Finding Chris Evans: The Hollywood Edition (6 page)

They walked on until they reached a lookout point, staring across the river at the old Tribune Tower and Wrigley building, all lit up. He stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her as they both stared across at the view and she felt… safe. Not just physically safe. In her life, the real danger was being left all alone and he made her feel like she never had to be afraid of that again. This moment—no matter how fleeting—wrapped her in its spell and she never wanted to let go.

“I’m not sure I should invite you up.”

She turned in his arms to face him and he nodded toward a high rise at the edge of the Riverwalk.

“That’s your hotel?” The champagne bubbles were back, fizzing in her bloodstream. “Mr. Evans. Did you plan this?” she teased with mock severity. “That’s against the rules.”

“Can you blame me?” That crooked grin. So devastating.

She twined her arms around his neck and pulled him down, whispering against his lips, “Not when I’m so glad you did.”

Several minutes of drugging kisses later, she twisted to study the hotel tower. “I bet you have a hell of a view…”

“I still haven’t decided if I’m going to invite you up. I can’t guarantee your virtue once we hit the twenty-seventh floor.”

“Come on.” She interlaced their fingers, tugging him toward the crosswalk. “I want to see the view. Virtue’s overrated.”

But some of the confidence and dizzy champagne feeling that had carried her across the street and up the elevator evaporated as soon as they crossed the threshold into his room. Correction—into his
penthouse
.

The room was the definition of luxury. And the views
were
breathtaking, but her feet stuck on the soft carpet two feet from the door and she couldn’t seem to make herself cross the sitting room to look at them.

“Are you sure you’re a contractor?”

He looked at her from the window where he’d pulled back the drapes to expose the view. “Positive.”

“This is some penthouse for just a contractor.”

“It isn’t the penthouse. It’s just a suite.”

She shot him a look. “A suite bigger than my entire apartment. On the top floor. With a killer view of the river. Who
are
you?”

His face tightened for a fraction of a second before he sighed. “Have you heard of the Addition Magician?”

She frowned, not following. “It’s a show, right? Some kind of math thing for little kids?”

He snorted, crossing to the wet bar. “That’s exactly what I told the producers when they came up with the name, but they loved the magic wand special effects for the final reveal too much to listen to me.” He fussed with the tall liquor bottles—no mini-sized ones in a “suite” like this—but he didn’t make a drink. “I do additions on houses. Come in, wave my magic wand, and voila—master suite. New kitchen. Mother-in-law suite. Whatever you need. The Addition Magician.”

“And for that they give you penthouses?” His discomfort made some of her own unease loosen its hold on her and she moved away from the entry, joining him at the wet bar.

“I’m
very
good at what I do.”

“Oh yeah?” She traced the label on a vodka bottle beside his hand, letting her skin brush his. “How good are you?”

She saw the tension that had gripped him when they were talking about his show release, the crooked grin flashing again. “Are we still talking about fixing houses?”

She smiled. “I certainly hope not.” With one hand behind his neck, she drew his lips down to hers, going up on her toes.

His arms closed around her and he lifted her until her entire body was flush against his and every sense fogged with need, but when he trailed kisses along her jaw to her ear he still had the presence of mind to whisper, “You sure about this? I have to leave tomorrow.”

“And I’m starting medical school in a week.”

“So… no strings?”

“Less talking, more touching,” she insisted.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Maybe she was making a mistake, rushing in like this without a single thought to her carefully planned out future, but she didn’t want to think about what she should do right now—she only wanted to get every bit of memory she could out of this night. If this was all they had, she wasn’t going to waste a single second with second-guessing.

Then her feet came up off the floor as he lifted her without even a grunt of effort and Trina went slick with feminine appreciation of those manly contractor muscles. In her somewhat limited experience, men staggered and groaned when they managed to maneuver her five-foot-nine-all-legs-and-elbows frame, but Chris made her feel almost petite—and sexy as hell.

He carried her through the open doorway into the bedroom—which Trina was sure was as opulent as the rest of the suite, but she didn’t spare a glance for it, all of her attention focused on the man she’d wrapped her legs around. He laid her down on the coverlet and she sank into the softness as he followed her down, pressing his length on top of her. She stretched out beneath him, reveling in the decadent sensation of his weight, parting her thighs so it could press where she wanted it most.

He was strong and firm and all male—and for tonight at least he was all hers. There was definitely something to be said for the unplanned.

Then his hands slid beneath her skirt and she lost her train of thought at the feel of those callouses, the subtle abrasion of them, sliding up the outsides of her thighs, his thumbs curving around to tease at the inner face. She twisted, eager and wanting, but his hands stopped just short of her panties. His teeth scraped down the side of her neck, but her entire being felt like it was focused on his hands, urging them up that last two inches. “
Chris
…”

“Patience,” he murmured against the skin at the base of her throat. Just his forefingers moved, sweeping up to hook in the waistband of her panties, pulling them down a tantalizing centimeter.

She cursed him under her breath and he laughed softly, exhaling against the upper curves of her highly sensitized breasts. Everything in her felt full—swollen and lush with need.

“Patience,” he whispered again, then his thumbs grazed up, brushing her right where she wanted him and she jolted half off the bed, digging her fingers into the muscles of his shoulders. He didn’t look heavily muscled at first glance, but
damn
, the man felt good beneath her hands. All strength and confidence.

And he deserved that confidence. He certainly knew how to work with his hands.

“You still with me?” he asked against her lips—as one thumb rolled in a delicious circle and suddenly she wasn’t with him. She was in the stratosphere, gasping at the hard, rushing ascent, and breathing his name like a prayer or a curse.

“Hold on, sweetheart. We’re just getting started.”

She shoved up his shirt, pushing her hands beneath it to feel the warmth of his skin against her palms. “I’m counting on it.”

Chapter Five

Present day. Minnesota.

She hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, in front of God and everyone—including half a dozen cell phone videographers. A short, balding man with a frantic air ushered them both into the tent as Ellie continued to evade security—but the damage had already been done.

“Who is she?” the short man snapped at Chris as soon as the flap fell closed behind them, enclosing them in the dim, cool interior.

“We met in Chicago,” Chris said without taking his eyes off Trina. “It’s mine?”

It was a valid question and he looked like he was in shock so she nodded numbly, rather than shouting,
Of course, it’s yours, you idiot! Why else would I have driven all the way out here?

“Oh God,” the short man—whom she assumed must be his manager, Marty—groaned.

Chris flexed his hands. She wanted him to reach out to her, to comfort her, to do
something
, but he just stared, his throat working and a thousand thoughts racing behind his eyes. He took a slow breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?” his manager yelped. “In five minutes it’s going to be on Twitter!”

“Don’t have a heart attack, Marty,” Chris said, annoyingly calm. Just
standing there
as if he dealt with this every day. Though for all she knew, he might.

Those same reservations she’d felt in the weeks after their night rose up again. What did she really know about him? In her moments of doubt, she hadn’t been able to help seeing their night together through different eyes. What if they hadn’t really connected? What if everything he’d said had been a line?

They’d had their completely unplanned night, all right. And it had led to an unplanned pregnancy. Surprise!

Marty’s phone rang. “Oh God, it’s TMZ.” Chris’s manager rushed out of the tent to take the call, leaving Trina alone with Chris—a man who suddenly felt like more of a stranger than ever.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

She’d had this vision of what it would be like to see him again—a bunch of visions actually—but none of them seemed to be accurate. He was just…
calm
. Managing the situation. Like she was a panicking home owner on one of his shows.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, his gaze flicking down to her stomach—and for the first time she didn’t find it sexy that he was unflappable. She wanted him flapped, damn it.

“No, thank you,” she mumbled through the awkwardness choking her.

It was like all the discomfort they’d dodged the morning after had finally caught up with them.

She’d woken up alone in that big hotel room bed to the sound of the shower running, but she hadn’t been embarrassed. The idea of being uncomfortable around Chris had felt impossible. When she thought about what they’d done the night before, a big grin had split her face and she’d muffled her laughter in the fluffy comforter, delight fizzing through her bloodstream.

She’d been impulsive and spontaneous. And it had been heaven.

He’d come out of the hotel bathroom a few minutes later, buttoning his shirt, and he’d smiled when he’d seen her watching him. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” she promised. “I don’t usually sleep in anyway.”

He came over to the bed and pressed his palms to the mattress on either side of her, trapping her between his arms, bending down to steal a kiss before resting his forehead against hers with a sigh. “I wish I didn’t have to get on a plane today.”

She looped her arms around his neck. “So do I.”

They’d talked about it in the middle of the night, in the lazy stretch between the second and third time when neither of them had been interested in sleep. He had a job in Atlanta. She had to unpack her apartment and get ready for the semester to start. Their lives were pulling them in different directions but neither of them was ready to go.

So he’d kissed her again—lingering in bed with her until his manager had called the room and yelled through the phone loud enough that Trina had been able to hear him. She muffled her giggles in the covers, filled with a delicious, giddy pride that
she
had made this gorgeous man nearly miss his flight.

“I know we said no strings, but I put my number in your phone,” he’d told her as he picked up his carry-on by the strap and slung it over his shoulder. “I expect you to use it.”

“I’ll call you for all my addition needs,” she’d teased, but she’d sent him the first text before he even reached the elevator.

She hadn’t known there was such a thing as a perfect morning-after until that moment, but theirs had been. It hadn’t been until later when she’d begun to doubt. When their communication had suddenly ceased.

Trina studied him now, in the shadowy coolness of the tent. Calm, unflappable Chris. “Why did you stop taking my calls?”

Chris blinked, taken off-guard by the abrupt question. So they were revising history now, were they? “That isn’t what happened. You stopped taking mine. I asked you if you wanted me to come to Chicago and you cut me off. The message was clear.”

He hated how defensive he sounded, but he’d spent more hours than he cared to admit obsessively checking his phone and wondering why the hell she wasn’t responding to any of his texts or taking his calls.

“I dropped my phone in the sink,” she explained, a note of defensiveness in her one voice. “I texted you as soon as I got it working again and you never replied. When I tried calling, your number had been disconnected.”

He frowned, trying to assimilate the possibility that Trina hadn’t been playing mind games with him. “That isn’t possible. I—” He broke off, mentally tallying up the dates. “Shit. That was the middle of August. My number got leaked to the tabloids and we had to have it changed.”

It had been a giant pain in the ass and he’d already been in a crappy mood… because Trina had blown him off.

“You could have sent me your new number.”

“I didn’t think of it,” he admitted. “Marty takes care of all that and it didn’t occur to me that he wouldn’t have known to tell you my new number.” Or that Trina would be trying to contact him after several days of radio silence. They’d gone from texting almost every day to complete silence. He’d told himself she was busy—but the timing had been suspect. Right after he’d asked to see her again.