Chapter 51
Amaya's orgasms had, till now, been slowly coaxed from her, a learned thing, this gradual build-up as he taught her to let go, as he urged her on to lose her mind, herself, to new sensations. But this night in his bed, she was swept into a maelstrom of sensation that was as desperate and urgent as Chase’s fierce need.
The shudder of him inside her was met with sweet beats of her own—it wasn’t sex, it was devotion, and the intensity of her orgasm startled her. Her hips moved frantically upwards to escape from the relentless throb of her body, but Chase was in instant pursuit, his last throes tipping her to a place there could be no coming back from—to true abandon, to utter trust.
They slept together—the third night in his bed—and this time they truly slept together, coiled around each other in a fierce embrace that didn’t abate with sleep.
Never did Chase just glance at his step-sister in the morning.
He could never just accept that greeting and coffee without thought.
He always checked.
And all these years later, it still happened—an instant check that, for Chase, was as natural as breathing.
A cardigan on a hot summer’s morning.
Or the unusual sight of her in full makeup at seven a.m.
Or worse, an empty kitchen and the explanation of a migraine as to why she couldn’t get up.
His dark eyes automatically scanned for clues or confirmation, yearning for that same rush of momentary relief he had sometimes felt as a child, that all was well—for today at least. That surely his father was too old, too sick, and too frail to hurt her. Ah, but he had a savage tongue too, and words, if they were savage enough, could sometimes hurt as much as a blow.
"How was he last night?" Chase asked in his native tongue, watching his sister stiffen.
"It went wonderfully," she replied evasively.
"I mean, how were things when you got home?"
"Tired," Donna said briefly. "Where is Amaya?"
"Still asleep," Climbing out of that bed, feeling her stir, he had hushed her and kissed her back to sleep, then stood and watched her sleeping. Young, innocent, and trusting—how could he do it to her? How could he take her by the hand and lead her to hell? He felt as if his home was built on a sewer—he could almost smell the filth beneath the very foundations as he sat at the table.
"I heard him shout in the night."
"He just shouts, Chase, nothing else…" Donna closed her eyes. "He is old, weak, and tired…"
"Yet still he treats you poorly."
"Words don’t hurt me, Chase," Donna said. "Please just leave things alone—it is good that you came."
The coffee tasted like acid in his mouth—her words rendered him hopeless.
Again.
For everything, he had a solution or an answer. His logical, analytical brain could take the most complex problem and unravel it to its basic solution. Yet nothing—not logic, not reason, not power, not brawn, not wealth—could solve this.
Nothing!
"Leave him." He stood up, stared into her eyes, and even as he pleaded again, he knew it was futile, as futile now as it always had been.
"You know I cannot!"
"You can…" His usually strong voice cracked, and he saw his sister flinch—both of them realising that he was near tears. It had been so long since he had even been close to crying that the sting in his eyes and the swell in his throat caught even Chase by surprise. The pain, the fear, the helplessness, and the never-ending grief he had lived with as a child were still there—right there and ready to return at any given moment—the anguish waiting to floor him. "Leave with your husband."
"He is dying, Chase. How can I leave a dying man? What would people think?"
"What does it matter?" Chase burst out.
"It matters!" Donna sobbed. "And he matters too. He is sick, he is scared…"
"He wasn’t always sick! He can be moved to the hospital."
"Chase. Please. I beg you to stop this."
She didn’t want his help—she simply didn’t want it, yet he could not accept that.
"He is a bastard, and he has always been a bastard," Chase tried again. "That he is dying does not change that fact."
"He’s our father." He sighed, "Don’t make things worse, Chase," her words dragged him straight through the coals of hell from the past to the even more hellish, hopeless present. "There is nothing you can do. Having Amaya and Tommy here has made things better." Donna gave a tired smile. "He is proud that perhaps his name will continue, and that has appeased him for a while." Her eyes anxiously scanned Chase’s face. "She is a wonderful girl—I am pleased. It helps in other ways too…" Donna admitted. "Seeing that you are finally happy. But please look after her, Chase, and don’t let your past…" Her voice strangled off into silence, and Chase shut his eyes. "There are things you need to know, things we have to face."
Not if Chase could avoid them.
Not if Chase could help it.
He had sworn that on his grandmother’s grave. He had sworn that his father’s line ended with him.
If he could keep his heart closed and never fall in love, then he could never cause pain to anyone else.
It really was that simple.
Amaya dressed in khaki shorts and a white halter-neck top and sandals and applied some light make-up, but gave up on her hair—if she brushed out the serum and lacquer, it would end up all fluffy, so instead she ran her fingers through it and tied it in a low ponytail, then tentatively made her way down to the kitchen.
"Good morning." Chase stood and kissed her, but didn’t meet her eyes. Instead, he introduced her to a rather formidable man who was sitting at the table. "This is Dr. Collen—he was called out yesterday to an emergency, so he could not make the wedding. And this is Rosa, the nurse."
Rosa was at the kitchen bench, measuring out medication, and gave Amaya a brief smile, then turned her attention back to her work. Dr. Collen was more formal than the people she had met so far. Instead of kissing her on the cheeks, as everyone else had, he stood as she entered and shook Amaya’s hand. He was also familiar to her, and Amaya frowned as she tried to place him.
"I was in the UK for a conference recently!" He smiled at her confusion. "I dropped in to see Chase to update him on his father…"
"No, that’s not how I know you." Amaya frowned, sure that she would remember.
"We have spoken on the phone."
And that must be it. "It’s nice to meet you."
"You too. And as a local now! It is good to see Chase bring a friend here; you are welcome."
"Thank you," she replied, a little bewildered.
"Have some breakfast?" Donna offered, inviting the doctor to join the family for breakfast, but Dr. Collen declined, instead asking if he might see Raul.
"He seems nice," Amaya observed as the trio made their way out of the kitchen.
"He’s a good doctor. He is from the village; he studied medicine in the US then returned, but he always keeps up to date. He has been good to this family," Chase explained. "His care has meant my father can be looked after at home."
"That must mean a lot."
"It does to my sister, but I think that my father should be in the hospital—now that the wedding is over. I spoke with the doctor before…"
"What did he say?" Amaya asked.
"That is not my choice. My father wants to die at home, and my sister wants to nurse him."
"Then you have to respect their wishes…" Her voice trailed off as she saw his sharp expression, and there was a pause, a long, tense pause, as Chase made the decision, as he picked the fight.
And let her go.
"Don’t tell me how to deal with my family, Amaya—you can drop the concerned act when there is no one else present."
"Act?" She had missed the change and was still working on yesterday’s clock. Yesterday, when he had held her, kissed her, and adored her, it took a moment to flick to the new time zone Chase now demanded she adjust to.
"When we let people think we are together."
"There was no one present in the bedroom last night," Amaya pointed out, "but that didn’t stop you from making love to me."
"Making love?" Wide eyes mocked her, a cruel smile on Chase's face as he jeered, "Why do women always call it that? We fuck! That's all."
God, but he could be sadistic. Amaya could feel tears stinging her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "Because that’s how it felt at the time, Chase."
"It was just sex, that’s what I’m paying you for, Amaya, if you remember rightly. Remind me again, how much do you owe your father?" And then he was silenced, her hand slicing the air to meet his cheek, but his hand caught her wrist before it made contact.
"That would be extremely stupid."
"You’re utterly despicable!" she gasped.
"Brilliant in bed, though. Tell me again, how much did I pay your father?" Chase drawled. "Pillow talk is just that, Amaya; you said yourself it is what men do."
"This wasn’t about money," she denied, because his offer to help her had come after she’d slept with him. God, she hated him. She hated what he was doing to her, and she didn’t understand why he was doing it.
"I hate you!" she cried.
"Good," Chase said calmly. "Good—hate me, loathe me. Better that than love me, because I will not love you back, Amaya. I told you that from the start. I made it exceptionally clear. Don’t go getting teary now and complaining, just because the sex is too good."
There was nothing she could say to that, because the door was opening, and he dropped her wrist as Dr. Collen walked in. Clearly sensing the thick atmosphere, he asked if there was a problem.
Amaya didn’t answer, appalled by Chase’s words but more appalled by her action—if he hadn’t halted her, she would have hit him. She held her wrist where he had stopped her, his words still stinging, as the doctor asked his question again.
"Is everything okay, Amaya?"
"Yes." Amaya’s voice gathered strength. "Everything’s fine," she said as she left.
The doctor sighed and said, "I’m worried about you, Chase."
"Worry about my sister."
"That I do," Dr. Collen said, "and Amaya too."
"Amaya?" Chase’s voice was incredulous. "You worry about Amaya?"
"I heard you fighting, and I could see the bruises on her wrist. I know this is a tense time," the doctor said, and Chase opened his mouth to make excuses, to lie, to cover up, to hide from it, except he didn’t. It was like a fist in his stomach—he had done nothing wrong; logic told him that he had been stopping Amaya from hitting him, that was all—and yet he felt as if he were being handed the baton.
His father’s curse being passed onto him when he had sworn the line would be finally broken.
Only, unlike his father, Chase faced it.
Stood there and faced the truth.
And knew he had to deal with it.