"Don't." His hot glance raked from the stark white lace covering the small mounds of her breasts to the enticingly high-cut legs of her sensible cotton briefs. "You have nothing to be self-conscious about. Not with me."
It had been five years since she'd been with a man. Five years since she'd been reminded of how inadequate she was in certain areas of her anatomy. But Chase scattered those thoughts with the flick of his fingers. Skimming the lace away, he shaped her with his hands, the hunger in his face relieving insecurities he'd scarcely given her time to consider.
She couldn't believe how beautiful he made her feel when he told her she was perfect and closed his mouth over her, groaning with the way she bloomed against his tongue. She couldn't believe, either, how easy he made it for her to do what she never thought she could have done and play the aggressor with him. He emboldened her. He freed her. And by the time he let her go to move back on the bed, he'd systematically attacked every defense she possessed.
Together they eased his leg up, and he edged back to the pillows so they could deal with his belt and his jeans. The safety pins holding the split seam of his denims were a challenge. But she managed to get them unfastened and to get his pants and boxers over the EFD. The clothing had barely hit the floor before he leaned over to take a condom from the nightstand. A moment later, he'd curved his hand around the back of her neck to bring her back with him, and he told her he could take it from there.
"My turn," he murmured, and kissing her breathless, stripped off the last bit of fabric she wore and pulled her on top of him.
His long hard body seared her softer curves, her stomach quivering at the feel of his turgid length pressed to her. She drank his moan at that contact, then nearly moaned herself at the loss when he tore his mouth away and hooked his hands under her arms.
As if she weighed nothing at all, he drew her up his chest. His mouth brushed the pulse pounding at the base of her throat, the soft skin between her breasts. He shifted her then, catching her nipple in his mouth, and the sensations he created nearly sent her up in flames. He traced that arc of fire to the other side, ministering there until she nearly whimpered with need. Whispering her name, he told her how he'd ached to do exactly what he was doing now. And did it all over again.
He had every nerve in her body vibrating when he guided her back down. His tongue plunged into her mouth on the way, carrying her into a dark swirl of mindless sensation as his hands swept over her, molding, exploring. She could taste his need, feel his raw, unmasked hunger. He'd unleashed that same hunger in her, tapped into a place she'd never known existed. She didn't just feel alive with him. He made her feel essential. He made her feel a feminine power that told her she was as vital to him at that moment as the very air he breathed.
He'd thought he could hold out. He'd thought he could take the torture a little longer. He'd told himself he'd reached for her only because she'd looked so hurt by what he'd said. But he had known even then that he'd needed to feel her in his arms. He'd thought if he could just hold her for a minute, he would be all right. He'd needed the calm he sometimes felt when she touched him.
Need.
He didn't trust the word. Want, he understood. That was all this was. This mind-numbing desire boiling his blood. The calm had come over him long enough for her scent to fill him, for her softness to beckon him. And all he'd wanted from that instant on was to lose himself inside her.
That was all he wanted now. Holding out was no longer possible.
He urged her small, supple body upward, hooking her by the waist to guide her back down. Burying his head against her shoulder, he gritted his teeth against the exquisite sensation of gloving himself in her heat, then trapped her face between his hands when her breath hitched and swallowed her welcoming sigh.
Beyond that, there was no thought. There was just her and what she made him feel—and the overwhelming sensation that he was racing toward something that he needed with every fiber of his being.
He should turn off the light. The thought occurred to him, vaguely, as he smoothed back the strand of Alex's hair tickling his cheek and drew the sheet to her shoulders. It was two o'clock in the morning. They'd fallen asleep, only to awaken and make love again, under the covers this time, and drift back off.
He wasn't sure what had wakened him now. The tickling, maybe. She lay curled against his right side, her long leg draped over his good one, her head on his shoulder and her hand curved against his chest. Her breathing was deep and even.
She shouldn't have felt so good there. He was sated, sleepy, and his whole body felt as relaxed as hers. He should have been waking her, telling her what time it was so she could go on to her own bed. He always woke up alone.
It was because he felt so relaxed that he closed his eyes, tucked his cheek against the top of her head and ignored the light. He'd never before felt the peace he did at that moment. He was sure it wouldn't last. It would probably even be gone the next time he awoke. But for now, it was there. And he just wanted to hold her.
* * *
Chapter Twelve
« ^ »
Alex's house still wasn't ready. It had now been a month since the water damage had forced her from her home, but a delay with the drywall contractor had caused a delay with the painter who couldn't start until Monday. It would be the middle of next week before the mess would be gone.
Chase had mentioned that little circumstance while he'd piled pasta on their dinner plates that evening. Because the subject had come up between Alex's pleased comments about the report she'd received from his therapist about his progress and Chase's reminder that he had a meeting tomorrow night with his architect, the latest development with her house had merely sounded like a minor detail—rather than the postponement of the inevitable.
For the past two weeks Alex had been dreading the day she no longer had an excuse to stay under his roof. She and Chase had melded into each other's lives with an ease that would have been frightening had she allowed herself to truly think about it. When he was busy, she brought dinner home or put something together herself. When he wasn't tied up with business, he cooked for them, then he and Tyler would watch videos or CNN while she reviewed a file or took a call or—once—while she slipped into a long, hot bath. There had been a few times when his day had run long; others when she'd come in late. But no matter what the day had brought, or how late the evening had been, they spent their nights in each other's arms.
He was an incredible lover. He was a wonderful friend. To her and to her son. Yet there was still a part of himself he held back from her.
With the news about her house, she didn't yet have to face what she might or might not mean to him. But that day inched inexorably closer. And every day she fell a little more in love.
Make that every minute, she thought, as she stopped in the doorway of Chase's study.
The room was an expansive space of empty built-in bookcases and a space-age-looking arc of slate desk that Gwen had equipped with nearly every office gadget known to man. Behind the desk loomed a black leather chair that looked like the command seat for a space shuttle.
Chase sat in that chair in front of the computer, a cobalt-blue golf shirt stretching across his broad shoulders. Tyler leaned against his side, his little hand on the computer's mouse. When he'd seen Chase wearing a blue shirt this morning, he'd run back to his room and changed into the baggy blue T-shirt that now sported a slash of yellow fingerpaint from a project at Child Care.
Smiling, her glance moved between the dark-haired man's compelling profile and the concentration screwing up Tyler's little face.
"Hey," she murmured, walking past a table stacked with documents.
"Hey, yourself." His smile intimate and easy, Chase sat back and rubbed his chin. "We're playing Monopoly."
"Yeah, Mom. I'm gonna get Park Place
!"
"Good for you."
Chase splayed his big hand over Tyler's corn-silk hair, ruffling it good-naturedly. "We're having a l
ittle trouble keeping our money straight, but we're working on it."
"He's only four," she pointed out, watching her grinning little boy rub his chin the way the big man had done. "Isn't there something in there a little easier?"
"A man is never too young to acquire real estate."
"Yeah, Mom," Tyler repeated. "I'm an ogle."
"Mogul," Chase corrected, smiling at his protégé.
Tyler grinned back, basking in the man's attention.
Alex wasn't quite sure what it was that tugged at her heart just then. It was as clear as a test tube that her son adored Chase. The man was as patient as a saint with him and she'd felt more than a little gratitude for the way he'd answered countless questions about cars and bugs and spiders. She knew Tyler needed male influence. That was one of the reasons she was so grateful for Ryan's and Tanner's presence in their lives. She just hadn't realized how attached Tyler was becoming to Chase until she saw him standing in the shirt he'd put on to match Chase's, mimicking the man's motions and grinning up at him as if the guy had invented the earth.
Suddenly uneasy, trying to hide it, she held out her hand to her budding tycoon. "Come on, sweetie. Chase said he had some things he needed to do, and you need to feed your pets and get your bath so I can get to the work I brought home."
"Aw, Mommy. Do I hafta?"
"I already made my calls." Turning in his chair, Chase murmured something to Tyler that had the boy looking utterly resigned. A moment later, Tyler had tucked his tongue in the corner of his mouth and was clicking on the icon Chase had pointed out. "I'll supervise the bath while you review your files. Just give us a minute to shut down the computer, okay?"
Maternal instincts jerked hard. "That's okay. I'd rather bathe him myself. I haven't seen him much today," she explained, immediately softening her tone and her refusal of his offer to help her out. "But thanks."
Chase's brow pinched, his glance holding hers long enough for her to know he'd caught the defensiveness in her tone. It seemed to him that she'd been a little edgy tonight. She had been ever since he'd told her about the call he'd received from her agent about her house. Between Tyler whining because he'd been hungry and the phone call she'd had to take right after he'd told her he'd be late tomorrow evening, he'd figured she was just preoccupied with any of the dozen things she usually had on her mind. Now, though, seeing the way she glanced so quickly from him, he had the feeling it wasn't work on her mind.
He had the feeling he knew what was, though, and he wanted to set her mind at ease. Now just wasn't the time.
"Okay, sport," he said, scooting Tyler toward his mom. "Bath and bed. We'll take up where we left off tomorrow."
The little boy made it to the end of the desk before he turned right back around, walked up to his side and leaned in for a hug. Without even thinking about it, Chase hugged him back and lifted his hand for Tyler to "high five." Another hug and he was walking toward his mom, wiping his nose on the hem of his baggy shirt.
It was a fair indication of how distracted Alex was that she didn't groan at what her son was doing. She was too busy feeling protective, and wondering where along the line she'd forgotten to be wary of how natural Chase looked with her son. It was bad enough that the dreams she'd been afraid to consider had slipped past her guard. She didn't want her son suffering the loss of those nebulous hopes, too. He was too young. Too innocent.
Tyler, as usual, was one step ahead of her—and his chatter made it apparent he was already thinking along the very lines she was trying to avoid. Chase was all he talked about while they fed Tom, the gerbil and the goldfish, and during his bath and while she dried and dressed him and tucked him into bed. He told her that Chase said he was having a model built of his new building and that he'd take Tyler to see it if it was okay with her. He told her he wanted to build buildings like Chase. He wanted to get crutches like Chase. He wanted to be just like Chase.
"How about you being just like you?" she asked, smiling at his earnest little face as she smoothed the sheet under his chin. "I happen to love you the way you are, you know."
"But don't you love him, too?" he asked, perplexed.
Yes, she thought. I do. "I love a lot of people," she said, copping out. "But I love you best."
"But he's neat, huh?"
"Yes, sweetie. He's neat." She kissed his freckled nose. "Now go to sleep."
"Mom?"
"What?" she asked, reaching past the goldfish bowl on the white oak nightstand to turn off the light. "Griffin has a dad. Can I have one, too?"
Oh, Tyler. "Maybe someday."
"Can I call Chase Daddy?"
She flicked off the light, using darkness to hide the way she must certainly have paled. "No, sweetheart." Her voice was hushed, her touch gentle as she stroked her son's soft cheek. "It's different with you and Griffin. Ryan is Griffin's father. Chase is your … friend."
"Oh."
Just like that. Oh.
She whispered good-night to him then, and he mumbled "'Night," around an expansive yawn, snuggling deeper into the blankets as she moved to the door. But what he seemed to have accepted with relative ease only compounded the concern that had formed in her chest a while ago—until she realized she really didn't need to worry about Tyler getting any more attached to the man than he already was. The problem would take care of itself when she moved back to her house in a few days.
An hour ago, she'd dreaded that day. She still did, only now the need to protect her son had added ambivalence to the mix of emotions she dealt with on her way into the kitchen with her briefcase.
Work demanded that she push aside that confusion of feelings, however. She had two files to review before tomorrow morning's surgeries.
By the time she'd fixed herself a cup of tea, she'd cleared her mind of everything but that nagging concern for her little boy. Forcing her focus to her patients, she managed to put even that on hold when she reached for the first file and settled herself at the island.
She was still sitting there, her head bent in concentration, when Chase came through the archway an hour later.
"I thought you were still with Tyler."
Glancing up, she saw him look from the open file in front of her as he maneuvered himself to stand behind the stool she occupied.
Balanced on his crutches, he curved his hands over her shoulders, zeroing in on the spots he knew were tightest. "You could bring that to bed, you know."
"I needed to concentrate."
"Meaning you can't concentrate in bed?"
"Not on an infected femoral nonunion."
"I'm not sure I want to know."
"It's what you could have had if your bones hadn't knit so beautifully and the antibiotics hadn't worked."
"Knowing that," he murmured, brushing his lips along the side of her neck while his thumbs dissolved her knots, "I wouldn't be able to concentrate, either."
She didn't know how he did it. In the space of seconds, he could have the tension draining from certain places only to have her tightening in others. All he had to do was start working on her neck. And kissing her.
"How much longer will you be?"
Reaching forward, she closed the file. "I just finished."
"Then my timing's good. I want to talk to you. About what I told you about your house."
His hands suddenly slipped away. A moment later, he'd pulled out the stool beside her with the tip of his crutch and sat down facing her, his injured leg extended below the hem of his tan shorts and one boater-shod foot planted on the low rung.
Except for the hum of the refrigerator, the room was silent.
Alex wasn't sure her heart was even beating. His glance skimmed her face as he reached out and trailed his fingers along her jaw. The touch was familiar, something he usually did just before he drew her into his arms. But this time, he just edged her knees around so that she faced him and picked up her hand.
"When I told you what your agent said," he prefaced, "I got the feeling you might think you have to leave
just because your house is ready. You don't have to go, Alex. I want you and Tyler to stay."
She'd gone completely still. She knew she was waiting. She just wasn't sure if she was waiting to figure out how she was supposed to respond, or waiting for words she hadn't dared hope to hear.
He gave her no clue as he sat watching the confusion play over her face. Apparently, that was all he'd intended to say.
Caution stole through her stillness. He'd leased the house for three months. That had been nearly two months ago. "How long do you plan to stay in Honeygrove?"
His glance fell to where her hand rested limply in his. With his thumb, he brushed over her knuckles, then looked back up. "Another month. Until the dedication of the new wing."
A hollow ache settled in her stomach as she slowly slipped her hand away. "You're going back to Seattle then?" she asked, amazed by the evenness of her tone.
"That's where I live, Alex. This is just temporary."
They were talking about the house. But she knew he was talking about them, too. He wasn't asking her to go with him. He wasn't saying he wanted them to keep seeing each other after he'd gone. He wasn't even making polite noises about seeing her when he returned to see his brothers. All he'd said was that he wanted her to stay with him now.
Stool legs scraped lightly on the floor as she turned with all the grace she could muster and stepped away to pick up her cup. The agitation creeping through her demanded movement. The ache in her chest demanded distance. "My staying here was temporary, too," she reminded him, refusing to let him see that ache. "I need to go home when the house is ready."
She could feel his eyes on her back as she dumped the remaining tea into the sink. "Why?"
The honest puzzlement in the question had her staring at him blankly.
"Why can't you stay?" he prodded. "You're comfortable here, aren't you? I know Tyler is."
Comfort had nothing to do with it. "Tyler's part of the reason I need to go." The biggest part. "It's probably easier for you having us here, but it will be easier on him in the long run if we stick to the original plan."
DR. MOM AND THE MILLIONAIRE Page 20
