Chase Me (Paris Nights Book 2)(42)
He hesitated. Frowned. Subsided. Then remembered: “Not that I have to worry about that any more now that I’m a civilian.”
Vi fought the urge to wrap two hands around his throat and just strangle him. “Look, other than driving me crazy, was there something you wanted? If you say sex, I’m going to shove you down the stairs.”
He smiled. “Honey, if you want to say no to sex to me, no shoving is necessary. I’d be sad, and my heart would be broken, and my life would be ruined, but still…you’d be okay.”
Damn it, how did he manage to be so funny and so annoying and so damn solid and reassuring all at once? “Chase. Why are you here?”
“I told you.” He held up his backpack. “I brought something.”
“I don’t care.”
“Also some food.” He held up take-out that clearly smelled of the Chinese restaurant down the street. “In case you haven’t eaten again today.”
“It’s one in the morning.” So the night was still young.
“Yeah, but this is the first time your light has been on when I’ve swung by. And certain people are far too fussy about crossing ethical lines when asked to ping the location of your phone.” He scowled.
“My phone is in the river. What people?”
Chase coughed. “Oh, you know…hacker buddies.” He changed the subject quickly. “Honey, also, please don’t take this the wrong way, but if you don’t want to let a man into your apartment, you shouldn’t open the door at all. I could break that chain with one shove.”
“But then I’d knife you.” Vi smiled sweetly.
Chase rested his head against the jamb and smiled a little. “I’m so crazy about you.”
“Yeah, well, I know this is going to be a hard one for you to absorb, but just because you want me doesn’t mean I have to give you what you want. That’s because I’m not a thing.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m really sorry about the jacket. I shouldn’t have done it. I was a stupid, arrogant ass.”
Okay, well, they agreed on that. She gazed at him a long moment and sighed. “Fine, you can come in.” But only because she still had absolute faith in her ability to handle him. Also because that big, hot body, those blue eyes, and the way he looked at her, like she was his personal gift from heaven, just got down into her middle and heated her all up from the inside out. “But don’t touch anything.”
“I’ll try not to sneeze, too,” he said solemnly.
“What?”
“You already forgot?” He clutched his heart. “Our first meeting?”
“When you broke into my restaurant, planted salmonella or something, and ruined my career?”
He ignored that. “It was so romantic. ‘Don’t touch anything! Don’t breathe on anything! If you sneeze, I’m killing you.’”
“I had good instincts when I first met you. The sad thing is how fast you turned me into an idiot.”
Chase licked his finger and made a sizzling noise as he touched it to his shoulder.
“Oh, purée.” Vi strode back into the apartment, leaving the door open. Although it was really true about that sizzle. He fried her brain, that was the damn problem.
Chase strolled in behind her, his size and his presence immediately taking over the whole apartment. “Can I touch your jacket?”
“You’ve done it enough damage. I threw it away.” When she’d come home, she’d stuffed it into her trashcan so she could go ahead and get that wound over with and never think about it again.
Chase got the jacket out of the trashcan, and when she frowned at him, he pretended to stifle heavy sneezes, casting terrorized glances at her with each one.
“Quel imbécile,” Vi said. But already she was trying not to laugh.
Chase smiled and sat down on the floor in front of her coffee table with the jacket. Digging into his backpack, he began to pull out tools of some sort—things that looked like they could punch holes, and things that looked like they could pound and clamp and…were those sewing needles?
Lining them up, he pulled out an iPad and searched something. She peered, unable to contain her curiosity. Instructions for sewing leather.
Her jaw dropped.
He turned the slashed jacket sleeve inside out and began to run some kind of grooving device over a cut edge.
Vi stared.
“Might as well take your shower,” Chase said. “I’m not sure how long this is going to take, and you’re making me self-conscious.”
“You can get self-conscious?”
He shrugged.
She did want to wash off the scents of the bar. She went into the bathroom, keeping her shower quick, very aware of how safe she felt doing that with him in her apartment. She didn’t even feel as if she needed to lock the door.
Slipping into her yoga pajama bottoms and cami, she came back out to sit at the kitchen counter and watch him.
Like the night before, just having him here started to work on her. His presence slipped in, twining its way with the comfortable feeling of her pajama bottoms and the relaxation of her shower, as if not only could he feed her need for adrenaline rushes but he could be the way she eased off that adrenaline, too.
As if he was making himself part of her quiet. That time when she wasn’t ready to face the world, when she wasn’t ready to take on all comers. When she let her guard down, replacing a chef’s coat and knives or leather and boots with pajama pants and bare feet.