Chapter 47

And now, lying in bed, Amaya felt as if she were falling.

Anger for all the things she had missed out on was seething inside her. Pain for her father and anger for not telling Chase about Tommy. Anger for everything. Regrets and exhaustion for keeping her emotions at bay all the time.

And she lay in a strange land in a strange bed with a playboy boss who didn’t deal in emotions when hers were exquisitely raw.

Why would he marry her if he wanted nothing but shows? She wanted it to be real; she wanted him to tell her that he wanted to marry her because he loved her, needed her, and wanted her.

She actually felt sorry for him.

Chase's hand was still patting her in a sort of there, there motion, with this slight note of horror in his voice as he felt her shiver at the prospect of the grief she must hold in for now. Yet it was leaking from her eyes and from her breath—this scream inside that was building, the tension in her muscles where she wanted to just run—to curl up, to howl, and to weep.

He turned her over to face him.

"Please, Amaya, stop this! Tell me what's wrong?"

"I can’t!" It was like a panic attack, as if she were choking, tears shuddering inside her.

She was this contrary bundle in his arms, tense then pliant, sobbing but distant. He felt her push him away, and then he felt her head on his chest. He felt the dampness of tears, then her furious withdrawal as she wrestled away. And he let her go, but she came back, and so he comforted her in the only way he knew how—he kissed her.

It infuriated her that this was his answer; it enraged her, so she almost pushed him out of bed and then wriggled away, appalled. Except that it had helped. His mouth and his tongue had flicked her thoughts from pain to pleasure, and then he’d stopped.

"I’m sorry," he whispered. "But—"

But Amaya wasn’t—the room was suddenly too small, the bed too small when her emotions were so big, and she couldn’t think, she just couldn’t stand to think, so she kissed him back hard. Pressed her red, angry face to his and kissed his mouth fiercely, forcing his lips apart with her tongue, because if he was so good, if this was where it was leading, then better it was now, better this playboy, right?

"Wait—there…Amaya!" He pulled down her hands, which were clamped behind his head, and moved his head back.

"Worried you’re being used?" Amaya jeered. "Weird that I use you to stop my panic attack?"

"NO!" He sighed. "I’m not worried about me…" Chase held her hands and stared into her eyes, and at that second he recognised himself—those nights when he climbed into a woman rather than explore his thoughts—that need for escape, for release. He had just never expected to see it in her, but it was there, and you had to know it to recognise it. "I’m worried you don’t know what you’re doing."

"I want this, Chase." Oh, yes, Amaya did, she wanted comfort, she wanted him! She wanted him just for tonight—all of him, just him.

Chase growled, "I don’t want you regretting it…"

"I won’t. I promise!" She held his eyes and made her promise. "I won’t regret it, Chase. I want this. Help me, take my worries away. Have me!"

And she did.

She wanted comfort and hell; she was old enough to know that it was stupid, but her body didn't mind. Some time in the future, some time never, when she’d gotten over him, she could step out into the world of men, knowing what it was like to fall in love with someone.

She wanted to know that so much.

And she wanted him.

All of him.

There was a fuzzy logic in her mind—she was going to lose him anyway, so she wanted all of him now. She just had to hold onto her heart, that was all.

"I want this," she repeated. Of that, she was certain. "I know it’s not going anywhere, I know that’s not what you want from me…"

Chase stared down at her flushed face and glittering eyes, and suddenly he wanted this too.

"One moment." He stood to go to the bathroom, his condoms deliberately still unpacked in his toiletry bag, but she caught his arm.

"I’m on the pill."

He cursed in German. "Amaya…" Her naivety worried him. "It’s not just for pregnancy. You have to make sure…" It made him wince to think that there would ever be someone else making love to Amaya, that he was somehow breaking her in for others to enjoy.

"Do you?" Only she wasn’t being naïve, she was bold. "Always wear one? I mean we had it before but the rest of the night, we weren't too careful."

"Always." Chase swallowed, understanding her meaning—he knew he was healthy, and he knew she was too. She was offering him the golden key, yet he hesitated, this rare intimacy alien to him.

It was a tentative kiss, both holding onto their hearts, refusing for a moment to melt into the sheer, utter bliss of each other.

"We can get rid of these."

Awkward for the first time in the bedroom, he unbuttoned her pyjama top and slid it over her shoulders, removing his own underwear and then sliding off her pyjama bottoms.

The sight of him naked did nothing to calm her nerves. She had nothing with which to compare it except the sealed section of a magazine, but she knew he was pretty spectacular.

"Chase, we did it before but it's different now. I'm not Daisy anymore." Amaya asked.

"I’m scared," Amaya admitted. "Nice scared, but…"

"Me too, but we will be married soon, and—" Chase grinned, staring down at his unusually less than responsive manhood, and then he laughed, because it was strange to be talking about it, sex, something that usually just, um, happened, and he realised that this had to be better than good—for her sake.

He turned to face her with a strange weight of responsibility on his shoulders because he wanted this to be right for her. That last kiss had been awkward, so he ran his finger along her cheek and then down her arm, and then he stared at the full breasts that had always entranced him, naked now for him to kiss. His hand cupped her lovely bottom, and she could feel the wet warmth of his mouth and the tender suckling on her nipples, which made her stomach tighten. It was a curious, warm feeling as his mouth took her breast deeper. And she touched him, too—in awe of his unfurling length against her thigh. Nervous, curious, but brave, she reached down and touched him, and Chase closed his eyes at her tender ministrations.

"No regrets in the morning, okay?"

He couldn’t speak, so he nodded, and he still couldn’t speak, so he kissed her instead, not awkwardly this time, and this was not a kiss like any he had known—this, a tender, slow kiss that led to much more. His hand slid around the front from her bottom to her most intimate place, where she was moist and warm. He stroked her there until he could hear her slight involuntary whimpers, and then slipped his fingers inside, stretching her slowly, sliding in and out till she was moaning in his arms.

For Amaya, it was heaven—everything she’d hoped for and nothing like she’d read about—no pain, just bliss, his hand working magic, his mouth back on her nipples now, and she could feel the scratch of hair on his thighs as he moved closer between her legs...

Suddenly there was a need for more contact, and he read her thoughts because he pushed her with his body onto her back and kissed her, not just with his mouth but with his skin, all of him pinning her to the bed, and for a while just the delicious, solid weight of him had her in ecstasy. Then he moved up on his elbows, her legs parting to accommodate him, and he was there at her entrance. She wasn’t scared any more; she was just ready.