Maeve gave a low whistle. "You mean if Damon isn't chasing tail in Vegas, and Evan isn't halfway up a volcano in Peru."
Chance tucked his hands in his pockets and watched the parade down the driveway, not saying a word. But the heat coming off him was enough to set every nerve I had to full alert.
The car doors slammed, one after another. I waved, ready for them to begone.
I had something on my mind, and nothing was deterring me.
Livia started the engine and the headlights swept over the porch. She waited until everyone was buckled, then backed out.
The taillights vanished down the bend. The world stilled.
We walked in and Chance closed the door. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to.
I stood in the length of the hallway, shivering, not from cold but from too many possibilities. The wine made my limbs loose, skin hypersensitive, the jewelry burning at my collarbone like a dare.
Chance watched me from across the entryway. Not the polite kind of watch, either. The kind that stripped every layer I'd tried to build.
I tried to act casual, but every inch of me pulsed. I hadn't let myself want him this bad in years. Not since the desperate night at my rental, before everything changed.
This was different. This time it was the long version. This time, there was no desperation, no rush.
He bridged the distance in three steps and cupped my face, thumbs tracing heat into my jaw. He angled my chin up, and for a microsecond, all I saw was the reflection of myself in his eyes.
"Hi," he whispered.
I barely managed "hey" before he kissed me.
No patience, no slow build. Just raw hunger. Weeks of tension and hope and terror and trying not to ruin a good thing all crammed into a single collision. His mouth was soft, then hard, then soft again. He swallowed every sound I made.
I clung to his shirt. My legs went cottony, then boneless.
He backed me up, hands never leaving my cheeks, and the world blurred. I managed a laugh. I was dizzy, a little drunk, but not enough that he should feel likehe was taking advantage of me. Just enough to make me lose some of my embarrassment.
His lips trailed down my neck, then lower. He found the brooch, pressed his mouth to the skin just above it.
"You like it," he whispered.
I nodded into the air. "Of course I do. It's the best thing anyone's ever given me."
He took the words and devoured them. I lost track of how many times we kissed before my brain caught up and he half-lifted me up the bottom stair.
"Been a long time," I admitted, breath jagged. It felt like years since the quickie at my house instead of a few short weeks.
"Too fucking long," he growled.
We tumbled up the steps, hands threaded together, bodies crashing so often we nearly missed the landing.
We made it.
He spun me into the wall, braced one hand against the plaster, and kissed me until my back arched.
I returned every ounce of it. I wanted to crawl into his skin. I wanted to never let go.
He found the hem of my shirt and yanked it loose from my pants. I tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, drowning in the heat of him.
I laughed again, high on the thrill of letting go.
He scooped me up, bridal-style, as if I weighed nothing. My head spun.
