Chapter 29

"Here we go again," she grumbled to herself.

His teasing smile slammed into her, the familiarity of it making her gasp.

Was he playing? No, maybe a little, but he was in mourning.

Play….

Play….

She didn’t play anymore. Her playing days had stopped when she hightailed it out of Tyler and Mary’s wedding and never looked back.

Work helped her forget everything. Her son’s well-being only mattered.

Work proved how far she’d come.

Work gave her the hard-fought independence she’d clawed her way to the top for—an independence that guaranteed she’d never have to look back.

Biting back a pithy retort, she ducked into the car and grabbed the Manila folder from the passenger seat.

"What you do in your spare time isn’t my concern, Mr. Johnson. I’m here because it's my job."

"Whatever this job of yours is about—"

"Seriously? I'm here to make you sign this. Nothin fancy…"

He fixed her with a probing stare—a potent stare that sent a ripple of unease through her.

She almost banged her head on the door jamb as his silky voice slid over her. So much for a quick, clean presentation to Chase Johnson.

And she never got flustered again. Some of her friends at work called her cold as ice behind her back, and she liked it. Emotions got her nowhere, and she’d learned to control her fiery temper along with the rest of her wayward emotions during the long, hard graft in the big city.

As she handed him the folder, their fingertips touched, and despite the length of time they’d been apart, her heart jackknifed. Wretched organ. She shouldn’t feel anything where Chase was concerned, especially not this strange déjà vu that had her dreaming of stepping closer and running a palm down his bare chest to see if it felt half as good as she remembered.

Amaya took a steadying breath, ignoring the host of unwelcome feelings this man had resurrected.

"There’s a lot we need to discuss. Why don’t we head inside so you can put on some clothes and I can do my job?" she muttered with a fake smile on her face. Which she knew he hated.

She halted. "I mean..."

She’d made a fatal error in judgement and knew it the second his lips kicked up into a sexy, familiar grin that never failed to take her breath away.

She shouldn’t have mentioned his state of undress, shouldn’t have drawn attention to it, and as if of their own volition, her eyes drifted south, riveted to that muscular expanse of temptation less than two feet away.

He was so bronze, so broad, and so breathtaking, and when she finally dragged her gaze away, her knees shook.

"Are you sure you want me to get dressed?"

Damn him; he’d called her for her faux pas. A gentleman would’ve ignored her slip-up. Then again, since when has Chase been a gentleman?

Amaya was a fool for expecting anything other than bluntness from the guy who’d once rocked her world six years ago.

"Can you stop that? I'm not buying any of that, remember?" She said with annoyance.

"I know you declined me. You rejected me. I do remember that."

Here we go again. She pondered.

Amaya held up a hand, about as effective as a cockatoo trying to ward off a charging emu.

He stared at her hand as if he wanted to grab it, and she quickly let it drop.

"We have already agreed to forget our past. Move on." She sighed before looking into his eyes.

"Really? Don’t you remember the past? Don’t you admire the gorgeous woman you’ve become?"

The heat in his eyes scorched her, captivated her, and held her spellbound.

"Or don’t you do something as crazy as this?"

Before she could blink, he hauled her into his arms and kissed her.

The kisses they’d shared before had been exploratory, tender, and achingly poignant. Yet there was nothing remotely sweet or gentle about his mouth crushing hers now.

Their lips clashed in a frantic, hungry union—a fusion of tongues, a meshing of desire—that left her reeling.

She should have been immune to him by now. She should’ve pushed him away and laughed it off as a quick reacquainting peck between friends for old times’ sake.

Should’ve, should’ve, should’ve, as she stood on tiptoes, leaned into him, and wrapped her arms around his neck, hanging on as if her life depended on it.

As he softened the kiss, plying her with the skilled precision he’d always had, her resolve to push him away melted, just as it had six years earlier when she’d acted on all the bottled-up feelings she’d harboured for him for years.

So what the heck was she doing, kissing him like this?

As her belated common sense kicked in, Chase broke the kiss, untangling her hands from behind his neck and setting them firmly at her side before glaring at her, as if she’d been the one to instigate their clinch in the first place.

"Don’t expect me to be sorry for that," he said, running a hand through his wavy hair, sending it in all directions.

"I gave up expecting anything from you a long time ago." She shrugged, aiming for nonchalance while her insides churned, and ran a finger along her bottom lip, wondering if it looked as bruised as it felt.

He’d kissed her, and she liked it!

Damn it!

So much for the cold ice. She looked as if her hard-fought, emotion-free veneer had melted the minute he’d lip-locked her.

Chase muttered a curse and turned away from Amanda before he made another blunder and hauled her right back into his arms.

She felt good—better than Chase remembered, and he had a damn good memory when it came to this woman.

She’d been the one for him.

And she left without even giving him her real name.

Chase sighed; he’d had no choice, but a day hadn’t gone by when he hadn’t replayed memories of the red-haired hellion who’d captured his heart without trying.

Here she was, just as incredible as he remembered.

And he was drawn to her as uncontrollably as ever. The spell she’d cast over him had never been simply caused by her blue eyes, porcelain skin, and waist-length auburn hair that begged a guy to run his fingers through it. Nor did it have anything to do with her lithe body, with enough curves to turn a guy’s head.

No, Amanda Patterson possessed a more elusive charm, something that drew him closer than potato salad.

Elegant. Class.

"All of these papers need to be signed?" Chase turned back to face Amaya, surprised by the vulnerability he glimpsed in her eyes. Hell, it was just a damn kiss; no big deal.

"All in there," she replied coldly. "And don't you dare to do that again."

"Do what?"

"Oh, God, Chase. You know what I'm trying to say."

"Okay," he replied bluntly.

She pointed at the Manila folder in his hands and stared at it as if it were a ticking bomb ready to detonate.

He weighed it in one hand and tapped it against his palm, gauging her reaction.

"Jeez, why don’t you just open it?" She exploded, and he grinned.

"Good to see you’ve still got that fiery temper beneath all that polished business suit."

Amaya rolled her eyes and thanked him anyway for buying her dozens of clothes she could never afford.

He looked her up and down, admiring the subtle changes to her appearance: the gold streaks in her now shoulder-length hair, the svelte body packed with more curves than a racetrack, the elegant wardrobe. Six years ago, she was pretty. Now, with her irritated facade, she was stunning.

With a confident toss of that luscious hair, she fixed him with a newly acquired haughty grin.

"Actually, you’re the only one who seems to bring it out in me. Thanks for all of it. Now, back to business?"

Curiosity ate at him. To bring her back here, these precious papers of hers had to be important. In that case, he wanted to be 100 percent apprised of the situation before he started discussing anything with her. Especially now that he heard some rumours that she and Justin had been out for a few dinner dates,

He raised an eyebrow, rattled the folder, and gestured at his bare torso. "I don’t do business like this. Where are you staying?"

"I don’t know."

Chase raised a brow. "You can stay here. I have three more extra rooms."

Her eyes widened.