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Authors: Sandra Marton

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BOOK: The Millionaire Claims His Wife
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“Babe,” he said thickly, “I want you so much I can't think straight.”
It seemed to take forever before she could draw enough strength to answer.
“We can't,” she said, in a voice that sounded like a stranger's.
“Why? We're adults. Who is it going to hurt, if we do what we both want to do?”
Me, she'd thought, me, Chase, because if I go to bed with you, I'll be forced to admit the truth to myself, that I still—that I still—
“No,” she said, her voice rising in a cry that seemed to tremble in the air between them. “No,” she repeated, and then, because it was the only safe thing she could think of, she took another breath and lied again, the same way she had when they'd been preparing dinner. “It wouldn't be fair to—to Milton.”
“Milton.” The name was like an obscenity on Chase's lips.
“That's right. Milton. I'm engaged, and so are you. What I meant about nobody knowing what we do tonight, nobody asking questions, was that there's no reason for us to share the bedroom.”
“I see.”
She waited for him to say something else, but he didn't.
“Surely, in this entire house, there's another—”
“No.”
“No?”
“Look around you, dammit. There's no sofa. There's not even a chair, except for the rocker in the bedroom.”
Annie stared at him, wondering why he sounded so angry.
“Well,” she said, looking up at the ceiling, “what's on the second—”
“Did you see a staircase?”
“Well—well, no. No, I didn't. But—”
“That's because there aren't any rooms above us. There's just a storage loft, full of boxes. And bats.”
“Bats?” Annie said, with a faint shudder.
“Bats,” Chase repeated coldly, furious at her, at himself, at Dawn, at Kichiro Tanaka and the city of Seattle and the Fates and whoever, whatever, had put him into this impossible situation. His lips drew back from his teeth. “The bats eat the spiders. The
impressive
ones, the size of dinner plates.”
“In other words, you're telling me we'll have to make the best of things.”
“A brilliant deduction.”
Annie tossed aside the magazine and shot to her feet. “Listen, Cooper, don't be so high-and-mighty! I'm not the one who got us stuck out here, and don't you forget it.
“No,” he snarled, “I won't forget it. If you'd put your foot down in the first place, if you'd told our daughter, flat out, that she couldn't marry Nick—”
“That's it,” Annie said, stalking past him.
“Don't you walk out on me, lady.”
“I'm going to find something else to read,” she snapped, over her shoulder. “Even the label on a can of tuna would be better than trying to have a conversation with you.”
“You're right,” Chase snapped back, shouldering past her. “I might even take my chances and try swimming to the mainland. Anything would be an improvement over an evening spent in your company!”
* * *
Annie sat on the rocker in the bedroom. She looked at her watch.
Chase had been gone a long time. Surely he hadn't really meant that. He wouldn't have really tried to swim the cold, choppy water...
The bedroom door opened. She looked up and saw Chase.
“Sorry,” he said briskly. “I should have knocked.”
“That's all right. I, uh, I was just sitting here and—and thinking.”
“It's been a long day. I don't know about you, but I'd just as soon turn in and get some sleep.”
“That's what I was thinking about. Our sleeping arrangements. We can share the room.”
“We
are
sharing it,” he said coldly. “I thought I'd made that clear. There isn't a hell of a lot of choice.”
“You did. And I—I agree. It's not a problem,” Annie said, rushing her words together. “The bed's the size of a football field. I'll take the right side. You can have... What are you doing?”
Chase was yanking open closet doors. “There've got to be linens here somewhere... Here we go.” He reached inside, took out an armful of bedding, tossed a blanket to Annie and then draped another over the rocker.
“You're going to sleep in the chair?”
“That's right.” He sat down, tucked a pillow behind his head and stretched out his legs. “I wouldn't want to sully your reputation.”
“Chase, please. I never meant—”
He reached behind him, hit the switch on the wall and the room was plunged into darkness. Annie closed her eyes. Tears seeped out from beneath her lashes.
“Chase?” she whispered, after a long time.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said, and rolled onto her side.
I love you, Chase, she thought, because there was no harm in saying it now, to herself, even as she wondered how she was going to get through the endless night.
“Good night, Annie,” Chase said, and he shifted uneasily, trying to find a comfortable position even though he knew there was no such thing, not in a wooden rocker, not with the granddaddy of all headaches in permanent residence behind his temples—and not with the only woman he would ever love sleeping a hand's span away.
He could smell her perfumed scent, hear the softness of her breathing. All he had to do was reach out and he'd be able to touch her warm, silken skin.
How in hell was he ever going to get through the night?
CHAPTER NINE
C
HASE CAME AWAKE with a start. The room was inky black; he could hear the light patter of rain against the roof.
Where was he? Not at home, that was for sure.
Memory came back in a rush. The crazy flight to Seattle. The motorboat, speeding across the water. The island. The cabin. The bedroom...
This bedroom.
And Annie. Annie, asleep in a bed inches from where he sat.
Don't think about that. About Annie. Think about something else. Anything else.
Chase grimaced. He could think about how it would be a miracle if he ever managed to stand upright again. Now, that was a topic worth considering.
Gingerly, hands clasping the arms of the wooden rocker, he eased himself up so that his back was straight. Not that caution would make much difference. His spine felt as brittle as china, and it ached like hell. The rest of him didn't feel much better.
Whistler's Mother be damned, he thought grimly. Wooden rocking chairs were not made for comfort, or for sleeping.
It was chilly in here, too. It didn't help that the blanket he'd draped over himself was somewhere on the floor. Wincing, he bent down and felt around until he found it. Then he dragged it up to his neck and told himself that this night couldn't last forever.
What time was it, anyway? Chase raised his arm and peered at the place on his wrist where he knew his watch ought to be. The lighted dial was faint; he had to squint to see it clearly. It had to be, what? Three, maybe four in the morning?
Bloody hell! It was eleven twenty-five. He'd been asleep, if you could call it that, all of two hours.
Wearily he closed his eyes, started to put his head back and remembered, just in time, that if he did, he'd whack his skull against the wall. He'd done it a couple of times already. For all he knew, that was what had awakened him in the first place.
Eleven twenty-five. Unbelievable! If he were in Seattle right now, he'd be wide-awake. He'd be sitting up in a nice, soft bed, with a pillow tucked between him and the headboard, and he'd be reading. Or watching TV. Making notes for the next day's meetings. Whatever. The one sure thing was that he wouldn't be sitting in the most uncomfortable chair man had ever invented, with no place to rest his head. Or his legs. As for his butt...men, he'd decided, were not born with enough padding where it counted.
Another couple of hours, he'd end up a chiropractor's dream.
Dammit, who was he kidding? Another couple of minutes, he'd end up out of his skull. Forget the chair, and the discomfort of trying to sleep in it. Forget the night chill that had seeped into the room. Forget the soft whisper of the rain.
None of that was the reason he was awake.
The reason, plain and simple, was Annie.
How was he supposed to get through the night trapped in this room with her?
Chase told himself he ought to be ashamed for his lecherous thoughts. Not that they were his fault. It was Annie who was to blame.
Damn. Oh damn. Why couldn't he admit the truth? There was no way to lay this off on Annie. She hadn't planted these pictures in his head. She couldn't possibly know he was sitting here with an aching back and a sizzling libido. She was sound asleep. He could tell by the soft, steady whisper of her breath. If he'd been having raunchy dreams—and he had—it was nobody's fault but his own.
One dream, in particular, had been very real.
It had started with him sitting right here, in this chair, when he'd heard Annie sigh his name.
Chase,
she'd said, and suddenly moonlight had streamed into the room, casting an ivory glow on the bed.
Annie had sat up and opened her arms to him.
Chase,
she'd whispered,
why are you sitting over there? Come to bed, darling, with me, where you belong.
Chase rubbed his hands over his eyes.
“Give us a break, Cooper,” he muttered. “What are you, a pimply-faced kid?”
A grown man could share a room with a woman for the night without coming unglued, especially when she was the very woman he'd divorced five long years ago. He could get through twenty-four hours without letting himself think he'd fallen for her all over again because the truth was, he hadn't.
Of course he hadn't.
It was just the pressure of the last few days, that was all. Things were catching up. The wedding. Dawn's running away. His emotional and physical exhaustion. Taken all together, it was a prescription for disaster.
Then, too, his ex was still a very attractive woman. His type of woman, which was only logical considering that he'd been married to her, once upon a time. But he'd also left her, or they'd left each other, to be exact, and for very good reasons.
Chase sat back carefully in the rocker.
So, okay, she could still push all the right buttons. And yeah, his stupid male hormones were still programmed to make his equally stupid male anatomy straighten up and salute. That didn't mean he had to sit here having thoughts that were beginning to make going out into the rain for an impromptu shower seem like a pretty good idea.
He had to concentrate on the reality of the situation. Annie was in love with another man, and if he wasn't actually feeling the same way about Janet, well, he could. He would. It was just a matter of letting it happen. And then the story of Annie and Chase would be over, once and for all.
Dawn was a big girl now. She'd understand that life wasn't a fairy tale that ended with the words, “And they lived happily ever after.”
Chase sighed. He felt better already. There'd be no more dreams tonight. Why, even if that last silly dream were to come true, if Annie were to suddenly stir and whisper his name, he wouldn't—
“Chase?”
Annie's voice, as soft and sweet as an early June morning, turned that firm conviction into an instant lie.
“Chase? Are you awake?”
Was he awake? He couldn't imagine why she had to ask. Couldn't she hear the thunder of his heart?
He heard the rustle of the bed linens as she turned toward him. Her face was a pale, perfect oval; her eyes were wide and gleaming. Her hair curled around her face and neck, falling in a gentle curve to her shoulder.
How he'd always loved to kiss her there, in the satin-softness of that curve.
Chase cleared his throat. “Hi,” he said. “Sorry if I woke you.”
Annie shook her head. “You didn't. Not really. I had a silly dream—”
She broke off in the middle of what she'd been about to say, grateful for the lack of light in the room because it meant Chase couldn't see the blush she knew was spreading over her face. It was bad enough she'd had the dream in the first place. She certainly wasn't going to describe it to him.
Why would any woman in her right mind tell her ex-husband about an erotic dream—especially when she, and he, had been its stars?
“What dream?”
“I don't remember.”
“But you just said—”
“What's that I hear? Rain?”
Annie sat up against the pillows and drew the blanket up to her chin. Her arms and shoulders were bare. Chase's heart lifted into his throat. Was she naked under that blanket?
“Yes,” he said in a voice that sounded more like a croak but hey, a man had to be happy for what he could manage and right now, managing even that much was a miracle.
Annie sighed. “Mmm. It sounds wonderful, doesn't it? It makes it seem so cozy in here.”
Cozy? Chase almost groaned. “Yeah,” he said, “oh, yeah, cozy's the word.”
“What time is it, anyway? Is it close to morning? I could make us some coffee.”
“It's almost twelve.”
“Twelve? How could that be? It's so dark...” Annie gave an incredulous laugh. “Twelve at
night?
You're joking.”
“I wish I were.”
Annie's head drooped. There was still an entire night, stretching ahead. Hours and hours of lying here, knowing she had only to reach out her hand to touch the man who'd once been her husband.
No. This was impossible. She could never survive until morning...
Of course she could. She wasn't foolish enough to still think herself in love with Chase. That nonsense had faded away while she'd slept. What she felt was lust, pure and simple. Hey, she could admit it. This was the end of one century and the start of another. Women were allowed to have sexual feelings. They were encouraged to have them, according to the talk shows on TV and the supermarket tabloids.
And she had them. Oh, yes, she did. Chase had always been—probably always would be—the kind of man who could turn her on with a look, but wanting sex with a man didn't necessarily have anything to do with loving him, despite what she'd told Chase when they'd talked about Dawn and Nick, just yesterday.
The truth was, sex was all a matter of hormones and libido. Love was a separate thing entirely. Everybody said so, even Milton, who'd earnestly assured her that it was okay if she didn't feel anything for him physically. They could still have a good life together, he'd said.
Maybe he was right.
“Annie?”
She blinked and lifted her head. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the lack of light in the bedroom. She could see Chase clearly now, sitting in the rocker and watching her.
“What are you thinking?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly, “only that—that it's amazing if Mr. Tanaka ever manages to get any sleep in this bed. The mattress feels as if it's stuffed with steel.”
Chase laughed. “Welcome to the Chamber of Horrors. Did President Kennedy really sit in one of these godawful chairs to ease the pain in his back?”
“I don't think he tried to substitute a rocker for a bed,” Annie said, smiling.
“Well, that's why he got to be president. The guy was smart.”
Annie laughed. It was such a light, easy sound that it made Chase smile. There was a time they'd laughed a lot together. Not over anything special. Just something one would see or hear and say to the other, or something that would happen when they were together.
It felt good, making her laugh again. Everything about today had felt good, even the moments they'd been going at each other. An argument with Annie was better than an evening of smiles from any other woman, especially if the argument ended, as it so often had, in the old days, with her in his arms...in his arms, and wanting him as much as he wanted her.
What would she do, if he went to her now? If he shucked off his clothes, pulled back the blankets and got into the bed with her? He knew just how she would smell, like a blend of perfume and honey and cream. And how she would feel, the heat of her breasts and belly, the coolness of her hands and feet.
He smiled, remembering. Lord, she had the iciest hands and feet in the world!
It was a game they'd often played, on chilly nights like this. They'd get into bed, he'd take her in his arms and she'd wrap one leg around his, dance her toes over his calf while she slid her hand down his chest and he'd say, very sternly, Annie, you stop that right now, and she'd ask why and he'd say because she was positively frigid.
“Frigid?” she'd say, indignantly.
“Frigid,” he'd insist, and then he'd roll her onto her back and whisper, “but I know a way to fix that...”
Chase shot to his feet.
“Here,” he said gruffly, dumping the blanket he'd been using on Annie's bed. “Take this. It's gotten a little chilly in here.”
“I'm fine. Anyway, I can't take your blanket.”
“Sure you can.”
“But what'll you use?”
A snowbank, if he could find one. What he needed was not to warm up but to chill down.
“I'm, ah, I'm not tired.”
“Not tired? Chase, that's impossible. We've had an awful day. An endless day—”
“You've got that right.”
“And you've only had, what, two hours sleep? That's not enough.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I'm overwound. Or maybe it's just that I'm not in the mood to turn into a human pretzel.”
“You're right.” Annie reached for his discarded blanket. In one quick motion, she dropped her own blanket, wrapped his around her shoulders, and rose from the bed. Chase had a glimpse of ivory-colored skin and nothing more. “So you take the bed. I'll take the chair.”
“Don't be ridiculous.”
“I'm smaller than you are.”
She was. Definitely. Smaller, and fragile. Wonderfully fragile. Make that feminine. The top of her head barely brushed his chin. If he dipped his head, he could rub his chin against her hair. Her soft, shiny hair.
BOOK: The Millionaire Claims His Wife
13.47Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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