Chapter 40

Lunch had been a quiet affair, and her genuine appreciation for his culinary skills made him feel like a god, yet the underlying tension with every glance and every smile stretched taut between them.

While she looked amazing tonight, her fancy top and figure-hugging skirt outlining her body to perfection, a body that beckoned him to trace its contours and feel every gorgeous line, it was more than that.

They’d slipped back into the comfortable camaraderie they used to share, and he was thrilled. While he had no illusions about this marriage being anything other than what it was—a convenient business arrangement—it would be so much easier to be friends.

Or more than friends, if he was lucky. He wanted her just as badly now as he ever had; the driving hunger was startling and ferocious and capable of sending him bonkers.

"Are you going to help me or just sit there with that goofy look on your face?" She waved the pen under his nose, and he managed a rueful grin. He’d settle for goofy when, given the way his thoughts had been heading, she would’ve been more accurate in describing him as drooling.

"Let me take a look at the plan." He leaned towards her, a swift stab of longing shooting straight to his groyne as a waft of her vanilla perfume hit him.

Strawberry: warm, sweet, tempting.

Exactly how he saw her. The same tantalising scent she’d worn that fateful night ten years ago, the night he’d told her there would never be anything between them.

He just wished he had the same self-control now, but with her inches away, looking like his living, breathing fantasy, a guy could only take so much.

"I think we should add this to the list of stuff for you to do and the stuff I can help with."

She tapped her pen against the paper in a sharp staccato sound, an action fasts becoming a nervous habit, and he struggled to focus on her writing, more intrigued by the streaks of blonde through her blonde hair and the way they highlighted her beautiful face.

"What’s missing?"

"This."

He tipped her chin up, drinking in her slightly flushed cheeks, her sparkling blue eyes, and her glossed lips. Man, she was a stunner, and as a spark of desire flared in her eyes, he knew this time he wouldn’t be satisfied with a few kisses.

As he moved towards her, she stiffened and pulled away.

"We need to concentrate. The sooner we get married, the sooner I can sleep without thinking about my father, and the sooner Justin would agree, okay?"

"You are worrying too much. I have already called my lawyer to settle things with your father. I have signed the papers from Justin. And I'll get my ass from here to the city."

"Really?" She sent him a nervous smile before waving the iPad in his face, and, though he’d love nothing better than to see if her desire matched his, he relented.

The mention of it all did it. She was doing this for her career, for herself, and for her son, as he was, with no place for emotions to cloud the issue.

Scanning the extensive list she’d made, he pointed to the last few asterisks.

"How about this, um, the licence, the legalities, all taken care of?" she curled an eyebrow.

Chase shrugged. "Yes. Things get done when you have money."

A shadow passed over her face, and he silently cursed his choice of words. If anyone knew the cause and effect of money, she did. "Okay. So how about the—I mean, our sleeping arrangement?"

"Don't worry about that, Amaya."

"Okay. So the venue’s all taken care of?" For the first time since lunch, his confidence wavered.

"Yes." Amaya had made him all too aware this marriage was a business merger, nothing more, yet he remembered how sentimental she’d get over the slightest thing, and, while she appeared aloof about the planning, he’d bet his last dollar she’d want something a tad special.

Her pen picked up tempo as she focused on the list, obviously eager to get this over and done with so she could escape. Accepting that this marriage was business was one thing; having to pretend to like it was another.

"Okay."

Why did that rattle so much? It wasn’t as if this were remotely romantic, yet somehow, ever since she’d arrived—and returned his kisses—he’d been having strange pains in his chest.

She intrigued him, infuriated him, and inflamed him, and though he tried to dismiss this marriage as a means to a goal, deep down he knew better.

He’d never always wanted a family, and the only woman he’d ever let get close was sitting less than a foot away with fiddling fingers and a wary gleam in her blue eyes.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"Nothing at all. I think I'm done," Amaya replied.

"Okay, good. The helicopter will be here any minute. Get ready for the trip." He leaned towards her with the sole intention of brushing a stray tendril of hair from her forehead. He never got the chance, as their gazes locked for a heated moment before she leaped off the couch.

"Right, we’re all done here. Thanks for lunch; it was great." With an overly bright smile, she practically ran around the room. "I’ll get a copy of this list for you tomorrow. We don’t have much time to get everything organised, so the sooner we get it done, the better. I’ll—"

"Amaya?"

"Yeah?"

She paused mid-flight and took a deep breath, the simple action drawing his attention to her breasts and the way they filled out her ribbed top.

"Don't run. I won't eat you unless—"

"Shut up!"

He expected a host of retorts or at least one decent smart-ass remark.

Instead, she glared at him, flushed a deep crimson, and bolted out of the door.

The next day, with her son in Chase’s mansion, Amaya wiggled her toes in her favourite comfy slippers, pulled her fluffy pink robe tighter, and cradled a hot coffee while scanning her emails.

It had been an eventful trip, and her son was so excited to see Chase that he did nothing but curl into his arms.

Not that she needed the extra calories after the mountain of food she’d consumed at Chase’s, but delicious coffee didn’t count, especially of the bread variety. Besides, the way she was feeling right now, she needed comfort food, and this was it.

Chase had been right, damn him. She was not comfortable, especially here in his massive mansion with half a dozen maids.

The hard part had come when he looked at her as if he wanted to gobble her up and come back for more. Several times.

As for that almost-kiss... yikes! She’d deflected it with some pathetic line about needing to concentrate, but he hadn’t been fooled. She’d seen it in the knowing glint in his eyes and in the smirk that had played around his kissable lips. And they were definitely kissable.

She’d wanted that kiss so badly she’d almost tasted it, yet she'd done the smart thing and fobbed him off.

Smart for whom?

For both of them. She wasn’t interested in making this marriage real. She had a son to think about.

But what if she wanted more?

If she did, Chase Johnson sure wasn’t the guy to give it to her. His life was poles apart from hers.

It was all business for him.

His wealth and hers? She’d always craved giving everything to her son, and yet she was too scared to tell Chase about him being the father.

What if he fires her? What if he takes her son away from her? Chase had money and power, and she was powerless and poor. NO! She couldn't risk it. She wouldn't risk losing her son.

He didn’t want a real marriage; a small part of her did.

Huh?

Where did that last bit come from?

Sighing, she took a comforting sip of the creamy, hot coffee, savouring the bittersweet taste.

Unfortunately, as fabulous as her life here in the city was, there was one thing lacking, and that was a real, steady relationship. Not some casual fling, not some short-term dating, and not some modern equivalent of ‘being involved"—meeting once a week for a regular meal and sex. She’d tried these options and found them infinitely depressing.

No man had come close to matching what she'd once felt for Chase.

And therein lies her problem.

"Just great," she muttered, hitting the delete key on Mary’s emails and wishing she could erase her feelings for Chase as easily.

She’d been back in city life for a few hours and had already reverted to her old ways: thinking about him constantly, wondering what he thought of her, and hoping he felt half of what she did.

Pathetic.

The last email in her inbox effectively distracted her from the Chase problem. Her father emailed her about the money.

Amaya rubbed a weary hand across her eyes and quickly reread the email.

Instead, the longer she stared at her father’s email, the more aware she became of exactly how far away their lives had become. It was too much, her old man said, but she ignored him and blocked him instead.