In Deep: Chase & Emma (All In Book 1) (9 page)

“I don’t want to be
too over-the-top. But someone said this place has dancing, too,
so...” She scrutinized herself in a three-way mirror, checking out
her ass. Which did look great, but threatened at any moment to make a
full-moon appearance. She’d better not drop anything.

She, I and a couple of
other women affiliated with the team were getting ready together to
head out to dinner. And dancing, apparently, which made me more
excited. I loved getting my dance on. Plus it felt great to be in the
middle of normal, female energy and conversation. The typical
laughter, banter and “do I look good in this?” questions were a
lot more relaxing than the intense dynamic between me and Chase.

For the past week in
San Antonio, it felt like we’d been locked in on each other, nearly
sequestered. All that time together in his hotel room, touching.
Whew. I needed to head out and blow off some steam. I wanted a night
as a carefree 25-year-old woman along for a wild, fun ride to the
Olympic Games instead of an undercover reporter trying to scoop a man
she was falling for hard and fast. I needed an escape.

The only problem was
he’d be there, too. Team management had rented out the entire
restaurant for dinner, for every swimmer plus the whole entourage of
coaches, trainers, therapists, and the group Megan was part of
handling PR/communications/apparel/event coordination and every other
logistical nightmare that seemed to head their way. Rio was
presenting a whole host of challenges and the coordination team was
in overdrive trying to iron out wrinkles before they disrupted the
swimmers.

“I think I’m going
to go for it,” Megan decided, giving her reflection a nod. “But
you can’t wear that.” She gave my T-shirt and shorts a derisive
glance.

“No, of course not.”
I actually had been planning on doing exactly that, but that was
before I’d known there would be dancing. I’d thought we were
going to a casual dinner, but now I wanted to join in the energy of
the group around me, which definitely said PARTY.

Twenty minutes later
when we exited, I no longer wore a bra. I was borrowing a top that
happened to have no back. Paired with a short skirt and heeled
sandals, I felt sinfully sassy and ready to shake it. And I wasn’t
alone. These other women knew what they were doing. All around my
age, they were dressed to kill. And they seemed intent on following
through with it, too.

“He’s going down
tonight,” one of them declared, heading over to her rental SUV,
large enough for the four of us to share.

“Timber,” Megan
agreed.

“It is so on,” the
other woman added, each apparently with her own target in mind. I’d
learned quickly over the past hour, all the sexual tension and
self-denial going on between me and Chase? We weren’t the norm.
Apparently the whole group was getting it on like bunnies.

“You must promise to
tap that tonight,” Megan started on me again. None of them had
believed it when I’d said nothing had happened between me and
Chase. And it wasn’t even true. Something had happened. Last night
I’d climbed onto his lap and we’d kissed like we’d stumbled
onto the set of a Nicholas Sparks movie, kissing like we were soul
mates in the rain at night after he’d rescued me.

Damn, it had felt good,
even better than I’d thought and I’d thought about it a lot. His
lips, so hot and insistent, fevered, coaxing such a tidal wave of
response from me. I’d managed to break away, but I honestly didn’t
know how. His large hands on my waist, his fingers itching to move,
caress, stroke every inch of my body, I’d nearly lost my mind.

And according to these
women, that’s exactly what I should do.

“If you don’t climb
Chase like a tree tonight, I will. That man is so hot it’s
illegal.”

I laughed nervously,
torn in too many directions all at once. I’d never felt so insanely
attracted to anyone before in my life. The way my body lit up around
Chase made everything else I’d experienced before seem like child’s
play. Apparently my whole adult life I’d just been messing around
with matches, half the time not even getting one lit. Now I’d
stumbled into an inferno.

Was I the only one
concerned about professionalism and appropriate boundaries? The
answer was clear. Yes, I was. But I was also the only one there with
a hidden agenda, and that added some complexity into the mix, too.

“No, you guys. If
Emma doesn’t have dibs, you all back the fuck off because that man
is mine,” Megan declared.

Funny, Megan had struck
me as a nice, fun girl but suddenly I had the urge to claw her eyes
out. I looked out the window as we headed downtown. The restaurant
was only ten minutes away. The ride was taking forever.

“You do know we’re
heading to Rio in a week and a half?” One of them asked me.

“And anything goes in
Rio,” another added.

Finally, we pulled into
the parking lot, my stomach in knots. They thought I was crazy for
not jumping Chase. I felt crazy for barely being able to think about
anything other than jumping Chase. And now tonight if I didn’t jump
him, I might have to watch a whole bunch of other women do it in my
place.

Maybe it was time to
drink some margaritas.

The restaurant had a
festive, carnival-like atmosphere with music playing and
multi-colored lights strung along the ceiling. I hadn’t seen much
of San Antonio, but what I had, I liked. That was one of the fun
things about running, I got to explore at a good pace. I’d traveled
along the river walk downtown, jogged past the giant, ornate San
Fernando Cathedral, and the area was teeming with gorgeous,
trail-filled parks. But what had me the most impressed was the
Mexican food.

I’d tried a few
taquerias near the hotel and they’d all blown me away with food so
fresh, crispy and delicious. The restaurant tonight looked like it
would deliver, too, with plates of appetizers offered up on tall bar
tables. I saw a large dish of guacamole with some thick red chips. I
wondered if I could steal away with them. No one would notice, right?

“Emma! There she is!
The mystery girl!” I got hugged by some giant men, obviously
Chase’s teammates. I recognized them from the weight room and some
were familiar from the last Olympics. A gold medalist from 2012
wrapped his larger-than-life arm around my shoulders. He could
probably fit two of me under his wingspan.

“Get this woman a
drink!” he called out to no one in particular, but a waitress did
appear who took my order for a frozen margarita. “Now, tell me.
How’s Chase treating you?”

“Oh, fine.” My eyes
darted around the room, searching for the man in question. I didn’t
see him anywhere. Maybe he wasn’t coming tonight?

Another ridiculously
supersized man leaned in. “Listen, if Chase gets too intense for
you, you come find me.”

“Or me!” Added the
man/octopus wrapping me in his grip. “You know she was supposed to
be working with all of us,” he added, addressing his teammate.

“Fucking Chase, man.”

Then, like an old
Western movie when the sheriff walks into the saloon through the
swinging double doors, in came Chase. The guys talking tough around
me piped down, taking quiet swigs of their Coronas. Chase looked
right over at me as I stood surrounded by his teammates. His
expression didn’t change, but I could see a firm, set, lock to his
jaw. Then he got pulled into conversation. Or more like swarmed by
eager women surrounding him like a school of minnows.

The arm around my
shoulders dropped. The guys turned their attention to the other eager
women in our party. What, had Chase sent out a memo to everyone
telling them to back off? I almost got the sense that they were a
little scared of him.

But Chase didn’t make
his way over to me. He stayed over on the other side of the room,
basking in the adoration of a million hot women. At least that was
how it looked to me. Where had all these women come from? They
weren’t his teammates. Some I recognized from the crew, an event
planner and a team apparel rep I’d never liked. She was so sales-y
all the time.

I wasn’t the jealous
type. I swear I wasn’t. It had led to problems in the past, how
trusting and non-territorial I could be. But there stood Chase in a
sea of women all coming up with excuses to touch him.
“Oh,
you’re so funny let me stroke your huge shoulder.” “Help, I’m
losing my balance on my six-inch hooker heels, let me stabilize
myself by pressing my hands and boobs against your chest”.
It made me see red.

And strike up a
conversation with his teammate, Chris. It wasn’t as if I were
actually interested, but the man was nice to look at and he sure knew
how to chat me up. He delivered line after line, telling me how
pretty I looked and asking if I knew that swimmers were famous for
their stamina. He asked what I ate to stay so fit. I gave him the
standard reply, that I aimed for fruits, veggies and lean meats but
I’d never met a hamburger and fries I didn’t like. When I asked
him the same question, he replied, “My doctor just told me I’m
vitamin deficient.”

I fell for it. “Really?
In what?”

“Vitamin U.”

It did make me laugh.
He was super cheesy, but undeniably handsome. Though my awareness of
Chase never wavered, it was a bit of an escape to engage in such
mindless, easy flirtation. Time with Chase was so consuming, so
electric and charged and intense. Talking with Chris felt like
drifting lazily along a slow river compared to navigating white water
rapids.

The margaritas went
straight to my head. They cranked up the music and a posse of us
flooded the dance floor. I hadn’t managed to get much food into my
system yet, but how was a woman supposed to sit down and calmly eat
her dinner when she needed to DANCE? I loved moving to the beat and
it had been too long since I’d been able to shake it, over a month
since I’d last gone out dancing. I wasn’t paying much attention
to the bodies around me, the occasional hand around my waist, the
admiring looks I received.

Until Chase came up to
me. Once his hand went around my waist and we started moving
together, that was it. It was all over. He had all my attention, all
wrapped up. Were we on a crowded dance floor surrounded by other
people? It didn’t feel that way to me. I saw his eyes and his lips.
I felt his hands on me, his hips swaying with mine. His broad chest
and shoulders were close enough now that I could reach out and touch,
run a hand along the ridges of his muscles, press my body against him
in the heat and rhythm.

When he pulled me off
the dance floor, it almost felt as if he were snapping me out of a
trance. We’d flowed so easily into the same pulse, our bodies
moving together, seamless and fluid. But I followed him out of the
crowd, down a hallway and then into a small storage room. Closing the
door behind us, he shut out the noise and people. It was just the two
of us, a light bulb overhead, and rows and rows of canned tomatoes.

“What—?” I
started to ask before his lips met mine, hungry, and I met him with
just as much urgency, my fingers wrapped up and pulling at his hair,
my hips grinding against his.

“Emma,” he groaned,
his hands traveling my bare back. “You’re killing me in this
shirt.” I fisted his T-shirt, wanting him closer, wanting it off
him. I needed his skin against mine, now. He sucked on my earlobe,
teasing the tender flesh between his teeth. “You are not leaving
with Chris,” he growled.

“No.” I didn’t
even protest his caveman demand. I didn’t want to leave with anyone
else. I wanted him, right there, right now.

“He’s an asshole.
He doesn’t know you.” He went on as if I needed any more
convincing. But then mercifully he stopped talking, pressing his lips
to my throat, kissing, sucking, licking his way down to the hollow of
my neck. It felt so rough and possessive but exactly what I needed,
like he wanted to devour me whole and I’d love every second of it.

“You’re not wearing
a bra, Emma,” he whispered, almost reverent, sliding his hands down
my shoulders, along my sides, up from my waist. I shivered in
anticipation, my fingers digging into his shoulders. “It’s been
driving me crazy. How easy it would be to touch you, but not doing
it.”

“Touch me,” I
moaned, almost not recognizing my own voice, so husky and desperate
with need. With a satisfied, masculine groan, he reached up and
untied my top at the back of my neck with one, deft pull. As if he’d
been thinking about doing exactly that since the second he’d seen
me.

The shirt was made of a
thin rayon, and it pooled instantly at my waist, baring me to him
completely under the exposed lightbulb of the closet. I panted,
vulnerable, as he held me still, his hands wrapped at my waist.

“So fucking
beautiful,” he hissed, drinking me in with his gaze. My nipples
were already hardened with arousal and he hadn’t even touched me
yet. I craved it so much I nearly whimpered as he slowly lowered his
head to my breasts.

“So perfect, Emma,”
he murmured, cupping my breasts gently in his hands, licking my soft,
sensitive skin, kissing me as I gripped the shelf beside me, my head
tilting back, eyes closing in pleasure. When he took my aching nipple
into his hot, wet mouth I gasped.

“Chase!” My voice
sounded so needy, pleading, urgent for everything he could give me.
I’d never felt so crazy with lust before, so consumed and unable to
think about anything but how insanely fucking good it felt as he
licked and laved and sucked on my breasts, first teasing one nipple,
then the other, his hands massaging, stroking, cupping me as I arched
my back and offered myself to him completely.

“Do you know how much
I want you?” he whispered against my wet skin, one hand starting a
path down my stomach. “How crazy I am for you?” I groaned,
digging my hand into his bicep, the feel of his hard, driving muscle
making me so wet. “I want to taste you,” he continued, licking
between my breasts, taking his time as I squirmed and twisted with
need. And still his hand traveled lower, along my hip, then dipping
down my thighs. “Emma,” he murmured, giving my nipple a hot lick,
sliding his fingers up my inner thighs to where I quivered and ached
for him. “I want to make you come.”