Copyright © 2015 Garden of Eden Press
Cover Image © 2015 aarrttuurr – Depositphotos.com
ISBN: 1511974087
ISBN-13: 978-1511974080
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. the names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writers imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Claiming Chase is a full-length standalone romance novel with a HEA ending.
Due to some adult scenes and situations, it is suitable only for those aged 18+.
All characters are of legal age, and are not related by blood.
About the Author
Prologue
PART ONE:
Charity
Chase
Charity
Chase
Charity
Chase
Charity
Chase
Charity
Chase
Charity
Chase
Charity
Chase
Charity
Chase
Charity
Chase
Charity
Chase
PART TWO:
Charity
PART THREE:
Chase
Charity
Chase
Charity
Chase
Charity
Chase
Charity
Chase
Charity
Chase
Charity
Chase
Charity
Epilogue
A Note from Charlotte
Also by Charlotte - Taming Blake
Also by Charlotte - Girl After Dark
Charlotte Eve was born to English parents and grew up between London and New York. She returned to England to study, and has now settled in London, where she loves the history, the culture and the tea. Maybe not the rain though. Charlotte still visits New York as often as she can, to shop until she drops.
To be the very first to find out when Charlotte publishes something new, and to find out about free book and ARC offers, be sure to sign up for her mailing list today!
http://tinyletter.com/charlotteeve
Eleven Years Ago ...
I throw myself down on the bed, my mind so fucking full of him, as I wonder just how I'm supposed to make it through the next seven weeks, here with my goddamn stepbrother in this house.
My skin flashes with goose pimples as I close my eyes and imagine him; my mind suddenly flooding with a whole kaleidoscope of images, some real, some imagined: the broadness of his back, the sheen of his skin – tanned brown and shining with sweat, the sculpted definition of his chest as he slowly unbuttons his shirt, his face moving in close to mine as he pins me in a delicious, sexy kiss.
And as I think all this, I finally give in to the urge to touch myself, imagining that it's his hands exploring my shivering body, his hands cupping my budding breasts, feeling my stiffening nipples, his fingers slowly unbuttoning my cutoffs then slipping beneath the waistband of my panties, his fingers tracing up and down the hot wetness that's growing between my legs, sending electric shivers of pleasure right through me.
I push my face deep into the pillow, moaning softly as I begin to toy with myself, my mind flooded with him, my eyes closed, my fingers plunging between my legs.
Chase, I think as I come. Chase, Chase, Chase ...
I’ve waited eleven years for this moment, for the chance to see him again.
So why isn’t he here?
Where are you, Chase?
Standing awkwardly in my black department store dress, lost in this sea of couture, it starts to sink in: he might not even be at this party.
This was a mistake. I’ve bluffed my way in, and it’s only a matter of time before somebody asks me to leave. I reckon I’ve got about ten minutes max, to find him before I’m quietly escorted out of here.
I scan the crowd once more.
The men are all dressed identically in fancy suits, expensive cufflinks and smart shoes. They’ve even got the same kinds of faces, as if they’re all related. So if he were here, he’d stand out just as much as I do.
There’s nobody quite tall enough. Nobody with those eyes.
God damn it, Chase. Where are you?
“Splendid party! You’re with Makepeace O’Connor, aren’t you?”
I turn around in the direction of the voice, to face a man in his sixties. Is he talking to me? I should have got my story straight. Because right now I can’t think what to say.
“Yes, you are!” he continues, oblivious to my confusion. “You’re Elizabeth’s secretary, aren’t you?”
I smile politely, about to set him straight and tell him he’s got the wrong person, when he simply carries on talking regardless.
“Ah, how is Elizabeth? Is she here tonight? I’ve not seen her for ages. She’s usually at these things, isn’t she? Of course, she’s just bought that place in Italy. So I suppose she could be there, with that husband of hers. I remember when they first met, long before your time, of course …”
And as he talks and talks, I realize that it doesn’t matter what I say. Even if I told him I wasn’t Elizabeth’s secretary, whoever she really is, he probably wouldn’t believe me anyway.
So I let him carry on talking. And I’m actually grateful for his presence. Standing here in conversation, even something as one-sided as this, makes me feel a little less of an outsider. I’m drawing less attention to myself now. Hopefully this has bought me a little more time. So I allow my eyes to drift back over the crowd, as I continue my search.
And that’s when I see him, just for a split second. The crowd parts and there he is.
Chase.
I guess I should have been ready for this moment. After all, I came here to find him, didn’t I? But actually seeing him standing there, so tall, so alive, so real … Well, nothing could have quite prepared me for this.
All those feelings I’d buried deep down inside me, all those feelings I thought might have withered away with time, come rushing right back to the surface, as powerful as ever, and certainly not faded — in fact, they’re in glorious Technicolor.
And now that I finally lay eyes on him, I realize that for all the planning it took to get here, all the hard work it’s taken to track him down, I still have no idea what I’m supposed to do next.
“… Ah, the O’Connor wedding! That was one of the highlights of the social calendar of ’89, you know! Fantastic party, just fantastic.”
My new friend is still talking, now lost in a reverie. He doesn’t even need an audience for his thoughts anymore, so I take a few steps away from him, trying to keep my eyes locked on Chase. But just then the gap in the crowd closes once more and he’s lost from view.
Okay, Charity. Concentrate. Relax. Think. You know he’s here now. All you have to do is get in his line of sight.
I lean back against the wall of the ballroom, trying to get some respite from the unfamiliar heels that are causing my feet to throb in protest, as I try to gather my thoughts.
But what I can’t control is the trembling that runs right through me, as all those memories come flooding back. That summer.
If I’m honest, I’d got through all those years by telling myself he wa
s dead.
I mean, he might as well have been dead, for all anyone knew. He just took off out of town one night. No note. Nothing. Eleven years of wondering just what the hell had happened to him. Eleven years of trying to forget him, tormented by the not knowing. And then, just last week, it was the biggest cliché of all.
I was sitting in the dentist’s waiting room, idly thumbing through the crappy selection of magazines, when … bam. There he was.
I don’t know what possessed me to pick up Business Insider.
But it must have been fate.
Because there, on page 46, in an article about the city’s up and coming hedge fund traders, was the photograph that caused me to gasp out loud, right there in the waiting room.
It was the last place I expected him to be. And once I got over the initial shock, I even thought I’d made a mistake. Not Chase. This can’t be Chase. But I looked at the photo once more, at those sapphire blue eyes. It was him. It had to be. There was no mistaking those eyes.
Which is how I find myself here — a gatecrasher at a private function, trying to figure out my next move.
“Drink, madam?” says a voice behind me.
I turn around.
Chase.
Don’t get me wrong. I see beautiful women all the time. When you’ve got money like I have, they’re attracted to you like magnets. But there’s something about this girl ... something different, but also strangely familiar.
There’s nothing special about her features. Brown hair and hazel eyes. But there’s something about the way she holds herself. She looks kind of awkward here, in that gown, those shoes — like she’s more of a sneakers and jeans kind of girl.
I wonder what she’s even doing here.
But I just can’t stop looking at her. It’s like she glows. She’s got life in her eyes. Most of the girls I know had that beaten out of them at finishing school.
I know I’ve just got to talk to her, find out who she is.
I am going to talk to her.
Because when I set my mind to something, I do it. But that doesn’t mean I just blunder straight in without thinking.
Instead, I hold back, take a sip of my champagne, and survey the room.
I didn’t get where I am today in business by making rash decisions, and seduction is a game I take just as seriously.
But there’s something about this girl that makes me feel like I’m not playing with a full hand of cards. There’s something odd about her … something hidden. And yes, familiar. Definitely familiar. If only I could work out where I knew her from.
Focus, Chase.
These are mere details.
You’ve played this game long enough to know how to win. And besides, look at her. She’s completely out of her depth here.
Look at her long luscious hair. It’s beautiful, but she’s not had it professionally blown out like all the other women in this room. Her slender neck is tantalizingly bare, as if inviting me to sink my teeth into it. And I can feel my cock stirring and hardening the longer I drink her in. But where are her diamonds, her emeralds, her rubies? Her dress is off the peg. And I notice her ankles are rubbed slightly red — she’s definitely not used to wearing heels.
See what I mean?
Details.
It’s this kind of attention to detail that means tonight, she’ll be mine.
I take my time, sure, but I also know when to go in for the kill. And a girl that awkward? I don’t know how she got in here. Who she knows. Even now, she’s looking around, worried, like something is wrong. And she might leave any minute.
Now’s my time.
I start to move through the crowds.
It’s the usual scene. These fundraisers are all the same. I must have been to a thousand of them. The same black and white tuxedoed waiters, carrying the same trays of canapés and champagne, circulating amongst the same crowd: property developers and hedge fund guys like me in our three-thousand dollar suits, and the women who enjoy our money, dressed in the finest couture.
And to a less trained eye, this girl would pass as one of us.
But I know better. I keep my eye on her as I move through the assembled throng.
There she is, scanning the room nervously, and I make a beeline straight towards her, when …
“Chase! Congratulations on the profile!”
I turn in the direction of the voice; it’s Mark Lobenfeld, head honcho at Futura Capital, one of New York’s top hedge funds. He’s made a killing in just a few short years, and we play it friendly but he knows I’m after his throne.
“Thanks, Mark,” I say with a smile he doesn’t know is fake. “It was only a small article, but any publicity is good at this stage of my business. I want to take things to the next level.”
“And that photo of you,” Mark laughs, shaking his head. “That’s gonna have the girls knocking on your door just as much as the investors, not that you need any help in that department from what I hear!”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say. “I’d rather keep out of the press, personally. But you know how this works. I have to be the face of my company.”
But I have no time for this small talk. All the way through this petty exchange, I keep my eyes firmly trained on my prize.
She’s got her back to me now, allowing me the view of her perfect ass. Her black evening gown might be off the peg, but it hugs her figure in all the right places, and again I feel the sharp rush of blood to my cock.
Mark carries on talking, but I’ve tuned out. Luckily, I’ve had these conversations a million times before, and I know how to nod in all the right places. And he hasn’t noticed that I’m not really listening; he’s too busy bragging about his latest deal.
As I watch her, the room seems to fade into silence, and I feel my senses sharpening.
It’s time to get out of this conversation.
“Excuse me,” I say to Mark, “but I have business to attend to.”
He pats me on the shoulder as I begin to move once more through the crowds, towards my target.
I see her scanning the room, and I notice her hands are empty. It’s the oldest trick in the book, but it’s my perfect way in.
I take a slight detour, catch the eye of a waiter, grab two glasses of champagne, and then I’m back in for the kill.
I’m only a few steps away from her now. She has her back turned to me, her hair to one side, falling over her shoulder, giving me another view of that long slender neck.
I’m so close to her now, I can smell her perfume; a delicate floral scent.
I’m so close, I could kiss that slender neck.
But instead, I whisper gently in her ear, “Drink, madam?”
She turns around with a start, and when she sees me, her eyes widen. Wordlessly, she accepts the glass I hold out to her. As she does, I gently brush my fingers against hers. My mouth curls into a smile.
And I know she’s mine.
“Drink madam?”
I spin round, and when I see him there, so close to me, it’s like my heart stops beating. And when I try to speak, the words stick in my throat. I have no choice. My hand automatically accepts the champagne flute he’s holding out to me.
But as he begins to smile, I know it as surely as I know anything:
He doesn’t know who I am.
So what’s he doing here? Why did he seek me out if he doesn’t remember me?
And as if to answer my question, his eyes travel across my body, lingering for a moment on my breasts.
It’s suddenly so clear: I’m his prey, he means to have me, and he’s obviously done this before. And whatever he’s doing, it’s working. Because in these few seconds, I can feel all my resolve melting away. I came here for answers, but instead I’m ready to abandon it all and give myself to him completely — right here and now.
I try to fight back. To find the tiny scraps of strength within my body, to ignore the tingles that run down my spine just by looking at him. He’s even taller than I remember,
but those sapphire blue eyes? How could I forget. They’re just as piercing as ever. Just standing this close to him feels dangerous. He’s exuding an animal intensity, and in the face of it, I try to stay strong.
So I’m about to tell him, tell him everything: No, you don’t understand. It’s not like that between you and me. Don’t you remember, Chase?
I’m about to tell him just who I am, when something inside stops me. Because I realize that this knowledge is the one thing I have over him, and for now at least, I can find out more about him by keeping this secret close to my chest.
So instead I smile my sweetest smile, and reply, “Thank you, I’m parched.”
“Let me guess,” he says with a wry smile. “You’re a corporate spy?”
Oh God. Have I read this totally wrong?
I mean, I know that I don’t quite fit in here. Has he seen right through me? Has he simply come here to eject me, quickly and quietly from the room?
And I stumble nervously over my words: “A spy? No, of course not … I’m just here to … to …”
He laughs.
“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. Most of the time, I feel like you do in this world, too. So I can spot a fellow outsider at fifty paces. But just tell me this. How did you get in? Bribe the doorman? Sneak past when he wasn’t looking? What’s your trick?”
I smile despite myself. He’s still the charming boy I remember, brimming with that brazen confidence that’s obviously got him so far in this world. And now I’m relieved that he’s not come over here to tell me to leave. For the next few minutes at least, we can talk, while I figure out my next move in this game of cat and mouse.
“Actually,” I explain, “I told them I had an urgent message for my boss inside. I looked like I was about to cry, and they took pity on me.”
Claiming Chase: (A Second Chance Stepbrother Romance) Page 1