Chapter 65

Amaya hadn’t had this much fun in ages.

Sure, she attended swank parties before and rubbed shoulders with the rich and famous thanks to her brilliant friend Mary, but those events were filled with pretentious flakes who spoke to you depending on which designer dressed you or how many millions you made a year.

She hated the way money talked, hated the way it divided people into classes, and, while she understood Chase’s drive to gain acceptance into the privileged world she’d been born into for the sake of his business, she couldn’t help but ask if he’d wanted to marry her for her all those years ago if she told him about Tommy.

They’d both changed so much, yet when he touched her, when he kissed her, the last days and what he said in Greece vanished with a wistful sigh.

Amaya longed, and she wished so much. She’d romanticised what they had and mistaken the throes of love for something to build a lifetime commitment on.

But Chase hadn’t been ready, and while his deliberate sabotaging of their relationship at the end had hurt, she understood.

His hatred for his father and the idea of cutting off his lineage had meant everything to him, while she hadn’t been able to wait to escape hers. They’d had different dreams at the time, different goals. She thought he wanted her, but boy, was she wrong?

So where did that leave them now?

Could two successful, career-driven people take a chance on love?

She collapsed onto a portable chair in a corner of the harvesting shed, her gaze homing in on Chase, surrounded by a bunch of investors, while images of the scintillating kiss they’d shared in the kitchen a few hours earlier replayed over and over, making her shiver anew.

That had been a kiss. Passionate, mind-blowing, and way too intense—the type of kiss to pin hopes on—the type of kiss to give a girl an idea of how he felt. And on the heels of his admission on their wedding night, when he’d said he cared about her, it was way too baffling.

She’d been trying to tempt him, trying to seduce him, but he’d had nerves of steel.

Until tonight.

That kiss in the kitchen changed everything.

He wanted her as much as she wanted him, so why had he stopped? Pulled away?

Damn, the man was infuriating and confusing the heck out of her.

Every time he touched her, she lost it. But that didn’t mean she had to lose her head completely.

Having fun and walking away was one thing.

Having fun and falling for him again.

No. This time, she’d be smarter than that. She’d come too far from the scared, confused woman who’d bolted like a fugitive into the night to regress.

She didn’t need anyone. She’d been doing fine on her own for the last six years, thank you very much, and getting involved emotionally with Chase would only lead to heartache for them both.

"Girl, what’s with the look?" Faye Bernabe’s much younger trophy wife flopped into a chair next to her and fanned her face. "Is it hot in here or what?"

"Sure is."

Amaya deliberately ignored Faye’s first question, glad for the interruption—anything to distract from her thoughts of Chase.

However, she should’ve known the astute young woman who’d hosted parties for world dignitaries wouldn’t let her off that easily.

"So, why the glum look? Has that dishy new husband of yours done something to upset you?"

"No."

Unless she counted upsetting her equilibrium, "Just tired, I guess." Faye’s gaze bordered on jealousy as it zeroed in on Chase. "I’m not surprised, married to someone like that."

Uncomfortable with the woman’s frank admiration—and shocked by the urge to scratch her eyes out—Amaya aimed for distraction.

"Your dress is gorgeous. Local designer?"

Thankfully, Faye’s greedy gaze abandoned Chase and focused on her stunning ochre and crimson-layered chiffon dress, the bodice hugging her fake boobs until it reached her waist, where it cascaded in a fiery waterfall of riotous colour to her ankles.

"I designed it myself."

The thought of the wife of the city’s richest man making her own dress almost shocked her as much as Chase’s unexpected kiss earlier.

"Wow, you’re a talented designer."

To her horror, Faye’s bottom lip wobbled as she blinked frantically. "Pity Bernabe doesn’t think so." She sniffed, plucked at a chiffon layer in her lap. "He said it looked like a bottle of orange soda exploded all over me."

Amaya watched Bernabe, paunchy and balding and florid-faced, slap Chase on the back while his beautiful wife fought tears.

Searching for a diplomatic answer, she finally said, "Bernabe’s a great businessman, but maybe his fashion sense isn’t up to par?"

Faye dashed her tears away with an angry swipe, a smile twitching at her mouth.

"He also said I need liposuction and another facelift."

Outraged, she abandoned all sense of politeness. "Guys are jerks."

However, when her gaze returned to Chase, drawn by the magnetic power he exuded by just being in a room, she knew her statement wasn’t entirely true. Not all guys...

"You can say that again."

"Guys are jerks."

Faye chuckled, and she joined in, wondering how an attractive young woman could hook up with an overbearing ass like Bernabe.

It all came down to money, and once again, she thanked her lucky stars that she’d escaped that world and all it stood for.

"Aren’t you the lucky one? Here comes your delicious husband." Faye jumped up and smoothed her dress, tears forgotten as she batted her eyelashes at Chase. "Nice to see you, Chase."

Chase nodded, his gaze fixed on Amaya rather than the eye-catching figure sashaying away in a fiery dress, earning him more Brownie points than she could count.

He sat beside her, his aftershave teasing her to lean closer, to fill her senses with it, as she had earlier when she’d lost herself in the wonder of his kiss.

"I don’t like it when women natter in corners. They’re usually planning trouble for us mere males."

His frown didn’t work when accompanied by a slow, sexy smile that notched up the heat between them in a second.

"Safety in numbers, I guess."

Leaning towards her, he crooked his finger. "It looks to me like numbers are dwindling, and you know what that means?"

"What?"

He sent her an exaggerated wink. "It means we’ll have to spike the band’s drinks so we can get rid of the rest of the revellers pronto."

She laughed while her heart stopped jumping around and settled with a resounding thud.

At that moment, she knew.

His promised'soon' had arrived, and with his bow tie askew, his dark hair rumpled, and light brown eyes blazing with an emotion she didn't analyse, she had as much chance of not falling in love with Chase again as flying solo back to Rome.

And the knowledge that he still held that kind of power over her scared her beyond belief.

"How much longer?"

Amaya needed him to hold her, to erase her thoughts, and to banish the yearning to be with him forever. Surely they would make love tonight; would that assuage the tension strumming between them? ‘Soon’ couldn’t come quick enough as far as she was concerned.

Sensing her eagerness, he slid an arm around her waist and cuddled her close.

"I’ll get the band to announce this is the final number. How’s that?"

"Perfect."

"Don’t move. I’ll be right back."

Feathering a kiss across her lips, he strode away, leaving her to deal with her newly awakened feelings and how much they terrified her.

The time would come shortly for her to sort them out, and she wasn’t looking forward to the wake-up call she knew was inevitable when she had to leave, not one bit.