Dream Girl Drama (Big Shots #3)

Chapter Two

Maybe I’m dreaming.

She’d taken a line drive tennis ball to the forehead and the paramedics were loading her onto a stretcher right now. She wasn’t really sitting in the lounge with the most casually intense man she’d ever met in her life. It was all an illusion.

But when she sat back down beside him and the cool, ultrasmooth leather kissed the backs of her thighs and he draped his arm along the back of the couch behind her, the warm shiver that snaked all the way down to her toes was very real.

Who was this man?

He’d made it known that he was interested in her, like really interested—and he did it without making her uncomfortable, which was not easy. At all. Especially considering his size. And his presence . His rough-edged charisma took up the entire room, let alone the couch. When she’d watched him stride confidently toward the valet earlier and stop to acknowledge his fan, he’d literally frozen Chloe in her tracks. Sig had accepted those compliments from the valet without any false humility, just an air of security. In himself, his abilities, who he was.

This man had grown into himself.

Had only the tiniest speck of self-doubt. She’d glimpsed it in his eyes when he looked around at the lavish lounge. When he’d registered the luxury of the leather as he sat down. That touch of humility had been so small she almost missed it, but there was something extremely attractive about it. The fact that this self-assured person seemed to find her equally compelling... it made her feel awake. And secure.

Excited.

Also, my goodness , he was a smoke show.

Something about the way he wore a T-shirt suggested he took it off multiple times a day. In his bedroom, in the locker room, prior to collapsing into sleep at midnight. Clothed was not his natural state. A shirt was a formality. He was six feet, some odd inches of athletically honed muscle, thick in some places, trim in others, and there was a hint of cockiness about him that tended to turn her off in other men, but not this one.

Perhaps because, unlike the men of her acquaintance, he’d earned it himself?

Without removing his attention from her, Sig took the bottle from her hands, unwound the wire from the neck, and popped the cork. Barely a sound escaped because he muffled it with his, wow, gigantic hands. Then, tossing a casual look toward the bar, he tipped the bottle to her lips, his golden brown gaze fastened to her mouth while she took the first sip. Two sips, three. She kept going because she enjoyed him quenching her thirst, the way he swallowed hard while looking at her throat.

Seriously, what in the Connecticut heck was happening here?

Her toes were curled in her sneakers, her thighs flexing involuntarily.

A pulse tick-tick-ticked at the base of her neck, in her wrists, in her chest—and it accelerated the longer they stared at each other.

Finally, he took the bottle from her lips and brought it to his own, gulping deeply and wincing at the taste.

“Not a fan?” Chloe asked, laughing.

“There’s no flavor,” he grunted. “It’s just a bunch of carbonation.”

“The bubbles are what make it a celebration.”

He reached forward, setting the bottle down on the low pink-quartz table in front of them, before leaning back into his manspread. “You let me know when you want more.”

Chloe dug the fingers of her right hand into the leather couch cushion, hoping to distract the rest of her body from the sudden onslaught of giddy heat. You let me know when you want more. She had no right liking that so much—the assumption that he would oversee her consumption of the drink. She didn’t need him to do that. But she... wanted him to?

Simply put, his honest brand of arrogance turned her on.

This was not the typical brand of trouble she looked for at the country club.

No, she specialized in... stolen liquor.

Playing harmless pranks.

Going topless in the spa.

Sig screamed Big Problem... and yet she continued to sit there, growing more and more fascinated as champagne bubbles zipped around her head and his heat surrounded her. “Do you like living in Boston? Is that where you grew up?”

“No, I’m from Minnesota. Just outside Minneapolis. Went to college in Michigan. But Boston has been home for six years. It’s... yeah, I guess I consider it my home now.”

“What is it like?”

“Depends on the neighborhood, but it’s loud and busy. Congested. Kind of messy at times. But it’s got a lot of heart. The most heart, actually.” He thought for a second. “On a Sunday afternoon, when there’s a game on, the whole place kind of hums. Everyone’s got a little bit of a buzz on, and you can walk down the street and hear whistles and cheers going off on everyone’s televisions. Laughter. It’s a good town. I love it.”

Chloe’s heart raced, as it often did when she thought about leaving home, fleeing the sheltered bubble of Darien, and experiencing an entirely new world. How scary it would be, but how rewarding at the same time. In fact, she’d been thinking of it to the point of distraction lately. “You make it sound magical.”

Sig studied her face. “It is. You’d fit right in.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, like she was crazy to ask. Or doubt.

And his—perhaps premature—faith in the fact that she could make it in Boston, in a whole ass new city, made her want to confide in him. To reveal something about herself. Something she’d told her mother—on several occasions, only to be casually shut down. “There is a conservatory in Boston that I’ve dreamed of attending for so long. Berklee. They invited me once to play for the faculty and afterward, even after the tiniest glimpse, I couldn’t stop thinking about the people, the place. The students who came and went as they pleased. And... I applied. Secretly. Almost a year ago now.” She whispered the last part, as if her mother might overhear. “But... the dean said I have a standing invitation. At no cost.”

“That’s... incredible. Damn.” Sig faced her a little more fully. “So you have been to Boston?”

Chloe shook her head. “I’ve been inside of a town car, a hotel room, and an auditorium in Boston. I didn’t go walking or exploring.”

“Did you want to?”

She nodded. And suddenly, she needed another draw of champagne.

A groove formed between his dark brows.

Before she could ask, he lifted the bottle from the table and tilted the chilled glass against her lips, her nipples slowly winding into stiff peaks over the possibility that he could read her needs so accurately.

And fill them.

“How old are you, Chlo?” he asked, searching her face.

“Twenty-five,” she murmured.

He nodded. Wet his lips. Leaned in. “Then what’s keeping you from Boston?”

“Nothing,” she whispered, inching closer, until she could feel his warm breath on her mouth. She wanted to spill everything to him, to this man who seemed to have the kind of capabilities and self-reliance she’d only ever dreamed about. She longed to tell Sig that she didn’t know how to begin taking care of herself. How the very thought of waking up alone and having to fend for herself was so intimidating it gave her chills. A man like this wouldn’t be able to comprehend such debilitating dependence on money and security, though.

Would he?

“Say it,” Sig said.

“Say what?”

“The thing you’re not sure you want to tell me.”

This moment, this night, officially felt like a dream. There was nothing but his eyes. The warmth of his presence. The quiet lull of their voices. The unique... knowingness between them.

“My mother sent me to music camp when I was six. On opening night, I watched a demonstration of the harp. I saw it played once. Later that night, I snuck back into the instrument room and... I just knew how to play. It was like a language I’d learned and forgotten, but it all came back to me.” She wet her lips. “They caught me on the security camera and it was sent to my mother. And then all her friends. It was even featured on the news.”

He laughed quietly. “Damn.”

“Yes.” The longer she hesitated to say the rest, the more her pulse pounded. “It’s funny, though, when you’re a prodigy in one thing, it doesn’t necessarily make you good at anything else. Whether it’s tennis or schoolwork or making friends or... just plain common sense. And I think people were disappointed by that. By me not being very... well rounded. You know?”

“No,” he intoned, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine you disappointing anyone.”

They moved closer to each other simultaneously, neither one of them seeming to be conscious of it. “I’ve got the harp and... I’ve gotten comfortable with that being all. I’ve gotten too comfortable, maybe, and that’s easy to do when...”

“You have money.”

He understood. Maybe he couldn’t relate, but he wasn’t judging her.

Still, the extended state of vulnerability was making her feel jumpy.

“Anyway...” Chloe ordered her upper lip to curl flirtatiously. “Why would I go to Boston when I’m having so much fun being driven around by a chauffeur, stealing champagne, and making trouble in Darien?”

“I don’t know.” Slowly, he closed that final inch, hesitated, finally brushing their lips together, turning her insides the consistency of clouds. “Maybe you could find a different kind of fun in Boston,” he said, his voice noticeably deeper, his left hand lifting to cradle her cheek, his thumb pressing to her chin, as if he planned on tugging it down. While kissing her. So he could use his tongue?

Did she want that?

Yes. God, more than anything. The anticipation for him was so strong and familiar already, it felt like it had always existed.

“Can I kiss you, dream girl?”

Head. Spinning. “You haven’t even called the tow truck yet.”

“Fuck the tow truck.”

“Yeah,” she breathed.

“Excuse me,” said a voice that belonged to neither of them. “Ms. Clifford?”

The golden moonbeam shower around them fizzled and vanished. Who would intrude on something that felt so momentous? Chloe’s head moved like it was underwater, her fuzzy brain finally registering that the bartender was standing behind the couch, to her left. “Oh.” She could still feel Sig’s eyes locked on her profile. And was that the sound of his jaw popping? “Yes?”

“I couldn’t help but notice you’re enjoying a bottle of champagne, which is fine , of course. You’re most welcome to do so. I just need you to sign for it.”

She blinked. “You do?”

“Yes, in order to bill the appropriate parties.”

“Aren’t drinks part of the membership?” Chloe asked.

The man was already nodding. “Most of them are complimentary, Ms. Clifford. But this time you happened to grab a special edition Moet Impérial.” He paused. “That’s a two-thousand-dollar bottle of champagne.”

Chloe’s mouth fell open as she turned back to face Sig. “And you didn’t even like it.”

When Sig’s eyes flooded with amusement, Chloe decided she’d kiss him really good.

Tonight.

As soon as possible.

“Your signature, Ms. Clifford,” prompted the bartender.

“What happens if I don’t sign it?”

“Well... I don’t know, really. I’ll probably just ask you to sign it tomorrow.”

“Right. Because I’m always here. I’m never not here.” She banished intrusive thoughts of endless routines. Cycles without cease. “Stalling sounds good. It’ll give me time to figure something out.” She chewed her lip. “My mother is not going to be happy about this,” she whispered to Sig, panic beginning to trickle into her bloodstream. “Alcohol makes a woman’s face look as bloated as a waterlogged corpse—she said that to me just this morning . When she’s not happy with me, life becomes very difficult. Even more restrictive than it already is. And you heard him, he said ‘ this time , you happened to grab a special edition,’ meaning they know about all the other times I stole.”

“Of course, they know. Do you think you go anywhere unnoticed?”

She batted her eyelashes at him. “Are you saying I’m pretty?”

“No, I’m saying you’re fucking beautiful.”

Her pulse scattered. “If I ran out the door right now, would you run with me?” she whispered.

“Set the pace, Chlo. I can keep up.”

Big kisses were in his future. Big.

“On the count of three.” She reached out and curled her fist around the neck of the champagne bottle, noticing the way Sig eyeballed his charging phone, as if judging the distance. “One, two... three.”

They lunged in different directions—Chloe toward the glass patio door that led to the golf course, Sig for his phone and her charger, ripping it out of the wall without missing a beat. Even though Sig took a detour, he still managed to reach the door at the same time as she did, which was her first lesson about hockey players. They’re fast as hell. Also, apparently, they were down to make some trouble. And that’s what they did, sprinting across the golf course holding their possessions and laughing loud enough to wake the dead.

Was this a date?

Sure, she hadn’t exactly been on hundreds of them, but this? It was making her puny, prior experience feel like child’s play. Or perhaps a foreword. A note left and forgotten once the real story starts to unfold.

“Where are we running to?” he asked, keeping pace beside her. Although she had a feeling he could probably run twice as fast.

“I’ve never been to the Carolinas,” Chloe shouted. “Let’s head there.”

His laugh echoed across the dark, empty golf course and she couldn’t wait any longer to kiss him. Maybe because he’d not only put up with her shenanigans but seemed to be enjoying them. Maybe because he laughed at her jokes. Or maybe just because she felt unexplainably drawn to him in a way that made her chest feel odd and tight. She’d always been one to follow a whim, but this wasn’t one of those times. This was a time unlike any other.

She slowed to a jog behind the clubhouse and took a long sip of champagne for courage, before turning around and finding Sig outlined by a purple sky, rugged and intense and knowing. That’s what it was about him—he seemed to know this was the moment, because they both took a giant step toward each other and collided, his head dipping down, slanting and elevating her expectations to a degree that would never be met again.

Maybe not by anyone but him.

Chloe had been kissed before, mostly by guys that she’d known since elementary school and not so subtly nudged into dating later in life by her mother, because they “came from good stock.” Well, apparently, they’d never come from a family of good kissers.

Sig did.

Lord God Almighty, he did.

He crushed the strands of her hair in his hands and loomed above her, which should have led to an aggressive kiss, but it didn’t. It led to a slow rocking together of lips, a teasing lick of his tongue, an appreciative sound... and oh, she opened, she let him press his tongue inside her mouth and lick it left to right, the growling upward movement of his kiss dragging Chloe up onto her toes. And she lost it. She simply lost it. Burrowed her fingers into his thick, wild hair and moaned her enjoyment at him, arching her back—and only then did he get aggressive—and that consideration made her feel safe, made her feel heard and seen and appreciated.

Hot and dainty, too. Like a sexy lion tamer.

There was a good eight- or nine-inch height difference between them and yet, she could feel the tight coil inside of him, the way he tried to keep a lid on his basest impulses. To keep the pace without going too far. She could sense all of that in him and God, God, she just wanted to climb him for it. For being hungry, but respectful. Proactive, a man who takes initiative, confident enough to know she wanted to be kissed, but not overly so. Not so much that he’d press that advantage.

Sig Gauthier.

She could have gone on kissing him for days. Weeks.

But the need in both of them eventually began to spike.

They broke away to pant, drag in breath, and dive back in, hands beginning to roam. Hers got adventurous first, to be fair. She clawed at his T-shirt and scrubbed her palms down to his belt buckle, making him hiss.

“Can I touch you under your—”

“Anything. Anywhere. Any fucking thing you want.”

“Thank you,” she managed, sliding her palms up his bare abdomen while he licked his lips. Watched her. Flexed his stomach. Closed his eyes when she rode her hands over his pecs, letting his head drop back a little. “You’re incredible.”

His eyes were a little glazed when he leaned back down, settling his mouth on top of hers, breathing. Breathing. “I’m coming on too strong. I know I am. But I’m begging you to take me home and say that again while I’m fucking you, Chloe.” He gripped the outside of her thigh and massaged it, before letting his hand ride up just beneath the hem of her skirt. “If you’re not ready for that, we can keep this little skirt on while you ride my face. I’ll be blessed either way.”

Oh wow. Oh wow.

Newly bloomed hormones were popping up like greenery in spring.

Was he rude to say those things? Out loud?

Maybe. Maybe so. She wished he’d keep talking forever, though.

Take me home and say that again while—

“Home,” she gasped, a bucket of cold water dousing her from above. “Oh my gosh, I’m supposed to be home right now. There’s a dinner.” She broke from his embrace, spinning in a circle. “I promised... I was supposed to be home in time to take a shower. Oh shit.”

Chloe remained suspended in animation for a few seconds, considering the consequences of missing the important dinner during which she’d be meeting her mother’s new boyfriend. If there was anything on this green earth worth courting her mother’s passive aggression, it was this man, but her mother had been calling from St. Tropez for weeks raving about this new guy. It sounded serious. Chloe had promised several times that she’d not only be there, but she’d also be on her best behavior—and letting her mother down would only lead to weeks of silent treatment.

“I’m sorry, but I have to run.”

She turned on the heel of her sneaker and took two jogging steps, before her feet were suddenly dangling in the air. Sig’s forearm was looped around her midsection. He’d lifted her clear off the ground and she hadn’t even heard him move.

“You’re so fast , Sig Gauthier,” Chloe praised, patting his forearm.

“Yeah, thanks.” He hugged her back against his chest, that truly magical mouth moving against her ear. “You weren’t going to leave without giving me your number, were you, Chlo?”

She thought back twenty seconds. “I guess I was.”

“Nah.” She could feel him digging for his phone with his free hand. “Let’s hear it.”

He couldn’t see her smile. Maybe that’s why she let it explode across her whole face.

She recited her number. He called it, his muscles relaxing slightly when the chimes went off noisily in her purse. “Go to your dinner. I’ve actually got something, too. But you’re going to call me afterward. I need to see you again. Tonight.”

Remembering the way he kissed, a shiver passed through her. “I live with my mother.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find us a nice place.” His open mouth rode over the slope of her shoulder. “I wouldn’t lay this body down in anything but the best sheets, Chlo. The only rough thing you’re going to feel is me.”

She bit her lip to catch a moan. “You really have a way with words.”

“I don’t usually use them this much. It’s... you.” He wrapped his other arm around her, hugging her from behind and she felt an unexpected prick in her throat. “It’s you, okay? Don’t blow me off.”

“I won’t,” she whispered. “I couldn’t.”

“Good.”

He nuzzled the crown of her head, hesitating briefly before loosening his arms.

Chloe blew a kiss over her shoulder and jogged for the parking lot, already counting the minutes until she saw Sig Gauthier again. There was no way this dinner was going to be a fraction as interesting as him and what he made her feel.

Oh, but she was wrong.