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CHAPTER THREE

CHASE felt Millie’s fingers tense in his even as a buzz travelled all the way up his arm. Her fingers felt fragile, slender bone encased in tender skin. A sudden need to protect her rose in him, a caveman’s howl. Clearly it was some kind of evolutionary instinct, because if there was one woman who didn’t need protecting, it was Camilla Lang.

He thought she might jerk her hand away from his, and he was pretty sure she wanted to, but she didn’t. Didn’t want to show weakness, most likely. He smiled and took full advantage, tightening his hold, drawing her close. She tensed some more.

This woman was prickly. And Chase had a sneaking suspicion she had issues, definitely with a capital I. Bad relationship or broken heart; maybe something darker and more difficult. Who knew? He sure as hell didn’t want to. Didn’t he have enough to deal with, with his own issues? Those had a capital I too. And he had no intention of sharing them with Millie.

Even so he drew her from the table, still holding her hand, and away from the terrace, down the lift, through the resort, all the way outside. He threaded his way through the tables of the beach-side restaurant and bar, straight onto the sand. She held his hand the whole time, not speaking, not pulling away, but clearly not all that pleased about it either.

There they were, holding hands alone in the dark.

The wind rattled the leaves of the palm trees overhead and he could hear the gentle shoosh of the waves lapping against the shore. The resort and its patrons seemed far away, their voices barely a murmur, the night soft and dark all around them. Millie pulled her hand from his, a not-so-gentle tug.

‘Let’s walk.’

‘Sounds good.’

Silently they walked down the beach, the sand silky and cool under their bare feet. Lights of a pleasure yacht glimmered in the distance, and from far away Chase heard the husky laugh of a woman intent on being seduced.

Not like Millie. She walked next to him, her back ramrod-straight, her capris and blouse still relentlessly unwrinkled. She looked like she was walking the plank.

He nearly stopped right there in the sand. What the hell was he doing here, with a woman like her? Didn’t he have better ways to spend his time?

‘What?’ She turned to him, and in the glimmer of moonlight he saw those warm, soft eyes, shadowed with a vulnerability he knew she thought she was hiding.

‘What do you mean, what?’

‘You’re thinking something.’

‘I’m always thinking something. Most people are.’

She shook her head, shadows deepening in her eyes. ‘No, I mean...’ She paused, biting her lip, teeth digging into those worry marks once more. If she didn’t let up, she’d have a scar. ‘You’re regretting this, aren’t you? This whole stupid date.’

He stopped, faced her full-on. ‘Aren’t you?’

She let go of her lip to give him the smallest of smiles. ‘That’s a given, don’t you think?’

Did it have to be? How had they fallen into these roles so quickly, so easily? He wanted to break free. He didn’t want to be a flippant playboy to her uptight workaholic. He had a sudden, mad urge to push her down into the sand, to see her clothes wrinkled and dirty, her face smudged and sandy, her lips swollen and kissed...

Good grief.

Chase took a step back, raking a hand through his hair. ‘We’re pretty different, Millie.’

‘Thank God for that.’

He couldn’t muster a laugh. He had too many emotions inside him: longing and lust, irritation and irrational fear. What an unholy mix. He’d asked her out because it had seemed fun, amusing, but it was starting to feel way too intense. And he didn’t need any more intense. He took a breath and let it out slowly. ‘Maybe we should call it a night.’

She blinked, her face immediately blanking, as if her mind were pressing delete. Inwardly Chase cursed. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he knew in that moment he had.

‘Millie—’

‘Fine.’ Her back straighter than ever, she started down the beach away from the resort. He watched her for a second, exasperated with her stubbornness and annoyed by his own clumsy handling of the situation.

‘Aren’t you staying at the resort?’

‘I’m finishing our walk.’

He let out a huff of laughter. He liked this woman, issues and all. ‘I didn’t realise we’d set a distance on it.’

‘More than ten seconds.’ She didn’t look back once.

She was far enough away that he had to shout. ‘It was more like five minutes.’

‘Clearly you have very little stamina.’

There was more truth in that then he’d ever care to admit. ‘Millie.’ He didn’t shout this time, but he knew she heard anyway. He saw it in the tensing of her shoulders, the half-second stumble in her stride. ‘Come back here.’

‘Why should I?’

‘On second thought, I’ll come to you.’ Quickly he strode down the beach, leaving deep footprints in the damp sand, until he reached her. The wind had mussed her hair just a little bit, so the razor edges were softened, blurred. Without even thinking what he was doing or wondering if it was a good idea, Chase reached out and slid his hands along her jaw bone, cupping her face as he drew her to him. Her skin felt like cool silk, cold silk, icy even. Yet so very, unbearably soft. Eyes and lips and skin, all soft. What about her, Chase wondered, was actually hard?

She was close enough to kiss, another inch would do it, yet he didn’t. She didn’t resist, didn’t do anything. She was like a deer caught in the headlights, a rabbit in a snare. Trapped. Terrified.

‘Sorry,’ he breathed against her mouth, close enough so he could imagine the taste of her. She’d taste crisp and clean, like the white wine she’d drunk, except it would be just her. Essence of Camilla.

She jerked back a mere half-inch. ‘Sorry for what?’

‘For acting like a jerk.’

Her lips quirked in the tiniest of smiles. ‘To which point of the evening are you referring?’

‘All right, wise-ass. I was talking about two minutes ago, when I said we should call it a night.’ He stroked his thumb over the fullness of her lower lip, because he just couldn’t help himself, and felt her tremble. ‘I don’t think I was too much of a jerk before that.’

Millie didn’t answer. Chase saw that her lips were parted, her pupils dilated. Desire. The brief moment of tenderness suddenly flared into something untamed and urgent. Chase felt a groan catch in his chest, his body harden in undeniable and instinctive response. His hands tightened as they cradled her face, yet neither of them moved. It was almost as if they were paralysed, both afraid—no, terrified—to close the mere inch that separated them, cross that chasm.

Because Chase knew it wouldn’t be your average kiss. And he was in no position for anything else.

With one quick jerk of her head, Millie slid out of his grasp and stepped backwards. ‘Thanks for the apology,’ she said, her voice as cool as ever. ‘But it’s not needed. It was interesting to get to know you, Chase, but I think we’ve fulfilled both sides of the deal.’ She smiled without humour, and Chase couldn’t stand the sudden bleakness in her eyes. Damn it, they were meant to be soft. ‘Good night,’ she said and headed back down the beach.

* * *

Millie walked without looking where she was going or caring. She just wanted to get away from Chase.

What had just happened?

He’d almost kissed her. She’d almost let him. In that moment when his hands had slid along her skin, cradling her face like she was something to be cherished and treasured, she’d wanted him to. Desperately. She would have let him do anything then, and thank goodness he hadn’t, thank God he’d hesitated and she’d somehow found the strength to pull away.

The last thing she needed was to get involved with a man like Chase Bryant.

She left the beach behind and wound her way through the palm trees to the other side of the resort. She’d go in the front entrance and up to her room, and with any luck she wouldn’t see Chase again all week. It was a big place, and he’d told her he was staying at his villa.

So why did that thought fill her with not just disappointment, but desolation? It was ridiculous to feel so lost without a shallow stranger she’d met a couple of hours ago. Absolutely absurd.

Clearly what this evening had shown her, Millie decided as she swiped her key-card and entered the sumptuous suite Jack had insisted she book for the week, was that she was ready to move on. Start dating, have some kind of relationship.

Just not with a man like Chase Bryant.

The words echoed through her, making her pause in stripping off her clothes and turning on the shower. A man like Chase Bryant. She’d pigeon-holed Chase from the moment she’d met him, yet he’d surprised her at every turn. Just what kind of man was he?

A man who asked pressing questions and told her things about herself nobody else knew. Who turned flippant just when she needed him to. Whose simple touch set off an explosion inside her, yet who kept himself from kissing her even when she was so clearly aching for his caress.

A man who made her very, very uncomfortable.

Was that the kind of man she didn’t want to get involved with?

Hell, yes.

She wished she could dismiss him, as she’d fully intended to do when she’d first met him: spoiled and shallow playboy, completely non-threatening. That was the man she’d agreed to have dinner with, not the man he was, who had set her pulse racing and tangled her emotions into knots. A man who touched her on too many levels.

Was that what she didn’t want? Getting involved with someone who had the power to see her as she really was, to hurt her?

Well, duh. Obviously she didn’t want to get hurt. Who did? And surely she’d already had her life’s share of grief Millie stepped into the shower, the water streaming over her even as her thoughts swirled in confusing circles.

Her mind was telling her all that, but her body was singing a very different tune. Her body wanted his touch. Her mouth wanted to know his kiss. Every bit of her ached with a longing for fulfilment she thought she’d forever suppressed.

She let out a shudder and leaned her head against the shower tile as the water streamed over her.

She could stay analytical about this. So she didn’t want to get hurt. She didn’t have to. How much she cared—how much she gave—was in her control. And here she was—and Chase was—on a tropical island for a single week, neither of them with very much to do...

Why not?

Why not what?

She dumped too much shampoo into the palm of her hand and scrubbed her hair, fingernails raking her scalp as if she could wash these tempting and terrible thoughts right out of her mind.

Just what was she contemplating?

A week-long affair with Chase Bryant. A fling. A cheap, sordid, sexual transaction.

She scrubbed harder.

She didn’t do flings. Of course she didn’t. Her husband had been her only lover. Yet here she was, thinking about it. Wondering how Chase would taste, how he would hold her. What it would feel like, to be in his arms. To surrender herself, just a little bit of herself, because even if he sensed she had secrets she wasn’t going to tell them to him. She just wanted that physical release, that momentary connection. The opportunity to forget. When Chase had been about to kiss her, she hadn’t been able to think about anything else. All thoughts and memories had fled, leaving her nothing but blissful sensation.

She wanted that again. More.

Millie rinsed off and turned off the shower. She could control this. She could satiate this hunger that had opened up inside her and prove to herself and everyone else that she’d moved on.

She just needed to tell Chase.

* * *

Chase watched the poker-straight figure march down the beach as if in step with an invisible army and wondered why on earth Millie was looking for him. For there could be no mistaking her intent; she’d arrowed in on him like a laser beam. What, he wondered, was with all the military references going through his mind?

Clearly Millie Lang was on the attack.

And he was quite enjoying the anticipation of an invasion. He sat back on his heels on the deck of his sailboat, the water lapping gently against its sides, the sun a balm on his back. Millie marched closer.

Chase had no idea what she wanted. He’d stopped trying to untangle his thoughts about their date last night, from the almost-kiss he hadn’t acted on, to the hurt that had flashed in her eyes to the fact that it had taken him three hours to fall asleep, with Millie’s soft eyes still dancing through his mind. Definitely better not to think about any of it.

‘There you are.’

‘Looking for me?’

She stood on the beach, feet planted in the sand, hands on hips, a look of resolute determination on her face. ‘As a matter of fact, I am.’

‘I’m intrigued.’ He stood up, wincing a little at the ache in his joints. He couldn’t ignore the pain any more. She watched him, eyes narrowed, and he smiled. He could ignore it. He would. ‘So, what’s on your mind, scary lady?’

Her mouth twitched in a suppressed smile, and then she was back to being serious. ‘Is this your boat?’

He glanced back at the sailboat, doing an exaggerated double-take. ‘What—this?’

‘Very funny.’

‘Yep, it’s my boat.’

‘Did you sail here?’

He laughed, reluctantly, because once he might have. Not any more. He didn’t trust himself out on the sea alone. ‘No, I flew in a plane like most people. I keep the boat moored here, though.’

‘I suppose the Bryants are a big sailing family and you started at the yacht club when you were a baby.’

He heard an edge to her voice that he recognised. She hadn’t grown up rich, suspected the proverbial silver spoon. ‘More like a toddler,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Do you sail?’

Lips pressed together. ‘No.’

‘You should try it.’

She glanced at him suspiciously. ‘Why?’

‘Because it’s fun. And freeing. And I’d like to see you out on the water, your hair blowing away from your face.’ She’d look softer then, he thought. Happier too, maybe.

‘You would, huh?’

‘Yeah. I would.’

‘Well, you already told me how you felt about my haircut.’

He chuckled. ‘True. Feel free to let me know if there’s anything you don’t like about my appearance.’

She eyed him up and down deliberately, and Chase felt a lick of excitement low in his belly. He liked that slow, considering look. Millie Lang was checking him out. ‘I will,’ she said slowly, ‘but there isn’t anything yet.’

‘No?’ He felt it again, that licking flame firing him up inside. Was Millie flirting? What had changed since last night, when she’d been as sharp and jagged as a handful of splinters? When he’d let her walk away because he told himself it was better—or at least easier—that way.

And then hadn’t stopped thinking about her all night.

‘Come aboard,’ he said, and stretched out a hand. She eyed it warily, and then with a deep breath like she was about to go underwater she took it and clambered onto the boat.

It was a small sailboat, just thirty-two feet long with one cabin underneath. He’d bought it with his first bonus and sailed halfway around the world on it, back when he’d been a hotshot. Now he cruised in the shallows, like some seventy year old pensioner with a bad case of gout and a dodgy heart. No risks. No stress. No fun.

‘It’s...nice,’ Millie said, and he knew she didn’t know a thing about boats. Who cared? He liked seeing her on deck, even if her clothes were still way too wrinkle-free. Today she wore a red-and-white-striped top and crisp navy-blue capris. Very nautical. Very boring. Yet he was intrigued by the way the boat-neck of her top revealed the hard, angular line of her collarbone. He wanted to run his fingers along that ridge of bone, discover if her skin was as icily soft as it had been last night.

‘I could take you out some time,’ he said. ‘On the boat.’ Why was she here? He stepped closer to her, inhaled the scent of her, something clean and citrusy. Breathed deep.

She turned to him, her hair sweeping along her jaw, and his gaze was caught by the angles of her jaw and shoulder, hard and soft. Her top had slipped a little, and he could see the strap of her bra: beige lace. No sexy lingerie for this lady, yet he still felt himself go hard.

‘You could,’ she said slowly, and he knew she was gearing up to say something—but what?

He folded his arms, adopted a casual pose. ‘So?’

‘So what?’

‘Why are you here, Millie?’

Again that trapped look, chin tilted with defiance. This woman was all contradiction. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Not a bit.’ And that was the truth.

She turned away, rubbing her arms as if she were cold. ‘How long are you on this island, anyway?’

‘A week, give or take.’

‘You’re not sure?’

‘I’m being flexible.’

‘And then you go back to New York?’

‘That’s the plan.’ This was starting to feel like an interrogation. He didn’t mind, but he wondered what she was getting at.

‘I’ve never come across you in New York,’ she said, almost to herself, and Chase just about kept himself from rolling his eyes.

‘It’s a pretty big city.’

She turned to face him. ‘And we move in completely different circles.’

‘Seems like it.’

‘So there’s no chance we’d see each other again.’

Maybe he should start feeling offended. But he didn’t; he just felt like smiling. Laughing. Why did he enjoy her prickliness so much? ‘Is that what you’re afraid of?’

She met his gaze squarely. ‘I’d prefer it if we didn’t.’

He rubbed his jaw. ‘If that’s what you’d prefer, why are you on my boat?’

‘I meant after. After this week.’ Her words seemed heavy with meaning, but he still didn’t get it.

‘OK. I think I can manage that.’ Even if he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

‘It would be easier,’ she said, sounding almost earnest now. ‘For me.’

Now he was really confused. ‘Millie, I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘I know.’ She pressed her lips together, gave a decisive nod. OK, Chase thought, here it comes. ‘I’m attracted to you. You probably know that.’

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug that could mean anything. He didn’t want to ruin this moment by agreeing or disagreeing; he just wanted her to keep talking.

‘And I think you’re attracted to me. Sort of.’

She looked so pathetically and yet endearingly vulnerable that Chase had to keep himself from reaching for her. What he would do when he had her in his arms, he wasn’t completely sure. He did know one thing. ‘I’m attracted to you, Millie. More than I’d ever expect.’

She let out a short laugh. ‘Because I’m not your usual type.’

‘No, you’re not. Does that matter?’ He wasn’t even sure what he was asking. Where was she going with this conversation?

‘No, I don’t think it does.’ She didn’t sound completely sure.

‘But, trust me, I am.’ If she risked a glance downwards, she’d know.

‘Well. Good.’

‘Glad we’re on the same page.’

She let out a breath and looked straight in his eyes. Vulnerability and strength, hard and soft. ‘I hope we are.’

‘Maybe we’d find out if you clued me into where this conversation is going.’

‘Fine.’ She took a deep breath, plunged. ‘I want to sleep with you.’