Chase chuckled, but there was something in his eyes that made her stomach flip. Something dark. Something heated.
“So,” she said, trying to act casual. “What’s on the menu, Chef Montgomery?”
Chase smirked, stepping back toward the stove. “Steak, grilled asparagus, and roasted potatoes.”
Savannah raised an eyebrow. “Fancy.”
He shrugged, grabbing a bottle of wine and pouring them each a glass. “You deserve a real meal.”
She took the glass, their fingers brushing, and the simple touch sent a spark racing up her spine.
Mallory and Nate were already deep in conversation at the kitchen island, their flirting practically sizzling in the air.
Chase leaned against the counter, watching Savannah as he took a sip of his wine. “Come here.”
Her breath caught at the command in his voice.
She stepped closer, and he reached for her, his fingers trailing lightly along her hip before settling at her waist.
“You’re staring,” she murmured.
“You’re beautiful,” he countered, his voice husky.
Her heart pounded. “Are you always this smooth?”
Chase smirked. “Only when it comes to you.”
Savannah exhaled slowly, shaking her head. “You really don’t fight fair, do you?”
Chase tilted his head, his lips hovering just above hers.
“Nope.”
And God help her—she loved it.
23
Before Me
Dinnerwasperfect.Maybetoo perfect.
The steak was cooked to absolute perfection—juicy, tender, seared to just the right temperature. The wine flowed freely, loosening their inhibitions but never crossing into excess. The conversation was effortless, filled with easy laughter and teasing banter.
And yet, Savannah Monroe could barely focus on a damn thing.
Because every few minutes, Chase’s fingers would graze hers when he reached for his glass, each touch sending a delicious shiver up her spine. His voice would dip just a little lower whenever he leaned in close, like he knew what it did to her. And then there was the way he watched her—like she was the only person in the room, like he was committing her every reaction to memory, like he was waiting for something.
Like he was waiting for her.
Meanwhile, Mallory and Nate were deep in their own world, their banter so charged it might as well have been foreplay at this point.
“I’m sorry,” Mallory argued, leaning back in her chair, waving her wine glass dramatically. “But pineapple on pizza is a crime. You might as well dump sugar on spaghetti.”
Nate scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re so wrong, it actually hurts. The sweet with the salty? It’s god-tier.”
Mallory made a face. “I should have known you were one of those people.”
Nate smirked, taking a slow sip of his whiskey. “What? You can’t handle a little risk in your life?”
