Blackmailed Into His Arms. Margaret Mayo
Читать онлайн книгу.
spent so much time alone with him, she realized she wouldn’t be opposed to a relationship with him.
Chase apparently had other ideas. From the way he’d treated her just now, it seemed he not only didn’t want her to accompany him to dinner, but might not want her around anymore at all.
Swallowing hard, she let the barely-there panties fall back in the drawer and slammed it closed. Then she marched into the bathroom, dropped the towels from her hair and chest and shrugged into one of the big, fluffy terry cloth robes the hotel provided.
She’d never worn one of them before, opting instead for the sexier sleep sets she’d brought along. Everything she’d packed was sexy, because that was what she’d thought Chase would want.
Well, to hell with him. From now on, she would go for comfort, wear what she wanted, without a thought to his likes or dislikes.
It’s not as though he would be touching her again, anyway. If he so much as tried, she’d break his wrist and kick him where it hurt.
Stalking into the sitting room, she grabbed the room service menu, found about twelve things that sounded appetizing, and ordered them all. Ha! She might not have used the credit card he gave her, but she sure would run up his room charges.
She spent the rest of the evening curled up on the overstuffed sofa, stuffing her face and flipping through channels on the television. Nothing seemed to catch her interest, and no amount of food seemed to fill the hole burning in her gut.
It was close to nine o’clock when she heard the scraping of the key card on the other side of the door. Her stomach lurched and every muscle in her body tensed as she prepared herself to face Chase.
It was the last thing she wanted. For a brief second, she considered running for the bathroom and locking herself in. But that would be the coward’s way out, and she didn’t want to be a coward. She just didn’t want to deal with him again any time in the near future.
The door opened, then closed, and she heard him moving across the carpeted room in her direction. It took all of her willpower not to turn her head and scowl at him, but she kept her attention on the TV, pretending to be deeply absorbed in the crime drama playing on the screen.
The closer Chase got to the sofa, the more her skin tingled, every hair standing on end. And still she refused to acknowledge him.
“Elena,” he said after a moment.
His voice was tight and clipped, but she refused to respond.
“Elena,” he repeated, more softly this time. “Won’t you at least look at me?”
She clenched her teeth to keep from saying something truly scathing, and instead punched the remote control to turn up the volume a couple more notches.
“Dammit, Elena.” Chase leaned down, entering her vision for the first time, and snatched the remote from her hand. He tossed it onto the seat of a nearby chair, well out of her reach.
Barely managing to hold on to her temper, she slid her folded legs off the couch and stood, moving away from him to skirt the low coffee table. She made it just a few feet from the bedroom door before he stopped her by grabbing her arm.
She opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, only to have him spin her around, pin her to the nearest wall with his imposing bulk and mash his lips to hers.
With a moan of outrage, she pushed at his shoulders, turned from side to side trying to wiggle away. He merely tightened his hold until his hard chest pressed against the growing tautness of her nipples, his strong thighs trapping hers.
And then the pressure of his mouth changed. Lightening, growing more cajoling than demanding. She moaned again, this time in surrender.
Her nails dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer rather than attempting to push him away, and her leg snaked up to wrap around one of his. His hands spanned her waist as he tore his mouth away, his lips moving to her chin, her throat, the curve of her ear.
“I’m sorry,” he panted, the words vibrating over her skin and into her bones. “I acted like an ass earlier. I was in a bad mood and took it out on you. I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry.”
Her brain was turning to liquid, as was the rest of her body. She could barely remember what he’d said to her all those hours ago, let alone how upset she’d been with him afterward.
“Forgive me?”
His fingers fumbled with the thick belt of her robe, getting it open and pushing apart the edges of the heavy terry cloth. She was naked beneath and the cool air of the suite washed over her rapidly heating flesh. He fastened his mouth on the straining tip of one breast and she whimpered, digging her fingers into his hair to hold him in place.
How could she deny him when he made her blood flow like molten lava and drove every rational thought from her head?
“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Yes, yes.”
He moved to her other breast and she gasped, letting her head fall back against the wall as sensation after sensation washed over her. Reaching between them, he quickly undid his pants and lifted her legs around his waist, filling her in one long, strong stroke.
Biting her bottom lip to keep from crying out, Elena crossed her ankles behind his back, arched her back in an attempt to get even closer to him and let the ripples of pleasure wash over her.
He was so powerful. So confident and masculine and … incredible. No one had ever had such a profound effect on her before. And she doubted anyone ever would again.
Chase’s breathing sounded in her ear, heavy and harsh to match her own. It took only moments for the intensity to build, for the desire spiraling in her belly to grow almost unbearable and for her to shatter into a million little pieces, taking Chase over the precipice with her into ecstasy.
They clung to each other, gasping for air, then slowly slid down the wall to the floor in a tangle of limbs and disheveled clothes.
Several minutes later, his chest rumbled with a low chuckle. He shifted slightly, moving into a more comfortable position and bringing her with him to rest in the crook of his arm. “Guess I understand now why make-up sex has such a stellar reputation. Maybe later, we can get into another fight and do that again.”
She gave an exhausted, wheezing laugh, positive she would never have enough energy to argue or make love with quite that much exuberance again. She’d be surprised if she could even manage to walk on her own two legs before early next week.
Seven
Standing in the corner of the huge, crowded ballroom, Chase buried his hands in his pants pockets and scuffed his booted foot on the highly polished floor. Adults were milling all over, drinking, laughing, nibbling on little finger sandwiches and chunks of cheese speared with fancy toothpicks.
At least that’s what he thought they were eating. When they’d first come in, he’d taken a good look at some of the trays the waiters were carrying around and decided there was nothing on them he’d be putting in his mouth.
The big, expensive house was decorated for Christmas within an inch of its life. Santas, reindeer, holly boughs, snowflakes, bells, angels, mistletoe … if it had anything to do with Christmas, it was stuffed somewhere in this mausoleum.
He hated this sort of thing. If his mom and dad hadn’t made him come to this stupid party, at this stupid old mansion, he would be home right now, watching TV or doing chores in the barn with his brother.
But from some of the whispered conversations he’d overheard between his parents, things hadn’t been great with their family lately, financially speaking. Victor Sanchez had hired his dad to do some work with his horses and paid him well for his expertise, so when the man invited the Ramseys to his home for a huge holiday celebration, it would have been rude—according to Chase’s mother—not to accept.
But he still didn’t