by Heidi Betts
Horrified, she glanced at Chase and saw the fury spark in his eyes before a mask of indifference dropped into place, hiding his true feelings from the world.
“Chase,” she began, desperate to hold on to him. But before she’d even finished breathing his name, he turned on his heel and stalked away.
As she stared at his back, Tisha’s laughter grew in both volume and venom.
And suddenly, Elena couldn’t take it anymore. She spun on her former friend, just keeping from reaching out to slap the smug grin off her face.
“How dare you,” Elena charged.
Leslie, Stephanie and Candy quieted immediately, their mouths rolling into tiny Os of surprise that anyone would dare speak to their queen in such a tone. It took a moment longer for Tisha to settle, but finally the gleeful expression washed from her face and her eyes narrowed in annoyance.
“Excuse me?” she responded haughtily.
“What gives you the right to talk to people like that? To treat them like they’re beneath you?”
Tisha’s nose began to tip up, but Elena plowed ahead, not caring a whit that their confrontation was starting to draw a crowd.
“Do you know what you are, Tisha? You’re a bitch. An arrogant, selfish, snobbish bitch. I’m sorry I ever met you, let alone was a part of your vicious little pack of hyenas back in high school.”
Her blood was boiling, her lungs burning with the effort to suck in enough air for all she had to say to this woman.
“You’re the one who’s pathetic, Tisha Ferguson-McDonald.” She sneered the hyphenated last name, making it as much of an insult as she could manage.
“You’re the one who should be embarrassed by your upbringing, your appearance, your very existence, because you aren’t half the human being Chase Ramsey is. He’s the one who should be looking down his nose at you, not the other way around.”
There was so much more she was feeling, so much more she wanted to say, but none of it was worth the time she was losing in following Chase.
Leaving Tisha and her cohorts with their mouths hanging open in shock, she spun around and pushed her way through the crowd, following the path Chase had taken only moments ago. The closer she got to the doors of the ballroom, the faster she moved until she was all but running.
Through the crowd, through the open double doors. In the spacious hallway, she stopped, looked around, but didn’t see him.
Racing to the elevator, she elbowed people aside and pushed the down button, punching it over and over again until the doors closed and the compartment began to move.
“Come on, come on,” she muttered, wishing belatedly that she had taken the stairs. Even in heels, she was convinced she could have made it to the lobby faster than the elevator was doing the job.
When the doors opened, she burst out, hurrying across the marble floor, glancing right and left for any sign of him. Outside, she scanned the cars coming and going, being both brought up and taken away by the crew of valets. Rushing up to the nearest green-vested worker, she described Chase and his car, and asked if the man had seen him.
“Oh, yeah,” the man said, pointing toward the end of the hotel’s long, curved driveway. “He just took off.”
Elena’s gaze followed the direction of the valet’s finger. She saw brake lights flash for an instant and then tires squealed as the driver pulled away.
There was no use running after him, no use trying to catch up. He was gone, and Elena didn’t know if she would ever get him back.
It had been two days since the party. Two days since Chase had taken off. Two days he’d refused to speak to her.
She’d taken a taxi to his house straight from the hotel, but either he hadn’t gone home, or he simply hadn’t answered the doorbell or her desperate knocking.
Although it was the last thing she wanted to do, she’d gone home from there and immediately tried to call him. First at home, then on his cell and even at his office. There’d been no answer, and he hadn’t bothered to call her back, even though she’d continued to call several times a day, leaving numerous messages.
Elena suspected he was at work, but whenever she called, his receptionist asked for her name, then quickly told her he was unavailable.
He wasn’t unavailable. He was avoiding her, and she knew it.
She could just strangle Tisha Ferguson-McDonald for her rudeness and insensitivity. Forty-eight hours later, she still wanted to track the woman down and slap her silly.
But most of all, she wanted to apologize to Chase and make sure he was all right. Well, he wasn’t all right, as she was well aware. Otherwise he wouldn’t have stormed out of the charity event, leaving her to find her own way home, and he wouldn’t be dodging her calls.
Still, she felt she owed him an explanation, owed it to him to let him know she hadn’t stood around and joined in on Tisha’s cruel laughter and remarks after he’d left. She’d been a fool to be friends with those girls as a teenager, but she wasn’t a fool any longer.
She’d also learned—possibly the hard way—just what kind of man Chase Ramsey was, and that if she’d been smart, she would have danced with him that night at her parents’ Christmas party and left her so-called friends standing there feeling stupid and alone.
Even if he couldn’t forgive her, even if Tisha’s careless comments had brought back too many old feelings, opened too many old wounds, she needed him to know she wasn’t like that anymore.
When the phone on her desk rang, she froze, her heart dropping to her stomach. She hadn’t been getting much work done, anyway, between praying Chase would call and her many attempts to call him, but she was almost afraid to answer for fear it wouldn’t be him.
Finally, after four rings, she took a deep breath and picked up the receiver.
“Elena Sanchez,” she answered, as she always did her work phone.
“Miss Sanchez, this is Nancy, Chase Ramsey’s personal assistant. Mr. Ramsey would like you to meet him this evening at Chez Pierre at seven o’clock. You’ll be accompanying him to a business dinner, so please dress appropriately.”
Elena went from disappointed, when she realized the caller wasn’t Chase, to surprised at the woman’s words. With the fast-paced, matter-of-fact delivery, it took a moment for the request to sink in.
“Do you have any questions about these instructions, Miss Sanchez?” the woman prodded.
“No. I mean, yes! Yes.” Elena was leaning forward on her desk, her free hand squeezing the phone cord so tightly, she was amazed the reception remained clear. “Is Chase there? Can I please talk to him?”
“I’m sorry,” his assistant apologized with a distinct lack of emotion, “Mr. Ramsey isn’t available at the moment, but he will see you tonight at Chez Pierre. Don’t be late.”
And then the line went dead, leaving Elena feeling empty and confused.
He wanted her to meet him tonight for a business dinner. What did that mean? Had he forgiven her for whatever imagined slight she’d committed the other night at the party? Had he gotten over Tisha’s rude remarks?
And if so, why hadn’t he called her himself? Why had his assistant contacted her and been so cold, when the woman had always been friendly to her before?
She didn’t have answers to any of her questions and wouldn’t until she saw him tonight. Only five more hours, she thought, glancing at her watch.
Five more hours until she would see Chase again, and could find out how he really felt about her.
From where he was sitting, Chase watched Elena enter the restaurant. She looked gorgeous, as always, in a brown and black animal print skirt and frothy brown blouse that dipped into a deep V in front.
But this time, he wasn’t going to let her body or her smile affect him. He’d been crazy to ever let her get under his skin at all.
Convincing her to share his bed and accompany him to a few business dinners had been a bad idea to begin with. What had he been thinking?
Oh, he knew. He’d been thinking he could exact a little rev
enge for the way she’d treated him when they were kids, and get lucky in the process.
Hmph. Look how well that had turned out.
He took another gulp of the wine he’d been nursing since he’d arrived half an hour ago, glad Elena hadn’t spotted him yet and made her way over. It was cruel of him, perhaps, but he wasn’t going to lift a hand to draw her attention. He needed as much time as he could get before he had to be close to her again. Smelling her perfume and the fragrant shampoo she used on her hair…seeing her soft skin and remembering how it felt to touch, to stroke, to taste.
Against his will, his body hardened, every muscle going taut with desire.
Damn her. And damn his traitorous soul for still wanting her.
He didn’t want to want her. He wanted to punish her—for what she’d done twenty years ago and for what had happened the other night.
His gaze narrowed as the rage began to roll through him. Rage, tempered with a modicum of embarrassment and a fair share of good old-fashioned lust.
She was coming toward him now, a tentative smile on her face. He could almost see her mind racing, wondering what she would encounter when she reached him.
Would he stand up, take her hand and kiss her cheek before inviting her to sit beside him? Or would he remain stoic and barely speak to her as she found her own place at the table to await their other guests?
He pushed aside the niggling of guilt that tried to convince him to forgive her, to let go of what had happened the other night at the fund-raiser and allow their relationship to fall back to the way it had been when she’d spent the night at his house. In his arms.
But that ship had definitely sailed and his head was once again on straight.
Elena was his mistress for as long as it took her father to get Sanchez Restaurant Supply back into the black—if he ever could—or until she decided to call things off. In which case, Chase would swoop in and buy out SRS, as originally planned.
But until one or the other of those things occurred, he intended to take full advantage of their arrangement.
She approached the table, still smiling, the maitre d’ at her side, ready to hold her chair and see her properly seated beside Chase, leaving the other side open for the other two members of their party. Hiding her small purse beneath the cloth-covered table, she pulled her chair a fraction closer and nodded when the newly arrived waiter offered to fill her glass with the same dark claret Chase was drinking.
Her heart was pounding a mile a minute, and she was grinning so widely she was afraid her face would crack. Chase still hadn’t spoken, which only made her stomach tighten all the more.
“Hi,” she said brightly. So brightly, it hurt her own ears. She sounded like a puppet on one of those upbeat children’s morning shows.
He nodded, taking a sip of his wine.
“I’m glad you called. Or at least had Nancy call for you,” she added with a grin.
Leaning in, she lowered her voice and reached out to touch him. Before she could make contact, he once again raised his glass to his lips. She swallowed hard and drew back her hand.
It didn’t mean anything, she told herself. Just because he hadn’t spoken to her yet and apparently didn’t welcome her touch didn’t mean he was angry with her or still hurt about the other evening.
Maybe he simply wasn’t a fan of participating in public displays of affection, however tame. Or maybe he was afraid his business associates would walk in any minute and get the wrong idea.
“I’ve been trying to reach you,” she went on as though he wasn’t acting the least bit peculiar. Folding her hands in her lap, she met his eyes. “Chase, I want to talk to you about—”
“Here they are,” he said shortly, cutting her off. “This is a very important business associate and his wife. I’d appreciate if you’d be on your best behavior and try not to embarrass me.”
Her eyes widened at his sharp warning. In all the time she’d been accompanying him to events and dinners like this one, she’d never done or said anything to embarrass him, nor had he ever felt the need to dictate her behavior before.
She found it more than a little strange. But maybe he was still smarting overTisha’s remarks. She couldn’t blame him, and since she still felt she owed him an apology for that, she decided not to hold his apparently lousy mood against him.
He introduced her to the other couple, and Elena did her best to make witty, companionable small talk while they studied the menus, placed their orders and shared another glass of wine. While Chase was polite enough to Mr. and Mrs. Hasslebeck, he remained cold toward her. Which was why she jumped when his hand cupped her knee and started sliding upward.
The wine she was drinking sloshed against the sides of her glass and she gasped as it narrowly missed spilling on her blouse. Every eye at the table turned to her.
She laughed nervously, unnecessarily straightening the items at her place setting and jiggling her leg beneath the table in an attempt to shake off Chase’s fingers. They didn’t budge.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I was afraid I’d spilled wine on my clothes. You know how hard it is to get stains out of silk.”
The other woman agreed with a chuckle and launched into a diatribe about some of the more stubborn stains she’d encountered in her lifetime.
Instead of being daunted by the turn in conversation or her attempt to dislodge his hand, Chase seemed even more determined to reach his goal. The hem of her skirt began to bunch as he roamed higher on her thigh.
His fingers skimmed between her legs and she had to bite her tongue to keep from making a sound. She clamped her thighs together, trapping his hand and stopping its maddening ascent.
Thankfully, their meals arrived a second later. He tugged and she reluctantly loosened her grip, knowing he needed his right hand to eat.
At least while he was busy at that, he wouldn’t be feeling her up, she thought with distaste.
Not that she was opposed to Chase groping her under the right circumstances. She just didn’t think they should be messing around beneath the tablecloth during what was supposed to be a business dinner. After warning her to be on her best behavior, shouldn’t he be more careful of his own actions?
The meal passed without incident, and with Chase and Mr. Hasslebeck spending a good deal of time discussing business. Elena had just begun to breathe easy again when the coffee and desserts arrived, only to feel that telltale tickling once again.
Glancing over, she found Chase sipping his coffee, which he held in his left hand. His right was beneath the table…and crawling steadily upward.
“Excuse me,” she said, pulling the cloth napkin from her lap and setting it beside the small plate holding a delicious-looking chunk of tiramisu as she got to her feet. “I’m just going to run to the restroom.”
Without waiting for a response, she retrieved her purse and headed for the rear of the restaurant. Once inside the ladies’ room, she rested her hands on the edge of the counter and took several deep breaths, gazing at her reflection in the mirror over the sinks. Behind her, a stall door opened, and the only other person in the restroom smiled as she walked up, washed and dried her hands, then left.
As soon as the door closed behind the woman, Elena shook herself, tore off a piece of paper towel, and wet it with cold water, dabbing her chest, her forehead, the nape of her neck.
She might not approve of what Chase had been trying to do out there, but that didn’t mean it had no effect on her. One touch of his hand and she melted like snow on the first day of spring. Even now her knees were as weak as cooked noodles and her nerve endings were fluttering with unfulfilled desire.
The ladies’ room door swung open again, and she quickly straightened, pretending to be just finishing up so no one would think she’d been hiding…even if that’s exactly what she was doing.
She smiled and turned to greet the woman who had entered on her way out. Her face fell when—instead of another woman—she found Chase leaning nonchalantly against t
he closed restroom door. His mouth curved with satisfaction, his eyes burning with devilish intent.
“What are you doing here?” she asked harshly, her fingers tightening on the damp paper towel in her hand.
Reaching behind him, he flipped the bolt on the main door, locking them inside, then took a menacing step forward. “What do you think?”
She took a step back, her hip bumping into the countertop. “You can’t be in here,” she told him in what she hoped was a stern voice. “This is the ladies’ room.”
He kept walking, leaning over to check for feet visible under the stall doors. Then, when he found them all empty, he straightened and turned his attention fully on her. “I know what it is. And I know what I want.”
It was clear from his expression that what he wanted was her.
She’d never seen him like this before. Passionate, yes. Eager. Determined. But he’d also always maintained a sense of control that seemed to be missing at the moment. As many times as they’d made love, and as hot as they’d been for each other, he’d never been driven to lock them in a public bathroom and take her while guests—his guests—were waiting to finish their dessert.
“Chase…”
She held out her hand, even threw the balled-up paper towel at his chest. He only chuckled and continued stalking forward, already loosening his belt buckle.
She twisted, intending to leap for the locked door, but he caught her, pulled her around and pushed her against the row of sinks.
“Chase, no. We can’t.”
“Oh, yes, we can.” His mouth covered hers while his fingers made short work of his slacks and then moved to the bottom of her skirt. “We just have to be quick and quiet about it.”
He lifted her enough to hike her skirt to her waist, then set her more fully on the counter. His thumbs hooked into the sides of her garter belt and panties, pulling the delicate garments down to her ankles with one swift yank. She thought she heard something tear, but couldn’t find it in her to care.