub on the far side to the set of cushioned chaise lounges, sun umbrellas, and tall patio heat lamps. On the opposite side of the deck, there’s a semi-enclosed kitchen setup, with stainless countertops, a giant grill, and a mini-fridge. The whole spot is perfect for summer barbecues and lazy afternoons.

  I could happily spend the rest of my days right here, on this deck in the sunshine with Chase, and never leave.

  The thought is so alarming, I banish it to the darkest recesses of my mind.

  I want to explore a bit more — hell, I want to strip to my skin and slide into the heated pool — but I’m too tired.

  With a last, longing glance at the in-deck hot tub, I flip on the closest heat lamp, stretch out on the chaise to my left, and tuck the blanket close around my limbs, so I’m cocooned against the chilly spring air. I make a half-assed attempt to pick out some of my favorite constellations in the sky overhead, but soon find I lack the energy. Even the many, many worries in my head aren’t enough to keep me conscious.

  My eyes slip closed and I’m asleep in less than two minutes.

  ***

  I stir awake to the sensation of arms carrying me through the air. The sound of the balcony door clicking shut pulls me back into full consciousness.

  “Chase?” I mumble, my voice laced with sleep.

  “Shh.”

  His hold shifts as he sets me down on the bed and, seconds later, the mattress depresses as he stretches out beside me. I feel the hard expanse of his bare chest pressed against my side, the gentle touch of his fingers in my hair, brushing loose strands off my face. My eyes flicker open and he’s right there, his face inches away, and his gaze is soft and warm when it meets mine. My heart starts to thud too fast in my chest as I take in the sight of him — the tan column of his throat, the chiseled slope of his shoulders. His abs are so defined they look air-brushed, complete with a trail of hair that leads straight down to the waistband of his black boxers.

  Oh. My. God.

  I’m not sure whether I’m more relieved or disappointed to find he’s not completely naked.

  Relieved. Definitely relieved, I chant over and over in my mind, not above lying to myself. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

  “Hey,” I whisper, the word cracking in my throat.

  His lips tug up in a half-smile. “Hey.”

  “Thought you were mad at me?”

  “I am.”

  “Oh,” I whisper, thinking he doesn’t seem mad with his hands in my hair and his body this close.

  He leans in and brushes his lips against mine. They’re somehow hard and soft all at once, and they feel absolutely perfect pressed against my own. I kiss him back with enthusiasm, and he doesn’t stop me… until I try to
deepen the kiss. With a gentle push, he moves us apart, so a few inches separate our faces. He’s breathing hard, and his eyes are hazy and dark when they meet mine. His fingers trace the chilled skin of my arms in a lazy caress.

  “You’re cold.”

  “I’m fine,” I insist.

  “It was fucking freezing out there.”

  I shrug.

  “You’ve got enough problems right now without adding pneumonia to the list.” He curses under his breath. “There’s a perfectly good bed right here. What were you thinking?”

  I’m grateful for the darkness — maybe it’ll conceal my blush.

  “Gemma.”

  He wants an answer. His tone practically demands it.

  Damn.

  Maybe if I say it really fast, he won’t fully process my words and thus it won’t be so embarrassing?

  “Ididn’twanttoclimbintoyourbedwithoutyouokay?”

  It comes out as one long slurred word, and as soon as it’s out of my mouth, I want to pull the covers up over my head and disappear. Or maybe suffocate myself with a pillow.

  I feel my cheeks getting redder the longer the words are out there, hanging in the silence between us. After nearly a minute of total quiet, I probably look like Chrissy after her honeymoon in Cancun a few years ago, when she had so many margaritas, she forgot all about sunscreen and turned into a lobster.

  I freeze when I feel Chase shift, closing most of the space between our faces until I’m forced to meet his eyes. I’m surprised to find they aren’t mocking or mean — they’ve gone soft again, and there’s a look swimming in their depths I can’t quite decipher.

  “You’d be a real pain in the ass if you weren’t so damn cute.”

  My lips twist in a half smile, half pout. “I’m sure there’s a compliment mixed in there, somewhere.”

  His voice gets gruff. “You planning on being a bitch again?”

  I think about it for a minute. “No. Not tonight, anyway.”

  There’s a short pause as he processes that, before his mouth stretches into a grin.

  “Good.”

  Then he’s kissing me again, and this time, there’s nothing soft or restrained about it. His arms slide around to the small of my back, and in one tug, he’s pulled me on top of him, so I’m sprawled against his chest. I press closer, wishing I could sink into him and let Gemma Summers disappear, at least for a little while.

  Maybe forever, if it means feeling like this for the rest of my life.

  The thought startles me so much, I plant my hands on his shoulders and try to push myself up to look at him. He doesn’t let me — his abs flex as he curls up, keeping his mouth fused to mine. If I’m going to get my protests out at all, I have no choice but to mumble them against his relentless lips.

  “Chase,” I whisper, but with his lips on mine it sounds more like chzz.

  He ignores me.

  “Maybe—”

  His kisses cut off my words.

  “Maybe we should—” I try again, before my words are swallowed up.

  He only kisses me harder.

  “—talk—”

  He sucks lightly on my lower lip, until I feel the scrape of teeth against sensitive skin, and my mind gets a little foggy.

  “—about this,” I breathe, my fingers digging into his biceps when he gently bites down, tugging on my bottom lip with his teeth. It feels so good, my mind literally frazzles into static.

  Why do I want to stop this, again?

  “Chase…”

  I gasp out his name, my voice filled with want, and at the sound, he breaks the kiss. I should be happy, considering I’m the one insisting we talk, but as soon as he pulls back, all I can think is Really? The man who ignores almost every protest out of my mouth chooses this moment to start listening?

  I want to slap myself across the face for ever suggesting we talk. My body doesn’t want to talk. And, from the look in Chase’s eyes, neither does he. They’re dark with passion — darker than I’ve ever seen, the green in his irises almost black in the dim light of the bedroom.

  We’re both panting hard, our faces so close, I can feel his breath against my lips. I open my mouth to speak, but for the life of me, I can’t remember what I wanted to say to him, what I felt was so important we discuss at this exact moment in time. In fact, all I can think is that right now, I want his lips back on mine and his body pressed as close as possible, kissing me until I forget to worry about my life and just live it.

  He stares at me for a long moment, reading the expression on my face, and whatever he sees there makes his eyes get lazy with heat. My stomach flips at the sight, trepidation and anticipation stirring in my veins. Closing the space I’ve created between us, he strokes our noses together and aligns our lips, so I can feel each word as they rumble through his chest and out his mouth.

  “Gemma…” His voice is rough, stripped of patience. “We’ve done enough talking.”

  His mouth closes over mine again, and this time, I don’t fight it. I let him kiss me, devour me, until there’s nothing left in the world except him and me, here in this dark room — two people utterly and completely wrong for each other… and yet, somehow, so totally right.

  His hands slip beneath the t-shirt, callused fingers exploring my back, caressing the bare skin there. It feels so good, my whole body arches against his, and I can’t stop the satisfied sigh that slides up my throat, past my lips, into his mouth. Lips never breaking contact, he swallows the sound and, before I can recover, his tongue slides inside to stroke mine. That single brush is all it takes to shatter what little restraint I’d been clinging to.

  It’s a shot of pure oxygen into the embers of slow-burning passion that have been smoldering between us for the past week. In seconds, we’re set ablaze — fiery, fierce, burning up with it. My hands trace his torso, greedily exploring every stretch of bare skin within reach as his grip tightens on my back. I scrape my nails against his chest, reveling in the feeling of his muscles contracting, and Chase groans low in his throat in response.

  Enjoying the way my touch affects him, I grin against his mouth, though my time with the upper hand is short lived — he flips over so fast I barely see him move, rolling me onto my back and settling above me before I can protest.

  Not that I’d want to.

  His weight presses me into the bed, a solid wall of heat, stealing the breath from my lungs without crushing me. I don’t know how it happens, but suddenly my t-shirt is gone — whipped over my head and tossed across the room before I’ve even seen Chase move. My thoughts blink out like a light bulb with a faulty fuse as soon as my bare chest brushes his. Every sense except touch goes dull — eyes unfocused, ears buzzing — as though my body is so overloaded by the sensation of his skin against mine, I can’t process any other sensory input. His lips drop to my neck, planting kisses along my throat, and the buzzing between my ears grows so loud, it drowns out my heartbeat.

  In fact, it’s getting pretty hard to ignore. Which is annoying because…

  NEARLY NAKED CHASE CROFT IS ON TOP OF ME.

  The buzzing stops for a second, then starts up again on short, insistent intervals. Though he’s still kissing me, Chase grumbles out a sound of frustration, and I feel my cheeks flame as awareness creeps into my brain.

  My mind isn’t buzzing — it’s his phone, on the bedside table.

  Oops.

  It vibrates again, and I freeze.

  “Ignore it,” he mutters against my neck, planting kisses in the hollow beneath my ear.

  I happily oblige, my hands knotting in his hair to pull him closer.

  The landline phone starts to sound in the other room, its piercing ring shattering the moment.

  “Fuck.” Chase groans and lifts his head so his forehead rests against mine. We’re both breathing too fast, and I’m almost positive my eyes are a mirror of his own — dilated with pure desire.

  “Go,” I whisper, craning my neck to brush my lips against his. “It might be important.” />
  “I don’t care,” he murmurs. “This is more important.”

  “It could be Knox.”

  He sighs and I feel his warm exhale across my lips. Without moving his body, he throws out one arm and snatches his cellphone off the bedside table. I hear him curse quietly as he reads the screen.

  “Fuck.”

  Which translates to: Yes, it’s important.

  “Chase,” I prompt, hearing the landline ring again.

  “I’m going.” He pushes up on his forearms and pins me with a glare. “Don’t you dare fucking move.”

  I grin. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  He snorts in amusement.

  “What?” I protest, my voice teasing. “When have I ever not followed your orders, Mr. CEO?”

  “How about every fucking day since we met,” he mutters, but his tone is playful, rather than pissed.

  I’m still laughing when he lowers his mouth to mine and kisses me one last time, his lips hard and unrelenting. By the time he’s done, my amusement is long gone and my body is thrumming with desire again. I stare up at him, filled with longing and regret, as he sits back on his knees. He’s about to move off the bed when he catches sight of my face.

  He freezes completely, every muscle in his body going tight. I’m sprawled in his bed and he’s gazing down at me in a way he’s never done before — in a way no man has ever done before. I know my hair is a mess of waves, fanning across his pillow, my cheeks are probably flushed redder than a tomato, and I’m pretty much naked except for a flimsy pair of panties, but somehow it doesn’t matter. I should be embarrassed. Hell, if it were anyone else, seeing me in this exposed state, I would be embarrassed.

  But it’s Chase.

  And he’s looking at me with such warmth, such sheer tenderness, as his eyes move over my hair and my body, I can’t feel anything except cherished.

  The phone rings again.

  “Go, before I pull you back down here,” I whisper.

  His eyes flash darkly and his jaw clenches tight. “Don’t tempt me, sunshine. You’re too goddamned beautiful. I’m having a hard enough time walking away, right now, and you can bet your ass I won’t be able to focus on a single thing Knox needs to tell me, knowing you’re naked in my bed.”