For Seven Nights Only (Chase Brothers) (12 page)

“Are you kidding me?” Estelle exclaimed. “He’s going to fall in love.”

Kelsie’s gaze jerked.

“With the gravy?” Estelle quickly added, her expression laced with alarm. “Only with the gravy.”

Kelsie stared blankly, a bit taken aback by her own reaction. Clearly, this had gotten out of hand. She couldn’t even take a joke, not that she’d ever been accused of having a sense of humor. She thrived on stress…but she hadn’t lately. She’d been having fun. She wasn’t sure what was more pathetic…that’d she had so thoroughly enjoyed the last week without realizing it, or that she was such a dud and a stress case that actually being able to relax made mental headlines.

Estelle, clearly having sensed Kelsie’s lack of breathing room, grabbed a stack of plates and nodded toward the tableware. “Give me a hand?”

Kelsie took the pile of utensils already folded into cloth napkins and followed Estelle to the table near the front of the house, diagonal from the corner occupied by the Chase men and a big-screen football game. “How long have you and Crosby been dating?”

Estelle blushed prettily. “Only a couple of months.”

Estelle’s answer genuinely surprised Kelsie. “I’d never guess you haven’t been a part of this family for years,” she said. “You’re so comfortable here.”

“That’s pretty much how it works with this family. Once you’re in, you’re in.” Estelle shot a look in the direction of the men. Sawyer, Ethan, and Liam had just stood and were headed for the back of the house, and Kelsie watched in appreciation, a little annoyed with herself when she realized she only had one brother in her sights. Estelle edged closer to Kelsie and spoke under her breath. “You know, you aren’t Sawyer’s usual type, and that’s absolutely a compliment. I mean, I can’t see your legs
or
your nipples.”

Kelsie nearly choked on a burst of barely restrained laughter. “That’s…horrible.”

“Not for you, it isn’t. He’s really a great guy. A little too into himself, but it’s not hard to see how he got that way. The women love him.”

Kelsie rolled her eyes. “So I’ve heard.”

“He just needs the right one,” Estelle said lightly.

“He needs to keep looking.”

Estelle rested her hand on the back of a chair. “So there’s really nothing between you?”

“Nothing like that.” Kelsie hesitated, not quite willing to admit she’d needed dating tips. “Nothing romantic.”

Wasn’t that the truth?

Estelle’s brow lifted. “That’s not shocking. From what I understand, romance isn’t a thing he does.”

“Maybe one day he’ll meet someone,” Kelsie said. “To be honest, I think he brought me here because I can’t cook.”

“Well, you just made a fantastic gravy, so he’s officially wrong.” Estelle paused, her brow quirked. “When did the two of you meet?”

“A week ago Friday. Why?”

“Because he literally hasn’t stepped foot in the bar since about a week ago Friday. Ethan and Liam were talking about that when Crosby and I got here.”

That funny little
all things Sawyer
wiggle shot through Kelsie’s chest. “This is noteworthy?”

“Nine days?” Estelle scoffed. “Are you kidding me? I’m surprised it’s not on TMZ.”

“Maybe he’s been hanging out somewhere else,” Kelsie said as she situated the silverware on the table beside the plates Estelle had placed.

Estelle shot her a knowing look. “He has. With you.”

“Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes,” Alice called. “Rolls are going in now.”

“The boys just went out back to check that spot on the roof,” Russell replied. He had his back to them, his attention fixed on the football game.

“Why don’t you tell them?” Estelle said to Kelsie. “Alice’s gardens are amazing, and that’s coming from a landscape architect. It’s definitely worth a trip back there.”

“Okay,” Kelsie said. “I’d love to see them.”
Amazing
wasn’t a typical factor in New York City backyards, when they even existed, but while her curiosity was piqued, she also hoped for a minute with Sawyer. He’d been a bit distant since they’d walked through the door, which was expected under the circumstances, but she missed having that sexy, miscreant smile trained on her.

“I think you’d love to see
him
,” Estelle said with a knowing look. “But the backyard is definitely worth a look. You should have seen it over the summer.”

“Maybe next year,” Kelsie said without thinking.

Ouch
.

Estelle’s brow raised.

Kelsie walked away, blushing. She headed down the hall toward the back of the house, expecting to find Sawyer outside, but halfway down, she heard his voice. “Don’t even look at her, man.”

Her heart bloomed at the territorial edge to his voice.

“Her girlfriend potential is pegged at zero,” he continued in the same cocky tone that, seconds before, had given her a serious case of the warm and fuzzies. “Granted, she’s hot as hell, but not even that makes her worth your time.”

Stunned, Kelsie took a step back and felt for the reassuring presence of the wall. Hot tears pricked her eyes, but a couple of hard blinks took care of that.

It wasn’t like she expected more from him. It wasn’t like she
wanted
more. But she did want to be respected, damn it.

And damn him.

She straightened and returned to the family room long enough to swipe one of her brownies. She made enough noise walking back to Sawyer to warn him of her approach, lest he have any other opinions to spew, and found him with Liam and Ethan, both of whom had the decency to look a bit embarrassed. But not Sawyer. He looked, as ever, like the cat that ate the pathetic, trusting, hopeful canary, but she had something better for him.

“I brought you a brownie,” she said sweetly, then shoved it into his mouth. “Enjoy.”

Chapter Thirteen

If looks could kill, Sawyer would be toast.
Burnt
toast. He could only assume Kelsie had overheard him telling his brothers to back off by the fact that she’d tried to maim him with one of her brownies, but she’d refused to talk about it since.

That, or anything else.

Brownie incident aside, he hadn’t realized she was upset until the ride home. At his parents’ house, she’d seemed to have a good time and definitely had found a friend in Estelle, but she’d spared him few words. He just hadn’t realized how few until it was just the two of them and dead, utter silence.

When they entered the elevator of their apartment building, he hesitated over which button to push. “Want to hang out at my place?”

“No,” she said tersely. “I have some work to catch up on.”

“So I’m guessing you don’t want company?”

She glared. Which, if nothing else, made it clear he wasn’t her company of choice.

“Listen,” he said, pressing the buttons for his floor and hers. “What you heard—”

She sighed. “It’s fine. I get it. I appreciate you not telling them you were hired to make me dateable. Let’s just leave it at that, okay?”

He winced over the word “hired.” He wanted to argue or at least explain why he’d said what he said, but she didn’t look amused. She looked…defeated.

“The gravy was good,” he said. “My mom said you were a natural.”

“Your mom gave me a whisk and told me to stir.”

The doors slid open on his floor. He stepped in front, blocking them. “I have faith in you. Why don’t you feed me tomorrow night? You know what they say about the way to a man’s heart.”

“What? That it’s through his rib cage?”

“Or, less violently, through his stomach.” He shifted uncomfortably. Why couldn’t he and she get on the same page? The only thing they seemed to get right was staying on the opposite sides of battle. That and sex. “Look,” he said. “I’m willing to try your cooking again. If that isn’t a leap of faith, I don’t know what is.”

“You’re not helping.” She sighed. “But okay, it’s your funeral. I’ll cook, and we’ll be one step closer to putting this behind us.
Fantastic
idea,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tomorrow night. Seven?”

He cringed inwardly at her interpretation and again at the stark reality of what he’d just signed up for. As long as they had time to order takeout after, he’d be fine. But that didn’t seem to be the smartest reply, so he simply said, “I’ll be there.”

He eased back out of the way and watched her disappear behind the sliding doors. And he stood there for a long time. Long enough for the doors to pop back open when the car returned. He stepped out of the way and nodded a greeting to his neighbors, then stood there wondering if he should go upstairs and explain. He really wasn’t used to dealing with…feelings. And oddly enough, that made him feel empty inside.

His carefree life held one consequence he’d yet to consider: no one cared.

No one until Kelsie.

And he wasn’t sure what to do with that, so he went home.

Alone.

…

Kelsie sighed and pushed her ruined gravy to a cold burner at the back of the stove. She clicked off the heat and frowned. What had she been thinking? Ever since her sink turned into a geyser and landed her in the arms of a very wet, sexy downstairs neighbor, the question had become the story of her life. Now they were back where they’d started, full circle, because he had this idea that she’d learned enough in one afternoon with his mother to pull off that home-cooked meal she’d ruined the first time.

It seemed ages ago.

“Seriously, Marmaduke. What was I thinking?”

The sleeping dog lifted his head slightly, then plopped right back down, all without cracking an eyelid.

Nice.

A knock rattled the door.

Even better.

She glanced at her shirt to make sure she wasn’t covered in the evidence of yet another disaster of a meal, then opened the door.

And stopped breathing.

Sawyer stood there looking unfairly gorgeous in a
suit
. And holding the biggest bunch of flowers she’d ever seen outside of a florist’s shop.

“Are we going to the opera again?” she asked.

Immediately, his expression turned to worry. “Would you like to?”

“I’m not sure we’re allowed back.” She didn’t bother telling him there were other venues—ones in which they had not nearly had sex. She nodded toward the flowers. “I think my sister has fewer flowers planned for her wedding.”

At the mention of her sister’s wedding, his face fell a notch, but he didn’t mention the wedding or her date…or lack thereof. And it was then she realized just how much their agreement had backfired. Making plans with another guy while “dating” Sawyer, however artificially, felt wrong.

She wanted him.

“Hopefully you won’t decide to kick them into the hallway,” he joked.

She managed a weak grin as she accepted the bouquet and stepped out of the doorway so he could come inside. “Just don’t give me a reason. God, Sawyer, this must have cost you a fortune.”

“Rule number…whatever we’re on. Don’t second-guess a gift unless you want to make a guy feel like he’s done something wrong.”

“Maybe I just want to distract you from what became of the meal I cooked,” she said warily. Dazed.
She wanted him
. How could she after what he’d said to his brothers? He was the
opposite
of what she wanted. He was…not living up to his well-earned reputation. Estelle said he hadn’t been to his usual haunt, picking up women, and Kelsie hadn’t seen him stumble out of the elevator with anyone but her. But that didn’t mean anything had changed. Just that he was respectful enough of her not to have sex with anyone else.

At least not yet.

“I’m sure the food is fine. But if you want distraction,” he said with a grin, “I can absolutely provide distraction.” He took back the flowers and put them on the table, then walked her backwards until the backs of her legs touched the sofa. “The best kind of distraction.”

“Don’t those flowers need water? And…my…gravy…” His lips on her skin made finishing the thought impossible.

“I think,” he said, “we need to take this time to consider a few important skills that might come in handy in the future.”

“For someone else?”

His eyes darkened, and for a moment she regretted the jab. Then he said, “Sweetheart, give me thirty seconds, and I guarantee you won’t be thinking about anyone else.”

She shook her head. “I think the problem was
you
thinking about someone else.”

“Actually,” he countered, “I think it’s you thinking about me thinking about someone else.”

“Are you?” she asked. Shyly. Stupidly. Because there was only one answer she wanted to hear, and she wasn’t sure it was the one he would give.

But he did.

“You,” he said. “Only you. All the time you.”

“I don’t want to hear your lines,” she said. “I’d rather you just come right out and say you wanted me because you were bored or didn’t have other options, rather than pretend I’m your first choice.”

“I always have options,” he said, oh-so-helpfully. “But I’m not pretending. I told you that.”

“And then you practically shoved your brothers away from me, one by one.”

To his credit, he faltered. “What was I supposed to say? You couldn’t get a date and begged me to help you out?”

She scowled. “You could have said I’m a friend with definite girlfriend potential.”

His eyes darkened. “Well, I’m sorry, but I wanted to enjoy our last two dates without feeling like a placeholder for someone else. Is that what you wanted? For me to hook you up with one of my brothers?”

Yeah. Not really. Maybe about ten orgasms ago, but that ship had sailed. She folded her arms across her chest, determined to put some kind of wall between them. “You also told me you don’t date.”

“Yet I clearly committed to seven. And you need to relax. I have an idea for that.”

“I just bet you do.” Sarcasm littered her tone.

Before she’d finished the sentence, he pulled something out of his pocket. She’d barely figured out he held a condom before he tossed it her way. She caught it, barely, and stared.

“Put it on me,” he said.

“What?”

“Condom. On. Now.” He grinned devilishly. “If, of course, you accept the challenge.”

“You want me to…do that?”

“It’s a basic life skill,” he said with a hapless shrug. “You have to know how to use them. It’s one of those things every responsible adult should know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

He offered no help, leaving her to unzip his pants and drag out his erection. He hissed when her hands made contact, so she grinned and took her sweet time moving up and down his shaft.

“That’s not part of proper application technique,” he said.

“Sorry,” she lied.

“Are you wet?”

She eased her palms along his length. “That’s not proper conversation for the kitchen.”

“I think we’re closer to the sofa than the sink. And if you’re not, tell me now.”

With an exaggerated sigh, she released him and tore into the condom. She’d only managed to roll it about halfway down his shaft before he scooped her up and tossed her onto the sofa, tearing at her clothes as he came down on top of her. In one swift motion, he rolled the rest of the condom on and plunged inside her.

“Shit, you’re wet.”

She wriggled her hips and pretended she didn’t already see an entire constellation of stars. “And getting bored.”

Surprise hit his eyes, then was lost to a smirk. “Challenge accepted?”

“Yes,” she whispered. But he was already driving inside her, his hips rocking so hard the sofa squeaked and edged across the hardwood. She realized he had one foot on the ground and made a mental note to compliment his use of leverage because
Christ
she was dizzy. She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, only half seeing them through the blur of sex, then gave up and shoved her hands under the hem and held on. She probably left claw marks in his back for days, but the feeling of holding on to him, the muscles of his back and ass flexing and bunching as he throttled hard against her, would be well worth the apology. The air echoed with the smack of skin and someone—probably her—making the kind of noises that would put the opera lady to shame. And then somehow he managed to get a grip on her clit, and his
ever
so casual grip sent her flailing. Every cliché in the world happened at that moment. Fireworks, starbursts, cannon fire… And her vaginal walls must have squeezed the hell out of Sawyer, because when he came, he jolted so hard against her G-spot that he sent her fumbling down yet another proverbial flight of stairs or into the abyss or depths or whatever the
in
thing was now.

He slid off of her and hit the floor. On the way down, he muttered, “Fuck.”

She laughed. Sort of. Mostly she was gasping for air.

After a long moment she spent trying to catch her breath, he reached to find her hand and wound his fingers through hers. She peered over the edge of the sofa and was rewarded with a lazy, sated smile that made her feel all gooey inside. “I think you have my pants,” he said.

She glanced down and found that she’d somehow managed to work her leg into them. “This is unusual,” she said, and immediately regretted it. Unusual for her was probably an everyday thing for him.

She attempted to kick her leg free and only managed to dislodge a trio of condoms from his pocket, which landed on his chest.

“I guess you thought I needed a lot of practice,” she muttered.

Using her hand for leverage, he sat and focused those brilliant green eyes on her. “Baby, you don’t need anything.”

“Except a date to my sister’s wedding.” Maybe he’d offer. It was, after all, just one date.
On a boat. In the harbor
.

But no dice. He completely ignored her reference, instead cradling her face and kissing her so sweetly and thoroughly that she ached all over again. When he broke free, the look in his eyes was not that of a man who’d just had another bout of casual sex on the premise of giving dating tips.

It was the look of someone who cared.

It was freaking
relationship
sex. Sex in which they’d moved furniture and he’d fallen on the floor. And…

“Tell me my dog is not humping my throw pillow.”

Sawyer turned to follow her gaze, and sure enough, Marmaduke was going to town on a pillow that had, until very recently, been on the sofa.

“Is that what I looked like?” Sawyer asked. “Because that’s some nice hip action.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Hey, don’t hate. For a little guy with no balls, he’s rocking it.”

Kelsie rolled her eyes and fell back on the sofa.

“I’ll be right back, sweetness. Might want to deal with whatever is happening on that stove.”

Great. It had taken her half the day to make something even remotely resembling what his mother had whipped together in considerably less time, and already she’d ruined the gravy. Now her caramelized onions were probably mush.

Not. Unlike. Her.

With a sigh, she stood and made a half-assed attempt to straighten her skirt. She washed her hands in the kitchen sink, then surveyed the damage to the meal. The roast was still in the oven, and it looked okay, but she’d completely forgotten to start the baked potatoes and hadn’t begun to prep the salad. That was probably the one dish she could make, but it hardly counted since it didn’t require heat.

Her gazed touched on the flowers, and they took her back to the night they’d met. It felt like a lifetime ago, and in truth he’d dominated every moment since. He’d so fully made himself a part of her world that she couldn’t remember what it was like before him. Just her, Marmaduke, and her sister’s endless wedding details. Not that they had much to do with her. As maid of honor, Kelsie probably should have been overrun with obligations, but her sister was such a control freak that she had to handle every detail herself.

Except the stupid bachelorette party. Kelsie had managed to book the club, but she wasn’t looking forward to attending. There was no way she could ever hit that scene again and not think of Sawyer. Or climb a wall. Or walk her dog. Her little affair—scratch that,
arrangement
—had ruined everything, and his latest lesson had only proven that. At no previous point in her life had she had sex without some measurable degree of self-doubt, but they’d just gotten tangled and moved furniture across the room while dinner failed and her dog humped a pillow and she ended up with a leg threaded in his pants. Some part of that should have been awkward, but it had been…perfect.