Last time in the Bassverse: Chuck and Blair enjoyed a romantic evening for their last night on the island. Their return, however, had more challenges: maintaining the secrecy of their relationship, jealousy and the revelation that this thing between them is more than either one expected.

Chapter 10

"I missed you, you know." Chuck took a break from nuzzling Blair's neck to murmur the words in her ear.

She shivered in his arms. "Missed you more."

"How do you figure?" He was trailing his lips down her neck and concentration was becoming difficult…for both of them.

"Why do you think I wrapped that case so quickly? I wanted to come home to you."

He ignored the butterflies that swarmed at her words. "Exactly how did you resolve that so fast?"

"Most of my cases clear pretty quickly. Besides, I can be very persuasive, you know."

Oh, he knew. "I hope you used your powers of persuasion for good?"

"Of course. I only reserve my wicked ways for you." She proceeded to show him just how wonderfully wicked her ways could be.

All too soon, they became aware the limo had stopped. They looked at each other, crestfallen, for a moment, before Blair began gathering her things.

"Where are my panties? Bass, if you've stolen them again…." Her eyes narrowed.

"So now I'm the top suspect in The Case of the Purloined Panties? What are you going to do? Take me upstairs, tie me to your bed and interrogate me?"

She tried to ignore that he made the offer sound very intriguing.

"I thought all was forgiven when I sent you that matching lingerie set from Agent Provacateur?"

She had loved his gift, but was not about to be derailed. "You have sticky fingers, Bass, just admit it."

"The better to stick to you, my dear. Like here," he brushed a hand over the swell of one breast, his fingers teasing the sensitive nipple that rose to meet his touch. "Here...," the other hand squeezed her knee before making a slow and steady descent up her thigh. "And lastly, here," his fingers tangled through her curls, parting the outer and inner folds of skin and delving into her liquid heat.

She gave a little cry that was half gasp, half breath and all bliss.

"I don't want to say goodnight, Blair."

"Then don't," she breathed.

"Are you inviting me up to your boudoir, Miss Waldorf?" He could hardly believe it.

"No," the reply was stronger this time. "I'm summoning you."

"A summons from my queen? How can I resist that?"

He reached for the door handle, when her hand stopped him. "You can't come inside with me. Walk me to the door, kiss me goodnight and then make it look like you are leaving."

His face crinkled in concentration. "Then how am I supposed to get inside the building and past your doorman?"

She shrugged and gave him a naughty wink. "You got a multi-million dollar necklace out of the Met, so this shouldn't pose an insurmountable challenge. Unless you don't think you can handle it?"

He opened the door and then came around to her side of the car, opening it and taking her arm. They walked the short distance to her building's main door and paused.

He kissed the back of one hand.

Then the other.

"Make it a believable goodnight kiss," she said under her breath.

She didn't have to tell him twice. He swept Blair into his arms and his kiss was passionate…and lingering. Just when she'd forgotten she wanted it to be brief, when she'd just about forgotten her own name, he pulled away and whispered, "Goodnight, Blair."

"Goodnight," her words and her feet were unsteady.

She went up in the elevator as if on autopilot and then poured her favorite Dom into two crystal flutes and waited.

And waited.

Fifteen minutes passed before she could detect the whoosh of the elevator doors.

Her heart was pounding and there was a feeling in her chest not dissimilar to the effervescent bubbling of the sparkling wine in her glass.

"Challenge accepted and mission accomplished," he announced.

"Well done," she handed him a champagne flute with a smile. "What shall we drink to?"

"3 words, 8 letters," he raised his glass.

"You and me," she echoed, and the flutes clinked together.

They took a sip.

"A nice vintage, but I have something more intoxicating in mind." Chuck swept her into his arms and carried her down the hall. "Upstairs?"

She nodded, perfectly at home in his arms as they went up into the darkness.

"You must be Dorota." The dark-haired man in her, er, the Waldorf's kitchen was wrapped in Blair's roomiest velvet robe, sporting tousled locks and the merest shadow of facial hair.

At worst, he should've looked ridiculous. He should've at least appeared embarrassed.

But, no, he was simply curious.

"Are those macarons?" he gestured to the Laduree box in Dorota's shaking hands. "Blair's favorites. May I take some to her?"

His ordinary demeanor further rattled the maid. "State name and business right now or I call police!"

"I'm sorry, we haven't been introduced yet. I'm-."

Just then there was a rustling at the door to the kitchen. "Chuck, what is taking so long? I thought you only came downstairs for some juice."

It was Blair as Dorota had never seen her: Dressed in a rather rumpled men's button-down shirt that hung to mid-thigh and with similarly tousled curls rioting over her shoulders and lips swollen from a night devoted to kissing…and no doubt other things Dorota didn't want to dwell on.

"Miss Blair!" She had never been more shocked.

Blair, like Chuck, seemed unaffected. She didn't so much as blush. "Oh, good morning, Dorota. I wasn't expecting you so early. As you can see, we have a guest this morning. Dorota, this is Charles Bass. Chuck, this is my Dorota."

"We were just getting acquainted -," Chuck started to explain.

"Are those macarons?" Blair demanded, taking the box from Dorota's hand. "I'm famished. Could you get us some coffee, please? Mr. Bass and I both have work this morning."

Dorota made a noncommittal noise somewhere between a snort and an assent, but she went off to do Blair's bidding. When she returned, she was horrified to find Blair sitting in Mr. Bass's lap and feeding him one of the French treats. Although her mistress quickly scampered back to her own chair, the damage had been done, in Dorota's eyes at least. She did not know who this man was who was making her charge behave so…unBlairlike, but she would need to find out. She gave him a healthy dose of side eye before going back to the kitchen.

A half hour later, Mr. Bass peeked into the pantry. "Dorota, thank you for a lovely breakfast."

Another noncommittal noise. At least he was freshly showered and dressed in his street clothes again. She had to admit he did clean up well.

"I think we got started on the wrong foot this morning."

"Of course not, Mr. Bass." The reply was demure…and a total fabrication.

"Call me by first name, please."

"Mr. Charles," she amended.

"Chuck, please." He was most insistent.

"Mr. Chuck then," she finally agreed.

"I did not mean to startle you with my presence in your kitchen this morning."

She started to shake her head.

"And I know I did. I also hope my presence did not offend you in any way. You take great care of Blair and I know she has tremendous respect and affection for you."

He was charming her; she knew it but couldn't seem to resist. She then reminded herself what was at stake here. "I not want to see Miss Blair hurt again. If someone do that," she looked pointedly at Chuck, "he find himself at bottom of East River. I feel it better to be honest."

The direct approach. He liked that too. "Agreed." He held out a hand to her. "So can we start over?"

She took his hand and shook it.

"As Bogart said, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Dorota."

Blair looked down at the files spread across her desk. Financial reports, real estate holdings, call logs, surveillance reports—and absolutely none of them gave her a clue where Chuck Bass was hiding that necklace. It was only mid-morning, but she was already ready to tear her hair out and scream with frustration.

Somewhere under the piles of paper, her phone began playing Sarah Bareilles' "King of Anything." Speak of the devil….

She riffled through what must surely be a whole forest of paper until she emerged with the phone in hand.

"Blair Waldorf." Was she breathless from the paper chase or merely from the caller's identity?

"Good morning, beautiful. What are you doing next Tuesday night?"

"What's next Tuesday?"

"An awards dinner I'm attending, hopefully with you."

"You know I'd love to go with you…."

Great, this was just the reaction he'd been hoping for.

"But you also know that I can't."

Silence.

She got up and headed for a conference room so she could continue their discussion without being overheard.

"Chuck, we've been over this before," she sighed.

"Exactly."

"Then you know why I can't go with you."

He really, really didn't.

Of course she'd turned down his invitation to the gala. But that was before…

Before she'd met up with him at said gala, cut in on Jenny, and danced with him until they'd gone back to his place for a more horizontal form of dance.

Before she'd gone flying with him and then gone away with him to the island.

Before they'd agreed that this was more than an investigation; it was 3 words/8 letters.

Before she'd invited him into her penthouse, into her bedroom.

Before she'd introduced him to her Dorota.

He thought things were different now.

"I thought -."

She cut him off. "That's just it: you didn't think."

He was going to ignore that remark. He tried to swallow his impatience.

"Chuck, my livelihood and possibly my liberty is riding on this. I don't want to go to jail for aiding and abetting a criminal."

"Aiding and abetting? Is that what we're calling it now? I didn't hear you calling it that when you were bedding this criminal last night." He used sarcasm to mask the fact that her words stung and cut deep.

"That's not fair," she said quietly. "You know this is about more than just our…physical attraction. It's about you and me."

How dare she cut him to pieces and then pour those three words into the wounds. He took a deep breath and tried another tactic. "Would it change anything if you knew the dinner was for me because I'm receiving the International Business Award?"

"For the merger?" She brightened at that. "Oh, Chuck, this is so well deserved. I wish with all my heart I could go with you. But there will be reporters, paparazzi there. You must understand -."

"No, it's you who doesn't understand. When I said you were the first woman I'd brought to the island, it wasn't just the island. You were the first I brought back to my townhouse. You are the first I'm inviting to one of these events as my date. I break all my rules for you…and you aren't even willing to be seen with me."

"You know that's not true. It's just all the exposure of a night like that…."

"Don't say anything else. Just…think about it…and call me if you change your mind."

He ended the call before she could protest.

The morning dragged by even though he worked through lunch. It appeared the afternoon would go the same way, until his executive secretary buzzed his private line.

"Mr. Bass, a Miss Waldorf is here to see you."

Finally! "Thank you, Betsy. Please send her in."

She was dressed for business, all the way down to her Prada attache case, when she sat down across the desk from him.

"I have a business proposal for you and I thought you might be more comfortable on your home turf." She looked around the room. "It's a very nice office."

"Well, I do spend a good portion of my time here."

She nodded. "I'm going to tell you how to save this office, your empire, and your freedom and mine."

He cockily raised an eyebrow and grinned. "I was not aware they were in any danger."

"This is a business presentation," she scolded. "Please take it seriously; I do." She then went on to outline exactly what Chuck had accomplished with his business since his father's death and review his major holdings. "So when I say your business award is well deserved, I do know of what I speak."

He could not argue with that. Her knowledge of his business was impressive. He'd be hard pressed to find someone better informed about his assets, even among his highest ranking vice presidents.

"And let's not forget your stepmother, Lily. I know your business acumen has benefitted her as well."

Again, he could not argue.

"Ultimately, while I feel fairly confident we could both pull off orange jumpsuits, I'm sure neither of us wants to wear them and live in a cage for the next ten years." She was pleading with her eyes. "Also, I am tired of dissecting your tax returns. By the way, you have an excellent accounting team."

He looked the other way.

"Chuck, what do you need this necklace for? You certainly won't be wearing it. You can't display it. You've proven your point and tested your security system. Shouldn't we be at endgame now?"

"What do you suggest I do, Investigator Waldorf?"

"Just give me necklace, and this will all be over."

That was partly what he feared. Would Blair still be around after the case was closed? She'd given him reason to hope that she would…but then she'd turned him down for the award dinner. Who knew how would she deal with their relationship when she was being called away on cases all around the world?

Plus, there was another consideration. "You really think I could just hand it to you?"

"Why not? I'm not interested in an arrest or conviction, only a recovery."

"Maybe you're not…but what about Humphrey?"

"I'm not part of the police, Chuck."

"You are working with them, aren't you? So maybe it isn't entirely up to you. I think Humphrey would take great pleasure in slapping me into handcuffs."

It was Blair's turn to smirk. "Well, I would as well, but in a different context."

He inwardly groaned. How was he supposed to argue with that? "Can we please change the subject? I'm guessing your stance on my invitation is still the same."

She looked sad then, and he almost felt guilty.

"Look, I just thought it would be a nice evening out for us," he tried to explain.

She reached for his hands. "This doesn't change anything between us," she assured him. "And I promise I'll find some way to make it up to you."

He tried to believe her, because he so wanted it to be true.

"Think about it," she urged.

It was past 7 and he was just finishing some paperwork when the security alarm went off on his phone. With a few keystrokes, he pulled up the array of security cameras at his home.

There was someone in his townhouse.

She was still standing in the foyer when a familiar, disembodied voice rang out over the speakers.

"Blair, what are you doing?"

She stepped closer to the lighting and the cameras. "Oh, hello, I'm Blair Waldorf from Constance Billard. I'm here to tutor Charles Bass."

The camera hummed slightly as it zoomed in on face and then traveled slowly down her body from head to toe.

Her hair was down and pulled back with a brightly colored headband. It appeared she still had her old school uniform, though the skirt looked to be shorter than regulation length. She was wearing cashmere over-the-knee socks with black patent Mary Jane heels.

"Are you available for a study session?"

She didn't have to ask twice. "I'll be there within the hour."

When he strolled in just under the allotted time frame, she didn't even ask how he'd procured a St. Jude's uniform and made it there so quickly. He was, after all, Chuck Bass.

"What are we studying tonight?"

"Greek mythology."

"Naked goddesses?" he gave his best teenage grin. "I could get on board with that."

"I'm sure you could." She rolled her eyes and gave his arm a playful slap.

"C'mon, let's go up to my room." He started up the stairs with Blair following close behind, clutching her book.

"Your room is nice." In character, she looked around as if seeing it for the first time.

Chuck sat down on the edge of the bed. "Come sit by me. I promise I won't bite…unless you want me to." The last words were said under his breath.

She took off her blazer and moved slowly towards the bed.

"Are you scared, Blair? You're in the bedroom of a boy who's a little older and has a reputation. Aren't you afraid I'll do something inappropriate?" He made it sound very inviting.

"I'm not scared of anything," she thrust her chin out. "And maybe I want you to try something. Maybe I want to see what the fuss is about."

Oh, he would show her. "Maybe you should start reading. I'll follow along."

She opened the mythology book to "Cupid & Psyche" and began telling the ancient story of the two lovers separated by lack of trust and the machinations of the gods, then finally reunited by the strength of their love (and a little help from some other gods).

It became increasingly difficult to concentrate when he placed a hand on her stockinged knee and let his fingers stroke the luxurious fabric. "Soft."

"It's cashmere," she explained.

"As I said, soft, but not as soft as this," his fingers moved up to the bare skin of her thighs.

She drew a shallow breath.

His fingers went higher still, under the hem of her plaid uniform skirt. "Your skin is exquisite, perfect."

She really couldn't breathe now. She let out a little cough and broke character. "So tell me, what exactly is it that makes men so enamored of the schoolgirl fantasy? Is it the short skirts? The air of the forbidden? If you'd actually seen me back in high school, you might not have even noticed me."

He laughed. "There is no chance that I could ever see you anywhere and have you escape my notice. You were the Queen of Constance; I'm sure there was a whole collection of suitors vying for your attention."

"And what would you have been doing?"

"Devoting my academic career to studying you and your seduction."

"You sound awfully confident," she observed. "Do you think it would have been so easy? I had a boyfriend, you know."

"Maybe, but did he make you feel like this?" His finger explored the hem of her panties, sliding under them, floating over the wetness that welcomed him, and finally swirling around the little nubbin that was the center of her pleasure.

Shaking hands grabbed his lapels and drew him closer. Their lips met as a sigh that was part agony, part ecstasy escaped her mouth.

"But to answer your question…." Heaven help him, he could hardly breathe himself. "The stockings and the short skirt give us an excellent view of your amazing legs, and make us wonder how it would feel if they were wrapped around us."

She leaned back on the bed, thighs splayed wide like a butterfly's wings, and pulled Chuck on top of her.

"Ultimately, and I can't speak for other men on this one, I just want to know what it would have been like to have been your first lover, to have been the first to make you sigh, to make you scream, to pleasure you until…"

Then she was kissing him again and unknotting his uniform tie, unbuttoning his shirt….

Slow down…they needed to slow down…or he was going to embarrass himself like the schoolboy he was pretending to be.

He raised her arms above her head and then began to kiss her slowly…lightly at first, then more deeply.

She made little sounds of bliss, against his lips, in his ear, and he savored every single one of them. There, that was better.

He took advantage of her distraction to slip a couple of the little pearl buttons from her pristine white blouse free. Then he settled into the crook of her neck, nuzzling the magical spot where the silky skin of her neck gave way to her shoulder.

"Mmm," she sighed and her lips curved into a satisfied smile.

A couple more buttons were loosed.

He kissed his way down her décolletage, until he was over her heart. Chuck could feel it beating, for him, for them.

Blair was looking up at him with such a look of faith and trust that he forgot everything that was against them. At this moment, he believed only in them.

She sat halfway up and, never taking her eyes from his, pulled out the hem of her blouse and unfastened the remaining buttons. Then she slowly pulled the lace-trimmed camisole over her head and was bare to his gaze.

He could not stop staring. Would he ever get over the feeling of awe he felt every time he looked at her?

"Let's get you out of that skirt." He reached for the side zipper and Blair couldn't decide which sound was sexier: that bedroom voice or the whisper soft descent of the zipper's slider. She wriggled her hips as he pulled the skirt down and out of their way.

Then he did a double-take. Just when he thought he couldn't want her any more…there she was in a pair of skimpy red lace panties that hugged her hips.

His mouth went dry.

"Um, is that what you were hiding under that prim skirt back then?" He really had to know.

"Not this particular pair." She gave him a blinding smile. "But I've always liked having a little secret like this. It makes me feel sexy…and powerful," she confessed.

"You're wearing power panties?" He couldn't hide his smirk.

"Hopefully not for too much longer." She looked at him meaningfully and reached for his belt.

For a second, he experienced a flash of worry. Had they broken character? Shouldn't she have been shy this first time? But of course she wasn't; they'd never been awkward or hesitant with each other. It didn't matter if they were coming together as teenagers or a decade later.

Her fingers wrapped around him, stroked him. Her mouth kissed him, tasted him. They were immersed in each other.

When the moment came that their bodies physically joined, it was an affirmation of what their hearts and minds had been doing all along. It occurred to Chuck that perhaps it wasn't a matter of either of them teaching the other. Perhaps it was making discoveries together.

He reached up and removed the headband from her hair and cast it aside. They were completely bare to each other.

After, when they were lying half-asleep, Chuck asked, "What happened to Cupid and Psyche?"

Blair yawned and snuggled closer. "The gods intervened on their behalf and allowed them to be together. They had a daughter, Voluptas, sometimes translated as Pleasure."

"Hmm." He thought it fitting.

In the days following 'the tutoring session,' Chuck and Blair had never felt closer or happier. Yet as the awards dinner loomed, their joy began to ebb.

Blair seemed firmly committed to not attending the dinner and Chuck told himself that he did not care. Trouble was, he did and he was embarrassed by this seemingly unreasonable need to want her there. For her part, Blair couldn't stand the question that was in his eyes whenever the dinner was mentioned. It felt like she was constantly rejecting his invitation and, by extension, the man himself; neither of which she wanted to do.

So the level of tension and discomfort grew.

It all came to a head early in the afternoon on the day of the dinner.

As was his habit now, Chuck picked up his phone and dialed Blair. He could hear it ringing and feel the hope rising in his chest, the hope that she'd finally say yes and accompany him tonight.

But it wasn't going to happen, neither her picking up nor changing her mind. And he was Chuck Bass. He didn't need to beg a woman for a date. There were countless women he could call.

But he didn't want any other woman in the world; he wanted Blair.

No, what he really wanted was this whole ordeal to be over. He ended the call without leaving a message.

When Blair phoned back a few minutes later, he did not pick up.

The event was black tie, and who wore that better than Chuck Bass?

To the casual observer, he hadn't a care in the world, dressed to the nines, surrounded by his stepmother and stepsister, feted by the business community.

When he came to the dais to give his acceptance speech, the applause was thunderous. He had just started speaking-and his speech was sure to be the trademark Bass blend of wit and charm—when he saw her.

He could hardly miss her. She was in a floor-length, red silk gown with draping skirts, a tight bodice and little cap sleeves accentuated with sequins and embroidery designed to look like flowers. Her dark curls were styled half up, half down and her lips were outlined crimson.

The feeling of relief and outright joy at seeing her was so strong he felt like he'd been struck by something. Before he could stop it, his eyes settled on her appreciatively and a smile spread across his face.

And that was when he saw the man standing behind Blair, the man with his arm around her waist.

Blair had relented and come to his award dinner…with a date.

To Be Continued in Chapter 11

Author's Note:

Blair brought a date?! Who could that be? And how will Chuck respond?

Special thanks to my reviewers: ChuckBlair8, Almaloney33 (her comments have inspired any water/swimming/drowning metaphors in this story), Klarobass, Shark22, Kananox, mercury1893, purplebowties, pianogirl1, vale1103, Trosev and ChloeCharles (so glad you found my story and were so kind in responding). I apologize for being behind, but I will be responding to your reviews soon.

Happy Belated Birthday to the lovely purplebowties! Hope you are still celebrating your wonderful self.

Chrys1130, it goes without saying that I love and appreciate you.

Readers, do you have predictions or hopes for the next chapter? Talk to me!

Until next time,

Xoxo