Chapter 39

"How's this dessert?" Amaya asked as she held out the chef’s chocolate mint cake, wishing Chase would take the damn thing before it tumbled from her shaking hands.

They had been silent during their late lunch, and it was making Amaya nervous.

This meal was supposed to set her mind at rest—a pre-wedding get-together to discuss plans and take the edge off her nerves.

So far, it hasn’t worked.

How could it work when Chase kept looking at her like she was a damn lemon pie with chilli? It made her self-conscious.

"Oh, well, at least my pasta is not overcooked. Anyway, thanks, that looks delicious."

His gaze flicked over her, appreciation lighting his eyes, and she had no doubt he wasn’t talking about the cake.

She’d spent an hour deciding what to wear, aiming for casual yet wanting to make him look twice. After five changes, she’d finally decided on a green yoke-waist skirt and white crop top that fitted like a second skin. The fresh tones highlighted her hair and skin to perfection.

In the city, she’d taken her appearance for granted, spending a small fortune on clothes and accessories to fit the image of a top executive secretary. Not that she didn't consider Chase's black card a fortune; after all, it was his idea to give her an overpriced and very expensive piece of clothing. She dressed to impress, and he used to agree to it. That was her excuse for wanting to look her best today. Yeah, right.

Amaya muttered with a bored expression, "So, Mr. Expensive Chef, aka playboy millionaire. What’s for lunch?"

He raised a brow at her as he headed for the stove in an attempt to escape her intense stare.

"A lobster, Stuffed ribatoni, Carrot Purée, corn sabayon, and your Creamy Pesto Shrimp."

He picked up a ladle, lifted a pot lid, and stirred, the delicious aroma of melted cheese and garlic filling the kitchen and making her mouth water.

"What? Really? You make them all?"

He smirked. "No, the chef did almost all of them, but I cooked the pasta. That’s something, yeah?"

Her mouth curled into a smile. She wanted to laugh. Of course, just the pasta. She was surprised he knew how to cook them at all. She raised an eyebrow, beyond impressed. "How did the guy find time to run a huge I.T. company, do stuff around the world, and be a whiz in the pasta department?"

Chase cocked a hip and shrugged, deliciously smug and modest at the same time. "Now that’s a compliment."

She rolled her eyes. Of course, what did she expect? Of course the man would cure his ego with pasta.

"What can I say? I’m a genius," he said, sprinkling fresh chopped parsley into the pot and sending her a cheeky grin that notched up the heat in the kitchen.

"Are you sure about that parsley?"

"Of course, it's... a green thing the chef told me to put, you know, to impress the lady." A corner of his mouth lifted.

Either she laughed or she rolled her eyes at him for taking a lot longer to acclimatise to the farm humidity than expected.

"Okay, I’m impressed you know that green thingy on the table. Is there anything you can’t do?"

"No, though I guess I’m better at some things than others. And I know how to scramble some eggs. That's a very hard thing, you know. I tried so many times to make it perfect."

She burst into cheerful laughter. "Oh, really now? A very hard thing to do?"

"Oh yeah," he winked, and he turned back to the stove, his attention riveted to the pot bubbling away while an embarrassing blush crept into his cheeks.

But then she halted. Oh, yeah, she remembered exactly how good he was at some things, which was why she grabbed the cutlery off the sideboard, trying to remember the difference between left and right as she struggled to place knives, forks, and spoons in their right place.

She’d been insane to agree to his marriage proposal, absolutely stark, raving mad to think she could remain businesslike for the length of their marriage—yet another thing they had to decide tonight. She was in little doubt that this platonic union would have a time limit.

He’d asked as much earlier, and she’d had no idea how to respond; she didn’t want to think beyond this silly thing and what she had to do to secure her debt to her father.

Marriage to Chase, a business deal. And business deals had set time frames, with both parties aware of how long the proposed business would take right from the start.

So why the sudden pang in the vicinity of her heart?

Once the table was set, she picked up the pasta bowls and took them to the stove.

"We’ve got a lot to talk about in this marriage."

Chase held up a hand. "Not on an empty stomach. Let’s eat first." He called for the maid to set up the rest of their meal.

"Fine with me."

But it wasn’t fine; none of this was, and while they made polite small talk over their fabulous meal, she couldn’t forget the real reason she was here: to set the boundaries of their marriage.

There went her heart again, squeezing tight and hurting enough to show that no matter how much she pretended this was all business, she knew, deep down, she was selling her soul.

However, Chase tried not to stare at Amaya, he really did, but it was like trying not to look at the sun glistening on the lake first thing in the morning or the moon rising over a glittering firefly at night.

Perfectly natural occurrences where a person’s gaze was riveted by beauty, unable to do otherwise, and that was exactly how he felt now, taking in her slight frown, pursed lips, and thoughtful expression as she tapped a pen against the pad in her hands.

"I want to have it all, simple, no overly fancy—," she said, screwing her eyes up as if trying to see the missing information.

"No. I want the world to know about the wedding. We are getting married to impress the board and all."

"But—"

"There is no but, Amaya," he said with a shake of his head to make a statement. From where he sat, the only thing forgotten was how damn good it felt to be with her like this.

"Okay, I think everything is settled then; surely the wedding planner had it all, yeah?" she answered absent-mindedly, not looking up from the iPad.

"Yes. I was sure they’d covered everything, but…"

He perched on the couch next to her, grateful for the opportunity to get closer to the woman who was driving him slowly insane with every flutter of her mascaraed eyelashes and every teasing smile.