Chapter 4
FOUR
The candles are lit. The wine is on a coaster on the little table next to the feature that made me buy this house in the first place: the gigantic clawfoot tub. An old paperback of my favorite historical romance is ready to be cracked open for the thousandth time. The bath is the perfect temperature, and the bubbles cover the surface completely.
I’ve washed off the ridiculously expensive hydrating mask from my face and pressed a serum into my skin, and in a minute, I’m going to slip beneath the bubbles, read my favorite book, drink expensive wine, and make this day special for my own damn self.
And then the doorbell rings.
I glare at my bathroom door. Really? Right when I was feeling good about my evening plans?
“Go away,” I tell the air, but the doorbell rings again.
Huffing, I grab a silk bathrobe from the hook beside my bathroom door. I tie the sash as I pad downstairs, not even caring that I’m in no state for visitors. Whoever’s ringing the bell will be dispatched within moments of me opening the door.
I have a birthday date with my bathtub, and no one is going to stop me.
When the doorbell rings a third time, I shout, “I’m coming!” Annoyance sparks in my chest, like the snap of an elastic band against my skin. This is truly the worst day ever. I’m all alone all day, and then when I finally decide to embrace it, I get interrupted! Figures!
With those thoughts racing through me, I grip the knob and nearly rip the door off its hinges when I tear it open.
And I gasp.
Chase Matthews is on my doorstep holding a single cupcake speared with a candle. The tiny flame dances in the slight breeze as he extends the treat toward me, holding it with a small cardboard tray.
“Make a wish, beautiful,” he says softly.
I blink, flicking my gaze from the cake to the man. What… How…
A hesitant smile curls his lips, like he’s not sure if he made the right decision in coming back. His uncertainty jars me out of my shock, and I turn my attention to the cupcake.
I close my eyes, make a wish, and blow. The scent of smoke fills the small space between us as I blink my eyes open again, then step aside to let him in.
This time, when I close the door, I don’t even try to hide the tremor in my voice. “Who told you today was my birthday?”
“I remembered,” Chase answers. “You’re a leap-year baby. We celebrated your third official birthday in seventh grade.”
He remembered. We haven’t spoken in two decades, and he remembered .
The man barely has time to set the cupcake down on my console table before I’ve wrapped my arms around his neck. I know I’m squeezing the life out of him, but I can’t help it. And when his arms come around me, sliding over the soft silk of my bathrobe, a deep, undeniable sense of contentment settles over me.
This is better than a bubble bath and a glass of wine. I hug him until the moment stretches, and then I realize he might be uncomfortable with how tightly I’m clinging to him.
Reluctantly, I pull away, but Chase doesn’t let go. Our bodies are pressed together as he strokes my spine with a broad hand, his face angled down toward mine.
“Happy birthday, Katie.”
My vision blurs. Mortifying tears fall from my eyes before I can blink them away, and Chase lets out a pained noise. First, he brushes my tears away with a thumb, but they come too fast. He resorts to kissing my cheeks, using his hands to tilt my chin up.
He kisses my tears while whispering soft words. “Stop crying,” he begs quietly. “Katie, please. I just wanted to make you happy. You looked so sad when you opened the door the first time. Stop crying, beautiful. Please.”
I grip his wrists, my eyes closed as I bask in the touch of his lips against my skin. “No one remembered,” I admit. “Not even my family. I felt so alone and forgotten.”
He makes a noise then, something between a grunt and a growl. Whatever it is, it sounds like it’s being torn from his throat. The grip on my jaw tightens ever so slightly, and I open my eyes to meet his gaze.
I’m shocked to find that his eyes aren’t soft and warm; they’re blazing.
“How could anyone forget you?” He strokes my cheeks with his thumbs, and then I can tell by the look in his eyes that he makes a decision. He rasps, “I’ve been wanting to do this for twenty-five years,” and then he kisses me.
It’s not a tender kiss. It’s bruising, consuming, conquering. I melt into his embrace, letting my fingers curl into his jacket while he wraps one arm around my waist. His other hand slides through my hair to grip the back of my head. Using it to tilt my head to the side, Chase deepens the kiss.
I moan in response. The hand that he’d clamped around my waist slides down to grip my ass, and another moan slips through my lips.
“You were hot back then, but you’re even hotter now,” he tells me, pulling me close so the entire length of my body is pressed against the length of his.
“I was not hot in high school,” I say, laughing.
“You used to wear these glasses all the time,” he tells me, dipping down to kiss my neck. “The ones with the black frames. I was such a horny dirtbag for you in those glasses.”
“W-what?” I’m too startled to say anything else, and he’s running his lips over my neck in a way that makes all thoughts flee from my mind.
“Used to dream about doing vile things to you while you wore them.”
He kisses my protests away before I can voice them. But my mind is whirling, so I have to pull away. Now both of his hands are on my butt, and I can feel the hard length of him throbbing against my stomach. I arch my back so I can look in his eyes. “Are you being serious right now? I got bullied for wearing those glasses. That’s the whole reason I got laser eye surgery as soon as I could afford it!”
Instead of laughing with me, Chase frowns. “It bothered you when people teased you for wearing glasses? You used to always joke around about them too. You wore those big novelty glasses anytime there was an excuse.”
“That was a defense mechanism, I’m afraid,” I admit with a sad smile.
Chase sighs, a deep furrow between his brows. “I’m sorry, Katie. I would have stood up for you if I’d known.”
Just like that, an old hurt smooths over in the depths of my heart. I lean my head against his shoulder. “Thank you for saying that. After a pretty crappy day, it feels good to hear you say something nice.”
His chest rises and falls with a deep sigh, and then he wraps his arms around me and holds me tight. When he kisses me again, it’s softer, more tender, but it quickly makes the fire inside me blaze to an inferno. Soon, I’m panting and clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping me upright.
Broad hands stroke my body, down my sides, around the curves of my hips and ass, and back up both sides of my spine. Chase bands one arm around my waist and uses the other to slide his hand up my stomach to cup my breast. It feels like heaven.
“I like this,” he says, thumbing the fabric of my robe.
“You interrupted my bubble bath,” I mock-grumble in explanation.
Gentle fingers tug the edge of my robe aside to reveal my breast topped with a pebbled nipple. With the back of his hand, he strokes the top of my breast and traces the outline of its bud. “I would say I’m sorry about that, but I’d be lying.”
Closing my eyes, I sink into the sensation of his hand stroking my curves. There’s slickness between my thighs and the steady thrum of my pulse at their apex. Secure in his arms, I melt into his touch as he palms my breast then gently pinches and tugs at my nipple. A shiver courses through me, and I know he notices because he does it again.
“Your body is so perfect,” he tells me, teasing my breast. “I got so hard earlier, watching you move around in that green dress.”
I’ve fallen through a crack in the universe and landed in another dimension. That’s the only explanation. But when I look up at Chase, I see hunger, and ache, and intense male need.
He’s telling the truth about how attractive he finds me. So, with my heart thundering, I thread my fingers through his and tug him up the stairs toward my bedroom.