“Close to it,” he says, shrugging. Somehow, he’s managed to inhale the whole sandwich already and he balls up the wrapper, tossing it in a trash can in the corner. “Thanks, that really hit the spot,” he says, going to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water.
“Payback for coffee and breakfast.”
“If you think that was good, you should let me make you a real breakfast sometime.” The casual way he says it tells me that he didn’t mean it to be an overt innuendo, but that’s immediately where my mind goes and I know my face tells the whole story.
Even Ian seems a little embarrassed by the unintended nature of his comment and he clears his throat, grabbing a guitar from the wall.
“Anyway, here’s what I’ve got.”
I sit down and unwrap my sandwich, eating it at a much more reasonable pace while he gives me the melody and the chord progressions. I’m singing along in my head and I realize that one of the lines doesn’t quite work, so I put
the sandwich down, grab my notebook, and scribble a correction.
Ian looks horrified when I glance up at him.
“What?”
“I can’t believe you just scribbled all over that.”
“What are you talking about? It’s a notebook… I’ve seen yours,” I add with a stern look. His notebooks look like a pen exploded all over them.
He shakes his head. “Your writing just looks like it should be on display in a gallery or something.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not that nice. Besides, I had to spend a ton of time practicing for autographs.”
“No you didn’t,” he says, taking my pen and scrawling a scribbled line on the paper. “There. Autograph.”
“Give me a second,” I say, whipping out my phone, “I need to put this on eBay.”
“Now who’s not being serious,” he teases me. This back-and-forth seems so natural, so comfortable that I almost let myself forget what a bad idea Ian is for me.
“All right then, let’s play through it all the way,” I say, scooting closer to him so we can both read my lyrics and I can hear the music better. Our legs are touching on the couch and it sends an electric thrill all the way to my toes, making me feel as jittery as the first performance after a long hiatus.
He strums the first chord, then picks out the melody before putting them together. The moment the words and the music come together, I know we have something amazing. Like, chart-topping, record-breaking amazing. It’s not often that I get that feeling, but once you’ve been in the biz as long as I have, you learn to trust it when you do get it. And boy was I getting it.
The song’s romantic at first, about falling for someone you know you shouldn’t have, but with his new chord progressions, the second verse is sultry and angsty, a perfect fit for the “you’re bad for me, but so good I can’t quit” feeling of the song. The way our voices meld with the music has my body waking up in a major way. My blood’s pumping hot and fast, sending need pure and strong straight to my core. I can feel myself getting wetter, feel my nipples getting hard as Ian’s suggestive lyrics tease over me like a dirty promise.
It’s embarrassing, but by the time the song’s over, I’m clenching and needy in a way I’ve never felt before. I’m almost afraid to look at Ian, but when I do, he’s panting and flushed too, his eyes lit up with this wildness I’ve never seen. He felt it too.
Before either of us can say anything or think better of it, we’re crashing into each other, his lips capturing mine, our tongues warring as I pull him closer to me and practically straddle him. The energy’s still crackling around the room, egging us on, fanning the need for more. His hands slide down my sides, slipping under my ass with a squeeze before his fingers slip under the hem of my dress, dancing up the backs of my thighs.
It’s like a splash of cold water and I immediately come to my senses, pulling away from him and jumping off the couch like it’s on fire.
“I need to go,” I say quickly, snatching my notebook and leaving the other half of my sandwich on the table without a look back.
“Chelsea, don’t,” I hear him say, but I’m already at the door. “Chelsea, wait!” he calls, but I’m already jogging up the spiral staircase and out to my car before I can second-guess myself. I don’t even let myself look back. I don’t want to know if he’s coming after me. I don’t want to think about what that was or how amazing it felt to finally give in to the crazy feelings I’ve had swirling around him since day one. Ian Monroe is trouble, and this little incident only served to prove that even more. I can’t let my guard down around him again.
As I’m driving away, my lips are still tingling, my skin still burning where he touched me, and all I can think about his how badly I want to turn around and make some very bad decisions with him. But like I told Rosa, I’m a good girl, and good girls don’t get tangled up with bad boys like Ian Monroe. Especially not if they want to keep their reputation intact.
Chapter 9
Ian
Not gonna lie, I definitely considered not showing up this morning. After that little… whatever the hell it was yesterday, part of me doesn’t want to face Chelsea, and the other part is desperate to get some damn answers out of her.
I’d dreamed of kissing her, of getting my hands on her body, but I never imagined that Chelsea Garten would be the drug that did me in. Her lips are like heaven, her soft, shuddering breaths the best music I’ve ever heard. And I’m dying for more, but there’s no way I’m going to push it until we talk about why she ran out on me.
I’ve got some ideas of course. A lot of them, in fact. But I learned in rehab that you can’t always just assume the worst and act on that before finding out the truth. That’s a one-way ticket to self-sabotage.