Chapter 59

Chase took several surreptitious breaths, willing his pulse to slow and his heart to stop pounding. At this rate, he’d collapse on the spot if it kept thumping with such ferocity.

"What?"

Amaya’s tentative smile had him gripping the door jamb to stop her from striding across the bathroom, sweeping her out of the bath, and holding her close.

Thankfully, only her head was visible; the rest of her delectable body submerged under a bubble cover that threatened to spill out onto the black-and-white tiled floor. Not that the bubbles hampered his imagination. He could picture exactly what delights were hidden beneath those bubbles, and the images weren’t helping his heart rate.

"Yeah, I couldn’t stay away."

"And why is that?"

He sighed.

"I just can’t."

"I'm glad."

Her tongue flicked out to moisten her bottom lip in a totally innocuous gesture that slammed into his consciousness like a bull ramming a gate in mating season.

"Are you?"

Chase was too old to play guessing games and too wound to figure out why the turnaround occurred.

He’d come back because this was his wedding night, and while lust might have temporarily blinded him to the real reason behind this marriage, the sight of more international guests checking into the hotel had alerted him to the fact he needed to make this marriage look real for investors to accept him as one of their own.

It was Justin’s idea, but right now, everything goes to this woman. So beautiful and alluring.

It was the reason he’d come up with this crazy scheme in the first place, but somewhere along the line—probably around the time he’d first set eyes on his beautiful bride—his motivation had blurred until all he could see was Amaya.

She nodded, gathering more bubbles with her hands on the surface and taking them towards her chest. Damn, what he’d give for a fan now.

"Uh-huh. I know how things ended before in Greece." She smiled seductively. "Why don’t you let me finish up here and we can talk?"

Talk? She wanted to talk.

With that small smile curving her lips, droplets clinging to her eyelashes, and her hair falling in tendrils around her face—he wasn’t even going near those damn bubbles—talk was the furthest thing from his mind.

The corners of her mouth twitched as if she knew exactly what he was thinking, and he quickly thrust his hands in his pockets and back-pedalled a few steps.

"Fine."

"Give me five minutes, and I’ll be out."

Her smile could’ve fogged up the mirror a lot more than the fragrant steam rising from the water, and he managed a terse nod before backing out and closing the door.

Damn it, why hadn’t she closed the door in the first place? Didn’t she know the effect she had on him?

Of course she did. Then why the nasty thought that suddenly insinuated its way into his lust-hazed brain, making him see sense in her behaviour?

Since she’d arrived, she hadn’t shown much interest in him as a man. Sure, she’d teased him, but that was nothing new; she’d always done that. The teasing often included flirting, but that came naturally too.

He’d been the one to kiss her when she’d first arrived home.

He’d wanted to kiss her after dinner at his place, but she’d pulled away.

He’d wanted to share a room tonight; by her reaction earlier, it was pretty obvious she didn’t.

Sure, she’d responded to his kisses, but maybe that had been for old times’ sake? Giving in to him, not to antagonise him, not to jeopardise their deal and her precious promotion? Made sense.

In reality, how far did he want to take this?

He’d let her walk away last time and didn’t tell her the truth; what would be different now?

Shaking his head, he took off his tux, pulled a T-shirt over his head, stepped into jeans, ran a comb through his hair, and added a splash of aftershave. He would’ve loved a shower, but the thought of using the bathroom so soon after Amaya had vacated it, with her scent lingering everywhere and evidence of her presence all over, would be too much.

She wanted to talk.

That was a sure-fire libido killer. In his experience, when women wanted to ‘talk’ they wanted to lay down the law.

Well, whatever she had to say, he’d deal with it. Just as he’d deal with this crazy, one-sided obsession to make their marriage real.

---

After brushing her teeth, Amaya took a final look in the mirror: without make-up, the freckles on her nose stood out like sprinkles on a cupcake, her loose hair had turned frizzy courtesy of the humidity, and her plain cotton PJs wouldn’t win any Victoria’s Secret competitions.

Just the look she’d aimed for... before she’d taken a bath and had that little revelation to make the most of the next two months with the sexiest guy to walk the planet.

Her bad boy

Who was doing his best to appear good, but she knew better; she knew the underlying rebellious streak that lent him a dangerous edge she found infinitely appealing.

Most girls went through a bad-boy phase, lusting after guys they shouldn’t and couldn’t have, guys with attitude, guys you wouldn’t dare bring home to meet the folks.

Chase had been her... Hugh Grant and Henry Cavill all rolled into one, and while the designer suits and air of success had softened the edges, she just knew he was the same sexy rebel underneath.

But it was more than that—so much more—and the fact her heart had squeezed every time he’d entered a room these last few days was proof enough she’d developed a monstrous crush on her rebel with a cause all over again.

A crush she finally planned to fully indulge. AGAIN! However, there was one main problem. The pyjamas she’d brought were a deeply unsexy pair she’d bought especially to appear as unappealing as possible. Her body, humming with the heat of the bath and anticipation, informed her point-blank that fuchsia stripes wouldn’t do the job.

As for the lingerie she’d intended on using to prove her point tonight, it had taken a tumble into the sink while she’d been brushing her teeth, and there was no way she was walking into their bedroom wearing wet, see-through ivory lace. That left only one viable option.

Wrapping the oversized bathrobe around her damp, overexcited body, she took a deep breath and prepared to leave the safe haven of the gloriously tiled bathroom.

Only a robe between her and Chase. As if she weren’t nervous enough.

Chase had his back to her, and she was darn grateful for that extra shot of oxygen a second ago. The moment she caught sight of him, her lungs seized.

Soft black cotton moulded to his broad shoulders, hugging the muscular contours of his back before tapering to a narrow waist, tucked into faded denim...

That was all he used to wear six years ago—black T-shirts and denim, somewhat of a clichéd bad-boy outfit—but she’d never cared. He’d always looked delectable, and nothing had changed.

With her eyes fixed on his butt, she must’ve made some terribly embarrassing sound akin to a groan, for he turned, his gaze zeroing in on her damp, bare skin—what little there was on show. His eyes turned very dark brown, and he swallowed.

Amaya smiled wickedly at him, his reaction fueling her faltering courage.

He shook his head as if to break himself out of a trance, cleared his throat, and finally spoke in a low, dangerous tone.