Chapter 88

Gone!

She was gone.

Chase knew it the second he woke, not needing to open his eyes to know Amaya had left.

She was always a part of him. He hadn’t been kidding when he told her about this room and his hopes she’d come back.

She was the only woman for him, and now she was his wife, and they loved each other. Well, nothing would stop them.

Then why was he lying here alone, and she was winging her way to the other side of the world again?

He’d let her get away once. Shit! Could he let her go again? “Fuck!”

Never again.

But he couldn’t control Amaya, couldn’t hold her back any more than let her go. He understood her drive, her ambition, and the same need for success pounding through his veins.

So why the crazy feeling she’d left for good?

They hadn’t resolved anything last night. He’d planned to and had wanted to talk, but his good intentions had crashed and burned around the time he’d been unable to keep his hands off her. From there, all bets had been off as they’d pleasured each other repeatedly all night long, finally falling asleep around five a.m.

His son! She was gone, and so was his son!

He was alone. Again.

So alone, so empty!

He didn’t need to glance at his watch to know it was around nine now, the brightness of a cloudless sky indicative of the late hour.

Pushing out of bed, he wrenched on his trousers, hopping and cursing alternately when his foot caught and he pitched off the dais.

Amaya couldn’t have gotten much of a head start on him, and he needed to see her and make sure she understood the depth of his feelings before she boarded that plane.

Shrugging into his shirt and caring little for the buttons, he strode to the door, his hand stilling on the knob as a glint of metal on the hallway table caught his eye.

The streaming sun reflected off the object, scattering shards of golden diamonds against the pristine walls, and as he moved a fraction to the left, he saw what it was.

His heart stopped.

No, it couldn’t be.

Sweeping the ring into his palm, he juggled it like a hot coal, fury warring with disbelief.

Amaya had taken off her wedding band and left it behind.

Which could only mean one thing: she wanted out.

Oh, God!

NO!

Shoving the ring deep in his pocket to eradicate the painful reminder of how much she didn’t want him, no matter what they’d shared, he yanked the door open.

He wasn’t losing her without a fight.

Not this time.

Amaya fiddled with her empty ring finger the entire flight to Chicago. Tommy was silent, as was his nanny.

Had she done the right thing?

Yes or not!

With the skin rubbed raw where the wedding band had resided, she forced herself to stop tracing the faint tan line, folding her arms and tucking her hands safely out of fiddling reach.

A good thing too, for if she stopped touching the skin where the ring had been, she might be tempted to rub her forehead to erase the big fat C branded there.

C for coward, for that was exactly what she was—a spineless, quivering coward for yanking the wedding band off in a fit of madness and bolting into the early-morning light while Chase slept soundly.

Last night had changed everything.

She didn’t trust words; she needed actions, and Chase had proved to her how much he wanted this marriage for real and how much he loved her. With every silken caress, with every murmured endearment, and with every soul-reaching kiss, he’d shown her he loved her.

That was when she realised she had to run.

She couldn’t have left if they’d woken together or if he’d asked her to stay. The realisation terrified her. She, Amaya, the poster girl for the independent career woman, was so completely in love that she no longer had control over her own actions. She’d had a final window of escape, and she’d taken it.

She had to flee. There was no other way.

Chase knew nothing of the truth about her father, about why that debt weighed so heavily upon her, or about how much she knew of the way people who loved you could hurt you.

Telling him the truth would’ve been the bravest thing to do, but just thinking about it made her tremble.

She didn’t want his pity or his sympathy. She couldn’t rely on that love because, one day, it would no longer be there. She’d nearly lost herself before—this time she knew that if she let herself fall, there’d be no coming back.

She didn’t want him dragged into her sordid family life and didn’t want to tell him the whole truth.

This was her past.

She needed it wiped clean before she could concentrate on her future.

Courtesy of a minor catastrophe with the new hotel project in the Bahamas, Chase spent three weeks stewing over his wife’s disappearance.

He’d tried calling; she didn’t return his calls.

He’d tried emailing; she’d sent him a brief response about how busy she was in her new job, just a quick video call with Tommy. How she didn’t have a spare moment, how she’d get in touch soon, yada, yada, yada.

It was a crock, all of it.

How long did it take to tack on ‘I love you’ at the end of an email? A quick text message: ‘I miss you’?

While his wife was industriously breaking through the glass ceiling, he’d had three long weeks to replay, rehash, and remember every moment of their marriage, culminating in that last night together.

If she didn’t get it after that night, she never would, and he had a good mind to pack his bags, head back to Rome, bury his nose in business, and forget all about their short-lived marriage.

But Amaya wasn’t the only one with a temper, and twenty-one long days had served to fuel his fury.

He wanted answers.

He deserved answers.

And, by God, he’d get answers.

Picking up his mobile, he flipped it open, his thumb poised over the keypad.

If he called, she probably wouldn’t take it, so he’d send her a text about his impending arrival. But what good would that do? Considering the cold shoulder she’d been giving him, she’d probably take off on some piddly business trip just to avoid him.

Better to have the element of surprise on his side.

Knowing his stubborn wife as well as he did, he had a feeling he’d need all the help he could get.

Chicago, one month later.

Amaya checked the address on her iPhone and squinted at the faded number above the crumbling stone door.

Yep, this was the place.

Some conglomerate she’d never heard of wanted to turn this old Edwardian place in the middle of the city into a boutique hotel with some kickass high-tech security systems. It was Mary’s idea to work for Tyler's company as an IT specialist. Doing a quick sweep, she noted the disintegrating brickwork, the fragmented window frames, and the general dilapidated air of the once grand home; they had their work cut out for them.

But it wasn’t her job to assess the viability of the building before giving her report to the head about the high technology needed to install it.

She needed to wow them with the potential security system she could produce for a project of this scale. She needed a brand-spanking new, bright, shiny project to absorb her focus and occupy her every waking hour. That way, she could stop dwelling on Chase and how much she missed him.

Missed? More like craved—an intense, unstoppable, uncontrollable craving that intensified rather than lessened with each passing day.

It had almost been a month, and while she was grateful he’d stopped calling her every day and had stopped emailing her, a small part of her curled up and howled every time she checked her messages or her inbox and found nothing from him.

She’d picked up the phone so many times, desperate to hear his voice, before slamming it down, knowing if she heard his dulcet tones professing his love, she’d break down and blurt out the truth. Though she knew Tommy was talking to him every night before going to bed, she was still too stupid to call him back or even respond to his email.

And she couldn’t afford to, figuratively and literally. Just a few more months, and she’d be free. Every cent paid back to her dad, and, after that, who knew? Maybe her future had room for a husband and a renewed relationship with her father?

Her iPhone beeped, caller ID displayed the new client’s number, and she read the message.

Meet me on the top floor.

EAGER TO GET THIS MEETING UNDERWAY.

“Damn tycoons,” she muttered, shoving the phone in her handbag, hitching her portfolio higher, and pushing through the front door, not surprised when the hinges groaned in protest. Why was she having this meeting anyway? It wasn't her job. Yes, she couldn't say no to Tyler, but really? This wasn't even an IT specialist’s job. Far from it.

Damn it!

Grateful that the building was only three stories high, she climbed the rickety stairs, admiring the soaring ceilings, the elaborate cornices, and the chandeliers that would be magnificent once restored to their former glory.

In fact, the crumbling façade of this grand old dame hadn’t done justice to the treasure trove inside, and she could see why someone would want to turn this place into a hotel.

Reaching the top landing, she made for the one open door at the end of a long corridor, drawn by the light spilling temptingly into the gloom.

Ideas had assaulted her from all angles as she’d climbed the staircase, and she couldn’t wait to put some of her enthusiasm to good use and wow her potential new client.

Smoothing her hair with one hand, she tightened her grip on her portfolio with the other, assuming her best professional smile as she stepped into the room.

Her client stood in front of the window, making it difficult for her to see, but as he turned and took a step towards her, she saw too much.

Her smile slipped along with her portfolio, which crashed to the ground with her hopes of holding Chase Johnson at bay until her work was done.