“It’s not your fault I protested Big Oil three years ago.” She didn’t blame him for Blake. The man had no scruples and was trying to get his way at any cost.
“Zach married a woman in public relations. Penelope Brand, now Ferguson,” Chase said. “She’s handling this on her end. I came over to pass along her phone number so you could touch base and work out a plan. She’s the best.”
“If it was a Dallas number, I ignored it.” She gave him a wan smile and accepted Penelope’s business card.
“Understandable.”
“Can I get you—” she said at the same time Chase spoke.
“I’m flying out today.”
She blinked. “Oh.”
“I can handle everything better from home base.” He looked to the window and then back at her. “I didn’t only come to drop off the business card.”
Her breath stalled.
“I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”
A familiar fault line in her heart shook. Made sense. That break never had healed properly. He came to say goodbye, which was sweet, except that it also meant he was leaving. It was what she wanted. Or, it was what she’d told herself she wanted, anyway.
“Do you have everything you need, Mimi?” His words were measured like he expected her to protest.
She gave a jerky nod. She didn’t have everything she needed, but she wasn’t sure how to voice the unthinkable.
His eyes warmed and he stepped closer. She put out a hand to stop his advance, but when her palm met his chest she smoothed over the thick cotton of his sweater instead. So big and strong and for a few stolen days, hers again.
“Are you sure?” He lowered his lips to her forehead and let out a harsh breath. “There’s nothing I’m forgetting before I go?”
Her nose tingled, her eyes heated, but she refused to cry in front of him. And she wouldn’t prolong the inevitable.
“I’m good,” she lied.
“You’re better than good, sweetheart.” He pressed his lips to her temple. A shudder shook her spine. It was taking everything in her not to press against him and bury her nose in his neck. “If you need anything...call Penelope, okay?”
It wasn’t what she wanted him to say. Wasn’t he the one who promised she could call him if she needed anything? Had she expected him to come here and make one last profession?
Like what? That now that his political career is suffering a blow, he’d like to marry you?
“What time’s your flight?” she asked, the insane thought about marriage lingering in the forefront of her mind. She needed him to leave—for both their sakes.
“Sooner than I’d like.” He offered a tender smile. “Why? Need help finishing your ice cream?”
She pulled her fingers down his sweater and stopped on his belt, brushing the cool metal with her thumb. No matter how much she reminded herself that he was no good for her, she went back like an addict who couldn’t kick a habit.
When her eyes flicked up to his, it was to witness heat blooming in his darkening pupils. He dipped his head and kissed her hard, pushing her back until her ass hit the kitchen wall. His hands caught her face as he blanketed her with his weight, pressing the length of his body—and the length of his hard-on—against her. She sighed into his mouth, wanting him in spite of how stupid it would be to give in to the throbbing longing in her veins, the merciless pleading of her heart. He felt too good—being near him felt too good.
“Don’t go,” she whispered.
“Mimi.” His lips were off hers, coasting along her cheek. “Honey, I have to go.” He let out a dry laugh but when he pulled away she saw the lack of humor in his smile. “God, I have to.”
He pulled his hands from her body and pushed them into his hair, leaving her sagging against the wall, her shirt wrinkled, her panties damp. He looked at the ceiling as if gathering his strength and then dropped his arms and met her eyes again.
“What do you want?” he asked evenly.
Wasn’t it obvious? Him. Naked. Now.
“Long-term. What do you want?” he reiterated. “A family? A career? A mansion?”