by Paula Roe
“That’s the one.”
She paused then offered, “That’s an expensive wish.”
“It’s something I wanted to do, not an official one.” As she opened her mouth, he cut in with, “That’s it, okay?”
“But—”
“There is no ‘but.’”
“But if it’s not official then the wish must be for someone you know.”
“Vanessa,” he warned, his voice deepening. “You need to drop it.”
“Is it someone you know? Is it—”
With a soft curse, he was in her face, all broad and scowling, and she felt a sudden frisson of danger spark. Just like before, only a thousand times more dangerous because weren’t they now alone, in the dark, with the knowledge of the evening heavy between them?
“That’s it.” Her eyes rounded. “I knew it was personal!”
He was practically breathing down on her now, his mouth an angry slash. “Jesus, Vanessa, why can’t you just be satisfied with that answer and be done with it?”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “You did not just say that to m—”
With a frustrated growl his mouth slammed down on hers, cutting off her words, then her thoughts, then her breath.
Lips that looked so soft were now so very hard. They ground into hers, bruising, punishing, while his hand gripped the back of her head, firmly holding her in place.
Righteous indignation flooded in, urging her to react, but in a millisecond it evaporated. Chase filled her senses—his scent, his heat, his lips. And as his mouth continued to slant across hers, forcing a response, blood pulsed under her skin, sending a familiar anticipatory quiver to the most intimate parts of her.
So she shocked them both by molding her body to his and kissing him back.
She opened her mouth and allowed him access, his murmur of surprise lost in the tangle of their tongues. Yet she couldn’t help but groan when he pulled her closer and the full heat—and hard, intimate weight—of him pressed insistently into her belly.
Oh, wow.
She grabbed his face in her hands and tore her mouth from his. “Chase.”
His eyes were dark and dilated, his breath heavy on her lips. “Yeah?”
“We’re in a cloakroom.”
“I know.”
The warmth between their melded bodies flared, igniting a desperate yearning deep inside. She wanted to weep in frustration but instead she took an unsteady step backward. “A public cloakroom. Anyone could walk in.”
She waited for him to catch up. A heartbeat later, his mouth flattened and one hand went into his hair. “Right. Wouldn’t want that.”
There you go.
So why did the disappointment feel like bitter ashes on her tongue?
She took a deep breath, but it wasn’t enough to hold the charged air. “Chase… I think…”
“We should go.”
She nodded, unable to form the words because right now, her throat felt rough and scratchy from a bunch of inexplicable tears. Which was stupid. She wasn’t the weepy, emotional type at all.
So she straightened her shoulders, swallowed thickly and put on her game face.
“Are you ready?”
At his nod, she turned, grabbed the door handle and yanked it open.
Light speared in, followed by the faint sounds of the reception still going strong. Vanessa blinked away the spots of light as she strode out, looking for all the world as if she hadn’t just kissed Chase Harrington in a darkened cloakroom. And didn’t want to keep on kissing him.
That walk to the front entrance was interminably long, the wait for Chase’s car even longer. She occupied herself with keeping warm, her hands in her pockets, her breath a foggy huff on the air. She’d been warm only moments ago, when Chase had been pressed up against her, his mouth on hers.
Dammit, why was she wishing they were back in that cloakroom?
Finally they got into the car and were on their way home. And still not a word between them.
He hadn’t apologized, but then, she hadn’t really expected him to. Chase Harrington just didn’t seem the type to regret kissing a woman.
He probably kissed a lot of them. Hundreds. Thousands.
She scowled into the night as the lights sped by. Oh, you cannot actually be jealous?
With a small shake of her head, she sighed. So what have we learned this evening, apart from Chase Harrington being a fabulous kisser?
That he’d had a crappy childhood. That he was intensely private. And that he’d spent a million dollars on a child’s dying wish. Someone that meant something to him.
That little puzzle piece latched onto her heart with all five fingers and squeezed.
“When are you leaving Washington?” she finally ventured in the cavernous silence.
He shot her a curious look. “Monday morning. Why?”
“You should come over for dinner tomorrow night. If you’re not doing anything, that is,” she added.
Another look, this time emphasized by a frown. “After everything that’s happened tonight, you’re inviting me to dinner?”
She shrugged, grateful he had the road to focus on. “I get the feeling you don’t get a proper home-cooked meal often.”
“Mostly takeout or restaurants.”
“Well, I can’t guarantee restaurant quality—” she smiled tentatively “—but I’ve been told my roast lamb is pretty good. If you don’t mind eating at six and with messy twins.”
When they stopped at a set of lights he gave her his full attention and for a moment, Vanessa felt the enticing pull of those clear blue depths. Imagine going up against that when you’re negotiating a million-dollar deal.
He wore “charismatic and charming” as effortlessly as that expensive suit, using it to great effect when he needed to, but other times totally unaware of how devastating just one smile could be.
Well, unaware most times. If you didn’t count that moment back at the library. And in the cloakroom.
Oh, great. She swallowed. I know what you’re thinking and you should stop it.
It wouldn’t work. He lived in New York. He was incredibly rich. She was a working single mom who’d turned her back on the limelight and corruption that money could bring. And what guy would jump at the chance of dinner with a couple of unpredictable babies anyway?
There you go, Ness, overthinking things again. He never said he wanted a relationship, and frankly, you don’t have the time for one either.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t just enjoy herself.
She sucked in a breath. Oh, yes, he had the kind of face and body she’d definitely enjoy. He was so…so…male. That was it, he was a man in every sense of the word, so broad and rugged that sex practically oozed from him. So unlike the quiet, bookish intelligence of Dylan, plagued with self-doubt and in constant need of ego-stroking and affirmation.
Chase Harrington would be a perfect rebound guy. No strings, no commitment. That is, if he was actually into it too. He might not be. That kiss may have just been a one-off and he wasn’t—
“What?” Chase asked suddenly, shooting her a quick glance, and she realized she’d been staring at him as her thoughts ran crazy in her head.
Just brilliant.
“It’ll just be a meal,” she reassured him—or herself—feeling her skin flush as the lights went green and they set off.
“If I’ve learned anything in life, Vanessa, it’s that things are never as simple as what people would like to think.”
She crossed her arms. “Fine, then. Don’t.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to.”
She sighed. “So what do you want, Chase?”
He glanced at her, but his expression was tough to interpret in the dark.
“I would like to have dinner with you tomorrow night. Thank you.”
“Good.” She nodded, and a funny, almost delighted anticipation filled her chest.
Seven
On Sunday, through a batch of laundry, then vacuum
ing, Vanessa couldn’t stop thinking about Chase. Even bundling Erin and Heather up for a quick grocery run wasn’t enough to completely occupy her.
That kiss had been so dominant, so very me-Tarzan, that it surprised her even now. What did that say about her, letting him go all caveman on her? That she’d actually liked it?
She was being naive and unrealistic. Chase was married to his job, which meant any woman would have to be content in second place. And then there was that whole “distrustful” thing he had going on.
Yet he’d bought the manuscript for a sick child.
Even though that contradiction warranted more scrutiny, she put it out of her mind, put the girls down for their naps then took up a large sheet of white paper and began to fold.
She stayed engrossed in the origami for another hour, until Erin and Heather woke, and she began to prepare lunch. After an hour of play, they went down again and Vanessa was inevitably left alone with her thoughts and a silent apartment.
Thinking about last night made her skin burn. Thinking about seeing him again tonight had her insides doing all sorts of exciting things.
Well, no wonder, she rationalized, abandoning the tiny, complete swan for dinner preparations. She hadn’t been on a date in ages, much less kissed a guy. And Chase was a highly intelligent, incredibly successful guy.
Eventually, the afternoon light lengthened, her apartment began to fill with the delicious aroma of roast lamb and her attention returned to her origami.
Two hours later, the doorbell rang.
With a fussy Erin on her hip and Heather in the playpen, she went down the stairs. When she opened the door, Chase filled the empty space.
This time he was in jeans, a white unbuttoned shirt and blue sweater, his long coat over the top. A casual Chase but just as mouthwatering as the night before. More so because he looked as if he could be any other working-class guy in her neighborhood instead of someone who commanded billions on a daily basis.
Yet he wasn’t just any other guy, especially after last night.
Her mind suddenly roared with the memory of their kiss, the way his lips had felt, his breath on her skin. And, more tellingly, the reason she’d stopped him.
People could walk in.
She was fully aware there was a zero chance of walk-ins in the privacy of her home.
Then a grumbling Erin shattered the moment and she came back to reality with a thump.
He held up a bottle. “I brought wine but wasn’t sure if you drank it.”
“Now and again,” she managed to reply through her tangled thoughts. “Come on in.”
He nodded at the irritable baby in her arms. “Is this Erin or Heather?”
“Erin.” She gave him a wry look as she mounted the stairs. “She’s normally the quiet one.”
After his chuckle petered out, every single step up to her apartment sounded inordinately loud, the echoing clunk an odd accompaniment to her giddy anticipation. Her mind spun. Anticipation of what—another kiss?
No. Definitely not the impression she wanted to convey to her children.
Chase closed the door behind him then shrugged out of his coat, hanging it on a spare peg. “Something smells good.”
“Lamb roast,” she said over her shoulder as she went to Heather, who was cheerfully bashing a rattle on the playpen bars. “With veggies and bread. Hope that’s okay?”
Chase rested his hands on the plastic edge of the pen and peered in at Heather. “Sounds perfect. You want me to watch Erin?”
She blinked, taken aback, but quickly covered it. “Oh, okay.”
“I grew up around kids—I’ve held a baby before.” The small quirk of his lips had Vanessa’s face warming.
“Here you go, then.”
She handed Erin over, who proceeded to just stare at him.
“Ma! Din!” Heather demanded from the pen.
“Dinner is soon, sweetie,” Vanessa confirmed, gently bending down to cupping the little girl’s head with a smile. “I’m doing it now, okay?”
“’kay.”
“You good in there?”
“Good.”
Chase grinned as he followed Vanessa into the kitchen, Erin a silent bundle in his arms. Man, babies were warm! She practically seethed heat, her brown curls hugging her head, an identical match to her sister. Yet unlike Heather, all smiley and content in her playpen, Erin’s huge brown eyes just stared at him as he tried a tentative grin.
When he breathed in deep, filling his lungs with that familiar baby smell, his heart tightened at the memories. Mitch and his crazy, happy family, how they’d welcomed Chase into their lives without judgment or criticism. For months he’d been deathly afraid of rejection, of Mitch’s widowed mother getting sick of him and finally sending him packing, so he’d consciously made an effort to pull his weight—washing up, cleaning, taking care of the little ones. And after a year, he’d finally relaxed enough, even though the fear still gnawed in the back of his mind.
They’d never rejected him. It was Chase who’d done the rejecting, years later.
He stroked Erin’s soft head as the memories swirled, marveling at the soft curls beneath his palm.
Erin simply stared back at him.
She had her mother’s intense look. She’d also inherited that silent, slightly superior stare, he realized, his mouth stretching. And she was damn cute, too.
“Bet you’ll have all the boys wrapped around your finger,” he said softly. She simply shoved a fist in her mouth, glancing around for her mother.
“Huh. Guess you haven’t made her good list yet.” Vanessa smiled as she picked up a bread knife and began splitting the rolls.
“Playing hard to get. I like a challenge.”
Vanessa retrieved a plate from the cupboard and transferred the rolls onto it. “Be thankful she’s not screaming her head off.”
“Oh, I am.”
Vanessa laughed and when their eyes met, Chase grinned back.
Dunbar was an absolute idiot.
He’d read up on the guy before the auction, but newspaper articles, websites and blog mentions provided a skewed perspective depending on whether they loved or hated the man’s work. Knowing what he’d done to Vanessa though, that…that was the kicker.
What kind of person walked out on his pregnant girlfriend, ignored his own kids?
“If you scowl at her like that, she’s liable to start crying.”
“What?”
She glanced up from the carrots she was chopping. “Must be something nasty to produce such a frown.”
“Yeah.”
Vanessa let the silence pass for a heartbeat, then forged on with, “Tell me something.”
“Mmm?” He went back to smiling at Erin, but she refused to be drawn into his charm. Sensible girl.
“Why is it you’re not married?”
His expression froze then he dragged his eyes to her.
“I mean, you’re thirty-two, rich, good-looking,” she said with barely a trace of awkwardness. “Incredibly tolerant of babies…”
“I’m not interested in marriage.”
“Any particular reason why?”
“It’s unnecessary, not to mention a financial minefield.” He shrugged. “Why complicate things in a perfectly good relationship?”
“Wow,” she breathed. “You sound exactly like my sister. Except—” she returned to cutting up carrots with single-minded focus “—if it weren’t for marriage, she’d be out of a job.”
“Exactly. I just don’t see the point. You don’t need a piece of paper to make you happy. And one out of every two marriages fails, so…”
“Wow, that’s a cheery thought.”
“It’s true. Marriage changes people. I’ve seen it over and over.”
“And was your parents’ marriage like that?”
“They were exactly like that.”
At Vanessa’s look, he swallowed the rest of that incriminating sentence. “There’s no point in being with someone if it doesn’t make
you happy,” he said, then added, “Did Dunbar make you happy?”
She paused, thinking. “I think it was more a case of total hero worship. I mean, he could be oh so charismatic and witty—a real charmer with the ladies. But he was also a stickler for privacy. When he wasn’t promoting his books, he’d refuse publicity shots and interviews. He wasn’t one for going out either.”
“That must’ve been restrictive for you.” He slowly put a wiggly Erin down and kept an eye on her as she toddled over to a chair.
“Yes, it was.” Her gaze lingered on Erin then came back to him. “But I also had my job to consider, too.”
“How?”
“We’re talking about Winchester Preparatory College here. An elite private school. We had the kids of politicians, lawyers, movies stars and bankers. The faculty signed nondisclosure contracts with exclusivity and morals clauses. Rich Washingtonians are deadly serious about their children’s education and the morals of those teaching them.”
“What, the school was against any of their staff forming relationships?”
“No. But me being pregnant and unmarried would have been grounds for an inquiry. A reprimand at the least, at worst, termination. And after the strings my father pulled to get me there…well…you get the picture.” When he nodded, she opened another cabinet. “Wine?”
“Sure.”
Vanessa uncorked the bottle then poured a glass for him, half a glass for herself.
When she handed him his drink, his fingers connected with hers for one second, sending a shot of warmth to his gut.
“You seem to be doing pretty well there.” She nodded to Erin, who had finished with the chair and was now attached to Chase’s leg.
“Just call me the baby whisperer.”
She grinned. “Did you have younger brothers and sisters?”
“Only child.” He snorted. “My mother couldn’t have coped with more.”
“But you’ve had practice with small children.”
He hesitated. “My best friend—Mitch—had two younger sisters and three brothers. I spent more time at their house than mine.”
“That’s a lot of kids.” She picked up two plates with an assortment of vegetables on each. “Do you see them much anymore?”
