The way his fingers gripped the handle of his mug a little too tight.
The way his eyes darkened every time her bare legs shifted, teasing, taunting.
The way his chest rose and fell, controlled, measured—like he was holding something back.
Good.
Because if Chase Montgomery thought he was the only one who could play this game, he was dead fucking wrong.
She hummed, tilting her head slightly, swinging one leg over the other, letting the oversized Henley she was wearing slide just a little higher on her thighs. “So—what’s the plan for today?”
Chase exhaled slowly, setting his coffee down before leaning against the counter, his arms crossing over his chest, his tattooed forearms flexing as he did.
And fuck.
He was so damn unfair to look at.
“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice low, easy, but filled with warning.
Savannah took another slow bite, letting the fork linger at her lips just a second longer than necessary. “Well, since you’re starving and all,” she teased, “I assume you had a full itinerary planned before you—got distracted.”
His eyes flickered dangerously. “Monroe—”
She smirked, cutting another bite of food, completely ignoring the silent warning in his tone.
Chase was watching her like a predator, his eyes locked on her mouth, on her throat, on the way she shifted slightly in her chair, teasing, taunting.
He rolled his shoulders back, exhaling hard. “I do have things to do today,” hemuttered.
“Oh, really?” Savannah feigned curiosity, licking a single drop of syrup from the corner of her lips, knowing full well he was watching every goddamn movement. “Like what?”
Chase’s jaw ticked, his patience visibly thinning, but his voice stayed smooth, steady, dangerous.
“Like making sure you don’t get away with this shit, sweetheart.”
Savannah grinned, popping another bite of food into her mouth.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she mused. “Am I making things difficult for you?”
Chase didn’t blink.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t even move.
Until suddenly, he did.
Fast. Decisive. Fucking ruthless.
Before she could react, he was on her, his chair scraping against the floor as he stalked toward her, dragging her plate away, his hands gripping the sides of her chair, caging her in.
Her breath mocked, her pulse pounding, but she refused to look away.
“I hope you enjoyed that little show, Monroe,” Chase murmured, his lips barely a breath from hers.
Savannah swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table.
He leaned in, so close their noses brushed, his voice a low, lethal whisper.
