Powerful and Proud: Beneath the Veil of Paradise / In the Heat of the Spotlight / His Brand of Passion

Deftly Chase’s fingers undid the buttons on her polo shirt. ‘Raise your arms,’ he said, and she did. He slipped the shirt over her head, tossed it aside. Millie glanced down at the plain white cotton bra she wore; the straps were frayed. Why had she never indulged in sexy underwear? ‘We’ll leave that on for now,’ Chase said, his mouth quirking in a small smile. ‘I kind of like it.’

She practically snorted in disbelief. ‘You like my old, plain white bra?’

‘I know; weird, huh? But I’ve seen plenty of push-up monstrosities. This doesn’t pretend or hide.’ He touched her chin, tilting her face so she had to meet his gaze. ‘Unlike you.’

‘My bra is more honest than I am?’ she huffed.

‘Pretty much,’ he said, and undid the snap on her capris.

Millie’s breath caught in her chest as Chase slid them down her legs. His touch was feather-light and swift, hardly a practised caress. And yet she felt as if she burned where his fingers had so briefly touched her. He sank to his knees as he balanced her with one hand while he used the other to help her out of the capris, then tossed them over with the shirt.

She was in her underwear. Again.

And he was naked, on his knees in front of her.

She tried not to gulp too loudly as she gazed down at him, all burnished, sleek muscle. Slowly, so slowly, he slid his hands up her legs and then held her by the hips, his palms seeming to burn right through the thin cotton of her underwear as his fingers slid over her butt. She let out a stifled cry as he brought his mouth close to the juncture of her thighs and she tensed, anticipating his touch, fearing the intensity of her own response. But he didn’t touch her, just let his breath fan over her, and that was enough.

Her knees buckled.

She felt Chase’s smile and he stood up. ‘Better,’ he said, and she let out a wobbly laugh. Sensation fizzed inside her. The fear lessened, replaced by a warm, honeyed desire.

Then her mind started going into hyperdrive again, memories, thoughts and fears tumbling around like a washer on spin cycle.

‘Stop thinking.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Then I’ll have to help you.’

‘Yes.’ Please.

Wordlessly he tugged her hand and led her to the bed. Her mind was still spinning relentlessly, and she had a sudden picture of her bed back in New York, her and Rob’s bed, all hospital corners and starched duvet, and how she’d sank onto it when the phone had rung, and the police had told her there had been an accident...

‘Lie down.’

‘OK.’ She felt only relief that he was interrupting her thoughts. She wanted to stop thinking. Stop analysing. Stop remembering so much. Why did being with Chase make her remember? She’d spent two years trying not to think, and now the thoughts came fast and thick, unstoppable.

She needed Chase to stop them.

She lay on the bed and he knelt over her. Millie felt herself tense. ‘What are you—?’

‘Trust me.’

And she knew she did trust him. Amazingly. Implicitly. Yet that thought was scary too. Chase reached for something above her head, and she saw he’d taken the satin pillow-case from the pillow.

He took the pillow-case off the other pillow and Millie waited, arousal and uncertainty warring within her.

‘Care to tell me what’s going on?’ she asked as lightly as she could.

Chase slowly slid his hand from her shoulder to her palm, lacing her fingers with his own as he raised her hand above her head.

‘I’m tying you up.’

‘What?’ She thought he was joking. Of course he was joking. Then she realised he’d done it, and her hand was tied to the bed post with a satin pillow-case. She stared at him with wide eyes, totally shocked. Chase simply knelt there, smiling faintly, his eyes dark and serious. Waiting.

Waiting for her permission.

She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, her whole body intensely, unbearably aware. She had no room for thoughts. She said nothing.

He bent down and kissed her deeply on the mouth, another soul-stirring kiss that had her arching instinctively towards him.

And then he tied up her other hand. She lay there, her hands tied above her head, her body completely open to his caress.

Vulnerable.

This felt far more intense than anything that had happened so far between them, and she knew why Chase was doing it.

He was taking everything from her. Taking it all, so he could give.

All in.

Slowly Chase slid his hands across her tummy, over her breasts, reaching behind to unhook her bra. ‘Sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I do like it, but it had to go eventually.’

She still couldn’t speak. Especially not when he tossed the bra onto the floor and bent his head to her breasts, his tongue flicking lightly over her nipples. She arched again, her head thrown back, pleasure streaking through her like lightning—but still the thoughts.

My breasts are too small.

Rob never liked them.

I don’t deserve a man like this.

‘Still thinking, huh?’ He lifted his head and looked at her, his voice wry even as his eyes blazed.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered. She wanted him to help her forget, but maybe she couldn’t forget unless she first released the memories. Shared them.

The most terrifying thought of all.

‘Don’t be sorry.’

‘I want to stop thinking so much. Remembering.’

‘I know you do.’

‘Help me,’ she implored. ‘Help me, Chase.’

He gazed at her, his face suffused with both tenderness and desire. What a heady combination. She felt more for him in that moment then she ever had before, and then he took another pillow-case, folded it in half and placed it over her eyes. Millie gasped aloud. Chase waited, the pillow-case folded over her eyes but not tied.

She blinked, shocked and yet knowing she needed this. Chase was helping her, helping her in a way she’d never have expected. It was strange and scary, yet amazingly right.

‘OK?’ he asked softly and she nodded. He tied the blindfold around her eyes.

Millie lay there, trying to adjust to this new reality. Her world had shrunk to the feel, sound and scent of Chase. Her mind had no room save for the sense of him. Her body tensed in a kind of exquisite anticipation, waiting for his touch. Wondering where he would touch her, every nerve taut with glorious expectation as she lay there, helpless, hopeful and utterly in his control.

And then she felt his mouth between her thighs, right on the centre of her, and she let out a shudder of shocked pleasure. She had not expected that.

Her body writhed beneath him and she felt a pleasure so intense it was akin to pain as her body surged towards a climax. ‘Chase,’ she gasped, his name a sob. And then he stopped, taking her to the brink and no further, and she ached with the loss of him. ‘Chase,’ she said again, and this time it was a plea.

She could hear his breathing, ragged and uneven, and his knees pressed on the outside of her thighs. She felt his heat, knew he was right above her. Where would he touch her next?

She let out a long shudder, every sense sizzling with excitement.

And then he began to touch her, a blitz of caresses that had her so focused on the sensation she could not form so much as a single coherent thought. First a butterfly brush of a kiss on her wrist. A blizzard of kisses on her throat. Then he kissed her deeply on the mouth and she responded, straining against the bonds that had brought her to this moment. He kissed her everywhere, light, teasing kisses, deep-throated demands, bites, licks and nibbles. She cried beneath him, first out of pleasure and amazement and then something deeper.

Something inside her started to break.

She’d told him she wasn’t broken, and she hadn’t been. She’d been holding herself together, only just, her soul and heart a maze of hairline cracks and fissures. And now, under Chase, she shattered.

Pain and pleasure, joy and sorrow, erupted from the depths of her being in helpless cries that became wrenching sobs, her whole body shaking with the force of them even as she lay there, splayed open to him, everything exposed. Everything vulnerable.

‘Millie,’ he said, and his voice was full of love.

‘Yes,’ she choked. ‘Yes, Chase, now.’

Distantly she heard the rip of foil and knew Chase would finally be inside her. She’d never wanted anything so much, and yet she still gave a cry of surprise and joy when she felt him slide inside, fill her up.

She’d been so empty.

His arms came around her and Chase freed her so she enfolded her body around his, drawing him deeper inside as she buried her face in his neck and sobbed through her climax.

Chase surged inside her, deeper and deeper, and with his arms around her, holding her tightly and tenderly to him, he brought them both home.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHASE felt his heart race as he held Millie in his arms and she sobbed as if her own heart were breaking.

God help him. God help them both. He’d never expected sex between them to be like that. Mind-blowing indeed. He was completely and utterly spent, emotionally, physically, everything.

Millie pressed her face against his neck, her body shaking with the force of her emotion. Chase didn’t speak, knew there were no words. He just stroked her back, her hair, wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs.

Millie’s sobs began to subside into snuffles and hiccups, and she curled herself into him, as if she wanted to be as close to him as possible, her legs across his, her arm around his waist, her head still buried against his neck.

Chase held her, cradled her closer, even as part of him was distantly acknowledging that this had been one hell of a mistake.

She lifted her face from his neck and gazed up at him with rain-washed eyes. She looked so unbearably open; she’d dropped all the armour and masks. Nothing hid her from him any more, and he really wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He shifted so he could hold her a bit more loosely, waiting for her to speak.

‘I want to tell you,’ she said quietly, hesitantly. ‘I want to—to talk about my past.’

He didn’t think he wanted to hear it. Chase adjusted her more securely against him, knowing she needed that. She needed him, God help them both.

‘OK,’ he said.

Millie glanced down, ran her hand down the length of his bare chest. Even now he reacted, felt the shower of sparks her touch created in him. He wanted to dismiss it as mere chemistry, but he knew he couldn’t.

‘My husband died two years ago,’ Millie said, and everything, everything in him shrivelled.

Damn.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. He’d suspected some heartbreak; of course he had. How could he not? Sadness seeped from her pores. But a husband? A widow? He thought of all his light, deprecating jokes and inwardly winced.

Outwardly he ran his hand up and down her back, strokes meant to soothe and comfort even as his mind seethed.

‘What happened?’ he asked eventually, because for all her wanting to tell him everything she’d lapsed into silence.

‘He died in a car accident. On the Cross Bronx expressway. A collision with an eighteen-wheeler. They think the driver fell asleep at the wheel.’

Chase swallowed. He couldn’t think of anything more to say, so he just held her.

‘I didn’t tell you because for the last two years it’s completely defined me. Everyone I know looks at me like I’m a walking tragedy.’ Which she was. ‘No one knows what to say to me, so they either ignore me or apologise. I hate it.’

He identified all too much with everything she said, albeit for a different reason. But he knew there was more she wasn’t telling him.

‘And then I feel guilty for thinking that way. Like I want to be happy, even when I know I never can be.’

‘Everyone wants to be happy,’ Chase said. ‘You can be happy again, Millie.’ But not with him. Now, he knew, was not the time to remind her they only had one week together. Four more days after this.

‘I liked the fact that you didn’t know,’ she said quietly. ‘That you treated me normally. I almost—I almost felt normal.’

‘And then you felt guilty for feeling normal,’ Chase supplied. What a depressing cycle.

‘Yes, I suppose,’ Millie said slowly. ‘But more than that.’ She stopped again and he knew he would have to prompt her. Coax the heartbreaking story with all its drama and tragedy out of her bit by bit.

But he didn’t think he had the energy. That probably made him an incredibly shallow bastard, but he couldn’t help it. He’d had his own share of depressing drama, tragedy and pain. He wasn’t sure he could take Millie’s.

And he knew she couldn’t take his.

‘We had a good marriage,’ she finally said. ‘I loved him.’ And what was he supposed to say to that? She bowed her head, her hair brushing his bare chest. ‘And I know no marriage, no relationship is perfect, but I look back and I see all the mistakes I made. We both made,’ she allowed, her voice a throaty whisper, and Chase just let her talk. He didn’t have much to offer her. He hadn’t had too many serious relationships, and he’d never come close to marriage.

Yet.

Why the hell had he thought that?

‘We grew apart,’ Millie said after a moment. ‘Because...because of different things. And the day he died I was sharp with him. I don’t even remember what we argued about, isn’t that stupid? But I didn’t— I didn’t kiss them—him—goodbye. I don’t think I even said goodbye. And Charlotte...’ Her voice caught and Chase pulled her closer. He still didn’t say anything. He had nothing to offer her in this moment, and he knew it. Maybe she did too.

After a ragged moment Millie slipped from his arms. He let her go, watched from the bed as she scooped up her clothes and headed towards the bathroom. ‘I’m going to take a shower,’ she said, her back to him so he could see all the delicate knobs of her spine, the slender dip of her waist and curve of her hip.

‘OK,’ Chase said, and as she closed the bathroom door he felt a shaming wave of relief.

* * *

Millie turned the knobs on the shower and rested her head on the cool tile. Her heart had stopped its thunderous racing and for a second she wondered if it still beat at all. After feeling so painfully, gloriously alive, she now felt dead inside. Numb and lifeless with disappointment.

So Chase didn’t really want intense. Not the kind of intense she’d been offering as she’d lain in his arms and tried to tell him her story. Even as he put his arms around her, went through the motions, she’d felt the coldness of his emotional withdrawal. She’d violated the terms of their agreement—the terms she had made—and he didn’t like it. Didn’t want to go that deep or far.

Stupid, stupid her.

Drawing a shaky breath, she stepped into the shower, let the water stream over her and wash away the traces of her tears. She’d cried after the accident, of course. She’d done the counselling and the support groups and even journalled. But she’d never cried like that. She’d never given so much, so freely, and stupidly it made her want more. It made her want to tell him everything, about her marriage, the accident, Charlotte.

But within thirty seconds of speaking she’d realised Chase didn’t want to know. He wasn’t the only one who could read people.

Another shuddering breath and she reached for the shampoo. At least now she understood the terms: no talking about the past. Chase was all about the physical intimacy, having her melt in his arms, but the emotional stuff? Not so much. He’d liked pushing her but he didn’t like the results. Well, she got that now. And it was just as well, because even if for a few shattering seconds she’d wanted to tell him everything, had maybe even thought she loved him, she understood now that wasn’t where this was going. And when rationality had returned she’d known she didn’t even want to go there. She’d loved and lost once. She wasn’t going to attempt it again, and especially not with a man who was only in it for a week.

By the time she’d showered and dressed, Millie felt more herself. She’d found that icy control, and she was glad. She stepped out of the bathroom, saw the late-afternoon sun slant across the empty bed. They’d skipped lunch and, despite the emotional tornado she’d been sucked into all afternoon, she was hungry. Her stomach growled.

She wandered out to the kitchen and saw Chase talking on his mobile. She waited, far enough way so she couldn’t eavesdrop, and a few seconds later he disconnected the call and gave her a quick, breezy smile.

‘Good shower?’

‘Fine. I’m starving, though.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. I just made reservations at Straw Hat on Anguilla.’

‘Anguilla? How far away is that?’

‘An hour in my boat.’

‘OK.’ Maybe escaping the island would be a good thing.

The door bell rang, and Millie watched as Chase went to answer it. She felt like everything was on fast forward, plans put in motion before she could even think.

‘What’s that?’ she asked when he came back with several shopping bags with the resort’s swirly logo on the side.

‘A couple of dresses. I thought you might like something new.’

She gazed at him levelly. ‘I have a whole suitcase of new clothes.’

Chase just shrugged. ‘I don’t think your wardrobe runs to fun and flirty.’

‘Maybe I don’t want fun and flirty.’

He sighed. ‘Don’t wear them if you don’t want to, Millie. I just thought it might be nice for our big date.’

‘Oh? So this is a big date?’

He narrowed his gaze. ‘What’s with you?’

‘Nothing.’ Somehow everything had changed between them, and not for the better. Chase wasn’t as light and laughing as he’d used to be, as she needed him to be. He was tense and touchy, even if he was trying to act like he wasn’t. And so was she.

‘Fine. I’ll take a look.’ She reached for the bags and caught Chase’s bemused look. ‘Thank you,’ she added, belatedly and ungraciously.

Chase’s mouth quirked in a smile that seemed all too sad. ‘No problem,’ he said quietly, and she retreated to the bedroom.

Half an hour later she was on Chase’s boat, wearing a shift dress of cinnamon-coloured silk as they cruised towards Anguilla.

Chase had shed his blazer and tie and rolled the sleeves up of his crisp white shirt to navigate the boat. He looked amazing.

They hadn’t said much since the exchange in the kitchen, and the silence was making Millie twitchy. She wanted that fun, teasing banter back, the ease she’d felt in Chase’s presence. She’d told him he’d made her uncomfortable, but it was nothing like this.

Moodily she stared out at the sea. The sun was already slipping towards the horizon. A third sunset. Only four more to go and their week would be over. And by mutual agreement, they would never see each other again.

Chase left the tiller to come and sit next to her, the wind ruffling his hair as he squinted into the dying sun. He didn’t ask her what she was thinking, didn’t say anything, and Millie knew he didn’t want to know. He’d only pushed her when he thought she’d push back, not give in. It was the anticipation that had been fun for him, the moment before.

Not the moment after.

‘So how come you have a villa on St Julian’s if you didn’t want to have anything to do with the Bryant business?’ she asked when the silence had stretched on long enough to make her want to fidget.

Chase kept his gaze on the darkening sea. ‘My grandfather bequeathed the island to my brothers and me, and my father couldn’t do anything about it. As soon as I’d established myself I had the villa built. I hardly ever use it, actually, but it was a way to thumb my nose at my father—even if he was dead.’

‘It must have hurt, to have him disinherit you,’ Millie said quietly.

Chase shrugged. ‘It didn’t feel good.’

‘What about your mother?’

‘She died when I was twelve. Breast cancer.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Another shrug. Clearly he didn’t like talking about any of this, but at least he was giving answers. And Millie knew she wanted to know.

‘And your brothers? Do you get along well with them?’

He sighed, raked a hand through his hair. ‘More or less. Aaron is nice enough, but he views life as a game of Monopoly where he has all the money. Luke is my middle brother, and he’s always been trying to prove himself. Total workaholic.’

‘And where do you fit in?’

‘Black sheep, basically, who only semi-made-good.’

‘Are they married?’

‘Nope, none of us seem eager to take the plunge.’ He spoke evenly, almost lightly, but she still heard the warning. Oh, fabulous. So after this afternoon he thought she was going to go all doe-eyed on him, start dreaming of happily-ever-afters. She’d only done that for a second.

‘And you get along?’

‘More or less.’

It didn’t sound like the best family situation. She was blessed to have parents and a sister who loved and supported her, but even they hadn’t been able to break down her walls or keep her from hiding behind the rubble.

Only Chase had done that.

She let out a restless sigh, knowing she needed to stop thinking this way, wanting something from Chase he couldn’t give. Ironic, really, that she’d assumed he was shallow, then believed he wasn’t, only to discover he really was. And, while she’d wanted shallow before, she didn’t want it now.

‘And what about you? You have family around?’ Chase asked.

‘Parents and a sister.’

‘Are you close with them?’

‘Yes.’ She paused, because even though she was close she hadn’t told them as much about her marriage as she had Chase.

‘Not that close, huh?’ Chase said, sounding cynical, and Millie shook her head. She couldn’t bear for him to think that her family was like his, or that her life had been all sadness.

‘No, actually, we are. My sister Zoe is fantastic. She stops by almost every week with my favourite snack, makes sure I’m not working too hard.’

‘Your favourite snack?’

‘Nachos with fake cheese.’

He let a short laugh. ‘That is so low-brow. I was expecting dark chocolate or some exotic sorbet.’

‘I don’t play to type that much,’ she said lightly, and for a moment everything was at it had been, the lightness, the fun. Then something shuttered in Chase’s eyes and he turned away to gaze at the sea.

‘We’re almost there.’ He rose and went to trim the sail as the lights of Anguilla loomed closer, shimmering on the surface of the tranquil sun-washed sea. They didn’t speak as he moored the boat and then helped her onto the dock.

The restaurant was right on the sand, the terracotta-tile and white-stucco building one of a jumble along the beach. It felt surprisingly refreshing to be out of the rarefied atmosphere of St Julian’s, to see people who weren’t just wealthy guests. A rail-thin cat perched along the wall that lined the beach, and a few children played with a ball and stick in the dusky light.

Millie slowed her steps as she watched the children. One of the girls had a mop of dark curls. She looked to be about five years old, a little older than Charlotte would have been.

‘Millie?’ Chase reached for her hand and she realised she’d been just standing there, staring. Children had been invisible to her for two years; it was as if her brain knew she couldn’t handle it and just blanked them out. She didn’t see them in her building, in the street, in the park. It helped that her life was so work-focused; there weren’t many children on Wall Street.

Yet she saw them now, saw them in all their round-cheeked innocence, and felt her raw and wounded heart give a death-defying squeeze.

‘Millie,’ Chase said again quietly and slowly she turned away from the raggedy little group. She wanted to rail at him, to beat her fists against his chest.

See? See what you did to me? I was fine before, I was surviving, and now you’ve opened up this need and hope in me and you don’t even want it any more.

Swallowing, she lifted her chin and followed Chase into the restaurant. The place was a mix of funky Caribbean decor and fresh, well-prepared food. The waiter greeted Chase by name and ushered them to the best table in the restaurant, in a semi-secluded alcove.