“I don’t need a tabloid to get a good read on you,” she said, wondering if every woman who danced with him wound up feeling like putty.
“You’re not going to be one of those people to whom I’m going to have to say ‘Having my picture taken at a party with Kate Upton doesn’t mean I slept with her,’ are you?” He didn’t ask it as if he thought he needed to try to change her mind. He had an air about him as if he already knew she was going to become what he probably referred to as “a done deal.”
“I can’t get wrapped up in a guy like you,” she said, mostly to herself to fight it off, although he clearly heard her.
“Why not?” he queried.
“Because you’re so very nice and way too complicated,” she was able to say automatically, since it had become one of her mantras.
“And you’re way too pragmatic. I’m the simplest guy there is. I remember everything my parents taught me. Do the right thing and everything turns out right. Stay loyal to those you want loyalty from. I have almost everything a man could want; I’m a complete tool if I don’t appreciate it.”
“See? Now that’s the kind of stuff I’m talking about. You sound too good to be true. And why are you even interested in someone like me? You’re supposed to be hooked up with some Southern belle who’s got a waistline the size of my pinky. Sports Illustrated will take pictures of you both in your bathing suits, you holding her over your head.”
“What’s so difficult to believe? You’re a natural beauty who’s smart and witty, even when trying to keep your defenses up. You would never be so impolite to me if you weren’t attracted. I watch you with other people. You have perfect decorum even with total asshats.”
And then Chase smiled, still sweet but with the tiniest touch of sinister.
“But you try to tell me, usually in the freshest way, my own mind. I think I know why you’re doing it, too, but we can talk about that later,” he said, his hand curling tighter around her waist. “And don’t be so foolish to think I’m not strong enough to hold you over my head. The only question would be for how long. You’re no Kelly Ripa.”
Amanda laughed. He wasn’t insulting her. It wasn’t a backhanded compliment, either. The way he said it was more in appreciation. It wasn’t like he compared her to his ex-girlfriend, who had a celebrated figure and her size 8 earned her the Hollywood assessment of obese. Besides, Amanda was comfortable in her double-digit size. The extra weight made her feel strong and powerful, a force to be reckoned with and not a pushover. Of course, next to him, it was hard not to feel like a dwarf; he was just too intimidating.
He finished up with, “As for me, I’ve been totally blessed. The least I can do is not be a jerk about it.”
How was she supposed to come up with an answer to that? He took every argument she had and charmingly shut it down. There was no denying that from the second she met him, Chase was polite and chivalrous and way too accommodating. And it wasn’t an act, but who he naturally was. He was warm and approachable, and it was clear people mattered to him. But she also knew that he was rich and powerful and accustomed to getting what he wanted. It was also clear that apparently what he wanted at the moment was her, for whatever reason. The only thing she could do was continue to keep him at arm’s length physically and hope that he would lose interest because it was too much effort, and then they could both go back to the very different lives they knew.
Neither of them said anything more and continued to move to the music. Earth, Wind & Fire switched to “Reasons.” It was one of the most random and romantic songs in her own repertoire, handed down from when all her musical influence was reflective of her parents. From when as a tween in her bedroom she used to dance with her pillow and dreamed of being a princess, not a contender. It was only after she felt his fingertips curl in on her back that she realized she had rested her head on his shoulder, well mostly his chest, and closed her eyes. She could’ve easily stepped on his feet and let him do all the dancing, but they weren’t doing too much moving anyway.
They continued to slightly sway, even after the music stopped until Amanda realized it. She had gotten caught up in the closeness. His touch, the scent of his Burberry cologne, even his heartbeat through his shirt was mesmerizing. They hesitantly separated and she looked around. The place was empty. The table where they’d dined had been cleared of dinner dishes and replaced with tiramisu and coffee. The kitchen was dark. Everyone else seemed to have left. She had been so wrapped up in their dance; she didn’t even notice any of it taking place. She could add magical to the list of adjectives she had started compiling to describe him.
They had their dessert and returned to small talk. He quizzed her about baseball, and she wowed him with her knowledge. She didn’t just know the basics, but the intricate points of the game, why the infield fly rule was important, why bats came in different weights and sizes, and why a player would choose one over another. She was able to talk about strategy. His face briefly clouded over defensively while confirming that he never took steroids, and they both agreed it was cheating, but that players who took them before they became illegal shouldn’t necessarily be denied entry into the Hall of Fame. By the time they left and caught Eric napping in his car, waiting to lock up, Chase knew Amanda Cole was the woman he’d been waiting for. There was only one question left to answer: Could she—would she—be willing to play all his games, even the kinky ones? Something in his gut told him no, and then his head told him he could worry about it later. His heart told him none of it mattered.
He held her hand as he drove her home, and she let him, though she wasn’t sure why. It felt wrong to encourage him only to leave him hanging when they said good night. There was no way she was going to invite him in. If he and his magic magnetism got past her threshold, she’d be a goner.
But he didn’t ask to come in. He didn’t even suggest it. When they reached her door, she had already fully prepared her excuses, but none was required.
“I had a great time tonight,” he said politely. “Thanks for a wonderful evening.”
Once again, he had thrown her a curve. “I did, too,” she murmured.
His hand reached out to brush his knuckles across her cheek. When she didn’t protest, he cupped her face in his hand and bent his head down, bringing his lips to hers.
The kiss was warm and gentle. He took his time, savoring it. His mouth opened slightly, but his tongue didn’t probe. Instead, Chase softly drew the breath right out of her. She couldn’t recall anything quite like it. The man knew how to kiss. And then it was over. He pulled away to stand up straight and she swallowed a mouthful of disappointment that it ended.
“I’ll see you when I get back on Friday. Keep my barstool warm?” he said.
She nodded, still trying to catch her breath and wishing that he would kiss her again. And it was a wish that he fulfilled, but this time quickly, mostly because he couldn’t stop himself from stealing one more taste of her delicious lips. And then, as if by magic, he was gone and she was standing alone in her living room. She didn’t remember saying that final good-bye or opening the door. Chase Walker’s kiss had nearly caused her to black out. All her excuses were silenced by the memory of it; her logical reasoning was nothing more than white noise. But of two things she was certain: The time had come for her to begin her quest in earnest to find his fatal flaw. And she couldn’t wait for Friday.
CHAPTER 6
WHILE IN CLEVELAND, Chase called Amanda every day. When she was too busy to talk, he also began to text. He sent a random stream of amusing anecdotes about his travels or questions about how her day was going. His texts were playful but benign, no requests for sexting or even a hint of impropriety. But before her day was over, without fail, the same text arrived, often right before she got into bed: “Sleep well, angel, miss you.”