“I don’t have to. The movie’s over.”
“I’m so glad you pointed that out,” he said. “Because now we can—”
“You know, I’ve been thinking about that—”
“Good to hear,” he said.
“And I really don’t think—” she started.
“Bad to hear.”
He wrapped an arm low on her waist. Zahara leaned away and put a hand against his chest. His hard, hot, damp chest. She glanced up, praying the team reeled them in before she had to address this attraction between t
hem.
“Don’t look up there.” Chase released her hand and tilted her head, pulling her gaze back to his. “I’m right here.”
He snuck a hairpin from her wig, and she covered his hand. “What are you doing?”
“Getting rid of this thing.” He continued plucking hairpins.
“Stop.” She batted at his hands, but he managed to sweep the wig off her head, then flung it toward the ocean.
Zahara gasped, watching the wig flutter and float toward the water. She hit him with a glare. “Layton, if they want to charge me for that thing, you’re buying it.”
“Deal.” His hands returned to her hair, pulling out more pins.
“Would you stop?” She looked up and yelled, “What’s taking you guys so long?”
Chase reached for another pin. “I might have slipped Matt a hundred bucks to take his time.”
“You what?”
He pulled the last pin from her hair, and it tumbled past her shoulders. “I just wanted a few private minutes with you.”
“Chase.”
He combed all ten fingers into her hair with a sigh. “I’ve been dreaming about doing this for months. God damn, you are beautiful.”
“I’m dirty and sweaty.”
“And that so works for me.” He slid his thumbs over her cheekbones. “Kiss me, Z.”
Her stomach jumped. She pulled her head back and laughed an are-you-crazy “No.”
A hot little grin turned his lips. “You know you wanna.”
Oh she did. She really did.
“I wanna lot of things. Getting my picture on the front page of the tabloids kissing you isn’t one of them.”
His brows lifted. “You think I’m front-page worthy?”
She smirked.
“The tabloids aren’t here,” he told her. “No one’s here. It’s just you and me.”
“Oh no.” She waggled a finger at him. “That’s what they want you to think. That’s how they get their candids, by lying in wait with a telephoto lens the length of my arm. You may not be worried about them catching a picture of us, but I am.”