She Was Never Just the Billionaire’s Wife (Natasha and Chase) novel Chapter 163

(Natasha)

Three weeks after Shell Cove and Chase is in my spare room four nights a week.

It started on a Wednesday.

He dropped Lily off.

He stayed for dinner.

Lily fell asleep on his arm during her bath, and he stood in the hallway holding her with the wet flannel still in his hand, and asked me, very quietly, if I would mind him staying over in one of the spare rooms.

I said of course.

That was two weeks ago.

He keeps a toothbrush here now.

He has spare clothes in the wardrobe.

He has a phone charger that lives on the bedside table permanently.

He gets up at six to make coffee and brings me one in bed.

He doesn’t hang around and try to make small talk.

He puts the mug on the nightstand and goes back downstairs like a sensible human being at that time of the morning.

He hasn’t put a foot wrong since Shell Cove.

It’s killing me.

Be happy, Natasha.

I haven’t been able to get Mason’s words out of my head since he spoke them.

Because what does it really mean?

I know Mason doesn’t trust Chase, so surely he wasn’t telling me to take a chance on this relationship?

I can’t even ask him, because he hasn’t called me since that night.

He’s texted twice. About work.

I know he’s been seen at three different places recently with Chloe on his arm.

I can’t deny they look dazzling together and Mason was smiling in all the pictures.

Maybe she actually makes him happy.

The financial gossip blogs have begun referring to them as a power couple.

I can’t make myself read a single line of any of those pieces.

I’m being a terrible friend.

Putting my own preconceptions about Chloe ahead of Mason’s healthy and admirable decision to move on.

He deserves better than pining after me.

I’m being horrible and selfish and knowing this doesn’t make it stop.

At least I’m too distracted by Chase’s constant presence to think about Mason and Chloe often.

We’ve just finished the lasagna I made for dinner and moved to the couch with our coffee.

Lily is asleep.

Chase is showing me a video on his phone of a baby goat that Lily liked this afternoon.

At some point we’ve moved closer on the couch without either of us deciding to.

Chase’s arm is lying along the back of the cushions, his hand on my shoulder.

His thumb starts moving in a small slow circle against the side of my neck and bubbles seem to fizz and pop in my bloodstream from the touch.

I lean back into him.

That’s all I do.

It’s enough.

He sets the phone down on the coffee table and turns me toward him with the lightest possible pressure on my shoulder.

His mouth comes down on mine and the rest of the room goes quiet.

He kisses me the way he’s been kissing me for three weeks.

Patiently.

Patient is its own form of danger.

Patient is a man who’s decided he’s in no hurry because he’s going to be here for the rest of his life.

His hand is under my shirt, fingertips slowly trailing up my side.

I can’t ignore the lightning bolts of desire shooting straight at my core.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify