What the bloody hell was wrong with her?
No. She knew what was wrong with her. Hormones—and possibly his pheromones since she wasn’t ready to take all the blame—were controlling her brain.
She knew what her problem was. What she couldn’t figure out was what Chase’s was. He was clearly torturing them both. But why? If he thought tumbling her onto the mattress beside him in the furniture store was enough to make her forget about the annulment and have sex with him, he was dead wrong. Hopefully.
“There. Everything’s taped.”
They’d first stopped by her apartment to pick up some old paint clothes. Running inside while she’d made him wait in the car, she’d pulled out the ugliest, rattiest, most holey long-sleeved T-shirt and cutoff jean shorts she could find. They were probably at least ten years old.
But the look of complete and utter devastation on Chase’s face when she’d come out of her place was not what she’d hoped for. She’d wanted him to think twice about touching her…not be scared to death of her.
She would have turned on her heel to go back inside, if he hadn’t stopped her. “Please promise me you’ll never wear those clothes ever again.”
“Why not? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with these.” She looked down. They covered everything, damn it. She knew how to dress herself. She’d been doing it for almost twenty-five years.
“Sure, if you’re a man without a pulse. God, you have the most amazing legs. How am I supposed to concentrate on painting? Especially when I’ve had them wrapped around my waist, your heels dug into my thighs, urging me on.”
She should have been incensed at his tone of voice and blatant words. Instead she’d felt powerful and…sexy. It was a feeling she relished for about three minutes, until she realized it only increased the ever-present pressure between her thighs.
Damn it! He hadn’t even touched her.
But somehow she’d ignored both it and Chase, reclaiming her equilibrium and resolve somewhere in the monotony of spreading plastic and taping walls. Now the afternoon sun was setting outside the newly prepared windows, and she wasn’t feeling so steady or certain…about anything.
“How about we start on that wall, get as much done right now, and then break for pizza in a couple hours.”
“Oh, no. I’ll just head home when we’re done.”
“No. You’ve sacrificed your entire Saturday and promised me Sunday. The least I can do is feed you.”
His commanding tone of voice put her back up but she didn’t argue. Somehow she thought maybe that was exactly what he wanted her to do. It had taken her a while to realize it, but her mind had needed to concentrate on something else as they’d worked silently together. Chase had been purposely baiting her all day. She had no idea why, but she also had no intention of falling in line with whatever he wanted…anymore.
For the next two hours she painted. Furiously. The skin across her shoulder blades felt tight enough to split down the center, spilling everything she was onto the floor at his feet. She was nervous and jacked up on adrenaline. She hated feeling this way, so out of control—of herself and the entire situation.
At the end of it all, her arms ached, her back ached and she groaned with relief that the torture of being in the same room with him was almost over. She wanted to go home, curl under the covers and just be. She’d make up some excuse for tomorrow, maybe come down with a sudden case of the flu. Or—or chicken pox.
“Pizza. What do you want on yours?”
“Just cheese.”
Raising an eyebrow he said, “Pizza purist?”
“More like my pizza taste buds never grew up. There’s something comforting and familiar about just plain cheese.”
“Cheese it is.”
He stepped into the kitchen. Rina stopped in the center of the room and waited for him to come back with a phone or coupons in his hand. When after a few minutes he hadn’t, she started to get antsy. Her gaze darted from sheet-draped surfaces to fresh rolled paint. Her legs trembled with the urge to shift nervously back and forth. She fought it down.
“You want a beer? Glass of wine?”
“No thanks.” Although the tightening in her stomach that seemed to appear at the mention of alcohol mixed with Chase didn’t materialize, she still didn’t think it would be the best choice. Especially considering how close to the edge of stupidity her hormones had her tilting. “Water would be great, though.”
“Why don’t you come in here? It’ll be easier than yelling.”
With one last, longing look toward the front door, Rina headed to the doorway off the far side of the room.
Instead of sitting at the table, looking through a phone book for the number like she’d expected, Chase stood at the counter, a ball of dough, a canning jar of red sauce and a pile of freshly grated cheeses in front of him.
“You’re not ordering it from Pizza Hut?” Obviously.
“Sacrilege. No one makes better pizza than my mother, especially not that place. She’d die before she’d send her son into a cruel world without teaching him the art of a homemade pie.”
“Are you guys Italian?”
“No. She just knew how to make a killer pizza.”
Sitting down on one of the stools at the island in the center of the kitchen, Rina said, “I must admit I’m pretty impressed.”
“Don’t be too much. I bought the dough from a pizza place across town. It freezes well. And the sauce isn’t mine either.”
“Hey, you’re still doing better than I could. I’m a fair cook—I had to learn or starve to death on the food the General thought edible—but it never occurred to me to make my own pizza.”
“Yeah, mess-hall food kills your taste buds. The first thing I did when I got back to the States was eat the biggest, greasiest, juiciest hamburger I could find.”
The rapture on his face at the memory made her smile.
“Yeah. For me it would probably be a loaf of homemade bread. I’m such a carb fiend.”
“You’ve certainly earned them tonight. I think you single-handedly painted half the room.”
She grunted a skeptical sound but didn’t dispute his statement. She had sort of attacked the project with an edge of desperation.
They were almost through with the pizza, one of the best she’d ever eaten, when he looked up from his empty plate. She could tell from the tilt of his head and the intensity in his eyes that he thought she wasn’t going to like what he had to say next. Steeling herself, Rina waited.
“You never talk about your mother.”
It wasn’t a question but she knew what he was asking. Her mother was a subject she seriously disliked to think about, let alone talk about.
At least she loved her father. And knew he loved her even if he had a difficult time showing it sometimes. Her mother was a whole other kettle of fish.
“She left when I was just shy of five. Couldn’t take the military life, the constant moving and isolation.” Not to mention her father’s high expectations and low threshold for complaints. “She died several years later. A car accident coming home from a late-night shift at the bar.”
She didn’t mention that it was her mother who’d been the drunk driver. Or that she looked exactly like the woman and had spent the better part of her life trying to live down that fact.
She didn’t want to be her mother, selfish, flighty, uncontrolled. The General had raised her to be competent, self-sufficient, to not rely on anyone else for anything. And she’d learned her lesson well because at any moment she could be left all alone. Her mother had chosen to leave. Her father had chosen a career that could make her an orphan.
“I like to think that at some point they loved each other. My father always said they did. I just don’t think either of them could handle the pressure of marriage.”
“That must have been tough. Growing up without a mother.”
“Dad and I managed. Usually without threat of killing each other.” Rina smiled, although the effort felt brittle a
nd ready to crack at the first sign of a prodding finger at the open wound. Their relationship was complicated. He’d expected a lot of her and she’d tried hard to live up to the expectations that he had. It was a tough line to walk. But she’d managed.
“Your father never remarried?”
“No. I think he decided dealing with one female was enough. Besides…I think he was afraid to find another woman who couldn’t live with him, his lifestyle and his drive for power and success.”
“He seems rather single-minded.”
Now that was an understatement if ever she’d heard one. “But enough uninteresting details about my childhood.” Rina glanced down at her watch. “I should be getting home.”
Scraping back her chair from the table, she walked her plate to the dishwasher and loaded it.
“You don’t have to do that.” Chase’s voice sounded directly behind her. She leaned into the counter for a moment, trying to steady her nerves and resolve before turning around.
He was centimeters from her, close enough that she could see the five-o’clock shadow darkening his chin, especially the dimple in the very center, making him look even more rugged and dangerous than usual. It was way past five o’clock. Way past time for her to go.
“Old habits.” She attempted a laugh that sounded more like a rush of air escaping from a punctured tire.
With a single step, Chase closed the gap between them. She watched as awareness flared deep in his bright blue eyes, an answering spike of knowledge shooting through her body.
He reached for her, running his finger down between her eyebrows, across the bridge of her nose.
“You have tiny dots of paint all over your face.”
“I must look like hell.”
“Actually, it’s rather cute.”
“Cute. Every woman’s dream.”
His fingers grabbed at a tendril of hair brushing gently at her face and ran down the strand. A sharp shiver of need racked her body.
“In your hair, too. Cute was the wrong word, but I thought sexy would scare the hell out of you.”
It did more than that. It made her heart flop over in her chest and her stomach pulse with nervous energy.
“Nothing a shower can’t fix.” She forced out the words even though her brain was yelling at her to say something else, something along the lines of take me now.
His breath pulled sharply into his body; she heard the sound and saw the answering rise of his chest, felt it expand against her as he leaned closer.
Her eyes widened. Had she said that aloud?
His mouth touched down to hers, soft, gentle, persuasive. And she was lost.
Grabbing his face with both hands, she pulled him closer against her body. He went right along with her, deepening the kiss, opening his mouth, raking inside.
His fingers curled into her waist, arching her back and wrapping her tight against him. His body was tense, hard, perfect against her own.
His hands ran up and down her spine for several seconds before he groaned and tore his mouth away, lifted her up by her hips and placed her onto the counter behind them.
Her legs spread out before him, a welcoming V that she couldn’t seem to close, didn’t want to close. His arm around her back, he scooted her to the very edge so that their bodies aligned perfectly.
A moan escaped from deep in his chest, rumbling with the intensity of a jet overhead. At least, the sound echoed through her the same, jolting, jiggling, tingling inside.
“God, Sabrina, you have no idea how much I want you.”
His words played against the curve of her neck, the sensitive spot at the dip of her shoulder. Her skin pebbled, a chain reaction racing down her body.
Her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, needing to pull him closer to her aching core. It was a motion from her memory…from the night of the wedding…this afternoon when he’d teased about having her legs around him. It was a motion that snapped her sanity back into focus.
Pushing him away, Rina slid from the counter onto shaky legs.
“I need to go.”
“Don’t.” Chase reached for her, his lips pinched tight, his eyes swirling with need and disappointment.
She understood. Oh, boy, did she. But that didn’t change what she had to do. Her body might be urging her to stay but her brain was yelling at her to leave.
Chase Carden had a control over her she didn’t understand. A control that scared her. He was a pilot. Just like her father. He took risks. Unnecessary risks. If she gave in to the urges swirling through her body—the need, that driving force inside—she wasn’t sure she’d be able to let him go.
And she wasn’t sure she could ever be happy or free of fear if she didn’t.
8
“FUNNY. I never took you for a coward before.”
Chase lounged inside the doorway of Sabrina’s office late Monday morning. She hadn’t come to help him paint yesterday. The way she’d left Saturday night like a fire had been lit beneath her butt, he hadn’t really expected her to.However, he’d been disappointed just the same. Saturday had been the first day he’d honest to God enjoyed since coming home.
If there was one thing he knew about his wife it was that calling her out for her evasive tactic was a surefire way to get under her skin. She’d hate being called a coward almost more than anything. Especially because in this case it was true and there was no way she could dispute the fact.
It was an honor thing that her father and the air force had pounded into her brain. He was hoping for a knee-jerk one-eighty reaction that might involve finishing his bedroom…and then making use of it.
“I resent that statement.”
“Honey, if it walks like a duck, looks like a duck and quacks like a duck—” he wandered into her space, deliberate rolling steps designed to set her on edge “—then I’m guessing it’s a duck.”
He enjoyed watching her fluster, the way she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. How her skin flushed a slight shade of pink as he moved closer. The way her body slid against leather as she shifted nervously in her chair.
“What I can’t figure out is, are you afraid of me—” Chase leaned down to her ear “—or of yourself?”
She gulped, the elegant column of her throat drawing his gaze down even as her eyes narrowed and her body moved away from him.
“I think you don’t trust yourself. I think if you had stayed Saturday night you would have ended up naked on my kitchen counter, relishing every moment of making love with me again.”
Chase swiveled her chair around so that she couldn’t evade him, couldn’t ignore him. She stared up into his eyes, a green swirl of denial, desire and distress.
“And I think you know it.”
Sabrina licked her lips before saying, “We agreed we wouldn’t do this.”
“Yeah, well. I was stupid to think I could be in the same zip code with you and resist craving you.”
“Then we can’t be in the same zip code, Chase. This is a bad idea. Sleeping together is a bad idea. I’ve already told you why.”
Sleeping together was the wrong term. It was too tame. What they had was raw, unbridled, wild. But he’d keep that thought to himself. For now.
Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to push her. And if that meant a little personal gratification…
“Hot sex is never a bad idea, Sabrina.”
Reaching down, he pulled her out of her chair in one swift motion that had the breath backing into her lungs. Good, he liked her a bit off balance.
“Chase.” His gut clenched, not at the sound of his name on her lips but the underlying current of need behind it. She might not realize it but she was begging him—and torturing the hell out of them both.
Reaching into her hair, he grabbed pins, dropping them carelessly on the floor at their feet. He wanted to see the honey-gold mass down, curling around her face and shoulders. He wanted to see the siren she’d been Saturday night in his kitchen, not the damn wall she hid behind at work.
“Why, Sabrina? Why do you hide yourself away? You aren’t doing yourself any favors.”
“I…I don’t. It’s regulations.”
“I’m not talking about your hair. You’re bright, creative, fiery, but I’m apparently the only one who sees that. I’m the only one you let see that. Why? What is so wrong with who you really are that no one else can see?”
He stared down into her eyes, bright green, the golden edges pulsing with what she wouldn’t let out.
“On our wedding night you didn’t fight, you didn’t think, you just did what felt right. Why can’t you do that now?”
“Because people could get hurt.”
“Because you could get hurt.”
“Yes.”
“I won’t hurt you, Sabrina.”
“You won’t mean to but you will.” The certainty in her eyes cut him to the core. Just the simple fact that she believed it of him, believed that there was no way their relationship could have a happy ending, no way she could trust in them enough to make it work…
In that moment Chase debated telling her he didn’t want the annulment. Would she believe him then? But he took a step back because he knew that’s what she wanted.
“We can’t ignore each other, Sabrina. And I won’t ignore the fact that I want you.”
Opening her mouth, she snapped it shut and gazed at him for a moment before saying, “Why not?”
“Because while you don’t seem to have a problem lying to yourself, I’m not willing to do that. Each time I see you, I want you more. It isn’t going away, it’s getting stronger.”
Her eyes widened and her tongue rushed out to lick across her lips. His jaw clenched against the urge to chase it back into her mouth.
“We’ll be working together, every day, for the next year. You honestly think you’ll be able to keep fighting this?”
“I can go weeks without seeing most of the pilots, at least while we’re not touring.”
“Yes, but I have no intention of making it that easy for you, Sabrina. You’re fighting a losing battle. The sooner you admit that the sooner we’ll both be happy…not to mention satisfied.”
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