Page 7 of The Secret Clause
His dark hair is short, but not so short you can’t run your fingers through the silky tresses, and his eyes are the deepest brown, a shade you can’t help but fall into.
And don’t even get me started on his face and body. His chest is cut with hard lines and rippled with muscles, and almost every inch of his skin is covered in black and grey ink that runs from his neck to his hands.
Paired with a strong jaw and high cheekbones, he looks like a god—an untouchable kind of god—but when he smiles…
Fuck me.
He gets these perfect little dimples in his cheeks, and any hardness falls away, leaving nothing but a boyish charm that you can’t help but want to lean into.
“You’re feisty today.” He hums, snapping me from my reverie with that stupid fucking dimple showing as I zero in on his face. “You gonna say hello? Or do you want to keep eye fucking me? I’m good with either, but if it’s the latter, maybe we could take this somewhere a bit more private.”
I scoff, turning away from him as my cheeks flush crimson. “Hello, Chase. It’s nice to see you again.” He bellows a laugh, and I send him a scowl. “What?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” he says sweetly, pushing away from the swing and smirking at me. “Anyway, food’s ready, so best wrap this up and come eat before Eli and Bailey scoff it all and you’re left with scraps.”
I nod in thanks. “I’ll only be a minute.”
“’Kay.” He stalks away, and I blow out a long breath.
I fan my face with my hands, hoping to calm my racing nerves and rid some of this bloody heat that’s taken over me, then down the remaining wine in my glass in one gulp. Of course, Chase chooses that exact moment to halt his steps, his gaze locking on mine.
He drags his gaze down the length of my throat, watching the movement as I swallow. His eyes darken, and he runs his thumb over his lip, his tongue sliding out to flick at the tip before he smirks smugly, half turning away. “I missed you, Ry.”
“We spoke on the phone yesterday. How on earth can you miss me already?”
He presses a hand to his chest, pouting like a child. “You didn’t miss me? I’m wounded.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble, resisting the wide grin that threatens to overtake my face. “I guess I missed you too.”
“Knew it.” He winks, a dimple flashing at me, before he turns and leaves me on the porch, with only the butterflies dancing inside my belly for company.
I avert my eyes back to my laptop, trying to force him from my mind to no avail as I save the files and close the lid.
See, Chase is … well, Chase.
It doesn’t matter how much distance I try to craft between us or how many walls I put up—he finds a way to break them down every time. Even when I’ve been determined to keep him at arm’s length over the last two years, refusing to spend one-on-one time with him because that means danger, there hasn’t been a day that’s passed when he hasn’t made sure I’m thinking of him.
Whether it’s the hours-long phone calls late into the night, or the memes sent sporadically during the day; even the daily good-morning text with a single kiss at the end.
Chase consumes me, and that’s terrifying.
And now that he’s in my vicinity again, determined to steal my time and attention, I think it’s safe to say I’m well and truly fucked.
Dinner goes swimmingly.
If swimmingly means drinking one too many glasses of wine until you’re seeing double to try and forget about the six-foot-five irritant sitting beside you, of course.
Daisy sits on my left, trying to keep me engaged in conversation as she tells me about something or other. Her efforts are wasted, though, as on my other side, Chase talks in his deep rumble, laughing boisterously and drowning out everything else.
See … irritant.
“Ryan.”
“What?”
Daisy laughs as I snap my head up, locking my gaze on her. Or one of her, anyway. I didn’t realise she was a triplet, but there seems to be two more of her dancing in my periphery. Weird.
“I asked if you wanted to go with me?”