The Queensbay Series: Books 1-4: The Queensbay Box Set

by Drea Stein

  Too soon, or not soon enough, he had pulled into the crushed shell drive of Lynn’s house. The sun was starting to set, and she could see it cast its sparkling trail along the harbor in the distance. Before she could do it herself, Chase was out of the car and opening her door.

  He held out a hand and pulled her up. She sprung up with such force that she wound up close to him. Deftly reaching behind her, he shut the door. Still, his arms were around her and his face was very close to hers.

  “Thank you,” she managed to whisper. She could see the stubble on his face and the way his eyes darkened when he looked at her. “I had a nice time,” she managed to stammer.

  “A nice time?” he said with mock hurt. “Two of those whatchamacallem—topiary urns—for fifty bucks and you call that a nice time?”

  She smiled and he caught her chin with his hand. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed, and when she opened them, she saw that he was looking at her intensely, his eyes searching, pinning her down.

  Phoebe couldn’t—wouldn’t—let this happen. Chase was dangerous for her. She wanted him too much. And lust was never as simple as it was made out to be. Today, though, had been fun. It had only shown that he considered business, even if it was bargain hunting at a flea market, a blood sport. And that was all she was to him. Something to acquire.

  He moved in and Phoebe felt the warm, smooth metal of the car beneath the small of her back. His chest was so close to her, she could feel the heat of it, sense the solid wall of muscle that was beneath his shirt.

  Chase moved in closer, his lips hovering above hers. Before she could say anything, his lips trailed along her jaw and she felt her knees weaken. How could he make her feel this helpless, this wanted with just the lightest touch?

  His leg nudged in between hers and she felt the strong, smooth strength of them, felt his arousal, and his lips found hers and she opened herself up to his kiss. Her hands came up to his neck and pulled him into her.

  She didn’t know if they stayed that way for a minute or five or fifty. She only knew that their mouths and tongues explored each other, each nibble and kiss and reaction matched the other’s, until Phoebe felt as if she were melting, that if she did not have his warm, strong hands all over her, she would combust. Then, she felt something else.

  Something that purred and then vibrated, then rang and pierced their consciousness. Swearing, Chase pushed back from her, dug in his jacket until he found his phone. Not taking his eyes off her, he answered it with a terse “Yes.”

  Phoebe waited for her heartbeat to slow, for her heart to find its way back into her chest, for her knees to stiffen up. She looked down at the ground to find time to recover, let her hands smooth her ponytail back into place, all the while feeling her breathing grow more regular.

  Chase put the phone back in her pocket.

  “I have to go. Something’s come up.” He was looking at her intently, his eyes roaming over her like he wanted to possess her.

  Quickly, he walked to the trunk, popped it, and took out the bags with her purchases. He placed them carefully on the side of the drive, and then he strode over to her, pulled her to him, and kissed her again, a hard, passionate, bruising kiss.

  “Interrupted again, Phoebe. But I will be back. And don’t try to tell me you don’t want this any less than I do.”

  And with that he flashed his playboy grin, slung himself into the car and was off, the tires sending up a small trail of dust that settled slowly back to the ground.

  Phoebe managed to make it to the first step of the porch before she collapsed on it, her mind spinning. What was she thinking, letting him kiss her like that? Again. Once she could understand, but she couldn’t make a habit of kissing Chase Sanders. Of course, it was just lust, had to be.

  Phoebe took a deep breath and heard the cry of a hawk, saw it circling overhead, looking for its dinner. Savannah had told her, warned her that men would use her, try to use Phoebe to get to Savannah. But Savannah was gone. And here was Chase Sanders, using all of his playboy charm on her, getting her to relax and like him, winning her over with five-dollar salt-and-pepper shakers, charming her pants off or trying to at least.

  She leaned her head against the column of the porch railing, sighing. Because just a few minutes ago, she would have given a damn about history and been perfectly ready to have her pants—and just about everything else—charmed right off her.

  Chapter 24

  Chase had to take care of a manufacturing problem. It meant most of the night on the phone with a factory thousands of miles away. He’d had to head back into the office and when he was done, it was too late for him to head back to Ivy House, so he went right up to his own apartment at the hotel, a suite of rooms he’d fashioned into a bachelor pad when he’d bought the marina and the Osprey Arms. He had a long bank of windows overlooking the docks, and room service whenever he wanted. Even though it was late, he was too keyed up to sleep, so he poured himself a glass of single malt and sipped it while he sat in the dark and took in the view of the water.

  He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Even when he was yelling and cajoling, his mind had slipped into wild fantasies. Not just of kissing of her, but of much more. Just how would her long, lean body look without one of her little v-neck sweaters? Or how her red-gold hair would spill across a pillow, or the way her supple legs would wrap around him as he rode her into wild release.

  Or the way her eyes had flashed when she had laughed at him today, challenging him to track down ever more ridiculous items. The trouble he had gone to for a pair of pink-and-white-striped napkin rings. And it had all been a pleasure. Phoebe had been relaxed, her guard down, not eyeing him with distrust or keeping her distance.

  He had been able to, for a moment, see the world the way she saw it, as a canvas of color and form, a palette of inspiration. She had been able to clearly explain to him how some of the things would influence her and how others just spoke to her, and she had enjoyed the hunt, the seeking of offbeat beauty, talking with all of the different dealers, learning where things had come from.

  Chase shook his head. He wanted her; of that, there was no doubt. He had felt something the moment he’d walked into the house and there had been that odd feeling of recognition. True, she had looked a lot like Savannah Ryan that day, but she was as far from a movie star as could be. Phoebe was a jeans-and-sweater type of girl, who craved pretty, but not necessarily glamorous things. She could find a use for anything; even turn an ugly duckling into a swan.

  He let himself breathe deeply, imagining the smell of her shampoo, the floral and citrus scent mixing with her distinctive aroma. What he wouldn’t give to have her here with him right now.

  Easy tiger, he told himself. He’d started out on the wrong foot with her and she was as prickly as a cactus. But still, if she thought to deny her attraction to him, she was crazy. She was a terrible liar and couldn’t bluff worth a damn. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Chase glanced at his watch. The sun would be up soon and he hadn’t slept.

  He had a few things to do before he was ready for his next meeting with Phoebe Ryan.

  Chapter 25

  Phoebe awoke from a pleasant dream. It took her a moment to orient herself. And then she blushed. She had been having one of those dreams. Her face and body felt warm, suffused with blood, and there was an ache between her legs. It came back to her in bits and pieces, the dream, flashes of a dark head and blue eyes, the almost real feeling of his lips on hers, his hands stroking her, arousing her.

  She pulled the covers up and buried her face into them. Oh God, she thought, I am turning into a horny teenager. The idea that an imaginary Chase Sanders, with his arrogant grin and big sexy hands, could have done that to her was just too much.

  Before she could think more about it, her phone buzzed. Reaching for it, she tamped down disappointment when she recognized the number.

  “Dean,” Phoebe said, hoping the embarrassment didn’t come across in her voice.

&nbs
p; “Well, it seems like you have been a busy little bee,” he said. It was cheerful, but Phoebe detected an undercurrent of disapproval.

  “Oh,” she said, grasping for words. She had left the window up and cool morning air filtered in, bringing her heart rate back to normal. The wild dream of last night receded.

  “You saw the press release?” Phoebe had allowed Chase and his team to issue one. A brief notice that North Coast Outfitters and Ivy Lane Designs were collaborating on a new collection. Luckily, no one would pick up on the connection between her and Chase. But still it was out there, a flag in the sand, so to speak, that Phoebe was declaring for herself.

  “Yes, I wish you had told me. I would have been happy to negotiate on your behalf,” Dean said smoothly. Phoebe heard the clink of china and realized that Dean was already up, fully up, even though it was still very early on the West Coast.

  “Well, thanks for the thought, but I did OK,” Phoebe said. The terms had seemed fair enough; but then, she hadn’t really asked for more, pushed, seen how much Chase was willing to give her. Dean was like a shark; he would never have acted that way on behalf of his client.

  “Glad to hear. It’s a good thing,” he said, “I suppose. I am still working on wearing CallieSue down and knowing that you’ve moved on might be just the thing to make her want you back.”

  “Dean,” Phoebe began. In truth, she hadn’t thought once about losing the job to work on CallieSue’s new line of country accessories and home goods. She had been too focused on and excited about her own business and designs to think about anyone else’s.

  “I know, I know, you said to leave it be. I wasn’t sure that heading out there was such a good idea, but who knew you would sign a business deal.” He laughed again, but Phoebe had the sense he was dodging the point. Dean was probably sitting in his ultra-modern apartment, high up, with a commanding view of the city.

  “Well, I think it’s good for me. The house is wonderful,” Phoebe hedged. It still needed a lot of work, but she was getting there. “And I’ve been feeling really creative, full of energy.” Inspired, though Phoebe didn’t say that.

  “Well, I just want you to be careful, my dear. I checked a bit on the company you’ve signed on with. I hope you aren’t dealing directly with the president, a Chase Sanders. He seems to have quite the reputation for himself.”

  Phoebe felt herself bristle at the implied warning. “He’s not anything like the papers make him out to be…” she began, and then realized that she didn’t know him that well at all.

  “Ahh, so it was a personal deal,” Dean said. “Listen, Phoebs, you know I am just looking out for you. I don’t want you to get taken advantage of again.” He said it gently, kindly and Phoebe felt her irritation slip away. Dean really did look after her; he always had.

  “I know, I know,” Phoebe acknowledged. “And it’s just business, nothing like it was with Garrett. I mean, I have nothing to offer him besides my pillows.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the phone and Phoebe waited, hoping that Dean wouldn’t say anything that would make it awkward between the two of them.

  “Well, I am sure you know what you’re doing. And, well, now that you have a new job, I’m sure you’ll be back here soon working again.”

  Phoebe laughed with him, not having the heart to tell him that she wasn’t sure whether she was going back. She could work wherever she wanted to, at least for a while, and the thought of not hopping on a plane and heading back to Los Angeles was becoming more and more appealing.

  <<>>

  Her morning, after the phone call with Dean, went well. At least she meant it to, having every intention to focus on work. She’d made a great start on the collection for North Coast Outfitters, but she was fiddling with the first designs, doing her best to get them perfect. Memorable. Unforgettable.

  “Don’t be alarmed.” Jake, the floor guy, popped up in front of her, a bacon-and-egg sandwich in one hand and the other hand clutched around a steaming cup of coffee. Phoebe was so startled she almost dropped the empty mug of coffee that she had been on her way to refill.

  “Is there a problem?” Phoebe asked. Chase strolled in right behind Jake, hands stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, looking totally at ease in a leather jacket. He had on his expensive sunglasses, which he removed as his dark eyes gazed around the place.

  “We’re almost done,” Jake said to Phoebe’s unanswered question. “I know it still looks bad, but this is a messy job. I need another two days for the upstairs. And then you can really start to move in.”

  One more night. Lynn’s mother had offered her the guest bedroom on a permanent basis while the floors were being done, but so far, she’d been able to stay in the house. Jake, since he was Chase’s floor guy, was giving her a deal, which meant he worked on her house in between his other jobs.

  “It looks beautiful.” Chase gestured towards the living room. Phoebe had picked the darker stain. The wood had been restored beautifully and the floors gleamed, looking sharp and clean. Unfortunately, it only made the paint look more dingy. Phoebe wanted to take her time picking colors, and this way she could live in the house and restore it at the same time.

  “Really, it does,” Phoebe agreed. She supposed another night at the Masters’ home was a small price to pay for perfect hardwood floors.

  “Great.” Jake took another bite of his sandwich and spoke around a mouthful. “Why don’t the two of you get out of here so we can finish up?”

  Phoebe couldn’t help herself, gazing up the stairs, to the landing, and the attic piled high with the remnants of Savannah’s life.

  “Don’t even think about,” Jake said, watching her gaze. “You can’t walk up there.”

  Phoebe laughed and held up her hands in mock surrender. “OK, I get it. I’ll get out.”

  She thanked Jake and walked out the door into a beautiful spring day. She sensed Chase’s presence behind her, but did not turn.

  “So, fancy going for a sail?”

  “A what?” Phoebe turned and looked at Chase. He was making a habit of just showing up and she could see he was serious, completely serious.

  “A sail. You said you liked boats. Mine happens to be at the marina, and it’s a beautiful spring day, with a nice breeze. There’s a deli that will make us some nice sandwiches, a couple of sodas, maybe a glass of wine?”

  “Are you sure this isn’t just a chance for me to check out your sheets?”

  Chase smiled, and she felt heat shoot through her. “As I was trying to tell you that night, I think there’s a gap in the market. Boat sheets are boring, bland. And you, I mean, your designs seem anything but.”

  “So it’s another business meeting?” Phoebe challenged.

  “We boaters like to call it a pleasure cruise.” He was joking, a cheesy-looking leer on his face. He topped it off with a wink and Phoebe had to laugh. But she felt her breath hitch and flame of desire lick through her as she gave serious consideration to the fact that she would be alone on a boat with him.

  “Is it going to rain?” The sky was clear, but she could see a sort of haze settling over the harbor.

  “Not until much later. Right now, it’s a great day out.” He’d pushed back his sunglasses so she could see his eyes gazing down at her, and she knew he wanted her to say yes. Phoebe hesitated for a moment, her brain screaming at her to say no, that she should go find someplace to hunker down, open up her laptop, do some work, but her body was sizzling with electricity, the thrill of being near Chase, of wanting to be near him.

  “Fine. But I get to steer,” Phoebe said.

  Chapter 26

  She had run upstairs to pack a bag and then dropped it off at the Masters’ house, briefly telling Mrs. Masters where she was going.

  “A sail. Isn’t it supposed to rain?” Mrs. Masters said, glancing at the sky and then back towards Chase who had walked in with Phoebe.

  “Oh, I think it will hold off. We should be fine,” Chase said and then shifted uncomfortably from f
oot to foot. Mrs. Masters was giving him that look, the look moms used to give him when he came to pick up their daughters.

  Phoebe came downstairs wearing khaki shorts and a collared shirt tied at the waist. A fleece was thrown over her shoulders and she had a pair of sunglasses and her camera.

  “We’ll be back later,” Chase said, trying not to be obvious in noticing the way Phoebe’s shorts showed off just about every inch of her long, tan, golden California legs.

  He saw Mrs. Masters give him a look, so with one eyebrow raised and a smile, he turned on all of his charm.

  “I promise I’ll have her back in one piece, before sundown,” Chase said, pulling his eyes away from Phoebe’s thighs.

  His charm worked. Mrs. Masters gave them some cookies and shooed them off. Chase drove them back down to the marina, where he ordered some food from the small deli near the docks. His boat was well stocked with water, soft drinks, and, as promised, wine and beer.

  Chase wanted to put his arm around Phoebe and tell her that he wouldn’t bite. Not unless she asked him to. But she seemed intent on keeping a distance between them, as if their kisses had never happened. Still, he felt a faint stirring of hope when he caught her looking at him speculatively from underneath her lashes while pretending to browse through the postcard rack in the marina office.

  Perhaps she wasn’t as cool as he thought. Ice queen was the thought that had come to mind when he’d first met her, but after their kiss, he’d had to rearrange his thinking. She had been more like a fire demon, the way she had moved into him, arousing all of his senses, the way he had wanted the kiss to last forever, how he wanted to run his hands over her body, touch her, feel her. Each time, all rational thought had fled from his mind. Well, he’d had a few of them, like how he could get her alone and under him in a house without a lick of furniture and a pile of old boxes.