Her breath caught.
Oh, he was good.
Savannah:Cocky much?
Chase:Not cocky. Confident. There’s a difference.
Savannah:Mm. Debatable.
Chase:You want to debate it?
A slow heat curled in her stomach.
Savannah:Depends. How good are you at convincing a woman to change her mind?
The response came instantly.
Chase:Monroe, I don’t need to convince you of anything.
Her thighs pressed together.
Jesus Christ.
Savannah let a few seconds pass before she typed her next message, wanting to make him wait—make him feel the burn for once.
Savannah:Is that so?
Chase:I don’t have to convince you, because you’re already picturing it.
Her fingers trembled slightly over the keyboard.
Chase:You’re already thinking about the way my hands felt on you. About the way I kissed you slow just to hear that little sound you make when you want more.
Her breath hitched.
Chase:You’re thinking about how my hands felt in your hair. How I could’ve pulled you under me, pinned your wrists above your head, taken my time tasting every damn inch of you.
Oh, hell.
Savannah clenched the phone in her grip, heat pooling in her belly.
He was not playing fair.
Savannah:You seem very sure of yourself, Montgomery.
Chase:Not sure of myself, sweetheart.
A pause.
Chase:Sure of you.
Her pulse slammed against her ribs.
And then, just when she was about to tell him exactly how infuriating he was, another message came through.
Chase:But like I said… you deserve more than a stolen moment on a dock.
Her stomach clenched.
