Page 13 of Body

“When you ordered the wine, you said fromourbackyard. Are you from California, too?”

He nods. “I have homes in all the major cities, but I leave my heart in San Francisco.” His eyes twinkle and I laugh. Cheeky fella. He’d be so easy to fall for.

The bartender half fills our glasses and meanders away. I get up the nerve to ask the question I really want to know. “So what do you mean when you say those women weren’t yours?”

His thumb continues to rub circles across my knee, rising higher at each turn. It’s a slow, quiet seduction of my senses, but its working well. Each pass stokes my desire, ramping it up until I’m a tight ball of need.

He ignores my question at first. “God, Gillian, I can’t stop thinking about what’s under here.” Now his entire hand is gripping my thigh and creeping up until the tip of his fingers reach the garter clasp. He growls quietly and shakes his head as if to clear it. “I, uh, I hire them to go to those events with me.”

I can’t hide my shock. “Why? You could have anyone?”

“Thank you, but I have very little time to woo women. Except you. You are something else.” He shakes his head as if trying to clear his mind. “Something else entirely.” He squeezes my thigh, and I imagine him squeezing me somewhere else, preferably with his cock buried inside me.No, no, no! This is not supposed to be happening. I’m supposed to be cutting him loose.I lick my overly dry lips. His eyes go dark and I glance away. Looking into those hungry eyes will be my undoing.

“So, you weren’t with those women?” He’s feeding me a line. No woman in their right mind would go out with him and not try to bed him. He’d be a major win for anyone.Just not me.

“I fucked them, if that’s what you’re asking.” Holy moly, he’s crass and dangerously effective at making me hotter. “But I was never in a relationship with them.”

I narrow my eyes, completely disbelieving the line of bullshit spewing from his mouth.

“I never lie, Gillian. Dishonesty is the worst kind of weakness.” The smile that had me captive turns into a frown and his tone sounds irritated.

His hand slides to the outside of my thigh. I look at his hand clutching me possessively and see how very right it is there, how right his touch feels. Warm and safe. Feeling safe with a man is foreign to me. Panic wiggles into my subconscious and twists at my gut. I can’t look at his hand on my body anymore. I grasp for the wine, needing the distraction.

Deep breath, Gigi. You’re fine. You like his touch. You want his touch. It feels good.

“You had sex with those women after paying them to attend a function with you?” Disdain creeps into my tone. “You know what that’s called?”

He nods and grins. “Does that shock you?” he asks with a seductive lilt. He toys with the strap of my garter, slipping two fingers under and sliding them up and down, pushing my skirt to an indecent height. His touch is like molten lava, but I can’t push him away. I crave the intense heat, need to feel the burn. When his hands are on me, I feel alive.

“Y-yes, it does.” I stutter as his hands wickedly seduce me. “Why?” I whisper.

“Why not? Sometimes I need an escort to a function.”

“I’m not asking why you took them. I’m asking why you paid them for sex!” The words spill softly from my lips to ensure none of the other patrons can hear.

Chase grins and takes a swallow of his wine. He leans close to my ear. “I didn’t, nor would I ever, pay for sex. I paid for the escort. The sex was completely their choice, optional on their part.” His lips drag along my ear as I hear him inhale deeply then groan before sitting back upright.

Oh thank God! I almost believed he was paying prostitutes, which seems just as ridiculous as his need to hire an escort. Any woman would want to date him. He could literally walk up to a woman sitting alone in the bar and she’d fall all over herself to entertain him.What do you care? You’re bailing on him anyway.I adjust my shoulders readying myself to cut and run.

He brings his hand to smooth down the length of my back. The simple caress is relaxing and I’m still no closer to telling him I can’t see him. My mind races to come up with a way to manage both my job and him. Is it possible?

“Your turn. Where did you grow up?” His hand trails along my spine in flourishing sweeps, almost as if he’s coating my lust like an artist with a paintbrush.

“I grew up in Northern California. Sacramento and the surrounding cities, mostly. Went to Sacramento State, got my degree in Business Administration with a focus in Marketing a little over two years ago. Moved to the Bay Area just out of college and was hired on by the Foundation right away. Been in fundraising ever since.”

“Wow, that was the abridged version. Do you have the spiel memorized?” He laughs.

“I don’t like talking about myself. Where did you grow up?”

His smile fades. “I lived most of my life with my Uncle and four cousins in Beverly Hills. I lived in Boston during my days at Harvard.”

I’m certain my eyebrows are reaching for the sky. He’s an Ivy League boy.What the hell is he doing here with me?

“Before I finished at Harvard, I’d amassed my own small fortune investing in broken, bankrupt firms that cost me next to nothing. My uncle helped, bankrolling my first acquisition. Then I built each company up from the ashes and made them profitable again. After doing that a dozen times, I built my own company and slowly my empire.” He’s proud of his achievements but doesn’t come off too smug.

“A Phoenix rising from the ashes.”

His surprised eyes meet mine. He’s clearly delighted and wickedly handsome when he’s happy.

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