Chapter 63

The next day.

Chase entered the marquee, his gaze immediately drawn to the stunning woman in a white dress chatting with the richest guy in the state.

Amaya looked incredible in a soft, clingy Grecian-style dress fastened on one shoulder with a silver clip, leaving her other deliciously bare, her hair piled up with soft golden streaks falling softly around her face, and just enough makeup to enhance her beauty.

Hell. Just looking at her from a distance was making him crazy; what hope did he have up close?

Sure, she looked like a supermodel tonight, but he still couldn’t erase the image of her clad in that supersized robe on their wedding night.

He’d lied about the robe being contraception on the legs. The minute he’d caught his first glimpse of her, framed in the bathroom doorway with vulnerability written all over her face, he’d wanted to cross the room, haul her into his arms, and never let go.

That had been one hell of a night.

Not for the reason he might’ve anticipated, considering she fired his libido as no other woman ever had or probably ever would.

He’d lain awake for hours, listening to the soft sounds of her breathing, wishing things could’ve turned out differently between them, silently chastising himself for being a bloody fool.

He’d thought that by getting her to talk about the past, she might relax and learn to trust him again. Instead, she’d fed him some lame excuse about why she’d run away, and he’d been the stupid one to blurt out that he still cared. Go figure?

Thankfully, the last fortnight had passed in a frenetic blur with finalising details for the new resort and hotel, and, apart from that slight aberration yesterday when he’d almost made a pathetic declaration of how much he liked having her around, they’d managed to maintain a polite distance.

All business, which was exactly why she’d agreed to accompany him to the Bachelor and Spinsters Ball tonight. A ball the Johnson Farm Inc. chain was sponsoring, a ball where every billionaire in Europe would be in attendance, a ball where he’d learn how far his plan to marry Amaya had gotten him.

His new purchase of hotels in town had been on fire; occupancy was up fifty percent, and phone calls from potential investors had tripled since he’d married. Maybe the old-school tycoons had finally recognised him as a successful, wealthy businessman with one thing on his mind: making his hotels the best in the region and making his future Johnson Hotel and Resort the talk of the town.

Tonight would prove how far he’d come, for calling him was one thing; accepting him as one of their own in public was another.

Amaya glanced up at that moment, and their gazes locked, hot and intense, and he strode across the harvesting shed, which looked like a cross between a country-and-western saloon and a high-school disco.

He’d prevaricated for the last twelve months, plagued by guilt. This place had been his grandfather's pride and joy, built from the ground up with grit, sweat, and determination. It had been the only place he’d ever called home, but more than that, it had been a refuge.

The old man had been more than a parent to him; he’d been his idol. The thought of bringing shame to the family name had stopped him from taking his rebel image too far; the old man’s steadfast support was a constant reminder that he could be anybody he chose to be.

But that was the problem.

As long as he held onto the plantation, people would be reminded of his humble beginnings and would still harbour doubts about his ability to mix it with the big boys.

It would kill him to sell; it would tear him clean in two, but nothing could take away memories of a grandfather who’d helped mould him into the man he was today. That's why, instead of selling it, he bought all the farmland in the neighbourhood.

The old man would’ve understood and would’ve encouraged him to move forward, and that was exactly what he would do, despite the nagging gut feeling he was turning his back on family.

"Well, if it isn’t the man of the moment, I'm glad you finally showed up at your own shindig, Johnson."

To his amazement, Bernabe Rut, one of the investors, stuck his hand out, something he’d never done despite the many times they’d crossed paths at similar functions in Chicago or China in the last few years.

He shook it, vindicated that his plan had worked, yet despised himself for caring what this pompous old fool thought of him.

"Business, you know how it is."

"That I do, my boy. Something we’ll discuss more of when you return my phone calls. I’m looking to expand my investment portfolio, and I think we should talk."

Bernabe’s announcement reinforced that he'd made a sound business decision in marrying Amaya, but his satisfaction evaporated when the old fool slipped an arm around Amaya’s waist.

"And I hear congratulations are in order. You’ve picked a fine woman here."

Bernabe squeezed Amaya’s waist as Chase’s hands squeezed into fists. "Good one you got. You'll take care of her, yeah?’

Oh, he’d take good care of her, starting with punching the supercilious coot in the nose, but he forced a smile and nodded.

"Shall do. Now, if you’ll excuse us?"

He held out a hand, biting back a grin, when Amaya all but bolted out of Bernabe’s hold. "Nice seeing you again, Mr. Rut."

She wiggled her fingers in a teasing wave, and Chase growled under his breath as they walked away.

"You shouldn’t tease the old goat. It might give him a heart attack."

Her cheeky smile lit up her face. "Well, then, his kids will thank me. Apparently, he’s worth billions these days."

"You’re incorrigible."

She curled an eyebrow. "This, coming from the guy who used to do very poor impersonations of Rut and his cronies?"

She shook her head. "You’ve changed. Become a snob like them."

"This is coming from the girl who left me naked on the bed. From the girl who—"

"Okay, okay, I get your point. Sheesh."

Amaya reached out and smoothed a lapel, her innocuous touch was enough to fire his blood and set his heart pounding.

"Nice tux, by the way. Very debonair."

"Glad you noticed."

Their gazes locked again, and this time he didn’t look away.

He’d already gotten what he came for tonight: vindication that he’d made it into the big league and recognition that he was more than the blue-collar farm boy he’d once been.

It's time to get this party really started.

"Come with me."

"Where?"

"Does it matter?"

She shook her head, the tendrils framing her face swaying gently and beckoning him to reach out and twist one around his finger, draw her close, and hold her all night. But there was plenty of time for that. For now, he’d settle for getting her alone and kissing her senseless.

"Come on."

He grabbed her hand, and they fought their way through the crowd. He was surprised by the turnout—hundreds of well-dressed revellers who had descended on his property, bringing their own supplies, including tents for camping overnight.

Singles balls were all the rage these days, and while he liked seeing people having fun, a huge part of him was relieved he was no longer a bachelor.

It wasn’t everything it was cracked up to be, especially now that he had a fortune behind him, with the women who’d once shunned him for having grease on his hands and dust in his hair clambering for a date—or, worse, a relationship.

Amaya had never been like that; she’d liked him regardless, and the thought sent a burst of warmth through him, urging him to pick up the pace.

"Great turnout, huh?"

With her blue eyes glittering with excitement, she looked like a society hostess basking in the success of an event. "And the media crew is getting loads of footage."

"That’s great, though personally, I can’t believe there are so many desperadoes out there."

‘Most people are here to party, not pick up.’

They caught sight of a couple kissing in the back of a ute at the same time, and Amaya chuckled. "Well, most of them."

"Get a room," he muttered, suddenly annoyed by the sight of the amorous couple doing exactly what he’d like to be doing with the gorgeous woman by his side.

"What for? If they’re anything like us, a room won’t sweeten the mood."

He risked a quick glance at her face, wondering if she were serious, but, by the cheeky smile tugging at the corners of her glossed mouth, she wasn’t.

"The room doesn’t matter to us because we have an arrangement. And we’re friends now, remember?"

More pity. Though he planned to change all that starting tonight.