“Good morning,” Chase says in a sleep-roughened voice, ignoring my fumbling attempt to ask if he knew I was having a horny dream about him.
I’m sure I didn’t moan out loud. The alternative would be too mortifying, so that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. A lifetime of practice avoiding reality comes in handy sometimes.
I sit up, smooth my hair, and rub sleep and rogue mascara from my eyes.
“Morning,” I mumble-greet Chase, angling my head down as I panic about the state of my breath. I need the bathroom. Stat.
“You don’t need to do that,” Chase says and reaches over to stop my hand that’s finger-combing the tangles from my hair. “You’re cute all mussed.”
In the night, I’d shifted my chair, so it was up against the sofa he slept on. I told myself it was so I could check on him without having to get up. But in reality, I loved being close.
Tingles spread from where he touches me, but he drops his hand all too soon. I try to let go of my self-consciousness and focus on Chase.
“You look better.” I lean forward. His forehead thankfully feels cool to the touch.
He scans my face, a small smile playing on his lips. My hand falls from his forehead as I realize how intimate my gesture is. It’s something you might do to a child or a loved one, not a casual acquaintance.
He was so sick last night that I became familiar with his body—a deceptive familiarity, I realize. It’s not as if I gave him a naked sponge bath or anything—though that sounds like a fun idea—but I passed a good portion of last night memorizing every line and shadow of his face, the strength in his neck and shoulders and chest. But that was conditional on me playing nurse. It’s not something I can continue, as tempting as it is.
“Sorry. Force of habit. You were really sick yesterday.”
He brushes a wisp of hair away from my face in return.
My eyes widen at his touch, and my heartbeat speeds up. Well, okay then. I guess the familiarity works two ways.
“So, how long have you been awake?” I ask, breathless.
“Not long. A noise woke me,” he says with a secretive smile.
I pray my blush isn’t as bright red as it feels. He couldn’t have heard my sexy-time dream. I’ll die.
Deflection needed, I gaze out the window and at the rain that’s still falling in buckets. “Wow. It’s really coming down out there,” I say, my words flying fast. “You probably don’t remember, but it was storming all night.”
He turns to look. I stand on shaky legs and wander over to the window to get some space. There are no cars or people on the street down below. The water pools onto the road, turning it into a shallow stream, and trees list to the side with the force of the wind. While the storm rages outside, the two of us are in a peace-filled bubble, with only the gray light of the rain-soaked day and the sound of the storm lashing against the windows to keep us company.
I sense his movement behind me, and I turn to him, worried.
“Are you sure you feel better?”
He nods. “The worst of it is gone. I’m just a little tired. And I’m desperate for a shower.”
“Well, I should get going, then,” I say, unsure of myself.
Now that he’s better, there’s no excuse for me to stay.
“Look at it out there. You won’t get anywhere. The road is practically flooded.” His eyebrows come together.
“But I can’t stay here now that you’re well. I don’t want to bother you.”
“You spent the night taking care of me.” He smiles gently. “So, no, I’m not going to thank you for that by sending you out in the middle of a storm.”
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Olivia, you’re stuck with me until the rain stops, so you might as well get comfortable.”
The look in his eyes, as if he likes what he sees, melts away any objections I might have. Not that I have many; his company is addictive, storm or no storm.
“Okay, Chase, you win.” I can’t help but grin back at him.
“You finally called me Chase.” His smile grows even more devastating. “About time.”
“Why wouldn’t I call you Chase? It’s your name.”
“You usually call me by my full name. Not just Chase.”
It’s true. I still have a hard time seeing him as just a regular guy. He isn’t regular—he’s special. He’s magnetic. His talent and face belong on film. They blind and disarm.
But watching him sick and vulnerable changed the way I view him.
I’m not sure how to explain that to him without sounding like a lovesick lunatic, though, so I go for a light, breezy change of subject. “So, Chase, what’s on the agenda for today?”
“Well, Olivia, I can think of a few things,” he murmurs.
Down, girl, I scold my overeager imagination.
“Such as?” I ask, pretending he doesn’t affect me.
“We could play some games.” His smile is mischievous, as if he knows what he’s doing to me.
“I’m great at Scrabble.” I force myself to say blandly.
“I’m thinking more along the lines of truth or dare.” His mouth tilts up.
Is he flirting with me?
“Um, sure, ’kay,” is all I manage.
“Great,” he says. Our gazes hold.
He looks away first and clears his throat. “But before that, I really do need a shower. Do you want the bathroom first?”
“I’d love to freshen up,” I say, hopping up.
“It’s down the hall on the left.”
I grin. “I’ve been here all night. I found it.”
He laughs. “Right.”
“I’m just going to…” I point my thumbs toward the hallway.
He watches my awkwardness with a raised eyebrow.
“There should be an extra toothbrush in there.”
Does he keep extras for girls staying over?
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says. “It’s from the hotel.”
“Hey.” I hold up my hands in innocence, as if I hadn’t been thinking of how often he gets female visitors. “It’s none of my business.”
The truth is, I hate the thought of another woman being here, especially one who could freely explore his body. I’m his guest, but only by default. I have no right to the jealousy that’s like acid in my belly.
I pad down the hall and into the plush bathroom, all marble and glass, with a few masculine grooming products lined neatly on the counter. Like a total creeper, I pick up his cologne, spray it, and close my eyes as the scent he uses fills the air.
I’m just looking for the extra toothbrush, at least I tell myself that as I open all the drawers under the counter. I find the toothbrush—and more.
Condoms. My emotions swing on a pendulum. Jealousy at the thought of Chase using those condoms with another woman. Excitement at the thought of Chase using them with me.
It’s embarrassing to be a virgin at twenty-five. I’ve never had a boyfriend long enough to do the deed. And casual sex is just not my thing. Sex is too intimate, too important, too exposing, for me to engage in with someone I don’t trust implicitly. When I was younger, my virginity wasn’t a big deal. I figured there’d be time to find the right guy. But as each year passes, it becomes more of a burden.
Now, even if I want to have sex just to get rid of my virginity, the V-card makes it harder. I don’t want to be fumbling around clueless, in possible pain. Or worse—what if I bleed on the guy? Plus, whomever I choose to “deflower” me will probably think I’ve been saving myself for love and make it a bigger deal than it might otherwise be.
Maybe the romantic in me does want to wait for love, but the sensible part realizes that there won’t be a prince coming to sweep me off my feet and divest me of my virginity anytime soon. Chase would be better than any prince, but my chances with him are probably just as far-fetched as with royalty.
After brushing my teeth, I stare at myself in the mirror. There isn’t much I can do with my bangs that are sticking up at odd angles, but I smooth them as best as I can. My cheeks are full of color—I can thank Chase for that—and my eyes are bright with excitement. I bite my lips, wishing I had a touch of gloss, and stick out my tongue at my reflection.