“And wet!” Chase yells.
I laugh, rain rushing over my face.
Chase shakes his head like a dog, streams of water flying at his gesture.
I hold up my arms, and he steps into my space. We embrace as if we’re about to dance.
Because we are. About to dance, that is. I look up at him.
“This is ridiculous. Olivia Evans, you’re impossible.”
“Shut up and twirl me like you do in the movie.”
The Wanderers is a sci-fi thriller with a group of time-jumping heroes. One of the movie’s most iconic scenes is at the end of the film, after the bad guys are banished to the outer regions of space forever, Chase dances in the rain with Cassidy Reynolds and professes his undying love. The scene melted a million girls’ hearts and catapulted Chase to maximum heartthrob status.
In that movie moment, every girl wanted to be Cassidy. And every girl wanted to be in Chase’s arms, or at least his character’s.
And here I am, reenacting it. The idea for the dare was one-third wish fulfillment, one-third mischievous glee, and one-third to give me the chance to be in his arms, any way I can.
He twirls me as demanded, and I tilt my head up toward the dark gray sky. He leans down, blocking the rain, gathers me in those muscled arms of his, and sways with me.
I’m short enough that I have to stand on my tiptoes and he has to bend down. I close my eyes and memorize every sensation. The cold slick of rain. The heat coming off Chase’s body. It feels as if we’re all alone in the world.
“Thank you,” he says.
“For what?”
“For this,” he says simply, and then his lips meet mine.
It’s a sweeping brush of a kiss. A butterfly that touches down before flying away. It sends an electric wave through my body.
I long. Long for his lips to come back to me. Long for more than the briefest taste of heaven. But I already pushed myself so far out of my comfort zone, I don’t dare ask for more. He tucks my head back into the safety of his chest and holds me as if I’m precious to him. As if he longs for me as well.
I sway in time with him and memorize the feel of his body, never wanting this to end.
But it’s cold and wet, and we probably look crazy, so with a flourish, he twirls me one last time, and then we’re running back under the awning of the hotel, laughing and dripping, his hand in mine.
His eyelashes gleam with water droplets, making his already-long lashes even more so. He grabs me and twirls me again, this time out of the rain. Our eyes hold, and something sweet and desperate cuts through me, the fierce desire to hold fast to this moment, as pointless as trying to catch the wind.
“Olivia,” Chase rasps.
I shudder—not from the icy hand of San Francisco’s weather, but from the sound of my name coming from this man.
“Shit, you’re freezing,” he says, his lips pressing tight. “We’d better go back inside.”
Is it my imagination, or did he sound disappointed?
I gather my hair and wring it out, water streaming from the long strands.
“Are they going to let us back into the hotel?” I ask. “I mean, look at us, we’re soaked.”
“I am looking at you. And you look damn good from where I’m standing. Just walk in with confidence, and they won’t say a word,” Chase says, leaning in toward me to be heard over the rain. My pulse races at the way his warm breath tickles my ear. “They expect wild shit from actors. A little water in the lobby is tame, all things considered. It’ll give them something to talk about today.”
He grasps my hand and leads me with brash confidence through the doors of the hotel. The well-trained staff pretend to ignore us as we speed walk through the lobby to the elevator, sopping wet and laughing the entire way, but I see their furtive glances.
As we wait for the elevator, a maid approaches us. At first, I think she might be about to kick us out, but instead, she shyly offers us two towels. Chase gifts her with his signature grin and murmurs, “Thank you.” Her eyes go so wide I fear they might pop from her head.
“Oh, sir,” the pretty girl gushes. “We watched the two of you dancing in the street. It’s just like your movie. We were all smiling and sighing. Even Ms. Ballister, who never smiles at anything.” She turns to me. “You’re so lucky,” she says with a dreamy, lovestruck look in her eye.
The elevator dings. I thank the girl for the towel, trying my best to wipe away the water that clings to me. After drying himself quickly, Chase passes me his towel as well and wraps it around my shoulders.
When the door opens, we step into the elevator. The doors close with the maid and the rest of the lobby staff watching us with smiles.
On the long ride up, neither of us says anything, though I can’t help sneaking sly glances at him, while he looks straight ahead. I’m acutely aware of the cold fabric sticking to my wet skin, the hot, constricted air of the enclosed space, and just how many fiery love scenes start, and sometimes end, in an elevator.
Don’t jump him, don’t jump him, I scold myself.
All too soon, the elevator door opens to his floor and the spell breaks.
Once back in the suite, he clears his throat, avoiding my eyes.
Suddenly, it’s awkward. Maybe the breathless anticipation, me dying for him to kiss me again, was all one-sided. Maybe he was just being polite. It isn’t his fault that every girl, including me, falls at his feet from just his smile.
“Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that.” His words confirm my fears.
“What? Why?” Is he talking about the dare? Or the kiss?
“I got caught up in the moment. It felt like we were alone out there in the rain, and the lobby was deserted when we left, but anyone could have gotten a photo. Fuck.”
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.”
“I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you. Don’t you understand how it could affect you if this got out, if we got out?”
“We’re a we?”
He doesn’t answer, just stares at me with a mix of frustration and something more. Something tense and heated. The same something I thought I’d seen in his eyes before he gave me that fleeting kiss in the middle of the storm.
Finally, he looks away. “You should take a shower to warm up. I don’t want you to get sick.” He runs his hand through his hair, making the wet strands even wilder.
“I have no dry clothes.”
He swallows hard. “The bathroom should have a robe. And if you want, you can borrow something of mine until your clothes are dry. I can send them out to housekeeping. Now, go,” he says softly. “Your lips, tempting as they are, are turning blue.”
He thinks my lips are tempting! I want to say something, a witty retort, an avowal of love, an entreaty to ravish me until the rain stops falling—hell, until the world stops spinning—but my brain and mouth aren’t working at the moment.
I float my way to the bathroom. The shower soothes me, clearing my mind. The water jetting down from the fancy showerhead reminds me of the rain outside, only it’s blissfully warm, and the fresh, woodsy smell of the shampoo reminds me of Chase. When I finish, I dry myself in another cloudlike towel and look around for the robe Chase said was here. But it’s nowhere to be found.
Damn.
I wrap the towel as tight as it will go, trying to stretch the insufficient fabric. For a luxury hotel, their towels sure are on the small side. I quietly open the door and peek around the corner.
“Chase,” I hiss. He doesn’t answer. The door to the bedroom is closed, and I hear music coming from it.
“Chase!” I call louder.
Still nothing.
I swear silently and pull the towel tighter, feeling like a sausage in a too-small casing.
I walk to his room and clutch the towel with one hand and lift up my other arm to knock on the door. But as my hand is about to hit the door, it opens. The surprise of it knocks me off-balance, and I fall into a very tall, very large, very muscular body. Both my hands reach out to steady myself.