Chapter 20 Distraction
Distraction
The Next Morning
Chase Montgomery had never been good at patience.
Hell, he had spent most of his life moving—pushing forward, chasing the next goal, making shit happen. But this?
This waiting game?
It was fucking brutal.
He sat at his desk, staring at the spreadsheet on his laptop, but none of it registered. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, motionless. His coffee sat untouched, long since gone cold. The numbers and reports blurred, white noise against the only thing occupying his mind.
Savannah Monroe.
Jesus Christ. Last night had wrecked him. Every single part of him.
The way she had felt in his arms—warm, soft, fitting against him like she belonged there. The way she had kissed him back—not just with heat, not just with hunger, but with something more. The way she had looked at him when he pulled back, when he told her he wanted to do it right.
He groaned, dragging a rough hand over his jaw, fingers gripping his beard. It had been the hardest thing he had ever done—stopping. Telling her no. Pacing his damn breathing when everything in him had been screaming to keep going, to keep taking.
And yet, he didn’t regret a damn thing.
Because that look in her eyes?
The mix of shock, understanding, something deep and aching?
That had made it worth it.
He turned in his chair, gazing out the window of his office. The town was waking up—surfers out catching early waves, runners dotting the boardwalk, fishermen prepping their boats before the heat of the day set in. The hum of Wrightsville Beach easing into the morning routine.
And somewhere out there, she was waking up too.
Maybe she was still tangled in her sheets, her curls a mess against her pillow, her skin carrying the faint scent of salt air. Maybe she was staring at her ceiling, biting her lip, thinking about him.
A muscle jumped in his jaw.
Chase had spent half the night tossing and turning, running through every second of their time together. How her breath had hitched when he kissed her slow. How her fingers had tightened in his hair. How her voice had trembled when she whispered his name.
Stopping felt like going to war with himself.