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

‘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.

‘What’s this? A huge ashtray?’ Millie gestured to the rectangular box of sand in the middle of the table.

‘Nope, just a little sand box to play with while we wait for our food.’ He took a little spade lying next to the box and handed it to her with a glinting smile. ‘Dig in.’

‘Clearly meant for guests with short attention spans.’ She scooped a bit of sand with the miniature spade and dumped it out again. ‘So do you like being an architect?’

‘All these questions.’

She glanced up sharply. ‘It’s called conversation, generally.’ She heard an edge to her voice, knew he heard it too. So now he didn’t like the questions.

Chase leaned back in his chair and took a sip of sparkling water. ‘I like making things. I like having an idea and seeing it become a reality.’

‘What firm do you work for?’

His mouth quirked upwards. ‘Chase Bryant Designs.’

‘Your own.’

‘Yep, started it five years ago.’ He spoke casually, but she heard a betraying note of pride in his voice. He’d made something of himself, and without help from his wealthy family. She wanted to tell him she admired that, that she was proud of him, but how stupid would that be? He’d just feel even more awkward. So she took a large gulp of wine, and then another, deciding that alcohol was a better option.

‘Slow down there, Scary,’ Chase said, eyeing her near-empty wine glass. ‘Or I’ll have to carry you home.’

‘I’m not a lightweight.’

‘No, indeed.’ Now she heard an edge in his voice, and she pushed her wine glass away with a little sigh of irritation.

‘Look, Chase, why don’t you just come out and say it?’

He stilled. Stared. ‘Say what?’

‘You’re done.’

‘I’m done?’

‘Yes. Ever since—’ She paused, swallowed. ‘It’s obvious you’ve had your bout of intense sex and you’re ready to move on. So maybe we should call it a day. A night. Whatever.’ She grabbed her wine glass again and drained it, half-wishing she hadn’t started this conversation.

Half-wishing even now he’d tell her she was wrong.

‘You’re the one who has been picking fights,’ Chase said mildly. ‘I bought you a dress and took you out to one of the best restaurants in the whole Caribbean. So, sorry, I don’t get where you’re coming from.’

She met his gaze squarely. ‘You don’t?’ she asked quietly, no edge, no spite. Just raw honesty.

Chase held her gaze for a breathless beat and then glanced away. ‘No, I don’t,’ he said quietly, and she felt that tiny tendril of hope she’d still been nurturing even without knowing it shrivel and die.

It hurt that, after all they’d experienced and shared, he wouldn’t even own up to how things had changed. It hurt far too much.

She’d known this man for three days. Yet time had lost its meaning in this surprising paradise; time had lost its meaning ever since she’d agreed to have this fling—this intense, intimate, all-in fling—with Chase.

For a second Millie almost rose from the table and walked out of the restaurant. She didn’t need this. She didn’t need Chase. Then the waiter came and they gave their orders, and the impulse passed, her strength fading away.

For it was weakness why she stayed. A weakness for him. That little tendril of hope might have withered and died, but its seed still remained in the stubborn soil of her heart, desperate to grow.

Chase watched the emotions—disappointment, hurt, sorrow—ripple across Millie’s face like shadows on water, wishing he couldn’t read her so easily. Wishing he wasn’t screwing up so badly right now.

Nothing had been the same since the sex, and more importantly since the conversation after the sex. He’d pushed and pushed Millie, had wanted to see her lose that control, had wanted to be the one to make it happen. And when it had, and she’d taken a flying leap over that cliff, what had he done?

He’d backed away, and pretended he hadn’t. Acted like he was still right there with her, flying through the air, when she knew he’d really high-tailed it in the other direction.

Coward. Bastard.

He took a sip of water and stared moodily around at the restaurant. He’d always enjoyed this place, found it fun and relaxing, but not this time. Now he didn’t think anything would kick-start his mood. He wanted the fun back with Millie, the easy companionship they’d had. He hadn’t even realised just how easy it had been, until now.

Now words tangled in his throat and he couldn’t get any of it out. Couldn’t even begin. What to say? I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m not there for you, when you thought I would be. When you wanted me to be and I just couldn’t do it.

Hell, this was all his fault. He should have listened to that cool, rational part of his brain that had told him to walk away from this woman before she drove him insane. Who said no to ‘intense’, no to a fling, no to anything with Millie Lang.

Instead he’d done the opposite, followed his libido and even his heart, and now he had no idea what to do. He hated seeing the deepening frown lines on Millie’s face, the worry marks on her lip fresher and more raw than ever. As he watched a little bright-red pearl of blood appeared on her lower lip from where she’d bitten it.

Damn. Damn it to hell.

‘Millie...’ He reached over, placed his hand on hers. She looked up, eyes wide, teeth sunk into that lip. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I’ve totally screwed this up.’

Tears filled those soft brown eyes and she blinked hard as she shook her head, teeth biting even deeper. ‘No. I’m the one who screwed up. I shouldn’t have said all that...after. That wasn’t part of our deal.’