The Millionaire Claims His Wife(26)

Chase was yanking open closet doors. "There've got to be linens here  somewhere... Here we go." He reached inside, took out an armful of  bedding, tossed a blanket to Annie and then draped another over the  rocker.

"You're going to sleep in the chair?"

"That's right." He sat down, tucked a pillow behind his head and  stretched out his legs. "I wouldn't want to sully your reputation."

"Chase, please. I never meant-"

He reached behind him, hit the switch on the wall and the room was  plunged into darkness. Annie closed her eyes. Tears seeped out from  beneath her lashes.

"Chase?" she whispered, after a long time.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said, and rolled onto her side.

I love you, Chase, she thought, because there was no harm in saying it  now, to herself, even as she wondered how she was going to get through  the endless night.

"Good night, Annie," Chase said, and he shifted uneasily, trying to find  a comfortable position even though he knew there was no such thing, not  in a wooden rocker, not with the granddaddy of all headaches in  permanent residence behind his temples-and not with the only woman he  would ever love sleeping a hand's span away.

He could smell her perfumed scent, hear the softness of her breathing.  All he had to do was reach out and he'd be able to touch her warm,  silken skin.                       
       
           



       

How in hell was he ever going to get through the night?





CHAPTER NINE

CHASE CAME AWAKE with a start. The room was inky black; he could hear the light patter of rain against the roof.

Where was he? Not at home, that was for sure.

Memory came back in a rush. The crazy flight to Seattle. The motorboat,  speeding across the water. The island. The cabin. The bedroom...

This bedroom.

And Annie. Annie, asleep in a bed inches from where he sat.

Don't think about that. About Annie. Think about something else. Anything else.

Chase grimaced. He could think about how it would be a miracle if he  ever managed to stand upright again. Now, that was a topic worth  considering.

Gingerly, hands clasping the arms of the wooden rocker, he eased himself  up so that his back was straight. Not that caution would make much  difference. His spine felt as brittle as china, and it ached like hell.  The rest of him didn't feel much better.

Whistler's Mother be damned, he thought grimly. Wooden rocking chairs were not made for comfort, or for sleeping.

It was chilly in here, too. It didn't help that the blanket he'd draped  over himself was somewhere on the floor. Wincing, he bent down and felt  around until he found it. Then he dragged it up to his neck and told  himself that this night couldn't last forever.

What time was it, anyway? Chase raised his arm and peered at the place  on his wrist where he knew his watch ought to be. The lighted dial was  faint; he had to squint to see it clearly. It had to be, what? Three,  maybe four in the morning?

Bloody hell! It was eleven twenty-five. He'd been asleep, if you could call it that, all of two hours.

Wearily he closed his eyes, started to put his head back and remembered,  just in time, that if he did, he'd whack his skull against the wall.  He'd done it a couple of times already. For all he knew, that was what  had awakened him in the first place.

Eleven twenty-five. Unbelievable! If he were in Seattle right now, he'd  be wide-awake. He'd be sitting up in a nice, soft bed, with a pillow  tucked between him and the headboard, and he'd be reading. Or watching  TV. Making notes for the next day's meetings. Whatever. The one sure  thing was that he wouldn't be sitting in the most uncomfortable chair  man had ever invented, with no place to rest his head. Or his legs. As  for his butt...men, he'd decided, were not born with enough padding  where it counted.

Another couple of hours, he'd end up a chiropractor's dream.

Dammit, who was he kidding? Another couple of minutes, he'd end up out  of his skull. Forget the chair, and the discomfort of trying to sleep in  it. Forget the night chill that had seeped into the room. Forget the  soft whisper of the rain.

None of that was the reason he was awake.

The reason, plain and simple, was Annie.

How was he supposed to get through the night trapped in this room with her?

Chase told himself he ought to be ashamed for his lecherous thoughts.  Not that they were his fault. It was Annie who was to blame.

Damn. Oh damn. Why couldn't he admit the truth? There was no way to lay  this off on Annie. She hadn't planted these pictures in his head. She  couldn't possibly know he was sitting here with an aching back and a  sizzling libido. She was sound asleep. He could tell by the soft, steady  whisper of her breath. If he'd been having raunchy dreams-and he had-it  was nobody's fault but his own.

One dream, in particular, had been very real.

It had started with him sitting right here, in this chair, when he'd heard Annie sigh his name.

Chase, she'd said, and suddenly moonlight had streamed into the room, casting an ivory glow on the bed.

Annie had sat up and opened her arms to him.

Chase, she'd whispered, why are you sitting over there? Come to bed, darling, with me, where you belong.

Chase rubbed his hands over his eyes.

"Give us a break, Cooper," he muttered. "What are you, a pimply-faced kid?"

A grown man could share a room with a woman for the night without coming  unglued, especially when she was the very woman he'd divorced five long  years ago. He could get through twenty-four hours without letting  himself think he'd fallen for her all over again because the truth was,  he hadn't.

Of course he hadn't.

It was just the pressure of the last few days, that was all. Things were  catching up. The wedding. Dawn's running away. His emotional and  physical exhaustion. Taken all together, it was a prescription for  disaster.

Then, too, his ex was still a very attractive woman. His type of woman,  which was only logical considering that he'd been married to her, once  upon a time. But he'd also left her, or they'd left each other, to be  exact, and for very good reasons.                       
       
           



       

Chase sat back carefully in the rocker.

So, okay, she could still push all the right buttons. And yeah, his  stupid male hormones were still programmed to make his equally stupid  male anatomy straighten up and salute. That didn't mean he had to sit  here having thoughts that were beginning to make going out into the rain  for an impromptu shower seem like a pretty good idea.

He had to concentrate on the reality of the situation. Annie was in love  with another man, and if he wasn't actually feeling the same way about  Janet, well, he could. He would. It was just a matter of letting it  happen. And then the story of Annie and Chase would be over, once and  for all.

Dawn was a big girl now. She'd understand that life wasn't a fairy tale  that ended with the words, "And they lived happily ever after."

Chase sighed. He felt better already. There'd be no more dreams tonight.  Why, even if that last silly dream were to come true, if Annie were to  suddenly stir and whisper his name, he wouldn't-

"Chase?"

Annie's voice, as soft and sweet as an early June morning, turned that firm conviction into an instant lie.

"Chase? Are you awake?"

Was he awake? He couldn't imagine why she had to ask. Couldn't she hear the thunder of his heart?

He heard the rustle of the bed linens as she turned toward him. Her face  was a pale, perfect oval; her eyes were wide and gleaming. Her hair  curled around her face and neck, falling in a gentle curve to her  shoulder.

How he'd always loved to kiss her there, in the satin-softness of that curve.

Chase cleared his throat. "Hi," he said. "Sorry if I woke you."

Annie shook her head. "You didn't. Not really. I had a silly dream-"

She broke off in the middle of what she'd been about to say, grateful  for the lack of light in the room because it meant Chase couldn't see  the blush she knew was spreading over her face. It was bad enough she'd  had the dream in the first place. She certainly wasn't going to describe  it to him.

Why would any woman in her right mind tell her ex-husband about an erotic dream-especially when she, and he, had been its stars?

"What dream?"

"I don't remember."

"But you just said-"

"What's that I hear? Rain?"

Annie sat up against the pillows and drew the blanket up to her chin.  Her arms and shoulders were bare. Chase's heart lifted into his throat.  Was she naked under that blanket?

"Yes," he said in a voice that sounded more like a croak but hey, a man  had to be happy for what he could manage and right now, managing even  that much was a miracle.

Annie sighed. "Mmm. It sounds wonderful, doesn't it? It makes it seem so cozy in here."