The Millionaire Claims His Wife(27)

Cozy? Chase almost groaned. "Yeah," he said, "oh, yeah, cozy's the word."

"What time is it, anyway? Is it close to morning? I could make us some coffee."

"It's almost twelve."

"Twelve? How could that be? It's so dark..." Annie gave an incredulous laugh. "Twelve at night? You're joking."

"I wish I were."

Annie's head drooped. There was still an entire night, stretching ahead.  Hours and hours of lying here, knowing she had only to reach out her  hand to touch the man who'd once been her husband.

No. This was impossible. She could never survive until morning...

Of course she could. She wasn't foolish enough to still think herself in  love with Chase. That nonsense had faded away while she'd slept. What  she felt was lust, pure and simple. Hey, she could admit it. This was  the end of one century and the start of another. Women were allowed to  have sexual feelings. They were encouraged to have them, according to  the talk shows on TV and the supermarket tabloids.

And she had them. Oh, yes, she did. Chase had always been-probably  always would be-the kind of man who could turn her on with a look, but  wanting sex with a man didn't necessarily have anything to do with  loving him, despite what she'd told Chase when they'd talked about Dawn  and Nick, just yesterday.

The truth was, sex was all a matter of hormones and libido. Love was a  separate thing entirely. Everybody said so, even Milton, who'd earnestly  assured her that it was okay if she didn't feel anything for him  physically. They could still have a good life together, he'd said.

Maybe he was right.

"Annie?"

She blinked and lifted her head. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the  lack of light in the bedroom. She could see Chase clearly now, sitting  in the rocker and watching her.

"What are you thinking?"                       
       
           



       

"Nothing," she said quickly, "only that-that it's amazing if Mr. Tanaka  ever manages to get any sleep in this bed. The mattress feels as if it's  stuffed with steel."

Chase laughed. "Welcome to the Chamber of Horrors. Did President Kennedy  really sit in one of these godawful chairs to ease the pain in his  back?"

"I don't think he tried to substitute a rocker for a bed," Annie said, smiling.

"Well, that's why he got to be president. The guy was smart."

Annie laughed. It was such a light, easy sound that it made Chase smile.  There was a time they'd laughed a lot together. Not over anything  special. Just something one would see or hear and say to the other, or  something that would happen when they were together.

It felt good, making her laugh again. Everything about today had felt  good, even the moments they'd been going at each other. An argument with  Annie was better than an evening of smiles from any other woman,  especially if the argument ended, as it so often had, in the old days,  with her in his arms...in his arms, and wanting him as much as he wanted  her.

What would she do, if he went to her now? If he shucked off his clothes,  pulled back the blankets and got into the bed with her? He knew just  how she would smell, like a blend of perfume and honey and cream. And  how she would feel, the heat of her breasts and belly, the coolness of  her hands and feet.

He smiled, remembering. Lord, she had the iciest hands and feet in the world!

It was a game they'd often played, on chilly nights like this. They'd  get into bed, he'd take her in his arms and she'd wrap one leg around  his, dance her toes over his calf while she slid her hand down his chest  and he'd say, very sternly, Annie, you stop that right now, and she'd  ask why and he'd say because she was positively frigid.

"Frigid?" she'd say, indignantly.

"Frigid," he'd insist, and then he'd roll her onto her back and whisper, "but I know a way to fix that..."

Chase shot to his feet.

"Here," he said gruffly, dumping the blanket he'd been using on Annie's bed. "Take this. It's gotten a little chilly in here."

"I'm fine. Anyway, I can't take your blanket."

"Sure you can."

"But what'll you use?"

A snowbank, if he could find one. What he needed was not to warm up but to chill down.

"I'm, ah, I'm not tired."

"Not tired? Chase, that's impossible. We've had an awful day. An endless day-"

"You've got that right."

"And you've only had, what, two hours sleep? That's not enough."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm overwound. Or maybe it's just that I'm not in the mood to turn into a human pretzel."

"You're right." Annie reached for his discarded blanket. In one quick  motion, she dropped her own blanket, wrapped his around her shoulders,  and rose from the bed. Chase had a glimpse of ivory-colored skin and  nothing more. "So you take the bed. I'll take the chair."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm smaller than you are."

She was. Definitely. Smaller, and fragile. Wonderfully fragile. Make  that feminine. The top of her head barely brushed his chin. If he dipped  his head, he could rub his chin against her hair. Her soft, shiny hair.

"I can tuck my legs up under me and I'll be perfectly comfortable, Chase. You'll see. Come on. Switch places with me."

Switch places? Climb into the bed, still warm from her body? Put his  head on the pillow, still fragrant with her scent? He shook his head and  moved back, until the seat of the rocker dug into the backs of his  legs.

"No."

"Honestly, you're such a chauvinist! This is hardly a time to worry about being a gentleman."

He had to fight hard to keep from laughing. Or groaning. One or the  other, or maybe both. Is that what she thought this was all about? Him  trying to be a gentleman? He wondered what she'd think if she knew the  real direction of his thoughts, that it was all he could do to keep from  picking her up, tossing her onto the bed and tearing away that blanket  so he could see if she was wearing anything under it.

"That's it," he said.

"What's it?"

Chase cupped Annie's shoulders, trying not to think about the feel of  her under his hands, and moved her gently but firmly out of his way.

"Chase?" Her voice rang with bewilderment as he opened the door. "Where are you going?"

To hell in a handbasket, he thought.
                       
       
           



       
"To heat up some coffee," he said. "Go back to sleep, Annie. I'll see you in the morning."

He slipped out of the room, shut the door after him and leaned back against it.

The torture of the chair was one thing. A man could deal with that But  the torture of being so close to Annie was something else.

Saints willingly martyred themselves, not men.





Annie stared at the door as it swung shut. Then she sighed and sank down on the edge of the bed.

"Stupid man," she muttered. "Let him suffer, if he wants."

It was ridiculous of him to have turned down her offer.

"Brrr," she said, and burrowed under the covers.

Of course, he'd been uncomfortable in that chair. Chase was six foot  two; he'd weighed 190 pounds for as long as she could remember, all of  it muscle. Hard muscle.

There was no denying that he'd always been a handsome man.

Beautiful, she'd called him once, after they were first married. They'd  been lying in each other's arms after a long, lazy afternoon of love,  and suddenly she'd risen up on her elbows, gazed down at him and smiled.

"What?" he'd said, and she'd said she'd never thought about it before, but he was beautiful.

"Goofball," Chase had said, laughing. "Men can't be 'beautiful.'"

"Why can't they?" she'd said, in a perfectly reasonable tone, and then,  in that same tone, she'd gone on to list all his attributes, and to kiss  them all, too. His nose. His mouth. His chin. His broad shoulders. His  lightly furred chest. His flat abdomen and belly...

"Annie," he'd said, in a choked whisper, and seconds later he'd hauled  her up his body, into his arms and taken her into the star-shot darkness  with him again.

"Dammit!"

Annie flung out her arms and stared up at the skylight, where the light  rain danced gently against the glass. What was wrong with her tonight?  First the dream that had left her aching and unfulfilled. And now this  ridiculous, pointless memory.

"You're being a ninny," she said out loud.

She wasn't in love with Chase; hadn't she already admitted that? As for the sex... Okay. So sex with him had always been good.

Until he'd ruined it, by never coming home to her.

Until she'd ruined it, by treating him so coldly.

Annie threw her arm across her eyes.

All right. So she wasn't as blameless as she liked to think. But Chase  had hurt her so badly. Nothing had prepared her for the pain of watching  him grow out of her life, or of finding him with his secretary...