The Look of Love (The Sullivans #1)(50)

“I figured you and I were long due for a little romance.”

Chloe cocked her head as she looked at Chase. Really let herself look.

At first, she’d been too blown away by his outward beauty to really see much. And then, she’d been afraid to stare because of what she might see in his eyes when he looked at her...and what he might see mirrored right back at him.

How could he not see that he’d been romancing her every single second since he strode out to her on that rainy road and told her to get into his car?

She smiled at the memory of that first night. How she’d wanted him despite herself—and liked him a great, great deal more than caution warranted.

She let herself pretend, for just a few moments, that this really was her life. That Chase was the man she’d been with for years. That they went on romantic outings to Napa Valley starred restaurants all the time.

And that she was happy, not just for one night. But always.

Because she was loved.

Really and truly loved for who she was.

“It’s another reason why your photos are all so beautiful,” she found herself saying to him. “You aren’t just creating the fantasy for all of us. You want to believe in that fantasy, too, don’t you? I swear, your whole life you must have had to fend off women with big, long sticks.”

He gave her his best version of lecherous. “Just one really big stick.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “I set you up perfectly for that, didn’t I?”

The waiter came to refill their water glasses just as she asked, “Are the rest of your brothers like you? Big and tough on the outside, but gentle romantics on the inside?”

As the waiter left, Chase pretended she’d just wounded him, his hand over his chest. “I once picked up a novel on my sister’s bed that used the words velvet-covered steel to talk about the guy’s junk. I’m pretty sure what you just said reduced me to a velvet-covered marshmallow. Our waiter may never look at me the same way again. He’s probably calling the club now so they can kick me out of it.”

Chloe laughed again, loud enough that a few heads turned to admire the beautiful couple in the corner. “Being a nice person doesn’t in any way change the fact that you’re all man.”

“That statement would have had a heck of a lot more impact if you weren’t half-giggling as you said it,” he informed her, half-joking, half-serious.

Still giggling, she said, “Sorry. Although, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get the words velvet-covered marshmallow—or the image of it—out of my head.”

“I plan on making damn sure they’re gone later tonight,” he promised, heat flickering in his eyes along with the laughter.

“So, back to your family. Are any of your other big, strapping brothers closet romantics?”

She couldn’t help it—she loved hearing about his brothers and sisters, imagining how nice it would be to always know that they were there for you. To laugh with. To joke with. Even to argue with.

“It will just be our little secret.”

Chase shook his head. “I’m pretty sure screwing anything that moves doesn’t qualify as romantic. Apart from Marcus. He’s the only one who doesn’t play that way anymore, although he definitely used to before he met his girlfriend.”

“Screwing anything that moves.” Chloe worked to tamp down on the sudden twisting in her gut and tried to keep her voice light. “As long as everyone knows the score, I guess that’s okay.”

But Chase instantly saw through her. “I’m not going to lie to you. I used to be one of those guys.”

She swallowed, hating the thought of Chase so much as looking at another woman. Kissing another woman. Touching another woman. Making love to another woman.

Her stomach lurched and she abruptly put down her fork. “Okay. Thanks for being honest.”

He reached across the table, taking her hand in his. “I don’t want to do it anymore. I don’t want to be that guy anymore.”

She wanted so desperately to believe him. But she knew first-hand that it wasn’t that easy. “But isn’t it exactly what you’ve been doing with me?”

“No.”

“Yes,” she countered. “We met, I moved, we had sex.”

“You’re different, Chloe. You’re special.”

Angry at herself for how badly she wanted the fairytale to come true, she said, “How can you possibly know that? In the four days since we met, you and I have had sex nearly every moment that we’ve been alone. That fits the criteria pretty perfectly, doesn’t it? Odds are pretty darn high that you’ll move on to your next shoot and find another woman who can’t get enough of you.”

She could see that flicker of frustration on his face. The same one that had him taking her up against the front door a couple of hours ago.

Why did she keep pushing him like this? Why couldn’t she just accept that he meant what he said about her?

But she knew why, knew that deep down she was afraid she was the same twenty-two-year-old girl who had fallen for her ex’s lines, his pretty words, for a warmth she’d so desperately wanted to believe was there...and ended up marrying a man who didn’t know—or like her—at all.

Chloe didn’t know what she expected Chase to say, if she’d thought he would drag her into the back of the restaurant to teach her another lesson about just how good they were together, but she definitely didn’t expect him to reach into his jacket pocket, pull out an envelope, and put it on the table.