The Three-Week Arrangement (Chase Brothers)

by Sarah Ballance

  “That guy really is a jerk,” Ethan said. “I mean, he still looks like a jerk when he’s sitting still with his mouth shut. That takes some talent.”

  “It’s because he’s a spoiled, petulant child,” she said. “One who turned a bored look into an insult.”

  “Forget him,” Ethan said.

  “I plan on it,” she assured him.

  He was quiet for a moment. She was on the verge of reminding him about the ice cream when he spoke.

  “Sitting there listening to all those gala plans made me realize something. You don’t need to get home any time soon, do you?”

  “Not if you have ice cream.”

  He stared blankly. “You’ve mentioned ice cream twice in two minutes. At this point I’m afraid to hand you any, lest I lose my arm. Did you drive?”

  “No, took a cab.”

  “Good. I have my truck.”

  So she could invade more of his personal space. This was getting dangerous…for her. “First your apartment, then your bedroom when you introduced me to your new roommate, and now your truck. Careful there…you’re letting me in.”

  She’d been teasing, but to her own ears the words sounded like a warning—the kind that would shut down a guy like him, at least toward a woman who wasn’t his wife. But instead of backing down from the inflated importance of her words, he just grinned.

  “I want you in. At least until you leave.”

  Well, now she was screwed. She more or less understood the man who couldn’t let go of his past—off limits was as easy as it got—but whether or not he was teasing her with his want, those were loaded words. Words the Ethan Chase she’d met just a few days ago couldn’t have said if his life depended on it, at least not if the years before her meant anything near as much as the days since. And, of course, they did.

  They stopped for ice cream—not at a shop, but at a grocery store. He snagged a half-gallon of chocolate, and she went straight for the coffee flavor, wondering the entire time what in the world they were going to do with a gallon of ice cream. Back in the truck, he asked what kind of pizza she liked.

  “Absolutely any kind but anchovy.”

  He handed her his phone. “There’s an app. Order anything but anchovy.”

  She felt a little odd with his phone—probably because absolutely no one touched hers and lived to tell about it—but she didn’t argue. And he didn’t even look her way. She could have been digging through anything, and he wouldn’t know any different. Clearly he was indifferent, but the whole gesture rang of intimacy.

  She scrolled through his apps until she hit a pizza place, then pulled up his saved order. Extra-large Brooklyn style with everything but onions and anchovies. She clicked her way through the order until the confirmation screen appeared, then set his phone on the seat between them. “Fifteen minutes,” she said, and settled back against the seat.

  The late model truck had a million gadgets and electronic features that had come decades too late for her car, including a GPS that informed her they were less than five minutes from his apartment. Her stomach fluttered and that took her back to the balloon ride. She had not, for one second, foreseen that as something that could turn romantic. She’d seen the advertisements, of course, but this was Ethan. Sexy, hard-loving Ethan with his rough hands, and purveyor of the tenderest kisses she’d ever, ever experienced. It had been a fluke. She knew that. Knew it was more about the situation than it was her. Even wondered if he’d seen someone else when he’d pulled her in, but instinctively she knew otherwise. Whatever fueled that kiss, it had been theirs.

  And that terrified her. Even if they had something between them, it wouldn’t be enough to make her stay. She’d been there a dozen times before, standing at the beginning of something that felt as if it could go somewhere. Inevitably mistaken. She might feel differently about Ethan than she had any man before him, but that wasn’t enough to give up her dream. Not even if he really was different. Maybe especially not. Because if he tried to keep her off that plane, that would mean he didn’t understand her at all. And that might be even more devastating than leaving him behind.

  She tried to push that looming separation out of her mind, but going up to his apartment wasn’t exactly conducive to not thinking about him…at least not until she saw Shaggy. The dog’s tail thumped in recognition, and Rue went straight to her and scratched under her chin.

  Ethan watched them, a smile toying at his lips. “Sawyer said she looks like a skinny hippopotamus.”

  Rue laughed. “She kind of does.”

  He snorted. “I’m absolutely not telling him you said that. The last thing he needs is encouragement.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. “Just in case I need something to hold against you.”

  “Is that what women do? Plot ahead?” The skepticism in his tone did nothing to bury the warmth.

  She stood, grinning. “That’s kind of a cynical way of looking at it, but since I’m not looking to impress you, I’ll admit my memory works.”

  He looked at her for a long moment before his gaze dropped to her lips, where it again lingered. “Mine does, too.”

  Well, that did it. She barely heard the door buzzer over the crash of her heart, but it was more than that. It was need. Excruciating need. She’d fallen for him. Hard. And she was just going to have to pretend she hadn’t figured that out, because while she’d been saying she had to leave and that was that, she could stay. But even if she gave up her dream of travel photography, at least for a while, he’d made it clear he couldn’t—wouldn’t—be hers. It was the temporary nature of their relationship that had him feeling safe enough to let go. Nothing more—she was sure of it.

  She mentally batted down an internal protest against the injustice of it all, realizing too late that he’d collected the pizza and paid the tip—something she’d fully intended to handle. Maybe next time. But if she had any sense of self-preservation, there wouldn’t be a next time. There’d be the gala in a few days, and then one way or another, she’d be on a plane. As soon as she shot the calendar—the one she was suddenly grateful he’d refused to do.

  He cracked open a beer and handed her a plate. “Do you do coffee with your pizza?”

  “Actually,” she said, nodding toward the beer, “Can I have one of those?” She wasn’t the biggest fan of beer, but even she had to admit it went better with pizza than iced coffee did. Besides, she had ice cream to take care of the flavor fix. And while one drink wouldn’t do much to ease the knot she had in her stomach, she’d feel a little better for trying.

  Without hesitation, he handed her the one he’d just opened and grabbed another one from the fridge. “Table or sofa?”

  She glanced at the plate in her hand. “Honestly, I usually just sit on the sofa and eat right over the box lid.”

  “Then let’s do it.” He took the plate and put it back in the cabinet, then grabbed the box and followed her to the sofa.

  She took a spot on one end—neutral territory—and he sat right next to her and flipped open the box. “I don’t normally eat over someone else’s box lid,” she admitted.

  “I’m not worried about it.”

  “I kind of am,” she said, eyeballing the pizza. The oversized thin slices were loaded with toppings. She could fold the slice in half and still lose half of what it contained. “I don’t want to contaminate your leftovers.”

  “I think we’re past that point,” he said easily.

  “Are we?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to cram them back. Asking him for any kind of assessment of what they were was the exact opposite of what she wanted, and for that matter, dropping pizza toppings all over his leftovers might have been the best possible move. Anything to rein in this undefined thing between them that neither of them wanted, although she had a very good, very bad feeling that it wasn’t the thing she had to worry about.

  It was the aftermath.

  It was Tuesday. The gala was Friday. She’d get through it. All she
had to do was keep her mouth shut and eat her pizza—easier said than done, considering the physical impossibility of doing so—and not think about that kiss. Or those eyes. Or how it felt to be held by him, a thousand feet in open air, in a world that was almost exclusively theirs.

  Yeah, this wasn’t working.

  But it was going to have to. And it did, for a few blissful moments they spent tearing through the pizza. Ethan didn’t say anything until he’d polished off his fourth enormous slice. She shot a sideways glance at his abs and hated him for the fact they could exist if he always ate like that. Then her gaze crept upward, against her will, and hitched to his.

  “Do you think she’ll be happy here with me?” he asked.

  She needed a minute to realize he was talking about the dog. “Are you kidding? She’ll love it. She spent a lot of time alone at the shelter, and now she has your whole family. What’s not to love?”

  “Don’t get me started,” he said under his breath.

  She didn’t know what he was talking about. As far as she was concerned, there wasn’t enough wrong with him. Life had dealt him a devastating blow, but he wasn’t bitter. He may have closed himself off for a little while, but who wouldn’t? Besides, underneath all those guarded walls, he was thoughtful enough to stock her coffee and give a home to a dog who probably wouldn’t have found one with anyone else. She didn’t know what he could mean, at least not from a negative standpoint “But it’s better now, right?”

  “It’s different.” He pushed the pizza box to the coffee table, then glanced at the dog and got up instead and put it in the fridge. “I’ll learn.”

  “I have a feeling you’ll figure everything out just fine.”

  “I did manage to figure one thing out.”

  “Which was?”

  He walked back to the sofa and held out his hand. She expected at that point he’d pull her to her feet, but not into his arms. “That gala is in three days, and it’s been a long damn time since I’ve been forced to dance with anyone.”

  “No one is forcing you now,” she said lightly. Although by that point, she wasn’t above begging. Being in his arms was an experience she hadn’t been prepared for in the balloon, and despite the fact that she’d done nothing since but crave the deep, shuddering impact of full-body contact, it wasn’t the kind of thing for which a person could prepare. Especially not her. She didn’t do electricity. She’d sooner jump out of a plane than touch a nine-volt battery to her tongue. Or at least that had been the case. Because Ethan’s kind of electricity was addictive—the kind of stimulation any woman would crave. But she wasn’t any woman.

  She was the woman he’d kissed.

  “I want to dance with you,” he said, either impervious to or ignoring the fact that she stared, probably all moon-eyed and ridiculous. “Besides, if I don’t keep you busy, you know Boyd will want to. And you can pretty much guarantee that between your social status—”

  “My parents’ social status,” she corrected. “Which has nothing to do with me.”

  “Okay, between your DNA, and the people who can’t stop gaping at the fact that I have a date, I’d rather not spend the night tromping all over your feet.”

  “So you want to…dance? Here?”

  “Trust me,” he said ruefully. “This is not anything that needs to happen in public. Not yet.”

  “There’s no music.”

  He leaned over and picked up the remote, then pointed it at the TV and turned it on, programming it to a music channel. “Any other excuses? Because I’m pretty sure you asked me to jump out of a plane, and when I refused, you took me to New Jersey and put me in a balloon. Between that and your aspirations of flinging yourself to the ends of the earth, I figured dancing would be about as exciting as slowing down for a yellow light.”

  “Technically you took me to New Jersey,” she muttered. “And then you kissed me.”

  He was already pulling her back into his arms, but at her words he froze. “I won’t apologize for that. Not specifically. But if I crossed a line—”

  “Your line. Not mine.”

  “I don’t…” The objection had come immediately, but it didn’t last.

  “You do.” Whatever it was, he did. He had to, or she’d drown.

  “You’re leaving,” he said softly. “The lines are there, and they’re nonnegotiable. Neither of us has to worry about falling…not when there’s nowhere to go.”

  He said the words so matter-of-factly, like he hadn’t made her world turn and spin and dip and twist off its axis. It didn’t matter that he was denying anything between them, because within that denial lived an admittance.

  She hadn’t imagined this thing between them.

  She was too dazed to resist when he pulled her close, not that she would have. Nope, that ship had long sailed, and by her estimate, it was headed straight for an iceberg…as if an iceberg stood a chance against the utter hotness that was Ethan Chase.

  She barely heard the music, even though it was one of her favorite songs. She was too intoxicated by the sweet torture of his body as he held her. There was no way that kind of distance—or lack thereof—was mandatory for a public event. Hell, it wasn’t even appropriate for public. But it was so wholly, sweetly him. He really did pour his heart into everything he did, and she hoped one day he’d find a way to move on. He deserved that happiness more than anyone she knew.

  Even if it would never be hers. Maybe especially so.

  And he didn’t step on her feet. Not once.

  “You clearly haven’t forgotten a thing,” she said, looking up at him.

  “Actually, I’ve never gotten through a single dance without some sort of assault to a foot.”

  “Maybe you just needed a break.”

  “Maybe I just needed the right dance partner.”

  Idiot. Wisely, she didn’t say the word out loud, but damn it all to hell. She took a step back, slipping from his arms. Gulping for air. “Look, while I absolutely love that you’re getting the hang of this woman in vicinity thing, you’re killing me. You’re making me ache in spots I didn’t know I had, and you’re setting fires I don’t know how to put out.” He opened his mouth, but she cut him off before he could speak. “And trust me when I say I’m really enjoying it, but you don’t want pity, Ethan, so I’m not giving it to you. I’m not going to stand here and fall apart for the greater good, because when the week is up, I’m going to have to find a way to pull myself together and get on a plane and leave all this behind.”

  “Rue—”

  “I know we had an arrangement,” she ranted, “but this isn’t Broadway. We don’t throw down our scripts at the end of the week and just walk away. At least not me, because I—”

  He silenced her. He silenced the hell out of her with a kiss that went way past sweet and had them heading straight to the bedroom.

  Literally.

  And then he shut the door.

  Chapter Ten

  Holy. Shit.

  She’d been in his bedroom before, and on his bed, and with need tearing through her. But not like this. The click of the door latch seemed to echo forever, and in the silence that followed, strains of music found her, but they sounded a million miles away.

  He didn’t say a word. Just cradled the back of her head with one hand and rested the other against the small of her back, and he kissed her so deeply, so thoroughly that he had to have been holding her up. Her knees were useless, and gravity had ceased to exist. The earth could have folded beneath them, and she wouldn’t know anything but the exquisite torture and taste of him. He was impossibly hard. Impossibly gentle. Not possibly real. But there was no denying anything about him, from the deep, tender kisses to the quiet sigh of her name on his lips.

  Her name.

  He walked her backward to the bed, never breaking the kiss as he lowered her to the mattress and crawled down after her, nestling between her thighs, leaving her caught between the thick bedding and utter ecstasy.

  “Are you sure you know w
hat you’re doing?” she managed.

  “It’s been a while,” he said softly, his lips tickling hers and setting off a shower of sparks that would have the fire alarms wailing any minute now. “But I’m confident I’ll figure it out.”

  Not what she meant. She had no question that he’d figure that part out. Before she could correct him, he kissed her again, and the very splendid pressure of him, rock hard between her thighs, obliterated rational thought.

  Almost.

  Because this was just too important—too big—to get wrong.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Maybe she shouldn’t have questioned him—she was definitely treading into crazy woman territory now—but despite the obvious temporary nature of this thing they were doing, she didn’t want him to see her as a mistake.

  He stilled the motion of his hands, one caught in her hair and the other on her hip, and all of a sudden she could see this spectacle they made. Two train wrecks—one who couldn’t stop running and one who couldn’t let go. Only he had let go enough to bring her to his bed, and she’d stopped running enough to realize that, for once, there was nowhere else she wanted to be.

  “I want this,” he said, his voice deliciously husky. “I’d like to promise you it’s a good idea, but I can’t do that. I can’t say anything about tomorrow or what’s going to happen to me when you get on that plane, but I do know that in this moment, you’re a gift. And I don’t want to watch you fly away from me without having this memory. Assuming I don’t embarrass myself or send you screaming into the night, that is.”

  “I think you can count on me screaming,” she said, then laughed at the face he made. “And I think you can rest assured that when that plane is taking off, for the first time in my life, I’ll be thinking about what I left behind.” She hesitated. “You know it’s just a night, right?”

  He grinned. “You do know it’s an entire night?”

  At which point she was ruined. Fully clothed and wrecked. Or so she thought, until the next sweet, tender kiss deepened, and she couldn’t be sure if it was Ethan devouring her or her own pounding need. And even that didn’t compare to the slide of his hand along her side. Because then he wasn’t just kissing her, he was holding her.