Black Gold

by Ruby Laska

  The waiter brought heavy gilded dessert menus. "I'll have coffee," Regina said primly. "But please, Sherry, order whatever you like." She asked the waiter, in a quiet voice, to bring the bill to her.

  "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, bending low to answer her discreetly. "The gentleman has already taken care of it."

  Regina simmered as he took their orders—chocolate raspberry torte for Sherry, brandy for the guys, ordered by Carl, of course. She should have guessed Carl would pull the dinner out from under her. It was a subtle move, making the potential clients feel beholden to him, rather than her. It was only one of the many problems she'd had with her relationship with Carl. Even the smallest interaction could turn into a power thing. Oh, he was unfailingly generous, but if she suggested a stroll in the woods, he'd counter with a drive to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. If she brought him a muffin in the morning, he'd bring a cake for dinner.

  It was ridiculous—most women would kill for that kind of attention. But Regina didn't want an endless stream of cakes and roses and jewelry. After she moved out of Carl's apartment, she'd had to consider the possibility that what she really wanted was a man who'd look forward to coming home to her every night—and who would turn off his phone when he got there. Before she could stop herself, her vision took on the shape of a man who looked good in an old T-shirt, mowing the lawn.

  "Here you go." The waiter, perhaps having picked up on her displeasure, had arranged several cookies on a plate with a sprig of mint to accompany her coffee. He gave her a sheepish smile and she smiled back, forgiving him. He was probably in his late sixties, with thinning white hair and thick glasses. The kind of man who probably asked his wife about her day, even after a long shift at the restaurant. He probably made her coffee in the morning and read the newspaper with her.

  This was ridiculous. Regina took a sip of her coffee and burned her tongue. She didn't know the first thing about the waiter. Maybe he went home every night and kicked his dog. And she didn't know the first thing about Chase Warner, either, so why was he creeping into her lawnmower/newspaper/coffee fantasy? Which was, she had to admit, more of a lawnmower/bare chest/cold-glass-of-lemonade fantasy, whenever he caught her staring at her and gave her that knowing smirk.

  But she did know a few things about Chase. She knew he sang soulful, heartfelt songs about some woman who had hurt him. She knew he didn't have two nickels to rub together, that he was probably making decent money for the first time in his life. She knew that he was the kind of kisser who could make her forget her own name.

  Carl's laughter broke her concentration. She'd missed whatever it was he'd said, but clearly he felt that he'd scored some sort of victory, given his relaxed pose and the way he was grinning with his lids half closed. At least Sherry seemed to be enjoying herself. She had a bit of chocolate ganache on her lower lip, and—

  Something rubbed against her foot.

  Chase. It had to be. He was sitting across from her, slouched down a little in his chair, looking at her with an expression that was hungrier than a man should be after devouring a giant steak.

  His foot, shoeless, made contact with hers. The fabric of his sock teased her nerves as he slid it slowly over her ankle. Something stirred inside her, burning from her heart down through her body. "Oh," she breathed.

  His foot slid higher. She wasn't sure how he managed it, his arms crossed on his chest, his expression almost bored as he listened to Chase tell some pointless story about how his triathlon team had won their division at a recent race in Knoxville.

  His foot traced the outside of her shin, all the way up to the sensitive skin on the back side of her knee. It half tickled and half ignited sensations she wasn't aware she was capable of. Then abruptly it withdrew, only to start again on the inside of her leg. Slowly, slowly up, and this time he didn't stop at her knee. The tender flesh on the inside of her thighs was on fire as he inched higher. Regina could feel the blood rush to her face, as well as other parts of her body. This couldn't be happening... not here, not at a business dinner, not with a man she had practically attacked earlier in the day.

  She clamped her thighs together.

  Which had the unfortunate effect of lodging his foot between her knees. She put a hand under the table and gave it a push, but nothing happened.

  She pushed harder, and bumped against the table. Crockery rattled and a water glass sloshed onto the white tablecloth. "Whoa, easy there, girl," Chase said, staring directly at her. He withdrew his foot. He must have outrageous core muscles, Regina marveled, since his torso didn't budge a fraction of an inch as he moved his leg.

  Chase didn't look away. "You have a..." he said, tapping the corner of his mouth, just loud enough for her to hear. Sherry was laughing at one of Carl's stupid jokes. He was clearly closing in for the kill.

  She touched the place he'd indicated. Oh, God, she'd probably had a smear of sauce on her face all evening. She rubbed at her skin.

  "No," he said softly, shaking his head. "Let me."

  He reached across the table and slid his fingertip along her lower lip, his nail grazing her tender flesh and sending new sensations through her. She wanted to taste him, to kiss him, to—she darted her tongue out without even being aware she was about to do it, and as he withdrew his hand, Chase grinned at her like the Cheshire cat.

  "So, do you have a wrap?"

  "Do I what?" she asked shakily. Her skin, where he'd touched her, felt like it was on fire.

  "A wrap. A coat. A...whatever you ladies call it. It's chilly out."

  "I'll be fine." She hadn't brought a coat. She'd worried it would muss her dress's delicate neckline.

  "Okay, well, I suppose we can go."

  She looked at him in confusion. "Go where?"

  "Oh, maybe you weren't paying attention." He raised one eyebrow in a look that was altogether too knowing. He knew damn well she hadn't been able to focus on anything but the sensations of his foot against her skin. "You're driving me home—if you don't mind. I shouldn't drive, with what I've had to drink."

  "But what about Sherry?"

  "Well, that's why this works out—she can drive my car, and give Carl a lift too. Somehow, he managed to get a room at the Hilton for tonight, but I don't think he belongs behind a wheel either."

  "Wait a minute." Regina shook her head to clear it. "Why don't you just ride with her too?"

  "I think they have some business they want to wrap up," he said, tilting his head in their direction. "I was just trying to save you some hard feelings."

  Sure enough, Carl was reaching into his faux-battered knapsack. Would he really pull out an agency contract here in front of her?

  "Carl Cash!" She sputtered. "Of all the underhanded, low—"

  "Hold your horses, little lady," he drawled. "I'm just showing her pictures from my last ski trip."

  "I bet you are," she hissed.

  "Now, now," Chase said. He pushed his chair back and stood, offering her his hand. He seemed steady on his feet despite the amount of alcohol he'd consumed. "It's been a long day. We're all pretty tired."

  She glared at his outstretched hand, knowing he had her. If she insisted on staying, she'd come off as pushy. And as long as Carl wasn't actually offering Sherry a contract on the spot, Regina couldn't really blame him for entertaining her. "You'll get her home safely?" she said stiffly in Carl's direction. "Not too late? She has work tomorrow."

  "Yes, Mom," Carl said, rolling his eyes, winning a giggle from Sherry.

  Regina said her stilted good-byes and slipped her hand into Chase's. It was warm and firm, and he took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm and led her to the door. She caught the admiring glances of the few remaining diners, oil executives by the look of them, men in suits and sport jackets. Chase didn't pay them a lick of attention.

  He wasn't the kind of man to be intimidated by other men, Regina observed to herself. Which was a fine quality... but it still didn't make up for—

  He opened the door for her and th
ey stepped into the chill evening air.

  "What was that!" she demanded, shivering.

  "Jeez, woman, take my jacket." Chase shrugged out of his blazer and helped her into it. She was too cold to protest—and the heat trapped by the light wool fabric felt delicious against her skin. Under the jacket, he was wearing a fine gray shirt that was a little tight across his shoulders, showing off the outline of the muscles underneath. He caught her looking. "I borrowed these clothes," he said with a trace of embarrassment. "Zane is about my size. So what are you so mad about?"

  Some of the anger drained out of her. The poor guy didn't even own a decent jacket. Still, that didn't make up for him practically making love to her at the table.

  "Your foot. On my—my leg."

  He grabbed her hand and started leading her across the parking lot. "Where'd you park?"

  "It's—uh—" In the dark, all the cars looked alike, and she didn't remember much about her rental car other than it was silver. But since most of the vehicles in the lot were trucks and four-wheel-drive SUVs favored by the oilmen, it wasn't hard to spot it. "Over here. But don't change the subject."

  He led her to the car, and then he maneuvered her against the driver's side, putting one hand on the roof of the car only inches from her shoulder. She didn't feel trapped or threatened so much as... pinned. Deliciously, wantonly pinned. Nervously, she licked her lip—still feeling the place where he'd touched her earlier—as she imagined his other hand closing the gap on the other side, the feeling of his body pressing up against her as he kissed her.

  But he stayed where he was. All she had to do was step out of the way. Or slap him. Or any number of things to show her displeasure at the way he'd—

  "You touched me."

  "You touched me," he said, and suddenly all the humor drained from his voice. "And then you kissed me."

  * * *

  "I—I—" Regina looked like she wanted to argue with him, but that wasn't the sort of a kiss any human being would be able to forget.

  "You kissed me like you meant it," he continued, no longer able to quell the anger that had been simmering inside him since she stalked off down the path at the ranch. "Now I'm not some teenage boy with his heart on the line, but I still don't care to be played with."

  Her eyes went wide; even in the dark of the parking lot he could see the flash of blue depths. "I wasn't playing with you!"

  "Yeah? Well, you'll forgive my skepticism. You come up here trying to sign me and Sherry. Make some fool bet with your old boyfriend. Yeah, he told us all about it while you were in the restroom. I don't know, maybe this is some sort of twisted courtship thing between the two of you. I don't want to know. The balance tips toward him, so what do you do? You come out to my place and—and try to seduce me? So yeah, maybe tonight I thought I'd turn it back on you. Let you feel what it's like to lose control of a situation. Payback's a bitch, isn't it?"

  He was breathing hard, unable to stop himself even as her expression went from confused to astonished to stricken. Was it possible that he had it wrong? But then why would she kiss him? A woman like that had her pick of men—even in a town like Nashville, she would stand out. Lord knew he'd never seen a woman quite like her, with her dainty old-fashioned dresses failing to conceal a bombshell body, her long, thick eyelashes and red lips and that silky pale hair that couldn't seem to stay pinned up to save her life, pieces of it even now curving around her cheeks.

  Without thinking, he reached out and gently pushed the stray lock out of the way, tucking it behind her ear. His fingers grazed the curved edge of her ear, the tiny earring in her delicate lobe. He paused, touching the pearl and feeling her heat.

  She'd tried to make him think she wanted him. But he knew better. He wasn't the man for her. Carl Cash was her kind of man, a guy with polish and easy cash and a way with words. A slick guy, the one who made the other men in the room jealous, who snared the ladies with big gestures, like that two-hundred-dollar bottle of wine. The funny thing was that Chase's bank account was probably every bit as healthy as Carl's now. But Chase would never be the kind of man to show it off. He had finally found a quiet life, a life that suited him, and he was never again going to trade that serenity to try to be different for someone else. The way he'd spent his first eighteen years trying to be what his father wanted. And the next ten trying to prove himself.

  Now, he had nothing to prove and no one to prove it to. So why was he standing here, breathing in the honeysuckle scent of a woman who'd just as soon sell him out as give him the time of day? He wasn't signing with her. He wasn't signing with anyone. Sure, he'd manipulated the situation to give Sherry more time with Carl, but that was because he was damn sure going to make sure she was provided for. Carl was slick, but Chase had done a little research that afternoon on Jimmy's laptop, and he'd reassured himself that if Carl wanted to turn her into a star, he would. There were far fewer search results for Regina McCary than Carl Cash, and even though she had an impressive record for a newcomer and a few solid hits, he wasn't about to trust Sherry to anyone but a sure thing. And Chase would make sure that Harry was well taken care of; he'd head down to Nashville between hitches and make sure the boy was settling into school and making friends and treating his sister with respect.

  He had it all wrapped up.

  Which still begged the question—what was he doing here in this parking lot?

  "I think I'll walk home," he said, though he didn't budge.

  "You've got to be kidding. It's five miles from here."

  "It'll do me good. Clear my head."

  "You'll get hit by a car. You'll wind up in a ditch, bleeding out."

  "Aw, that would be a damn shame, wouldn't it? A whole potential revenue stream, taken too soon."

  She stamped her foot. "You have it all wrong."

  "Do I?" There was that anger again. He should be over it, over the pang of rejection just because he couldn't keep the attention of some pretty woman except as a budget line item. But he'd spent too many years as his father's liability to let it go easily. Too many years knowing that whenever the most important person in his life looked at him, he didn't like what he saw.

  Chase was ready to start seeing women again. Hell, his reaction to Regina—just one glimpse of a knee was enough to send him into fits of adolescent longing—was proof of that. But he was going to choose carefully. He'd find a woman as suited to a quiet life as he was, someone whose idea of a good time was taking the dog for a walk or watching Star Trek: The Next Generation reruns with a bowl of popcorn. Which, come to think of it, was the best time he'd had in weeks before Regina showed up, even though it had been with Jimmy.

  Damn it. That kiss with Regina had put all thoughts of couch-surfing with Jimmy right out of his mind. Never mind that he knew it was a mistake—his body didn't seem to have gotten the message.

  "You have it wrong," she repeated, less certainly. "Your song... the one you sang for me... it was..."

  Her voice trailed off. If this conversation was going to go anywhere, evidently he would have to be the one to steer.

  "Yeah. You liked my song. You think you can make money off me. So you used all your tricks to lasso me."

  "No!" Her nostrils flared. She had a temper, but it dissipated as quickly as it flared, like dry lighting on a hot night. "I mean yes, I wanted to sign you. But when I—when I kissed you—"

  "I'm listening." His voice sounded hard even to him—but the subject left him feeling about as soft as a brick wall.

  "Look. I date men like Carl. Men I can't... hurt."

  "Can't hurt?" he finally repeated incredulously. "You're afraid of hurting me?"

  "Like I hurt Mason," she whispered miserably.

  CHAPTER TEN

  "Okay, you're going to have to help me out here." Chase didn't sound any happier, but he didn't step away, either. Regina snuck a quick glance at him. It was hard to see much in the dark, but she could tell he was frowning. "Is Mason another old boyfriend? Before Carl?"

  "No. Maso
n was... a client."

  "You dated a client?"

  "No! I would never... He was only twenty. He was one of my first clients. I was so sure... I saw so much potential for him. Meredith warned me to go slow, but I promised..." Her voice hitched, a little sob escaping the way it often did when she thought about Mason. "I promised him big things. He was helping his dad take care of their hardware store, see. It was just the two of them, and his dad had heart problems, and they were in financial trouble. Mason was going to use his signing bonus to fend off the creditors and get his dad to a specialist. Only... the deal fell through."

  She didn't dare look at him now. She hadn't told this story to anyone—anyone except Meredith, who'd stayed up all night with her after it happened, telling her that things would be all right, that life would go on. And it had. Sort of. For Regina, at least. But not for Mason—at least, not the way she had promised it would.

  "Mason lived in this little town in Wyoming called Alden Springs. He came down to Nashville to sign the deal, but after it fell through he went back to Wyoming and told his dad, who had a massive heart attack that night. Died the next morning. The creditors took it all—the store, his father's house... everything. Mason had to go to work for the man who bought the store for pennies on the dollar."

  And the worst part, the part she couldn't bring herself to tell Chase, was that Mason emailed her every month or two to see how she was doing. She couldn't bear to open the emails any more, not since she'd formally broken their contract and sent him a list of agents who, she was sure, could get him the deal he deserved. As far as she knew, he'd never called a single one of them. After his father's passing, there were affairs to settle, a lifetime of memories and possessions to sort through. He’d had his hands full.

  Regina had been a beginner back then, and she'd made beginner mistakes. She'd worked her ass off for every client since then and never had a fiasco like that again. Meredith had taught her every trick she knew until Regina was coming up with tricks of her own, and she'd placed every client on her list, some of them even earning enough from their singing to quit their day jobs. She was sure she could get Sherry steady work in a week's time and she'd bet her professional reputation that she'd be well on her way in a year. She'd find Sherry a stylist, an apartment, a coach, everything she'd need for her new life—but she wouldn't put her heart on the line. It was business, good business, and nothing more.