Chapter 31

"So let's talk about signing the papers," Amaya said. Memories slammed into her: snuggling in the crook of his arm under their sheets, lying on top of him along her fake dark wig, nuzzling his neck as they made love... She gulped a lungful of air—or several—to ease her breathlessness.

Chase's scent was so evocative and rich in memories that she struggled to remember what he’d just asked her.

Casting a curious glance her way, he sat opposite her, his knees in close proximity to hers, and she surreptitiously sidled back to avoid accidental contact.

"Come on, Amaya. We can talk about that later, but for now, enjoy the wine."

That was all she needed. As if she hadn’t made enough of a fool of herself already.

"So what do you think of my little farm house?" Chase asked her with a little tease in his voice, to which Amaya knew so much; he was trying to get on her nerves again.

"Little? Seriously?"

"Well, considering that it had three bedrooms, I consider it little by my standard."

She managed not to roll her eyes. Yet she unglued her tongue from the roof of her mouth, taking a quick sip of her drink before answering. "It’s gorgeous. There was nothing like I imagined."

His proud grin baffled her as much as seeing him in a suit. "Good, this is my grandfather's land." Taking in the subtle lighting and the understated elegance, she nodded.

"I’m not surprised. I’ve travelled extensively for Justin’s sake; the last few hours or so have been exhausting, but I haven’t stayed in anything quite like this before."

The mention of her trip cleared the sensual fog that had enveloped her the moment he’d strutted into the minibar, and she glanced at his empty hands.

"Where are the papers? Did you take a look at them before signing?" Her voice had taken on a fake, bubbly edge, as if she were trying too hard, and she eventually fell silent, waiting for him to say something.

He shook his head and gestured to the butler, who scurried over as if the prime minister had beckoned.

"Not yet, and I prefer to hear this pitch from you first, then go over the details later."

"Mr. Johnson, there is nothing I can do about it; I believe Justin told you about the shareholder meeting already."

"I know. We will have an online meeting later."

Something shifted in his eyes—a shrewdness she’d never seen before.

"Is that why you’re in a suit?" she blurted, wishing she hadn’t asked when his gaze raked over her own change of clothes. The dove-grey skirt suit was another favourite, never failing to give her a confidence boost, and with Chase’s steamy stare sliding over her, she needed every ounce of confidence she could get.

Before he could respond, the butler said, "The usual, Mr. Johnson?"

"Yes, thanks, Lim." His condescending grin sent a chill of foreboding through her.

Amaya sighed again before saying, "Justin wants you back in the city. He told me to persuade you. It’s been a month."

"We will talk about that later, after the meal."

A few hours later, Amaya didn’t like his silence or his controlled posture. She’d expected some kind of reaction, not this tense silence that left her on edge and wondering what was going on behind those deep, dark eyes.

Of all the nerves, if her job here weren’t so important, she would’ve told him exactly where he could shove his wine.

But this job was all that mattered; that was why she was here, determined to keep a smile on her face and a lid on her curiosity no matter how much she wanted to know his business here in his grandfather's land. She knew Chase was never the farmland guy—far from it. He loved luxury, and this house, even in the middle of nowhere, was proof of how much of a city guy he was.

But the way he’d toyed with her earlier and dropped the information that he was now going on with the farm business of his late grandfather rankled too, as if it had been one big game to him.

Well, screw him.

At least she’d come to this farmland prepared. After he’d dropped his little bombshell in the living room minibar, she’d hightailed it back to her room after the meal and done a quick Internet search on the farm and his grandfather.

What she’d discovered had blown her away.

Chase’s farm was a massive vineyard all the way around. He owned almost all the shops in the town.

So, was this why Chase had been here? Was he trying to sell the land or what?

Then again, if she played her cards right, maybe she’d get a firsthand look at some of his plans.

The thought of stepping inside his big truck with Chase acting as tour guide brought a scorching blush to her cheeks, and she pressed her hands against them, desperately trying to cool them before he opened his private office door and caught her on the back foot again.

The door swung open, and she immediately squared her shoulders, ready for battle.

"Right on time." He stepped aside and gestured her into the room, a huge suite converted into an office, complete with a monstrous mahogany desk, a leather director’s chair, and a matching black leather lounge suite designed to make whoever set foot in the giant room feel at home.

She ignored the comfy-looking sofa and settled for the solitary chair opposite his desk, her back ramrod straight. She wasn’t here to get cosy and comfortable; she was here to finish her mission and make him go back to the city.

Clasping her hands in her lap, she fixed him with a businesslike stare.

"Let’s get down to it, shall we? What’s your answer?"

"Answer to what?"

"To go back to the city, Chase."

"Well, about that."

"You are making this too—"

"I'm still your boss, Miss Patterson. Learn your place."

She rolled her eyes.

To her chagrin, he grinned—a wide, self-assured grin of a fat cat toying with a baby mouse.

"It’s killing you, isn’t it?"

In an instant, Amaya knew what he was referring to. He used to tease her about being a nosy busybody all the time, so he’d know how much his bombshell was burning her up with curiosity.

As if she’d give him the satisfaction of knowing it.

Keeping her expression carefully blank, she shrugged. "I don't know your business here, Mr. Johnson, but the company needs a CEO. The company you founded needs you." She frowned before adding. "What you’ve done in the last month here, why you chose not to tell me the truth on the farm, that’s your business."

She leaned forward and tapped the folder sitting in prime position in the middle of his desk.

"And this is my mission—for you to sign this—so let’s cut to the chase."

"Are you trying to make a deal here, Miss Patterson?"

"That depends on you, sir."

He sat, leaned back, and clasped his hands behind his head, stretching the fine cotton of his business shirt tight against his chest, drawing her attention and tempting her to stare, to linger, and to envision what he looked like without it.

Not that she had to try too hard. She’d had an up-close and personal look earlier that day, and a glimpse of that entire bronze, hard chest was burned into her memory bank no matter how many times she hit the mental delete button.

She shook her head to clear it.

"Then let's see what you can offer," he smirked.

"I can't offer you anything, Mr. Johnson. This paper needs your signature; there is no deal on my end."

"Then I won't sign that."

"Are you out of your mind!?"

"Well—"

Amya took a deep breath and said, "I want this paper sign. That's why I’m here. That's not hard to understand."

The only reason I’m here hung unsaid between them as she matched his steady stare, not blinking or moving a muscle. She pondered to herself.

To her surprise, Chase broke the deadlock first by reaching for the folder and pushing it towards her with one finger.

He tapped the folder. "I told you, I'm here for vacation," he smirked. "And I'm your boss; you can't boss me around."

That got her attention.

My God! What the fuck is wrong with this asshole? How hard could that be? He just has to sign it. Get his stupid ass out here. She thought to herself.

"Pardon?" Her hopes sank faster than her first attempt at rowing on the Thames as she struggled to come up with a new twist on her pitch—something, anything—to convince him to sign. "How hard could—"

Chase raised a brow. "But I do have something else in mind."

She didn’t like the hint of subterfuge in his smoother-than-caramel tone or the gleam of devilry in his beautiful eyes.

"Like what?"

He pushed away from the desk, came around, and squatted down next to her—way too close, way too overpowering, way too much.

"I’ll agree to your precious mission if you agree to mine."

His silky-smooth tone sent a shiver of dread creeping across the nape of her neck, for she had no doubt that whatever demands he made, she’d be forced to agree.

Hanging onto her cool by a thread, she tossed her hair over her right shoulder and fixed him with her best intimidating glare.

"Go on, then. State your terms."

Placing a finger under her chin, he tipped it up, his slight touch sending unexpected heat spiralling through her and slashing a serious hole in her concentration.

Chase's eyes were full of confidence. "It’s quite simple, Amaya. I’ll sign that paper. I'll go with you to the city."

"And?" She leaned forward, drawn towards him against her will, his finger less of a guide than her own stupid attraction when it came to this man. "Spit it out already."

With his lips a hair’s breadth from hers, Chase murmured, "You become my wife."