CHAPTER SEVEN

      MILLIE woke early, just as dawn was sliding its first pale fingers across the floor. She always woke early; quarter to five was usual. Yet, instead of bolting upright and practically sprinting to the shower, she woke slowly, languorously, stretching before she rolled over, propping herself up on one elbow to gaze at Chase.

      He was fast asleep, his hair rumpled, his breathing slow and even. He looked gorgeous, and since he was asleep she let herself study him: the strong, stubbly angle of his jaw; the sweep of golden-brown lashes against his cheek. His lips were lush and full, his nose straight. The dawn light caught the golden glints in his close-cropped hair. Her gaze slid lower. He’d taken off his shirt. She’d seen his chest already, of course. He’d practically been shirtless the whole time she’d known him. Yet now she could study the perfect, muscled form; the sprinkling of dark-brown hair that veed lower, broad shoulders tapering to lean hips. The sheet was rucked about those hips, and she couldn’t tell what he was wearing underneath. Dared she peek?

      ‘Boxers, Scary.’

      Her gaze flew back to his face. He was blinking sleep from his eyes and giving her the slowest, sexiest smile Millie had ever seen. Her heart juddered in her chest but she didn’t try to dissemble.

      ‘I was wondering. You seem like the type to sleep in the buff.’

      ‘Nope, I’m strictly a boxers man. Sleeping naked can create all sorts of awkward situations, like when your cleaning lady arrives a bit earlier than you expected.’

      Her mouth curved. ‘You seem to have experienced a lot of awkward situations.’

      ‘It certainly makes life a bit more interesting.’

      ‘I’ll take your word on it.’

      He reached out and touched her hair, his fingers threading through it. ‘Your hair’s not so scary when you’ve slept on it.’

      ‘It’s probably a mess.’

      ‘I like it.’ He tucked a strand behind her ear, then trailed his fingers along her cheek before resting his thumb on the fullness of her lower lip. ‘Those worry marks look a little better.’

      ‘Do they?’ Her heart had started the slow, thudding beat of expectation. They were both in a bed. Nearly naked. Had Chase removed her dress last night? She couldn’t remember, but she was wearing one of his tee-shirts. And nothing underneath.

      Surely now...?

      ‘As enticing a prospect as that is, I think we’ll have breakfast first,’ Chase said, and Millie let out a huff of breath.

      ‘Stop reading my mind.’

      ‘It’s too easy. Every thought is reflected in your eyes.’

      ‘Not every thought,’ Millie objected. She knew she had some secrets and she wanted to keep it that way.

      Didn’t she?

      ‘More than you think,’ Chase said softly, and he drew her towards him for a lingering kiss. It was the kind of kiss you had after you made love, slow and sated. It didn’t have the urgency she expected, that she felt. Because today was day three of her week’s holiday and since she’d met Chase time had started slipping by all too fast.

      ‘Soon,’ Chase murmured against her lips and she groaned.

      ‘Stop that.’

      ‘Actually, I think you kind of like it.’

      She didn’t answer, because she knew he was right, even if the way he read her so easily was seriously annoying. She liked being known. ‘What are we doing today?’ she asked as she followed him out of the bedroom into the kitchen. Sunlight poured through the picture windows and Chase, still only wearing boxers, was reaching for the coffee grinder. Within seconds the wonderful aroma of freshly ground beans was wafting through the air.

      ‘I thought you could decide that,’ he said as he poured the ground beans into the coffee maker.

      ‘Me?’

      ‘Yes, you. You’re not just along for the ride, you know.’

      ‘I sort of thought I was. Your terms, remember?’

      ‘Exactly. And my terms state that today you decide what we do. Of course, I have the right to veto any and all suggestions.’

      ‘Oh, I see. Thanks for making that clear.’

      ‘No problem.’

      What did she want to do today? As Chase got out fresh melon and papaya and began slicing both, Millie considered. What did she want to do with Chase?

      ‘I want to paint you.’

      He paused, a mug in each hand, eyebrow arched. ‘Too bad your paints are in the rubbish bin, then.’

      ‘I can draw you,’ Millie said firmly, surprised by how certain she felt. ‘I brought charcoals too. They’re in my suitcase.’

      ‘So you’ve changed your mind about the painting thing?’

      ‘Technically I won’t be painting.’

      ‘You are such a literalist.’

      ‘Yes,’ Millie said quietly, and it felt like a confession. ‘I’ve changed my mind.’

      Chase stared at her long and hard, and the moment unfurled, stretched between them into something that pulsed with both life and hope.

      ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Breakfast, and then you can draw. I assume you’d prefer a nude model?’

      She laughed and shook her head. ‘You can keep your boxers on. For now.’

      After a breakfast of coffee, fresh fruit and eggs Chase scrambled while Millie sat at the table and imagined just how she would sketch him, she fetched her paper and charcoals and they headed outside.

      The day was warm, the sun already hot, although a fresh breeze blew off the sea. Millie had changed into a polo shirt and capris, and Chase had, on her instruction, put on a tee-shirt and shorts.

      ‘Are you sure you don’t want me nude?’ he said, sounding disappointed, and Millie shook her head.

      ‘Far too distracting.’

      ‘Well, that’s something at least.’

      ‘Just try to act natural.’

      He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Whenever someone says that, you can’t act natural any more.’

      ‘Try.’

      ‘I bet you’re a real ball-breaker at work.’

      ‘That,’ Millie informed him, ‘is a horrible, sexist term.’

      ‘But you are, right?’ He positioned himself on the sand, hands stretched out behind him, legs in front. ‘This OK?’

      ‘Perfect.’ She found a comfortable spot just a little bit away and laid the sketch pad across her knees. After staring at Chase this morning, she realised how much she wanted to draw him, to capture the ease and joy of his body and face so she could remember it always.

      So she could have something of him even when this week was over.

      She swallowed, also realising just how much she was starting to care for him. Forty-eight hours—forty-eight intense hours—were changing how she felt.