Defending Pacer, стр. 32

“That’s my girl.” His smile intoxicates my senses.

I run my fingertips down his face and look into his eyes. I can’t wait a moment longer. “I love you.” it doesn’t even feel strange to say out loud.

His runs his fingers through my hair and holds my face in his palms. He kisses me and I feel his cock throb against my thigh. Oh God, I am seriously going to have to get a reconstruction down there if we keep going at this rate. I can’t see myself ever stopping from wanting to get naked with him—and being naked always leads to so many wonderful opportunities.

Wait!

He didn’t say ‘I love you’ back? What does that mean? Did I say it too soon? His eyes catch mine.

“What’s wrong?” How quickly he’s learnt to read me.

I search within his eyes. I’m not asking him if he loves me too. I’m never going to be one of those girls who actually has to ask. Keep your dignity, Chelsea. I kiss him back, his tongue working perfectly as my distraction. I feel him try his best to pull back, but I don’t allow it and kiss him harder.

With my head between his large hands he pulls me back with ease. “Why don’t you come and meet my family tomorrow? I’ll get my Uncle to put a spread on at my ma’s house.”

He’s so confusing sometimes. He won’t openly say that he loves me, but he wants me to meet his family?

“But it’s the middle of the week?”

Am I the only person in my life who has a real job? Even Logan works as a DJ, and I’ve never really classed that as real work. She just gets to party for a living.

“Even more reason to get together and unwind; the weekend will be here soon. Come on, I’ll guarantee you a good time.”

This may be just what the doctor ordered. “I’d love to meet your family.”

Now kiss me before I think about how major that is. He returns my internal plea with a kiss so deep I could swim in the passion of it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Thanks, Ryan. I knew you would understand … Yeah, Brad is still researching the Simmons case. He’s got two days to get a report back to me. I thought it was a good opportunity to take that time off that you always tell me I need to take, too.” I smile when I catch Pacer watching me. “I’m going to have this sorted out. I agree, the papers have gone too far.” My boss is understandably annoyed at how I’m making the firm look. “A couple of days should be plenty of time. I’ll see you next Monday.”

Ending the call, I look up to catch Pacer sliding on his navy blue suit jacket to his three-piece suit. Damn, he has a fine sense of style.

Beaming with the excitement of getting away from work for a couple of days, and meeting Pacer’s family, I grin through all my words. “The first long weekend I’ve taken in over a year.”

Pacer pulls on the collar of my bathrobe that I still have on from after my shower. “Why don’t you pack a bag and come and stay at my house for the next few days? It’s harder for cameras to get close to us there.” His idea is giddily exciting. “I’m going to call my Uncle and Ma to get this day organised. Ma’s going to be in a frenzy to meet you.” He tenderly kisses my nose, and rubs his cheek past mine to give my earlobe a nibble.

Leaving me with a spike in my temperature and a pulse in my privates, he exits the room while flicking through his phone. The prospect of spending the next few days with Pacer is making my already elated heart swell with a pounding glow. Is it normal to want to spend twenty-four seven with a person? He has to feel some kind of love for me if he wants to be around me this much, right?

Staying at his house and meeting his family all in one day—major steps in any relationship. I know he lives over at Vaucluse, but there aren’t any photos of his place around, so where precisely is a little mystery. A good mystery.

Now, what to wear to meet Pacer’s Mum? Shit! This is kind of huge. I need to get this right. Impressions are important. Jeans are a no-brainer. No rips. I need classic.

Searching through my jeans shelf, I find the perfect pair. I team them with brown ankle boots, a cream-coloured knit with a huge rolled neck and my favourite plush pink coat for this mild winter’s day. Let’s hope Sydney turns on its spectacular winter skies again. Quickly dressing, I pack some more jeans in a weekend bag and consider what lingerie to pack before Pacer comes back in the room. It’s been a while since I’ve even bothered wearing matching underwear, let alone having to acknowledge what I look like in it. There’s so much to consider when you suddenly have a man in your life.

I pillage my underwear draw to get to the bottom, where the unloved but super pretty matching sets live. I grab a lace lilac number with embroidered florals, and hold it out. Oooooh, I forgot about you! I toss it in my open suitcase and search for more. I almost have to send in a specialist search team to rescue some of these unused pieces, when I finally hit the jackpot. Pulling out a delicate French lace one-piece negligee that I impulsively bought once when I was feeling down, I quickly spread it across my waist to check it will still fit, and also throw that in my bag.

Pacer comes back in just as I finish packing the last of my toiletries. “You look beautiful.” He wraps his arms around me.

“Are you sure this will be alright to meet your Mum?” I wave my hands up and down my outfit.

God, I sound desperate to impress, which I am, but I don’t need him knowing that.

His smirk is playful. “You don’t have anything to worry about. My family will love you. My Uncle and cousins have already been gossiping to Mum and my sister Lucia about you.”

“No pressure.” My smile feels as meek as my hopes.

Pacer, on the other hand, looks amused by the situation. “Come on. Everything’s being sorted. My Uncle is preparing all the meat at the restaurant as we speak. We have to go past to pick up the antipasto platters and vino before we head out to Ma’s.”

“Whereabouts does your Mum live?” I’m curious to know.

“She’s over in Hunter’s Hill,” he says with a smile, “so we had better get over to Zio’s so we can get there before the lunchtime traffic hits. If you wait down in the garage, I’ll drive down the back lane and pick you up in the Porsche.” Pacer takes my weekend bag in one hand and my hand in the other, and leads me down the stairs.

How quickly I’ve adapted to being led by a man. It was only three weeks ago that I was captain of my own ship, running my own course. Now I’m on a direction that’s so unknown, it’s exhilarating.

***

Of course Pacer’s Mum lives in Hunter’s Hill. It’s one of the only highly affluent suburbs that’s not on the eastern side of the city. It’s old money over here, and despite how they achieved their wealth, Pacer’s family has been renowned in the city for as long as my own. We pull into the circular drive, and the house is just as I imagined it—large and Italian. Across the front of the house, columns stretch up high and cream-coloured pots sit on top of pillars with sprouting green ferns.

“My Dad built it for Ma back in 95. She’ll never leave here,” Pacer says, pulling the car’s hand-brake.

I lean across to the back seat and grab the pretty bouquet that I bought for his Mum. Even though Pacer insisted that it was unnecessary to bring something, I have never, and will never arrive at a house without a gift for the host. It’s just how I was raised.

Pacer leans to the back, getting out the three huge platters his Uncle prepared for the gathering.

“We’ll come back for the cases of wine.” He closes the door with his leg.

I follow him up the terracotta steps and through the open front door. Music plays through the house. It’s classic Dean Martin, of course.