Free The 48 Hour Hookup (Chase Brothers) by Sarah Ballance Page A

real life. She’d been hurt enough in the real world that there, she’d cross to the other side of the street before she’d be caught breathing the same air as Hot HVAC Guy. Not because he didn’t live up to his billing—he totally did—but because she couldn’t bear to be thrown back in the spotlight. He probably felt the same way. And it was nice to be a woman, and not that woman. Easy enough, on top of a mountain.
    But she wasn’t sure he’d be that easy to leave there, at least in the emotional sense. He was such an utterly decent guy. One who hadn’t come close to being as mad as he had a right to be after she’d smashed his truck.
    The shadow of her old self could very easily see a fling with a guy like Liam. In the city, she tended to be uptight, fast-paced, and high-strung. It was part of the job, always being ready to smile for the camera and tackle the next story. She’d gotten so used to the station telling her how to feel so as to set the right mood for a given piece that she’d lost sight of what she felt. A week in the mountains, with no need to fake anything for anyone, had begun to peel away those layers.
    She was starting to recognize who she’d been before, when things were simpler. But she didn’t have much in common with that girl, who’d had two parents and hope in her eyes for the future.
    Now, she only knew how to run.
    And maybe, for that moment, when to stop.
    When Liam pulled her closer, his palm flattening on her belly, she didn’t resist. She didn’t even think he was awake. But he was warm and solid and probably the only man in her life who hadn’t betrayed, mocked, or laughed at her, and as far as she was concerned, that was enough.
    They’d agreed to no sex, but this being held thing was something else. Probably something a lot more dangerous. Flings were supposed to be about physical gratification, and here he was, touching on the emotional stuff. Following the rules and breaking them all at once.
    She lightly traced his fingers, almost absently, and almost jumped when they captured hers. “You’re killing me,” he said, his voice soft.
    “You feel pretty alive to me,” she said, her voice horribly shaky, the suggestiveness of her words unnoticed until after she’d put them out there.
    He released her hand and again flattened his, now near her waistband, this time deliberately, this time sliding ever so slightly under her shirt. Two inches, she figured. Two entire inches of contact had her breath quickening and her pulse racing and desire barreling through her like an avalanche. And then, moving higher, making her nipples tighten painfully in some kind of misplaced hope for the sweet, warm relief of his mouth closing on them. Just when she thought she’d drown in all that anticipation, he retreated, fingertips catching the waistband of her yoga pants. The ease at which he could fit that hand beneath the fabric was criminal, seconded only by the fact that he didn’t even try. But the ever-so-slightly tangled grip he had on her was ridiculously erotic. Her breath hitched in her throat at the thought of him easing lower, silently demanding access that she’d be only too glad to give him.
    “I bet you’re wicked in bed,” he murmured, startling her for the second time in as many minutes. It was ridiculous. It wasn’t at all like she wasn’t painfully, blissfully aware of how close he was, lying on his side now, the entire length of his body making some kind of contact with the entire length of hers. And he definitely wanted her. There was no mistaking that.
    “No,” she managed to say. “I’ve never had a reason to be.” God, this casual conversation about sex. She was so not wicked. She was so… missionary . And he wasn’t awkwardly stumbling over words. Maybe when he was half asleep, he didn’t overthink things or second-guess himself.
    “Then someone didn’t treat you right.”
    She almost laughed. Plenty of someones hadn’t treated her right, but even