The sigh of relief that came next was ready-made with a hint of internal disappointment. "For a second there, I thought you meant we'd rehearse the second scene."
"You mean the love scene?" Chase asked.
Peri nodded.
"Oh, we should at least run through it." One beat. "Are you comfortable with that?"
Peri hesitated, not quite sure how to answer. The truth: She was so comfortable with it that she wanted to improvise what wasn't on the page. And her version could definitely take things to a too-hot-for-prime-time level.
"Trust me," Chase assured her. "It's better that we break the ice before the real audition. We can get past the initial awkwardness and establish a real chemistry. Our characters have already been intimate, so we don't want it to look like we're kissing for the first time."
The main entrees arrived, Peri could hardly concentrate on her lamb dish. It was delicious, but she basically took a few bites and pushed the rest around her plate to disguise her lack of appetite.
She asked Chase about his background, even though she knew it by heart, having consumed every bit of information published about him and occasionally Googling him for Internet mentions.
He grew up in Dallas, attended the University of Texas, played college rugby, majored in business, tried out for a campus production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, got the lead, then dropped out of school altogether, moved to New York a month later, and started to get jobs right away. Yes, he was that guy for whom it seemed everything in life came easily—career, friends, sports … women.
Peri had seen the paparazzi photos. Chase at the People's Choice Awards with an unknown blonde. Chase at the Screen Actor's Guild Awards with a vaguely familiar brunette actress. Chase at the opening of the new Helmut Lang store with a Maxim model.
And now, here he sat with her, the struggling actress and part-time barista. Peri was hardly the pinup type. The question begged to be asked: Why was he with her?
Chase smiled at her while digging into a sinful mixture of peppermint ice cream and flourless dark chocolate cake.
Peri grinned back. "What?"
"I'm trying to picture you in this part. It's definitely not typecasting. You're so cute and sweet. It'll be fun to see you channel your inner vixen."
Pen swooped her spoon in for a small bite of cake. "I can be bad," she said silkily.
"Oh, yeah?" The look he gave her was hotter than lava.
"Don't put Baby in a corner," Peri said, referencing that notoriously awful line from Dirty Dancing. Chase laughed.
Peri drank deeply from what was now her fourth glass of wine. The slight buzz made her feel alternately bold and reluctant. But one impression lingered. How many dinners like this had Chase orchestrated? The desperate actress. The audition. The love-scene rehearsal. It was either a real dream-come-true or the worst casting couch cliché being played out at her expense. Peri felt herself withdraw.
Instantly, Chase picked up on it. "Is something wrong?"
"No, of course not," Peri lied … badly. And she called herself an actress? "It's just … I can't help but wonder how often you do this."
"Order dessert?" Chase joked. "Hardly ever."
Peri smiled at his evasive answer, then narrowed her gaze playfully, letting him know that there was no getting around a straight answer.
He raised his right hand in the peace sign. "Scout's honor: I've never scammed an actress's number from the casting office before. Yours is the first."
Peri believed him. So she wasn't the flavor of the week. This was a good sign.
"These days, I'm more used to women giving me their numbers." He pointed at her accusingly. "But you never did. Forgive me if I'm clumsy, but my muscles in the fine art of female pursuit have atrophied a bit."
Peri rolled her eyes skyward at his sweet attempt at self-deprecation. "Well, I'm sure it's kind of like riding a bike."
"I'm not a serial dater," Chase announced. "I went through my man-whore phase during the first season of Physical Evidence." He shook his head at the thought, almost shuddering. "You wouldn't have wanted to know me then."
"That bad?"
"Pretty bad. But I got it out of my system. The second season I tried to date seriously, but nothing made it past the three-month mark, and even then, I was struggling to make it that far."
"This is your third season. So what's it going to be—marriage or celibacy?"
Chase arched his brow. "According to one of my co-stars, there's no difference." He sipped slowly on his wine. "I never want to settle, you know? To stay with someone or, God forbid, marry someone just because it's good enough. I see so many people around me do that. It's like the idea of a relationship is enough for them. But that kind of happiness fades fast."
Peri raised her glass. "Truer words have never been spoken."
"So you can relate?"
"Oh, yes."
"Sounds recent," Chase said gently.
"It is. By a matter of days."
"Rough time of year to go through a breakup."
"Not when it's for the best. I'm not moping around wondering how I'll make it through the holidays. I actually have a chance this year at having a Merry Christmas. I don't think there's anything more lonely than being with the wrong person." Peri gazed at Chase sunnily. "In fact, this just might be one of my favorite Christmases ever."
"Really?"
"Even if I don't get the part. I know that—"
Chase interjected. "You can't think that way. The part is yours. You have to own it. Don't be that doubting actor with the overactive voice in your head that constantly tells you what's not going to happen."
Peri let out a guilty sigh. "I do that to myself all the time." She halted. Oh, God, did she sound like a teetering neurotic? Granted, she had her I'm-not-worthy moments, but deep down, she wasn't that girl. "When it comes to acting, I've never had much of a cheerleading squad. My parents think it's a silly dream, and my fi-…ex-fiancé never took it seriously either."
"That's easy to reverse," Chase said with philosophical directness. "Just find a conscious place where you tell yourself what can happen."
For show, Peri shut her eyes and pretended to try. I can bounce back from a bad relationship with an amazing guy like Chase McCloud.
"I want to hear you say it," Chase whispered.
Peri opened her eyes. "I can…"
"Can I tell you a secret?" Chase whispered, saving her from the words that died in her throat as she got lost in the infinite pools that were his eyes.
Peri nodded blankly.
"I really am a Caramel Frappuccino guy."
She smiled at him. "What are you talking about?"
He laughed a little. "It's true. I hate that Nicaraguan stuff. It's like drinking tar."
Now Peri was laughing. "Well, why do you order it then?"
Chase shrugged in that charming way that guys who've done something stupid do. "Because. The first time I walked through the door of Rush Hour, I took one look at you behind the counter and went, "Wow, I'm in trouble." And I knew this was a serious coffee joint, and I didn't want to half-ass it and create a bad first impression, so I went for the tough stuff."
Peri shook her head, still laughing at him. "That is so adorable. And it was so unnecessary. I was already a fan. God, you could've ordered a chocolate milk, and I still would've thought you were Cary Grant."
"See, it's those damn seduction muscles again. They're not properly conditioned."
"Well, maybe you need to work out more," Peri said.
"You want a pickup line? I've got a great pickup line."
Peri smiled. "You pretty much had me at Caramel Frappuccino, but lay it on me."
"Some love doctors in Japan came up with it. Apparently, it has just the right number of linguistic triggers to make a girl go crazy. Are you ready?"
Peri nodded.
"Rainen no hono hi mo Issho ni waratteeiyoh."
"What does it mean?"
Chase took both of her hands in his now, his smile
warm, broad, welcoming, and full of infinite possibility. The sight of him was practically a Christmas miracle. "This time next year, let's be laughing together."
"It doesn't take long for you to get back in shape, does it? I'd go anywhere with you right now."
"Let's get out of here." Chase said.
He opened the steel door to his SoHo apartment on Mercer Street, and Peri stepped inside a spacial wonderland. It was a swamping twenty-three-hundred square feet with thirteen-foot ceilings; exposed pipes, beams, and brick; dark walnut floors; and a gleaming Viking kitchen with a bar that stretched on forever.
"This is incredible," Peri said, marveling at the sophisticated, understated decor.
Chase began flicking on lights, then dimming them for mood creation.
An enormous Maine coon cat sloped in from what appeared to be the bedroom, gave Peri and Chase a bored look, then sloped back.
"That's Bingo the Second," Chase explained. "He's kind enough to let me live here, too."
Peri laughed. "I would love to have a cat, but my roommate's allergic." She thought of Anna Stallings and her allergies, phobias, strange work hours, and obsessive amounts of time spent in Internet chat rooms. "Among other things."
"I know that voice," Chase said, moving over to a sleek butler table to open a bottle of pinot noir. "That's the crazy roommate voice."
"Oh, don't get me started," Peri said, doing her best Fran Drescher.
Chase laughed. "Believe me, I've been there."
"How long have you been here?"
"Just a few months. I kept thinking Physical Evidence was going to be canceled. Finally, once we started the third season, I decided to ditch the studio walk-up and the smelly roommate."
Peri accepted her glass of wine and drank deeply. "It took you until the third season?"
Chase shrugged. "I should probably practice what I preach about that little voice, huh? But I'd been a part of so many pilots that didn't get picked and series that got the ax after just a few episodes. I was a little gun-shy about a mortgage."
"Well, it's a beautiful place."
"Thanks. I can't take much credit, though. My sister's an interior designer in Dallas. She flew in to help out her baby brother."
A silence descended. It was uneasy … but in a good way. The tension wire between them tightened.
Chase gestured to the bar. "Why don't you have a seat? I'll get changed into my Bingo gear, and we can run through the first scene."
Peri sought out the script pages for a quick review, slipped onto one of the bar stools, and mentally prepped for the reading, calling forth the same attitude she had brought to the character earlier that day.
Chase stepped back into the room.
But Peri merely zeroed in on her wineglass, as the scene called for.
"No fair. You're way ahead of me already," he said.
"I had to do something for the twenty minutes I've been waiting." Peri turned to Chase, and the sight of him in full Bingo Grant gear—the police vest, the C.S.I, patch, the laminated photo ID badge—startled her.
For one long, surreal moment, everything stood still. From the very first broadcast of Physical Evidence, Peri had been hooked, never missing an episode. There was just something about Chase McCloud. Maybe it was his charisma and sex appeal, which seemed to run on a divine grade of superhuman fuel.
"I don't think you're supposed to be looking at me like that," Chase said quietly. "At this point in the scene, your character can't stand me."
"Who do you think I am—Meryl Streep?"
Chase smiled the smile of a man who knew he wasn't waking up alone the next morning. "Is it warm enough for you? I can turn up the furnace. I don't want you to be cold when I take off your clothes."
Peri was momentarily taken aback by the intentional, gentlemanly … rudeness. It might've been the sexiest thing any man had ever said to her. In fact, his polite yet potently sexual delivery left her a little bit undone.
She had to admit to herself that she was standing at the lip of the landslide of her fantasy—the one that she lived out every week after the final credits of Physical Evidence rolled, the one that smoked her mind each time he stood in line for his Nicaraguan ristretto, the one that she'd had the temerity to write down in that high school auditorium while sitting among the Promise Makers.
And now here she was, being gently piloted away from the bar, through the living room, and toward his bedroom. For a moment, Peri wondered how many others had run this gauntlet. But then all outside thoughts receded, and the only thing that existed was the two of them.
Chase lifted off her poncho and placed it carefully on the impressively tidy floor. Then he undid the middle button of her shirt and slid his hand inside to fondle her breast while his mouth moved in to claim hers.
Peri's lips parted in semi-amazement. She felt a thrilling tingle. The way their mouths fit so perfectly together. The charm and elegance of his seduction. It was exotic, erotic intoxication. She was drunk on the reality of finally living out the illicit dream that had stalked her mind like a wolf in the woods for so many months.
Chase drew back and carefully unfastened her wrist buttons before undoing the rest. When it was time to slip off her blouse, the fabric fell silkily to the floor, like a perfectly choreographed love scene from a romantic movie.
He moved to stand behind her, briefly letting his hands travel up the inside of her thighs. His fingertips lingered there, lightly, practically a feather touch, but hot enough to burn through the denim and scorch her imagination.
"You've got the softest skin," Chase murmured, unhooking her black lace bra and sliding it off her shoulders. His hands moved fast to caress her breasts, and he started a trail of soft, wet kisses from her shoulder to her neck to her ear … and then back again.
Peri just shut her eyes, basking in the wonderful, terrible notion that something so glorious was happening … and that something so glorious would have to end at some point. She felt like she could go on like this forever.
"You're so beautiful," Chase whispered.
Peri moaned her thanks as his tongue found that erogenous spot in the crevice of her ear. She pushed back against him, feeling the physical proof of his arousal hard against her. Oh, God, he knew how to make a woman feel good.
"I'm going to make love to you until we're so exhausted that we fall asleep," Chase promised in a thick whisper. "And then I'm going to make you breakfast, and we're going to do it all over again. I can't remember the last time a woman turned me on like this." He pressed himself into her back. "Can you feel it? That's what you do to me."
Chase eased her onto the bed and made a show out of removing her boots, her socks, her Seven jeans, her panties. And then he just stood there, staring, as if mesmerized by the first nude woman he'd ever seen in the flesh. "Merry Christmas to me," he murmured.
Peri marveled at the effect this had on her. With Mike, she'd always felt so insecure in bed, careful to always suck in her tummy, too afraid to try anything new with him. It was because he knew nothing of courtesy, generosity, or patience. And as a result, she never felt desirable.
But Chase made her feel like the sexiest, most confident woman in the world. And her arousal matched her newfound sensual belief in herself as she lay there watching him undress himself.
The vest, the pullover, the undershirt, the navy khakis, the boots—everything came off effortlessly. He even de-socked himself without breaking the spell. And the moment he was done, he returned to her, starting with her breasts, sucking slowly, licking them like they were the most delicious thing in the world, over and over again.
When he started to travel down, Peri lifted her hands overhead and gripped the sheets, preparing for the volcanic moment to come.
His mouth lingered between her thighs, hovering there, breathing into her, gently exploring her opening with his fingers. "Are you comfortable?" Chase asked. "Do you need a pillow under your back?"
"I'm fine," Peri breathed, arching her pelvis forward.<
br />
"Because I plan on being here for a long time." After that announcement, he moved in for the kill.
And Peri died instantly. Her mouth was open as the breath shuddered in her throat. Everything blistered and burned as he probed her with his fingers, relished her with his moans of pleasure, feasted on her with his tongue. From her slick depths to the tiny tip of her pleasure source, he owned her.
Peri pushed forward, as if welcoming him with her whole body, as the exquisite quickenings started in her stomach, and the slow melt started from the rest of her. She pulled at the sheets with such force that her knuckles were white. And the sexual adrenaline gave her such strength, she heard the distinct sound of a rip.
"Oh, yes, oh, yes, oh, yes," Peri moaned as the incredible feeling took her, lifting her up, spinning her through the sky, and casting her gently down, sweating with steam heat, damp with desire, and basking in the beautiful afterglow.
Chase's face was wet. His expression said that he was happy for her, pleased with himself, and ready for more as soon as she recovered.
God, he was such a gentleman. And it made her feel like not being a lady. The contradiction got her so hot that every part of her body felt like it was on fire. She wanted him to take her. But she didn't want it slow and refined. She wanted it firm and fast. The intense look in her eyes transmitted the order.
And Chase McCloud followed it like a dutiful soldier, entering her with just the right amount of force to let her know that he knew what she wanted. It took mere minutes. But every second thrummed with chivalry … and just a little bit of bite. By the end, he was screaming her name, she was coming a second time, and they were both dizzy, slick with perspiration, and gasping for breath.
Chase disposed of the condom neatly, then nuzzled into her. "Can I get you something to drink?" he asked.
Peri waited for her heaving breaths to subside before answering. "Am I in bed with you, or am I stuck somewhere on the ceiling? I can't tell."
Chase laughed, kissing her shoulder and pulling her closer. "Does that mean the reality isn't a letdown from the fantasy?"
Peri turned to him, a question in her eyes.
Chase grinned. "I have to confess something else. And this is a little sneakier than me being the Caramel Frappuccino guy." He paused a beat.
Anthology - The Night Before Christmas Page 24
