As soon as Hawk clicked off the line, he dialed Sam.
“Johnny,” she said in that smooth voice of hers when she picked up. “I was just thinking about you.”
He leaned back in his chair and enjoyed the way her purr went to his groin. “Funny, I was thinking about you.”
“Business or pleasure?”
He laughed. “Both, if I’m honest.”
“Oh, Johnny, I always want you to be honest.”
He believed that was true—and it was refreshing. “I need something, Sam. Off the record.”
“Hmm, sounds like we should get together and discuss it. Amongst other things.”
“Your place or mine?”
“Mine. I’ll cook. You bring the wine.”
He snorted. “You don’t cook, Sammy.”
“No, but I can dial up a mean takeout.”
He looked at his watch. “I can be there in an hour. Is that enough time?”
“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”
13
Chase lay awake on the sofa bed, his gun tucked beneath the cushion where he could reach it quickly, and stared up at the ceiling. A quick glance at the clock on the burner phone told him it was shortly after one a.m.
He hadn’t slept well. Every time he fell asleep, he pictured Sophie in that damn robe, her eyes round and innocent—and filled with heat. It was a lethal combination, that naïve sexiness and blatant hunger in her gaze.
He’d gone too far though. Telling her he’d make her feel good if she let him. He hadn’t meant to do it, but the way she’d said that she couldn’t wear a bikini at her parents’ pool parties and that she’d had to be careful what she ate—well, that pissed him off. Immensely. And he’d wanted her to know that she was desirable the way she was, that the Southern California environment she’d grown up in had been wrong, not her.
Then there was the revelation that she’d never been intimate with Androv. That had floored him, made a hard stab of need twist in his groin. He couldn’t begin to figure out what was wrong with a man who didn’t try to get Sophie in bed as quickly as possible.
Gay or impotent. That about covered it.
Chase gave up trying to sleep and sat up. A message pinged onto this phone and he opened it. It could only be from Hawk at this point. His personal cell phone had perished in the apartment, but he’d get a new one and restore it tomorrow. Until then, it was the emergency burner—which he’d also discard and replace tomorrow. Just in case.
MENDEZ NOTIFIED. Team notified. Be there at 0800.
CHASE TOOK A DEEP BREATH. They knew now and the wheels were in motion.
Copy, he answered.
He went into the kitchen and rummaged in the refrigerator for a beer. One would be enough to relax him and then maybe he could sleep. He closed the door and popped the top, then went back into the living room—and stopped when Sophie emerged from the bedroom.
She wasn’t wearing the robe anymore. She’d found a T-shirt and some shorts in one of the drawers and put those on instead. Her arms crossed defensively over her breasts when she realized he was there.
“I didn’t know you were awake.” Her voice was raspy.
“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.”
“Me neither.”
“Want a beer?”
“I think that would be good, yes.”
He went back into the kitchen. When he turned around with the beer, she was there.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“I could eat something. You?”
“How about some of those potato chips?”
She was silent for long enough that he thought she was probably warring with herself. But then she shrugged. “Why not? It’s been a rough couple of days.”
He got the bag off the counter and led the way back to the living room. He settled on the sofa bed and picked up the remote. She stood as still as if a canyon had suddenly opened between her and the bed.
“It’s a couch made into a bed, Soph. Sit on the other side and prop your legs up. Think of it like a recliner.”
She hesitated, but then she came around and perched on the opposite side of the bed from him. He leaned against the back and crossed his legs before offering the open chip bag to her.
She reached in and took a couple. He noticed that she didn’t stuff them in her mouth but rather sat them on her lap and ate one at a time. Slowly. Making it last.
“Did you meet a lot of movie stars?” he asked, unaccountably annoyed at how careful she was with a fucking potato chip.
She swung her gaze to his. “What?”
“Movie stars. Living in LA. Do Tyler and Justine hang out with Brad and Angelina?”
She snorted. “Hardly—but yes, I’ve met a couple. Mostly they hang out with other musicians.” She shrugged. “LA is like any other big city—you don’t know everyone.”