Gartner. And two—dear God—the man is absolutely beautiful up close. Gorgeous, stunning, there are not enough adjectives to adequately expound. He’s just wow, just…freakin’ w-o-w .
I’ve seen Chase in church recently, sure, but it’s always from afar.
Picture me throwing a quick glance to the back from the front pews, Missy squealing in my ear, “See, see, he’s hot, right? Oh crap, turn around. He’s looking this way.”
Yeah, that sort of thing.
And sure, Chase always looks damn fine sitting in those back pews, better than in the pictures the newspapers printed of him when he was arrested. But up close, here and now, I can see the guy is physical perfection personified. I am not exaggerating. He’s incredibly nice to look at, so look is what I do. Possibly, I stare.
Chase licks his lips a little, in a kind of hot manner that makes me notice right away how highly kissable his lips happen to be—full, slightly moistened, and ready to go. I’m somewhat mesmerized, but I don’t want this man to catch me staring at his kissable lips, so I move on up to his eyes. But his eyes, oh my, they do me in more than the lips. I could get lost in their depths, surely I could. In fact, I kind of do just that.
Chase’s eyes are this amazing blue—pale and kind of light, but with flecks of gray around the irises. His eyes hold me captive—like they’re a weapon he’s wielding—so I christen them gunmetal blue.
His eyes, his lips, his hands on my waist, Chase stirs me up and spins me out. A wanton lust courses through me. I like his hands on my body, I like the way his fingers flex when I remember to breathe. And I really do have to remind myself to take in oxygen. Breathe, Kay, breathe .
Forget it.
I quickly discover oxygen is secondary when all you can think about is crazy-good sex, and how this gorgeous man is the one who could give it to you.
I make no effort to extricate myself from his grasp, I don’t even move. And why would I? I want Chase’s hands to stay on my waist. I want him to squeeze a little tighter, maybe slide a little lower. My pulse is flying as I suck in a gasp of air.
My reactions reveal me, though, I see knowing in those gunmetal blues.
The corner of Chase’s mouth turns up in a particularly captivating manner, and it tells me two things: One, this man can read women, and two, he’s just read me. All in about a minute. Damn, he’s good.
But, this isn’t me, I remind myself. Why am I thinking these lust-filled thoughts? Why am I checking out Chase-freaking-Gartner ?
Why, indeed? I planned on keeping an eye on the guy, but certainly not like this.
I start to apologize—for crashing into him, ogling him, I don’t know which. But he cuts me off with a softly delivered, “Hey, I really am sorry. Are you okay?” His voice isn’t just smooth, it seduces.
But what’s got me turned around is that under all that seduction Chase sounds sincere, genuine, like he isn’t just asking to ask. And damn if that doesn’t make him all the more attractive. I step back. Really, I have to, or God knows what I might do. Grab him and kiss him, run my fingers through his kind of messy tawny-shaded hair. Who knows?
His hands slip from my waist, and though a part of me instantly misses the heady contact, it’s actually for the best. I can finally think clearly. Sort of.
“I’m fine,” I begin, my voice all breathy and soft.
What the…
I just shake my head, get a grip, and continue, “Really, I’m the one who should be apologizing. I wrecked into you. It’s completely my fault. I was distracted, looking in my bag for these—”
I raise the sunglasses up a little and one of the mirrored lenses pops out. I try to hold it in place, but the lens slips and slides and I have to keep adjusting my fingers so it doesn’t fall.
“Um, I guess they didn’t fare so well in the collision,” I glumly conclude.
“Looks bad,” Chase concurs, nodding sympathetically. But I see what he really
I’ve seen Chase in church recently, sure, but it’s always from afar.
Picture me throwing a quick glance to the back from the front pews, Missy squealing in my ear, “See, see, he’s hot, right? Oh crap, turn around. He’s looking this way.”
Yeah, that sort of thing.
And sure, Chase always looks damn fine sitting in those back pews, better than in the pictures the newspapers printed of him when he was arrested. But up close, here and now, I can see the guy is physical perfection personified. I am not exaggerating. He’s incredibly nice to look at, so look is what I do. Possibly, I stare.
Chase licks his lips a little, in a kind of hot manner that makes me notice right away how highly kissable his lips happen to be—full, slightly moistened, and ready to go. I’m somewhat mesmerized, but I don’t want this man to catch me staring at his kissable lips, so I move on up to his eyes. But his eyes, oh my, they do me in more than the lips. I could get lost in their depths, surely I could. In fact, I kind of do just that.
Chase’s eyes are this amazing blue—pale and kind of light, but with flecks of gray around the irises. His eyes hold me captive—like they’re a weapon he’s wielding—so I christen them gunmetal blue.
His eyes, his lips, his hands on my waist, Chase stirs me up and spins me out. A wanton lust courses through me. I like his hands on my body, I like the way his fingers flex when I remember to breathe. And I really do have to remind myself to take in oxygen. Breathe, Kay, breathe .
Forget it.
I quickly discover oxygen is secondary when all you can think about is crazy-good sex, and how this gorgeous man is the one who could give it to you.
I make no effort to extricate myself from his grasp, I don’t even move. And why would I? I want Chase’s hands to stay on my waist. I want him to squeeze a little tighter, maybe slide a little lower. My pulse is flying as I suck in a gasp of air.
My reactions reveal me, though, I see knowing in those gunmetal blues.
The corner of Chase’s mouth turns up in a particularly captivating manner, and it tells me two things: One, this man can read women, and two, he’s just read me. All in about a minute. Damn, he’s good.
But, this isn’t me, I remind myself. Why am I thinking these lust-filled thoughts? Why am I checking out Chase-freaking-Gartner ?
Why, indeed? I planned on keeping an eye on the guy, but certainly not like this.
I start to apologize—for crashing into him, ogling him, I don’t know which. But he cuts me off with a softly delivered, “Hey, I really am sorry. Are you okay?” His voice isn’t just smooth, it seduces.
But what’s got me turned around is that under all that seduction Chase sounds sincere, genuine, like he isn’t just asking to ask. And damn if that doesn’t make him all the more attractive. I step back. Really, I have to, or God knows what I might do. Grab him and kiss him, run my fingers through his kind of messy tawny-shaded hair. Who knows?
His hands slip from my waist, and though a part of me instantly misses the heady contact, it’s actually for the best. I can finally think clearly. Sort of.
“I’m fine,” I begin, my voice all breathy and soft.
What the…
I just shake my head, get a grip, and continue, “Really, I’m the one who should be apologizing. I wrecked into you. It’s completely my fault. I was distracted, looking in my bag for these—”
I raise the sunglasses up a little and one of the mirrored lenses pops out. I try to hold it in place, but the lens slips and slides and I have to keep adjusting my fingers so it doesn’t fall.
“Um, I guess they didn’t fare so well in the collision,” I glumly conclude.
“Looks bad,” Chase concurs, nodding sympathetically. But I see what he really
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