Her Bachelor Challenge

“And why would that be?” Chase asked, feeling as if he was going to explode if he had to sit there for one more second.

Bridgett looked at him sternly. “Because if Gabe was kissing her today, Chase, that can mean only one thing. Gabe still has the hots for Maggie. Even after all this time. And he doesn’t care who knows it.”

Chase vaulted to his feet, grabbed his shirt and shrugged it on. “I’m tired of talking about me and my unconscionable behavior. Let’s talk about you and yours,” he said, leaning back against the closed bathroom door.

Bridgett squared her slender shoulders and shot him a stern look. “I don’t behave unconscionably.”

Chase quirked a brow, wondering if she had missed seeing him as much as he had missed seeing her. And how was it the two of them had grown so far apart, anyway? Was it just because they were older with different personal and career agendas to pursue? Or was there more to it than that? “You used to get into trouble right along with me,” he said softly, thinking about the fun the two of them had had during their childhood and teen years. It had only been later, after college, that they’d begun to drift apart. To the point that these days they rarely saw each other at all. And then, only by chance.

The picture of efficiency, Bridgett put the first-aid kit back in the medicine cabinet. “I’ve grown up,” she told him plainly.

Too much, Chase thought, wondering when it was, exactly, that Bridgett had gotten so serious. “So I see.” he shot her a teasing leer, meant to make her laugh.

“Cut it out, Chase,” she ordered. Frowning, she gathered up the paper bandage wrappers and excess bits of tape and tossed them into the trash.

Chase could see he had offended her, when that was the last thing he’d wanted. “You used to have a sense of humor.”

Bridgett shrugged and continued to avoid looking at him. “I used to be immature.”

“And now you’re not.”

“No.” Bridgett lifted her head and looked at him coolly. “I’m not.”

Silence fell between them. Chase knew she was ready to leave the intimate confines of the guest bath, but he didn’t want to let her go. Not yet. Not with the mood between them so unexpectedly tense and distant. He folded his arms in front of him and asked seriously, “How was your book tour? I assume you just got back.”

Finally the sun broke out across her face. “Last night,” Bridgett confirmed happily. “And the experience was wonderful, if grueling, and very satisfying, economically and personally. Just the way every three-month book tour should be.”

Chase found himself warming to the deep satisfaction he saw on her face. He had always wanted the very best for her. Always known she would get it. “Did you really cover every region across the country?”

Bridgett nodded, the depth of her devotion to her work apparent. “And I helped more women than I can say,” she confided, leaning back against the sink.

Maybe it was because he had grown up wealthy as sin and knew firsthand how little real joy a hefty bank account could bring a person, but it bothered Chase to know that Bridgett valued money more than just about anything these days. She used to treasure more than that. She used to treasure her friends—especially him. “Just what this world needs.” Chase sighed, ready to goad her back to sanity, if need be. “Even more women who think money is the route to happiness.”

Bridgett scowled at the sarcastic note in his low tone. “It is.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts defiantly.

Chase kept his eyes on hers. “If you say so.” He inclined his head indifferently.

The fire in Bridgett’s eyes sparked all the hotter. “Don’t belittle what I do for a living, Chase.”

“Why not?” Chase pushed away from the closed door and stood straight, legs braced apart, once again. “You certainly belittle what I do,” he reminded her as he narrowed the distance between them to just a few inches.

Bridgett straightened, too. “That’s because your magazine—”

“Modern Man,” Chase helpfully supplied the publication’s name, in case she’d forgotten.

“—does nothing but teach guys how to get what they want from women!”

“What’s wrong with that?” Chase demanded. Clueless for as long as he could remember about what women really wanted or needed in this life, he had started his magazine as a way of collecting data from other men, about what worked and what didn’t with the women in their lives. As far as Chase was concerned, he was providing a public service, making both men and women a little happier, while doing his part to tamp down the battle of the sexes and reduce the number of unhappy relationships overall.

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with that.” Bridgett planted her hands on her hips. “It makes guys think that women are ‘a problem to be handled’ and that there is something fundamentally wrong with marriage.”

“There is something fundamentally wrong with marriage,” Chase shot back flatly, not about to sugarcoat his opinion on the subject on her account. “Or hadn’t you noticed the soaring divorce rate in this country?”

Bridgett released a long slow breath. She looked as if she was fighting for patience. “Lately the divorce rate has actually been going down. No thanks to you!”

Chase brought his brows together in consternation. “You don’t know that,” he argued back. He was tired of taking the blame for things that were way beyond his control. “Maybe I’m the one to credit for that.” He knew for a fact, from reader mail, that there were a lot of guys who had really appreciated his series on how to get their women not to just tolerate, but love the sports they followed. The same went for his series on cooking in, instead of eating out.

Bridgett rolled her eyes. She stared at him, making no effort to hide her exasperation. “And how do you figure that?” she asked drolly.

“Because,” Chase said, thinking how much he had always enjoyed a spirited argument with Bridgett and how much he had missed having them with her since she’d been away, “I also run articles that convince guys not to get married when they’re not ready.”

Bridgett’s eyes turned even stormier. And worse, looked hurt. “Exactly.”

Too late Chase realized he had hit a real sore point with Bridgett. The fact that her own parents had never married, even when Theresa Owens had gotten pregnant. “I’m sorry,” he said swiftly, seriously. “I know your, uh—”

“Illegitimacy?” she provided when he seemed unable to blurt it out.

“—is a real sticking point with you,” Chase continued, with some difficulty. It was, he knew, probably the biggest hurt of her childhood, though she rarely talked about it.

Bridgett waved him off, already done talking about it, and ready to move on. “I just think you’re doing a disservice to men with that whole marriage-isn’t-really-all-that-necessary attitude you and your magazine perpetuate.”

“Yeah, well, I think I’m helping my readers,” Chase said stubbornly. He was making them see that marriage was a serious step. And if they weren’t serious about a lifetime commitment, or the women they were chasing weren’t serious about the same, marriage was not the path to take. He certainly didn’t want them to end up a public laughingstock, the way he had, when his bride had ditched him just days before they were to marry.

“Whatever.” Bridgett tugged the sleeves of her elegant silk-and-cotton cardigan down to cover her wrists. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

Like hell it didn’t, Chase thought, studying the wealth of emotion on her face.

“I’m late, anyway,” Bridgett continued.

“For what?” Chase asked curiously. And that was when he saw it. The big fat emerald ring.

Chapter Three

Bridgett thought she was past the third degree when it came to Chase and her beaux. Apparently not. He still felt—wrongly so—that he had the right to comment on the men she chose to date. Not to mention the gifts they might have or have not chosen to give her.

“What,” Chase demanded, his handsome features sharpening in disapproval as he looked down at the emerald ring glittering on the ring finger of her right hand, “is that?”

Bridgett had an idea what he was going to say. She didn’t want to hear it. Deliberately misunderstanding where he was trying to go with this, she lifted her shoulders in an indifferent shrug. “I can’t buy myself a ring?”

Chase’s sexy slate-blue eyes narrowed even more. He took a step closer and said, very low, “I know you, Bridgett. You invest in real estate, growth stocks, a car that will go a couple hundred thousand miles before it quits. You don’t spend thousands of your hard-earned cash on baubles. Someone gave you that very pricey emerald-and-platinum ring.”

Someone he apparently already didn’t like, even though he had yet to find out who it was. “So what if it was a gift?” Bridgett shot back just as contentiously. Expensive as the ring was, she knew that to a man like Martin, it was just like penny change. Martin never did anything in a small or inconsequential way. When they dined out, it was at the very best restaurants. They drank the rarest, most expensive wines. He didn’t just send her roses. He gave her vases of the most exquisite orchids or lilies. Once, he’d flown her to Europe for the weekend, simply because he wanted her to see Paris in the springtime. Initially, of course, she’d tried to discourage such lavish gifts. Now she knew that was just the way Martin and everyone else in his family lived.

Chase braced a hand on the wall just beside her head. “I want to know who gave you that ring.”

Bridgett refused to let him intimidate her with his I’m-in-charge-here body language. Honestly, she didn’t know how Chase did it! She had been back in Charleston less than twenty-four hours and already Chase—the bad boy of the Deveraux clan—was already under her skin. Big time.

She angled her chin at him defiantly “I don’t have to answer you.”