The Ivy House

chapter 21

Phoebe put her foot up on the ladder and then stopped. “What is it?”

Chase chuckled. “Don’t worry, this isn’t going to bite you.”

Somewhat reassured, Phoebe started up the ladder, entering the low enclosed space.

“Wow.” Phoebe emerged into the dim light of the attic. It ran the whole length of the house, unfinished, rough wood, with nails sticking through the sloped roof.

“Watch your head,” Chase said over his shoulder. He was ahead of her, his flashlight moving this way and that, illuminating an attic full of…stuff. Boxes, trunks, battered suitcases, coat racks filled with clothes, even an old dressmaker’s dummy.

“The mother lode,” Phoebe whispered. There were dormers along the length of the roofline, and the small leaded panes of glass provided some more light. Through it all, swarms of dust filtered and danced, caught in the sunlight.

“Is this her stuff?” Chase turned, the flashlight almost catching Phoebe full in the face before he lowered it.

“Savannah’s?” Phoebe walked over to a stack of boxes. In magic marker, the words, “Mystic Moon,” were written. It was the name of one of her movies. Phoebe ran a hand along a dress hanging on one of the coat racks. It had once been white, but now it was creamy, yellowed with age.

“She wore this in Scott’s Peak,” Phoebe said. “And these boxes all have the names of different movies on them. Her movies. So, yeah, I would say this is all of her stuff.”

“A whole career,” Chase said. Phoebe looked up at him. He had an almost reverent look on his face as he scanned the collection.

“You’re a fan,” Phoebe said, the realization hitting her suddenly.

“What?” The flashlight jumped and Chase caught a hold of it, before he turned to look at her.

“You, you’re a fan of the late great Savannah Ryan,” Phoebe said, a teasing note creeping into her voice.

Chase smiled, with a slow cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, and said, “Of course I’m a fan of her work. Savannah Ryan made sex sexy back when I was a kid. I think there was only one movie where she took her clothes off, but even as a kid, you could see the sex appeal oozing through the screen. I saw every one of them. Even the bad ones. And she made some real lousy ones.” Chase shook his head.

“Those were to pay the bills. She had expensive tastes and money poured like sand through her hands,” Phoebe explained.

“So Savannah Ryan really didn’t have a heart of gold?” Chase said.

“She was complicated,” Phoebe said, and it was a relief to admit it, even to Chase, who had probably believed it all along. She realized Chase had moved close to her so that there were only a few inches between his chest and her, and once again, she could feel the heat, the palpable pocket of warmth between them, like a current of live electricity snaking through them.

“You were saying?” Chase asked, and Phoebe remembered that she had been saying something.

“About a heart of gold…” Chase prompted. They were close again, just as they had been before in the master bedroom, the space between them just a fraction of an inch. She turned her head up so that their lips were almost ready to touch. Her heart skipped a beat and her breath hitched, knowing how badly she did want this—want Chase Sanders to kiss her—even though it was wrong on so many levels.

But for the life of her, she could not think of a good reason why she should pull away when his lips brushed hers. She moved into him, and his arms came around her, crushing her close to him, his lips finding hers, his hands strong and warm against her back.

Phoebe lifted her arms, her hands finding the back of his neck, brushing up to find his thick, dark hair, while his lips crushed against hers, exploring, inviting. A sound escaped, a moan, which she might have been embarrassed about if she hadn’t been enjoying herself so thoroughly, all her senses engaged, feelings and need coursing through her.

Her lips parted, an invitation, and he took it, his tongue exploring, his teeth nibbling her lips, while his hands pulled her tighter and closer into him so she was possessed, so she couldn’t have moved even if she wanted to. His tongue took hers and his arms brought her closer, and she slid into him, one leg in between his so she could feel his desire, hot and hard for her.

Phoebe lost all rational thought as his hands cupped her backside and then one came around to skim the edge of her waistband. Then, it was gone and his hand found her left breast, his fingers pulling gently at her nipple, which sprang to attention at his touch. His mouth moved down her neck, while one arm braced her back and she arched into him as his lips and teeth slid slowly down her neck, to the v of her t-shirt and then nipped lightly at her nipple, which puckered and pebbled under him.

She felt her knees go weak and a flash of heat and wetness between her legs. Chase stopped for a moment, his eyes darting wildly around, and then his hands picked her up and she was on something hard, a steamer trunk, while he kept kissing her, and she could feel that he was just as aroused as she was.

He looked at her for a moment, his gaze intense, lust darkening his eyes. She couldn’t say anything, but just nodded at him to keep going. Not waiting for more, he kissed her again, and she rose up to meet him, as his hands traveled down the length of her shirt.

Chase pushed up the thin fabric of her shirt and found the sensitive skin. Hot hands brushed against her and she moaned again, arching into him, wanting him, wanting more.

Phoebe couldn’t remember how long this went on because there was another crash and then a shout, loud and hearty.

“Chase, where are you?”

She sprang away from him, but his arms still held her, and he looked down at her, his eyes hazy with want and she felt her lips stinging from his attack.

“And that would be my floor guy.” His voice was hoarse, ragged.

“Floor guy?” Phoebe repeated, glad he still had his arms around her, since her knees were shaky.

“This isn’t over,” Chase said, his voice a low, sexy whisper, and Phoebe almost felt herself sway so that Chase straightened her, brushed a finger along her jawline, before shouting to the intruder below.

“Up here. I’ll be down in a sec.” Chase took a moment to gain control of himself, while Phoebe sat up, straightened her shirt, and tried to fix her hair.

He turned and started down the ladder.

“Are you coming?”

Phoebe shook her head, hoping that it would shake the lust out of it. It did, but barely.

“I’ll be down in a minute. I just want to look around some more.”

He threw her a smile and said, “Take the flashlight. We’ll just be talking shop.”

She watched as his head disappeared down the ladder and then let herself sag against a stack of boxes marked Trafalgar Square while she let her heartbeat return to normal. She closed her eyes. She had almost just had wanton sex with Chase Sanders on a steamer trunk belonging to her grandmother. What had she been thinking? And she had wanted it, desperately wanted what Chase had started. Or had she started it? Oh God, Phoebe thought, what was she thinking?