Chapter 54

"How could I ever forget that?" she said with a tight, forced smile.

"You look as though you’ve swallowed a lime," Chase grinned.

"Fine, let's talk in the living room, or if you want something to drink, there’s an opened bottle of wine in the fridge, or you can make yourself tea or coffee. It’s your mansion kitchen. I’m sure you’ll be able to find what you need."

With that, she swung round and headed to her bedroom, fuming at the way he had invaded her privacy, fuming at the way he saw fit to say exactly what happened to be on his mind, fuming at her evening, which she had neatly planned and which would now be spent in a state of edge-of-the-seat nervous tension.

She went to her bedroom and gazed at her mutinous reflection in the mirror. Her colour was up. Her hair was not in the neat little bun he was accustomed to seeing. The ponytail was coming undone, and wisps of long brown hair trailed around her face. It was completely bare of make-up...

She peered at the freckles, which had always made her look so young.

Freckles, dishevelled hair, a pair of shorts that she would never in a million years have worn had she known that he—or anyone else, for that matter—would be turning up at her door, and a small stretch top with no bra. The top might be navy blue, but she had generous breasts, and it was perfectly obvious that they were not constrained.

If she half squinted and stood back just a tiny bit, well, she might pass muster as one of those cocktail waitresses she scorned. Small clothes, busty, legs everywhere, hair everywhere...

In the rational part of her mind, Amaya knew that it was just her imagination playing tricks on her. She wasn’t dressed any differently from any young woman hanging around in her own home on a balmy summer evening. Why was she thinking about it anyway? It's not like Chase hasn't seen her naked; he's more or less tasted every inch of her skin.

She shook her head. They were over; her hopes and dreams were over.

But this was her tender spot—the place where her imagination took flight. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and hurriedly combed her hair. She neatened up the ponytail but drew the line at turning it into a bun.

When she made it downstairs, she found Chase well ensconced at the kitchen table, a glass of wine next to him, long legs extended to one side, relaxing back with his hands folded behind his head.

"So, ready to talk now?" He watched as she hovered for a few seconds by the kitchen door, the very picture of a disgruntled and reluctant host. "Of course, now what do you want to talk about?" she said, her eyes narrowing.

"About the wedding, of course."

Amaya stiffened. She took a couple of steps into the kitchen with about the same enthusiasm as someone entering a lion’s den. This was his house and his kitchen, and he dominated it with his presence, making Amaya feel as if she needed to ask permission to open the fridge.

"There is nothing to talk about. Everything is done and dusted." She helped herself to a glass of wine and took up position at the opposite end of the table. "And I would rather not get into any of the issues, whatever is on your mind."

"Issue?" He slung his long body out of the chair and headed to the fridge, opened the door, and peered inside.

"I should remind the chef to bring more desert here. Tommy loves to eat cake," he said, clearly trying to change the subject, conversationally helping himself to the bottle of wine and bringing it back to the table, where he proceeded to pour himself another glass. "Although the box of chocolates is a giveaway of your more...decadent nature…"

"Stay away from my son, Chase."

"Come on, Amaya, the little guy likes me. He adores me!" This time his eyes were thoughtful and serious. "You can't just ignore the bond I have with your son. Our marriage might be me under pretence, but my bond with Tommy is real."

She agreed; the boy loves and adores Chase like he adores his superheroes, not only because Chase loves to spoil her son but because he makes sure to spend time with him even when he is really busy.

"Whatever, you shouldn’t have nosed around…" For a few appalling seconds, Amaya felt as though her little world was in the process of being tilted on its axis. "I should never have told you any of his favourites."

"Why? Is there something wrong with confiding in other people?"

"Do you?" She turned the question right back at him. "Do you run around spilling your guts to all and sundry? What about all those women you go out with? Do you get deep and personal with them? Do you hold hands and sob over a bottle of wine while you pour your soul out?"

This was what it felt like to lose control. She had always had control, and now here she was, sitting at his giant kitchen table, losing it with a guy who had the power to terminate the career she had so carefully built. Damn hormones! She wanted nothing but to erase the little smirk on his lips. Those sinful lips

And the worst of it was that she didn’t want to retract the accusation.

She was aware of him with every pore of her being. He swamped her. When she breathed, she felt that she was breathing in his clean, masculine scent. When she leaned forward, she could feel his personality wrap around her like tendrils of ivy.

She felt...alive.

But not, she told herself uneasily, in a good way. There was nothing about Chase Johnson that could make her feel anything in a good way. She felt alive in a very, very annoying way.

"At least you’re not apologising for asking that daring question," Chase drawled.

So she had ditched the shorts and the cropped top, but the jeans and the baggy shirt did nothing to reduce her sex appeal. Now he had seen that body again, shorn of its camouflage outfits; the image was imprinted in his brain with the force of a branding iron.

Again! She was a force to be reckoned with, and right now she wanted nothing but to have her again, just like what happened in Greece.

"And you’re right. I don’t tend to do the personal touchy-feely business with the women I go out with. I can’t recall pouring my soul out and sobbing in recent times." His mouth twitched with amusement. "In that, we’re strangely alike. But you wear your defence system on the outside. You cover up from neck to ankle, but there’s no need."

"How dare you come here and try to analyse me?" Tears stung the back of her throat, but thankfully she was far too reticent a person to allow them access.

"I’m not trying to analyse you," Chase told her in just the sort of gentle voice that she knew might prove her undoing if she let it.

"I know what I said back in Greece hurt you, but we need to face the truth; there was nothing going on between us aside from this arrangement. We will be going to the farm tomorrow to make certain that everything is ready there."

"Okay," she said, nodding her head in response. There is no point arguing with this man. "Are you done? I want to take a rest now," she asked without waiting for his answer. Did he just—go through all that to tell her that they have to leave tomorrow?

What an ass! She thought to herself. What a selfish, inconsiderate ass!