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

And then he began to touch her, a blitz of caresses that had her so focused on the sensation she could not form so much as a single coherent thought. First a butterfly brush of a kiss on her wrist. A blizzard of kisses on her throat. Then he kissed her deeply on the mouth and she responded, straining against the bonds that had brought her to this moment. He kissed her everywhere, light, teasing kisses, deep-throated demands, bites, licks and nibbles. She cried beneath him, first out of pleasure and amazement and then something deeper.

Something inside her started to break.

She’d told him she wasn’t broken, and she hadn’t been. She’d been holding herself together, only just, her soul and heart a maze of hairline cracks and fissures. And now, under Chase, she shattered.

Pain and pleasure, joy and sorrow, erupted from the depths of her being in helpless cries that became wrenching sobs, her whole body shaking with the force of them even as she lay there, splayed open to him, everything exposed. Everything vulnerable.

‘Millie,’ he said, and his voice was full of love.

‘Yes,’ she choked. ‘Yes, Chase, now.’

Distantly she heard the rip of foil and knew Chase would finally be inside her. She’d never wanted anything so much, and yet she still gave a cry of surprise and joy when she felt him slide inside, fill her up.

She’d been so empty.

His arms came around her and Chase freed her so she enfolded her body around his, drawing him deeper inside as she buried her face in his neck and sobbed through her climax.

Chase surged inside her, deeper and deeper, and with his arms around her, holding her tightly and tenderly to him, he brought them both home.

CHAPTER EIGHT (#u05679086-c80e-5dc4-ba86-e2c794dd1af8)

CHASE felt his heart race as he held Millie in his arms and she sobbed as if her own heart were breaking.

God help him. God help them both. He’d never expected sex between them to be like that. Mind-blowing indeed. He was completely and utterly spent, emotionally, physically, everything.

Millie pressed her face against his neck, her body shaking with the force of her emotion. Chase didn’t speak, knew there were no words. He just stroked her back, her hair, wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs.

Millie’s sobs began to subside into snuffles and hiccups, and she curled herself into him, as if she wanted to be as close to him as possible, her legs across his, her arm around his waist, her head still buried against his neck.

Chase held her, cradled her closer, even as part of him was distantly acknowledging that this had been one hell of a mistake.

She lifted her face from his neck and gazed up at him with rain-washed eyes. She looked so unbearably open; she’d dropped all the armour and masks. Nothing hid her from him any more, and he really wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He shifted so he could hold her a bit more loosely, waiting for her to speak.

‘I want to tell you,’ she said quietly, hesitantly. ‘I want to—to talk about my past.’

He didn’t think he wanted to hear it. Chase adjusted her more securely against him, knowing she needed that. She needed him, God help them both.

‘OK,’ he said.

Millie glanced down, ran her hand down the length of his bare chest. Even now he reacted, felt the shower of sparks her touch created in him. He wanted to dismiss it as mere chemistry, but he knew he couldn’t.

‘My husband died two years ago,’ Millie said, and everything, everything in him shrivelled.

Damn.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. He’d suspected some heartbreak; of course he had. How could he not? Sadness seeped from her pores. But a husband? A widow? He thought of all his light, deprecating jokes and inwardly winced.

Outwardly he ran his hand up and down her back, strokes meant to soothe and comfort even as his mind seethed.

‘What happened?’ he asked eventually, because for all her wanting to tell him everything she’d lapsed into silence.

‘He died in a car accident. On the Cross Bronx expressway. A collision with an eighteen-wheeler. They think the driver fell asleep at the wheel.’

Chase swallowed. He couldn’t think of anything more to say, so he just held her.

‘I didn’t tell you because for the last two years it’s completely defined me. Everyone I know looks at me like I’m a walking tragedy.’ Which she was. ‘No one knows what to say to me, so they either ignore me or apologise. I hate it.’

He identified all too much with everything she said, albeit for a different reason. But he knew there was more she wasn’t telling him.

‘And then I feel guilty for thinking that way. Like I want to be happy, even when I know I never can be.’

‘Everyone wants to be happy,’ Chase said. ‘You can be happy again, Millie.’ But not with him. Now, he knew, was not the time to remind her they only had one week together. Four more days after this.

‘I liked the fact that you didn’t know,’ she said quietly. ‘That you treated me normally. I almost—I almost felt normal.’

‘And then you felt guilty for feeling normal,’ Chase supplied. What a depressing cycle.

‘Yes, I suppose,’ Millie said slowly. ‘But more than that.’ She stopped again and he knew he would have to prompt her. Coax the heartbreaking story with all its drama and tragedy out of her bit by bit.

But he didn’t think he had the energy. That probably made him an incredibly shallow bastard, but he couldn’t help it. He’d had his own share of depressing drama, tragedy and pain. He wasn’t sure he could take Millie’s.

And he knew she couldn’t take his.

‘We had a good marriage,’ she finally said. ‘I loved him.’ And what was he supposed to say to that? She bowed her head, her hair brushing his bare chest. ‘And I know no marriage, no relationship is perfect, but I look back and I see all the mistakes I made. We both made,’ she allowed, her voice a throaty whisper, and Chase just let her talk. He didn’t have much to offer her. He hadn’t had too many serious relationships, and he’d never come close to marriage.

Yet.

Why the hell had he thought that?

‘We grew apart,’ Millie said after a moment. ‘Because...because of different things. And the day he died I was sharp with him. I don’t even remember what we argued about, isn’t that stupid? But I didn’t— I didn’t kiss them—him—goodbye. I don’t think I even said goodbye. And Charlotte...’ Her voice caught and Chase pulled her closer. He still didn’t say anything. He had nothing to offer her in this moment, and he knew it. Maybe she did too.

After a ragged moment Millie slipped from his arms. He let her go, watched from the bed as she scooped up her clothes and headed towards the bathroom. ‘I’m going to take a shower,’ she said, her back to him so he could see all the delicate knobs of her spine, the slender dip of her waist and curve of her hip.

‘OK,’ Chase said, and as she closed the bathroom door he felt a shaming wave of relief.

* * *

Millie turned the knobs on the shower and rested her head on the cool tile. Her heart had stopped its thunderous racing and for a second she wondered if it still beat at all. After feeling so painfully, gloriously alive, she now felt dead inside. Numb and lifeless with disappointment.

So Chase didn’t really want intense. Not the kind of intense she’d been offering as she’d lain in his arms and tried to tell him her story. Even as he put his arms around her, went through the motions, she’d felt the coldness of his emotional withdrawal. She’d violated the terms of their agreement—the terms she had made—and he didn’t like it. Didn’t want to go that deep or far.

Stupid, stupid her.

Drawing a shaky breath, she stepped into the shower, let the water stream over her and wash away the traces of her tears. She’d cried after the accident, of course. She’d done the counselling and the support groups and even journalled. But she’d never cried like that. She’d never given so much, so freely, and stupidly it made her want more. It made her want to tell him everything, about her marriage, the accident, Charlotte.

But within thirty seconds of speaking she’d realised Chase didn’t want to know. He wasn’t the only one who could read people.

Another shuddering breath and she reached for the shampoo. At least now she understood the terms: no talking about the past. Chase was all about the physical intimacy, having her melt in his arms, but the emotional stuff? Not so much. He’d liked pushing her but he didn’t like the results. Well, she got that now. And it was just as well, because even if for a few shattering seconds she’d wanted to tell him everything, had maybe even thought she loved him, she understood now that wasn’t where this was going. And when rationality had returned she’d known she didn’t even want to go there. She’d loved and lost once. She wasn’t going to attempt it again, and especially not with a man who was only in it for a week.