by Heidi Betts
She hardly had time to breathe, let alone think, as he pried her legs apart, then closed the short distance between them and filled her to overflowing.
She gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her thighs clutching at him as tightly as they could from such an awkward angle. He thrust hard and fast, his mouth scouring her face and throat, his hands dancing over her breasts and spine and buttocks—anywhere he could reach.
Her hips tipped to meet him, her need matching his own as they built rapidly toward climax. She’d never been taken so roughly, so spontaneously, before. She’d never wanted to be taken that way. But now…oh, now, she knew what she’d been missing.
Everything in the world faded away except Chase and what he was doing to her. His hands, his mouth, his rigid length…all conspired to drive her over the edge.
With a barely suppressed shriek, she came, her body convulsing, her fingertips digging into his upper arms, her teeth biting down on a mouthful of his expensive Italian suit jacket to muffle the sounds she couldn’t help but make. A second later, Chase stiffened, following her over and into the abyss.
His chest rose and fell against hers for several long minutes, then he straightened, took a step back, and began rearranging his clothes.
Startled by his sudden withdrawal, and self-conscious of her disheveled state, she hopped down from the counter and started redressing herself.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” she said, fighting to get her garter belt and stockings back in place without stripping completely and starting over from scratch. “What will your friends think?”
“They’ll think we took a little longer than usual in the bathroom,” he told her, rebuckling his belt and tucking in the tail of his shirt. “Either that or they’ll think we sneaked off to the coat room for a quickie. Which isn’t far from the truth.”
He grinned, but there was no warmth in his eyes. A chilling sensation crept through her bones, heightening her senses.
“Chase,” she said slowly, running her hands over the front of her blouse and sides of her skirt, checking the buttons and seams and even her jewelry. “Why did you do this?”
“Do what?” he asked distractedly, glancing past her into the mirror at her back and running his fingers through his slightly rumpled hair.
“This.” She waved a hand, her voice growing stronger as her suspicions grew. “These strong-arm, neanderthal tactics. Following me to the restroom and locking the door. Having sex on the counter while your dinner guests wait and wonder where you are.”
“What about it?” he asked, sounding cockier than ever. He finished fiddling with his hair and clothes and met her gaze. “I wanted you, and since you agreed to be my mistress for the foreseeable future, that means I can pretty much have you any time and anywhere I like.”
Without waiting for her to respond, he spun on his heel and marched to the door. He flipped the lock, pulled on the handle, then said over his shoulder, “I’ll see you back at the table.” The door eased shut behind him.
Elena stared after him, speechless and wondering when her life had begun to spin so far out of control.
Yes, she’d agreed to be his mistress. She’d even enjoyed it after the initial uneasiness had worn off and she’d realized what kind of man Chase Ramsey really was.
But what she’d just seen was not the man she’d come to know. It was the side of him she’d met that first day in his office, but hadn’t encountered since. She’d thought that part of him was gone, transformed into something more, something different, because of their growing affection for each other.
Apparently, she’d been wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong. And she couldn’t pretend it wasn’t.
Her hands shook as she picked up her clutch, her fingertips as cold as though she’d been sitting in a walk-in freezer for the last ten minutes.
She couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t play the part of his mistress when her emotions were so much more involved than that. And she wouldn’t stick around and be treated like a common whore by the man she’d fallen in love with.
Twelve
From the corner of his eye, Chase saw Elena reappear at the rear of the restaurant, skirt the dining area and march straight out the front door. She didn’t glance in his direction or even stop to leave a message with the hostess about her premature exit.
For a minute, he considered going after her. Dragging her back to the table, if necessary, and demanding she fulfill her end of their bargain.
But then, he couldn’t really blame her for ducking out early. He hadn’t exactly been a gentleman with her in the ladies’ room.
And that was as it should be. He refused to feel guilty for doing what they’d agreed upon from the very beginning, especially when he knew damn well she’d been just as hot and eager as he had. The memory of their fierce, frantic coupling still rang through his veins, making him want to track her down and take her all over again.
Which didn’t bode well for his decision to put their relationship back on the right track. He was finished being led around by his raging libido. Finished being manipulated by wide eyes and pouting lips.
Elena might be beautiful, and she could certainly be both sweet and seductive, but she wasn’t worth losing his soul.
Was she?
He watched until she disappeared from sight, then turned reluctantly back to the couple seated across from him. Creating an excuse for Elena’s absence, he told the Hasslebecks she hadn’t been feeling well before dinner, and that something she’d eaten must not have agreed with her, so he’d called a cab and sent her home. He wasn’t sure they believed him, but he also didn’t care.
Then, feigning an interest he didn’t quite feel, he wrapped up the evening as quickly as possible, put the amount for the entire meal on his gold card and left a generous tip for the server. Parting company with Mr. and Mrs. Hasslebeck in the lobby, he headed for his car and drove home.
He didn’t feel remorse for the way he’d treated Elena. Didn’t miss having her near or want to track her down just to hear her voice again.
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.
He didn’t. And he was damn tired of her invading his thoughts twenty-four hours a day.
Pulling into his driveway, he cut the engine, slammed the car door and stalked into the house.
He was better off without her.
First thing in the morning he’d have Nancy call Elena and find out if she was still willing to go along with their bargain. If she was, then he’d have to make it clear that he expected her to be where he wanted, when he wanted. No more of this flitting off just because she got her nose out of joint over something he did or said. As his mistress, she didn’t get a say in his behavior.
And if she wanted out, that was fine with him, too. It might even be a better turn of events for both of them.
Of course, if that was the case, then his first order of business would be to put the wheels in motion to buy out Sanchez Restaurant Supply.
Either way, he was bound to win.
Too bad he didn’t feel like a winner.
He tromped upstairs, his feet dragging like lead weights at the ends of his legs. He loosened his tie and shrugged out of his jacket, draping both garments over the back of a chair as he entered the master bedroom.
His bedroom, although it didn’t feel quite as safe and comfortable as it once had. Before Elena had spent the night there…in his house, in his bed.
Even though she wasn’t there, her presence lingered. Her perfume, the sound of her voice. He could smell her in the air, on the towels in the bathroom, on the sheets and pillowcases beneath the heavy comforter. He could hear her husky laughter everywhere he went, inside the house and out.
With a frustrated growl, he finished stripping on his way to the shower. Hot water did nothing to smooth the sharp edges of his lousy mood, and cold water did nothing to calm the arousal building steadily through his system.
What did he have to do to ge
t her out of his head, out of his life?
He slapped his hand against the wet tile, letting beads of water pelt him directly in the face, wishing it could wash away the sick, gnawing ache in his gut as easily as it did dirt and sweat.
Just as he was stepping out of the shower and reaching for a towel, the phone rang. He thought about ignoring it, letting it go to voice mail, but at the last minute wrapped the towel around his hips and lunged for the nightstand.
“Yeah,” he answered shortly.
“Chase,” came the low, feminine response.
He didn’t need the caller to identify herself to know it was Elena. His muscles immediately tensed, every cell in his body alert with physical longing.
“This is Elena,” she continued matter-of-factly. “I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to continue with our agreement. I—”
Her voice cracked, and deep in his chest he felt something crack, too.
“I just can’t. I’d ask you to reconsider your plans to take over my father’s business, but I know it wouldn’t make much difference, so I guess I’ll have to live with that. Goodbye.”
Her words were strained and tear-thick until the very end, when they turned firm and confident. Chase sat on the edge of the bed, phone pressed to his ear, listening to the droning of the dial tone long after she’d disconnected.
Well, he had his answer, then, didn’t he? It was over. She would finally be well and truly out of his life…out of his bed, out of his blood, out of his head.
Which was exactly what he wanted. The sex had been great, no doubt about it, but he could get good sex elsewhere, without all the strings that came with a woman like Elena Sanchez. The last thing he needed was strings tangling up his life.
Returning the earpiece to its cradle, he stood and made his way stonily back to the bathroom. He finished drying off and pulled on a pair of boxer shorts before climbing back into bed and beneath the covers.
With Elena out of the picture, he would no longer be haunted by the past. Finally, things could get back to normal.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, ready for the peace he expected to feel to wash over him. Instead, Elena’s scent invaded his lungs. Her hair and skin and perfume, the mix of what made her fragrance so uniquely hers, filled his nostrils and caused his gut to twist.
He could strip the bed, leave the room, but he knew it wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t help because the smell wasn’t in the sheets; the sheets had been washed since she’d last slept there. No, the smell—Elena—was in his blood and his brain. And maybe even, he suspected, his heart.
Elena couldn’t stop crying. Not because of the way Chase had treated her the night before, but because she’d finally admitted to herself that what they had was not going to work. And she’d finally found the courage to call and tell him it was over.
Maybe, if they hadn’t had the bad luck to run into Tisha at that party, things could have been different. At least they’d have had more time to see where the relationship was going.
She hadn’t expected forever from him, but she would be lying if she didn’t admit she’d been hoping for more. More time, more of a chance, just…more.
But now it was done, over, and she had to get on with her life.
Inhaling a ragged breath, she blew her nose, wiped her eyes and did her best to retouch the makeup she’d been attempting to apply for the last half hour.
With another sniff, she realized it was about as good as it was going to get. She didn’t even bother with mascara, knowing she would simply cry it off in a matter of minutes and be left with black streaks running down her cheeks.
Fighting to get her emotions under control, she left the house and drove to her father’s office, glad her sister wasn’t around to chastise her for continuing to weep over a man Alandra now considered to be the scum of the earth.
It didn’t help, either, that because of her decision to break things off with Chase, Elena now had to sit down with her father and explain that it was entirely possible he was going to lose his business because the extra time he’d been given to collect funds and backers was gone.
Pulling into the first parking spot she found on the street in front of the SRS building, she grabbed her purse, locked the car and headed inside.
The door of her father’s office stood open, as usual. She tapped lightly, feeling her spirits lift when he raised his head and smiled widely at her.
“Elena, querida,” he said, getting to his feet and moving around his desk toward her. “You look lovely today. I’m so happy you came to visit me.”
Only her father could make a positive comment about her appearance on a day like today, when both her eyes and nose were red and puffy from crying for the last twelve hours.
Victor Sanchez was on the short side, with a thick, stocky frame and a generous portion of gray in the otherwise black hair forming a crown around his balding head. He stood two inches shorter than Elena, but that didn’t keep him from wrapping his arms around her and lifting her off her feet as he hugged her close.
Elena laughed, as she always did when her father showed such affection for his girls, even as regret poured through her at the pain she was about to cause him.
“Papa,” she said reluctantly when he pulled away, tears once again stinging her eyes, “I need to talk to you.”
The joy on his face faded slightly as he sensed her inner turmoil. “Of course, of course.”
He led her to a couple of chairs in front of his desk and sat down, urging her to do the same, still holding one of her hands. “Now tell me, hija, what has stripped the sunshine from your eyes.”
“I have some bad news, Pop.”
His salt-and-pepper brows met, his fingers tightening around her own. “What is it, querida? You know you can tell me anything.”
She nodded, swallowing hard before continuing. “I know I told you everything would be all right with the company, that I worked out a deal with Chase Ramsey to give you some time to get together the money and backers you need to keep SRS afloat, but—”
She swallowed again, what she needed to say sitting in her chest like an anchor, pressing down on her heart.
“The…agreement…fell through.” Her throat closed and the tears brimming in her eyes finally spilled over. “I’m so sorry, Papa. So, so sorry. I really did try.”
For a few moments, her father sat in stunned silence. Then he opened his mouth, but before he could speak, another voice cut him off.
“Victor, there you are.”
Elena spun around in her seat, both her and her father’s gazes whipping to the doorway, where Chase stood with his hands on either side of the jamb.
Her heart went from feeling like a stone in her chest to speeding like a racecar at the Indy 500.
What was he doing here? Especially looking like that.
She’d never seen him so rumpled. His expensive, tailored suit was a mass of wrinkles—and if she wasn’t mistaken, it was the same one he’d been wearing last night at dinner, right down to the hastily knotted tie. His jaw carried a day’s worth of dark beard stubble and his hair didn’t seem to have been combed by anything more than his fingers.
“Chase Ramsey,” he said by way of introduction. “I know we haven’t met in several years, but I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Sanchez Restaurant Supply.”
He directed his words to Victor, but his glance strayed more toward her.
“I’m no longer interested in acquiring your company for the Ramsey Corporation. I know you still have a ways to go before SRS is in the black again, and if you’d like some assistance in that area, I’d be happy to offer my expertise, maybe even some financial backing.”
This time she and her father were both at a loss for words. She stared at Chase, wondering why he had changed his mind, even as she realized she didn’t really care.
“I…Gracias,” Victor managed to stammer. “Thank you. I appreciate that, Señor Ramsey.”
Chase nodded brusquely, as though the announcem
ent about her father’s business was merely an afterthought, then turned his intense sapphire gaze on her. “Elena, can I talk to you for a minute? Alone.”
Dropping his arms, he took a step back from the open doorway, inviting her into the hall. His expression was both wary and hopeful.
Curious and confused, she stood, sparing a quick glance at her father, who looked almost ready to burst with happiness at having the family business out from under the oppressive threat of a takeover. Not to mention the possible assistance of a corporate tycoon who seemed capable of turning straw into gold.
“I’ll be right back,” she said shakily, then smiled at her father—whether to reassure him or herself, she wasn’t sure.
Leaving her purse on the seat of her chair, she crossed the room, her heels clicking a staccato rhythm that matched the erratic beat of her heart.
She kept her eyes averted as she slipped past Chase, who towered in the doorway, and waited while he pulled the door closed. He wrapped a hand around her elbow and guided her a little ways away, sending a shock of sensations up her arm.
It was sad, she thought, that he could still have such an effect on her when she’d decided just yesterday to be finished with him. She should be immune to him already, shouldn’t she? She should have cut off any feelings for him and built an impenetrable wall around her heart.
And maybe, if he hadn’t waltzed into her father’s office thirty seconds ago and done something so sweet, so generous, so completely out of character, she could have stayed mad at him.
Clearing her throat, she lifted her head and met his gaze. “That was very kind of you, thank you.” And then, because she had to know, “What made you change your mind?”
“You did,” he said, his fingers tightening where they still held her elbow before suddenly releasing her and letting his arms fall to his sides.
“After you left the restaurant last night, I went home, thinking everything was fine. Better than fine. I knew you were through with our agreement, through with me, and I was relieved, because ever since we started spending time together, I haven’t felt like myself.”