Page 4 of Broken on the Mountain
"Baby, you were loud enough that Mrs. Jones next door turned her porch light on."
"Oh God." I bury my face in my hands. "I'm never going to be able to look anyone in this town in the eye again."
"Hey." His voice goes soft, and suddenly he's right there, gently pulling my hands away from my face. "You were perfect. All of it was perfect. The way you took charge, the way you told me exactly what you wanted..."
My breath catches as he traces his thumb along my jaw and moves closer. I can't help but notice how his biceps flex beneath his skin as he reaches for me.
God, he's beautiful.
"The way you looked at me when I was between your legs, begging me not to stop."
"Chase."
He doesn't stop, his breath warming my skin.Fuck.I've never wanted to run my hands over someone's chest so badly, to feelthose hard ridges of muscle beneath my palms and discover if the rest of him is as perfectly sculpted as what I can see.
"Chase," I whisper, my composure crumbling faster than a house of cards.
"Yeah?" He moves in closer, testing my self-control with his all-naked glory. "You want to know what happens now?"
"Uh-huh."
"What happens now…" Chase says, his thumb gliding across my bottom lip. "…is we get breakfast. At Bear Paw Café. I want to watch you try to explain why you're wearing my shirt to half the town."
"I'm not wearing your shirt!"
"You're not wearing much of anything under that dress either, considering your underwear is still hiding behind your back."
Heat floods my face. "Chase Morrison, you are—"
"Irresistible? Devastatingly handsome? The best terrible decision you've ever made?"
"Impossible," I finish, but I'm fighting a smile.
He steps closer, boxing me in against the counter, and suddenly the kitchen feels about ten degrees warmer. "Come on, Piper. When's the last time anyone called you brave?"
I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out.
Whenwasthe last time I was brave? I've spent my entire life being careful, calculated, perfect.
Safe.
"But Chase, I'm only here for a few more days," I whisper, my last-ditch attempt at the self-preservation tactics my mother taught me when I was eight. "Then what?"
"Then we better make them count." His voice drops to that low rumble that makes my stomach flip. "I'm not asking you to marry me, Piper. I'm asking you to have breakfast with me."
I stare into his warm hazel eyes, seeing genuine interest instead of the polite distance I'm used to from men my parents approve of.
This man wants me messy, wants me authentic, wants me exactly as I am in this moment. Hungover and wearing yesterday's dress and probably smelling like sex.
"My parents would die if they knew I was even considering this."
"Good thing they're in Chicago then."
Before I can overthink it, before my perfectly trained nurse brain can list all the reasons this is a catastrophically bad idea, I say the word that make me feel more excitement than I've felt since… well, forever.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
