“You taste like butter,” he groaned against her lips, and she flushed. “I like it.”
She placed a hand on his chest, to push him away or pull him forward she wasn’t sure, but then he kissed her once more. Her body—her entire being—was so caught up in the way his lips tasted her and how his hand gripped her shoulder, his fingers flexing like he wanted to move them elsewhere but didn’t, and damn if she didn’t want to arch her back, showing him just exactly where she wanted him to touch her.
This was insane.
When he pulled back, his eyes searched her face for something.
“We shouldn’t be doing that kind of stuff,” she whispered, dazed. “No one is looking…”
His eyes were latched onto hers. “I know, but I wanted to and I pretty much do what I want.” Smiling, he turned back to the screen. Someone was chasing someone. “This is a damn good movie.”
“Yeah,” she breathed unsteadily. “It’s a very good movie.”
But what was going to happen when the movie ended… Bridget shivered, seriously doubting her self-control for the umpteenth time that night.
Saturday night was supposed to be like a slumber party. Not that Chad had ever had a slumber party in his entire life, since the last time he checked in his pants he was a dude. But that’s what Miss Gore said tonight would be like.
They did a late dinner at Tony’s and Tony’s, an Italian-style restaurant Bridget had been convinced was run by the mob. That made Chad laugh before he’d accused her of her Irish blood showing through.
The dinner was good. After a little while, Bridget relaxed and she seemed to be handling the attention a bit better, but every time someone would approach their table, she would grow very still or dip her chin forward, using her hair to shield her face.
He couldn’t figure that out. Bridget was a total babe. Guys were checking her out when they came in the restaurant. One guy was staring at her like she was the finest piece of steak, and that hadn’t made Chad all happy, happy, joy, joy, either.
Which was really strange, he realized as he took care of the check. Normally, he didn’t give two shits about guys checking out his dates.
“Thanks,” he said, handing over the signed check to the waiter. “You ready?”
Bridget picked up her clutch and stood, and hot damn, he wasn’t a big fan of the turtleneck thing she had going on, but he loved how the skirt clung to her legs, and those peekaboo-fuck-me heels were all right in his book, too.
They were going back to his place.
Bridget was going to stay the night.
Tonight was going to be a very, very long night.
“Do you think people are waiting outside?” she asked as they neared the front door.
“Ah…” He stretched up to see beyond some dumbass bronze wall. A light snow fell outside, blanketing the sidewalk. Waiting on the curb were two men huddled down in their jackets, cigarettes in hand and cameras around their necks. Speaking of jackets…
Chad looked down at Bridget and frowned. “Where is your jacket?”
She shrugged. “I don’t like them.”
“It’s snowing outside.”
“Is it?” Her eyes popped wide as she craned her neck. Glee lit up her face. “Oh! It is! I love the snow.”
But not Christmas, apparently, he thought. “You should be wearing a jacket.”
“You’re not,” she pointed out as he led her around the bronze wall and past a group of businessmen who looked like they were seconds away from pouncing on Chad.
“I’m a guy.”
Her answering huff brought a grin to his face. Outside, he pulled her under his arm and tucked her close while the valet got the car. Of course it was just because of the snow and she had to be cold and there were the picture people, snapping away, and no other reason than that. Excuses. Excuses.
“Hey, Chad!” one of the photographers called out.
He turned at the waist, recognizing the young guy who usually covered the games. “What’s up, Morgan? You’re a little far from the stadium, aren’t you?”
Morgan grinned as he swaggered closer, his gaze moving to Bridget and then darting back to Chad, but not fast enough that Chad missed it. “Nothing’s going on tonight, so they got me stalking you.”
“Made your life, didn’t it?” Chad could practically hear Bridget’s eyes roll.
“You’re a big deal.” Morgan glanced at Bridget again. Snow dotted her hair and cheeks like a transparent veil. Morgan extended his hand to her. “I’m Morgan—Chad’s favorite photographer.”
Bridget smiled and shook his hand. “I didn’t know he had favorites.”
“He’s just shy about his affections, especially when it comes to talking about you. Everyone is dying to get your name.”
She glanced up at Chad and then took a deep breath. “Bridget Rodgers. Pleasure to meet Chad’s favorite stalker.”
Morgan laughed, and Chad knew Morgan was filing that name away by the look of eagerness on the photo-hag’s face. Luckily, before more questions could be asked, the valet showed up and Chad got Bridget in the Jeep. He blasted the heat as she ran her hands through her hair and back from her face as she smoothed the tiny snowflakes out of her hair. The motion arched her back, thrusting her chest out. The front of her sweater stretched, and it was a damn good thing he wasn’t driving yet because he was like a sixteen-year-old-boy and—
“There’s no turning back now,” Bridget said, lowering her arms. She looked at him. “Right?”