Chapter 37

The next morning, after a shared breakfast, Chase knew Amaya would knock on his library door.

And yes, he wasn't wrong.

Chase squinted at Amaya between the spokes of his step-sister’s wedding, trying to read her expression but coming up empty.

Last night, she’d left a message on his phone, requesting a meeting after breakfast, and he had suggested meeting at the library instead, which is basically almost like his shared library slash bedroom in the US, where they made love all night long, hoping that the memories might throw her off balance—make her vulnerable and more easily manipulated.

Chase hadn’t anticipated that those very same memories might unsettle him as well, but with Amaya standing there, dressed in a flounce white skirt and yellow tube-top, gnawing at her full bottom lip, an action he remembered all too well, attending to his step-sister’s call was the last thing on his mind.

He waited for her to speak and continued listening to Donna’s nonsense, an action he found soothing. Then, with a raised brow, he ended the call.

"Good Morning," he smiled.

Even with her forget-me-not eyes clouded with worry, tendrils of hair escaping her ponytail and draping her face in golden blonde, and that worried action that drew attention to her lush mouth like it always had, she looked incredible, like his greatest fantasy come to life.

Which she was, not that he’d ever told her. He’d had his chance before, and she’d made it more than clear what she’d thought of him back then. She left him with nothing but memories of that night. Slamming a door on pointless memories, he stood, tucked the polishing cloth in his back pocket, and leaned against his oak table.

"Morning," she replied, and she looked around the room, to which he saw her brow raised for about a second, or maybe he was just imagining it.

For a second, he wished he hadn’t sounded so flippant as her eyes clouded with wariness.

"Thanks for agreeing to talk. I know you’re busy." The hint of vulnerability in her voice and in her expression stunned him. The Amaya Patterson he knew would never show weakness in front of anybody, least of all him.

"Let’s pull up a seat." He pointed to the vast white couch. "Have you given any more thought to my proposal? Of course, I have to tell you, once you agree to marry me, you can't say no to going with me to my sister’s wedding."

She sighed, "Of course I know that. I was just being stupid to forget that silly fact yesterday."

Stupid notions, really. She thought. Of course, Chase was playing his cards well.

As if she'd thought of anything else since she’d stormed out of his office yesterday.

She ignored his smirk and said, ‘I want to talk about my father.’

No way.

If there was one topic of conversation off-limits, that was it. Chase knew; after they had so many business dinners, she hated to talk about her parents. Why now?

"I need to pay my father. I owe him."

Chase raised his brow at her.

So, he wasn't the only one with Daddy's issue here.

The pain in her eyes answered his silent questions, though.

"How much?" Her lips curled into a small, secretive smile, and he clenched his hands into fists and thrust them into his pockets to prevent them from reaching for her.

"Are you not going to ask why I owe him?" Her lips twitched more.

"No. None of my business, and if you want to share information, of course I'll listen, but I don't think you can. So how much?" He didn’t have time for emotions in this marriage. It was business, pure and simple. He had more important matters to consider, such as building his profile with investors, expanding into new cities, and increasing profit margins. And above all, this farm was his new business venture.

How could he not mind his own business? Why does it hurt him to see how fragile Amaya is now? He was never the sentimental type.

Big difference there. He’d never loved Amaya before. Liked her and lusted after her, but he’d never dared love her.

He didn’t do love.

Love equaled loss, loneliness, and pain—emotions he could do without.

Folding his arms, he leaned back on the couch. If he couldn’t deflect her attention, he’d have to give her some snippets of the truth to placate her before they tackled more important matters, like the question of their impending nuptials.

"How much, Amaya?"

"One hundred thousand euros more or less." She gnawed at her bottom lip and fiddled with the edge of her short skirt. He’d never seen her this nervous before.

"We’ll pay him double."

"But it's too much—"

"Amaya, you'll be my wife; surely I won't let anyone else degrade my wife."

Until yesterday, he’d convinced himself he’d made the right decision. Women were unpredictable, erratic creatures who couldn’t be depended on. Then Amaya Patterson walked back into his life, making him re-evaluate his choice and think a whole lot of ‘what-ifs’.

What if he’d looked for her? Really looked for her?

What if they’d made a life together?

What if they fell in love and lived happily ever after?

Yeah, like happy-ever-afters ever happened in the real world.

Then, with a sigh, Amaya told him her story. About her parents, about the death of her mother, and how she ran away from home to the boarding school in France.

"I called him yesterday." She raised stricken eyes to him, and it took every ounce of willpower not to reach out, bundle her into his arms, and comfort her. "He hasn’t changed a bit. Still an ass, now an old asshole."

He swallowed the bitterness that rose at the thought of her father and his far-reaching tentacles poisoning everything and everyone around him, including this remarkably special woman.

He hadn’t blamed her for running away. He would do the same if he were in her shoes. He’d wondered why it took her so long to admit to him that they shared the same father issues.

Unable to resist, he reached out and took hold of her hand, surprised and more than a little grateful when she let him. "Want to know what I think?"

She nodded, her eyes wide with pain.

"You’ve moved on. From what you’ve told me, you’re successful; you are a great mother with one hell of a son, so don’t let the past suck you back in."

He squeezed her hand and trailed his thumb across the back of it. "It’s not worth it. I'll pay him as soon as possible, and I'll make sure that—"

"Please, I don't know what…"

"Amaya, let me do this; if your old man told you that you owe him, then I'll pay him double, no arguments."

"But isn't it too much for a contract marriage?"

"It's nothing compared to what you are making me look at. I'll gain millions over my new status or even more."

Amaya couldn’t meet his gaze; it was far too kind.

"Thanks," she muttered, and she made an angry swipe at her eyes, dashing away the tears pooled there. She’d done nothing but make a fool of herself since she’d arrived here, making assumptions about Chase, letting him kiss her, and hoping her father had changed. She didn’t need to start blubbering like a two-year-old to top it off.

Teasing Chase was all she could handle. Compassionate Chase, holding her hand and staring at her with unquestionable warmth in his eyes, had the potential to undo her completely.

"Hey, don’t cry."

He leaned over and brushed away the tears that had spilled over and ran down her cheeks.

Great. Just her luck, she hadn’t worn waterproof mascara today.

"I-I told her about my s-son, he didn't even b-bother to ask; he said he doesn't c-care," she muttered, blinking rapidly only to find a veritable flood seeping out of her eyes.

"Come here, you."

Before she could protest, Chase hauled her into his arms and cradled her close, smoothing her hair, making small crooning noises. Being enveloped in his strong arms, her face pressed against his hard chest wall, surrounded by his familiar scent of sandalwood, spice, and all things nice, should’ve soothed her.

It didn’t. Being held by Chase dampened her tears, but it resurrected a host of feelings that had nothing to do with comfort.

Desire seeped through her body as he continued stroking her hair, rendering her powerless to move. She couldn’t have pulled away if she wanted to. And, God help her, she didn’t want to.

She inhaled deeply, allowing the heady combination of sweetness, expensive cologne, and sunshine to flood her lungs, enjoying the momentary lapse in reason as she wished he could hold her like this forever.

Sliding her arms around his waist, she allowed her hands the luxury of smoothing across hard muscle, revelling in the heat radiating through his shirt.

Closing her eyes, she sighed, knowing there was no place in the world she’d rather be than right here.

Rome was her life now, the vibrant city a part of her new persona, but even with her career shooting into the stratosphere, at times like this, in the warm embrace of an incredible man, it wasn’t enough.

She’d tried to forget Chase but had rarely succeeded. She wondered what he was doing, who he was doing it with, and where they would be if he’d said yes to her all those years ago.

"You okay now?"

He pulled back with such swiftness that she almost fell off her chair.

"Yeah, thanks."

Amaya scanned his face for an indication of what he was thinking, but true to form, her mask had slipped into place, leaving her wondering what was going on behind those enigmatic, taunting eyes.

She’d seen it on their last night together six years ago, the night she’d broken her own heart.

That night, she became a cowardly ass.

Chase began, "We have other business to discuss."

Her heart sank.

For those all-too-brief moments when he’d held her, she’d forgotten the reason she’d requested this meeting. But the thought of her father leaped to mind, and she knew she had to do this.

It was the only way.

She needed this proposal now more than ever; she needed the money to clear a debt she’d never known existed, and the sooner that was done, the better. Then she’d finally be free.

"You’re right, we do need to talk." She twisted a strand of hair around her finger, a habit she’d long conquered, before belatedly releasing it. What was it about this guy that obliterated the last six years as if they’d never happened and thrust her back to a time she’d rather forget?

"I'll marry you."

He propped himself against the couch, looking every bit the businessman rebel he’d once been: raw, devastating, and delicious.

She swallowed, her throat clenching with how much she still wanted him after all this time.

He might’ve proposed marriage for business purposes, but deep down she knew there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d be able to keep her hands off him. And considering he’d kissed her twice, she had an inkling the feeling was mutual.

So where did that leave them? What would the boundaries of their marriage be? Monogamous? Casual?

He straightened and stepped closer to her.