Claimed: The Pregnant Heiress (2 page)

“I'm here to help finalize the Worth deal, Ms. Worth.” He leaned on her last name. “Our meeting tonight is sheer coincidence since you didn't even bother to tell me who you were when we first met.”

“I don't recall you asking. Nor do I recall you sharing your name at the time,” she replied with impressive calm.

“Now you know it. It's Larson. Chase Larson.” The name
rang a vague bell, but she couldn't quite place it. As though aware of that fact, he added, “I'm Rafe Cameron's brother.”

She missed a step and Chase supported her weight while she recovered her footing. “Please tell me you're kidding.”

“Problem?”

Where did she begin? Or perhaps she shouldn't begin at all. If Chase was anything like his brother, whatever she said would definitely be used against her. “Suffice to say the list is long and detailed.” She focused on the knot of his crisp red bow tie, not daring to look at him in case her gaze reflected her distaste for his brother. “If you don't mind my asking, what's your involvement in the Worth Industries purchase?”

“I own Larson Investments, a financial investment firm. I'm helping Rafe put the purchase together.”

No wonder his name sounded so familiar. She'd heard of Larson Investments. Who hadn't? That also meant that he was the illegitimate son of business tycoon, Tiberius Barron. Dismay filled her. How could her father possibly hope to negotiate a fair contract for the sale of Worth Industries when Rafe controlled such powerful factions? She moistened her lips. “I assume you're in favor of the deal?”

“Why wouldn't I be?” he replied, his expression giving nothing away. “Now that we've finished discussing our unexpected business connection, answer a personal question for me. That night we spent together, would you have told me your last name if I'd asked?”

Emma lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. “I don't see why not.” She glanced up at him and caught his guarded expression. “What about you? Would you have told me your last name?”

“Not our first night together.”

She stiffened, offended. “I see. I'm supposed to be forthcoming with you, but—”

“I've discovered it's wise to protect myself.”

“Protect yourself,” she repeated, her eyes narrowing. “From what? Sexy little things who have an itch they're hoping you're rich enough to scratch?”

“Something like that.” His gaze impaled her. “Are you a sexy little thing?”

How could she have found him charming? He wasn't the least bit charming. “Do you mean, am I after a wealthy husband or lover?”

“Are you?”

“No, thanks. You can relax. I have my own money.”

“See?” He flashed a smile that was all too—yes—charming. “Now I've insulted you. It's not an easy question to ask on a first date, is it?”

She released a sigh. “Shall I assume that if I answered incorrectly when we first met there wouldn't have been a second date?”

“No, there would have been.” Hunger flickered through his eyes so fast she wondered if she'd imagined it. “With you there definitely would have been.”

She scanned his expression, understanding dawning. “But it would have come with strings. Or should I say, a lack of strings? You'd be willing to share my bed, but I'd better not get any ideas.”

“Come on. Be fair, Emma,” he chided. “Is it any different for you? Aren't you concerned that when men hear your name, learn of your connection to Worth Industries, they see you as their perfect shot at a life of leisure? To relax on a nearby beach sipping endless rounds of mai tais?”

Anger swept through her. “You give me far too much credit. Why would I object to that when it's clearly my goal in life, too? At least, that's your brother's opinion of me, something he's made abundantly clear the few times we've spoken.”

“I believe that's because Rafe and I earned our fortunes the hard way.”

“Whereas I inherited mine?”

She could tell him that she chose to devote her spare time to working at It's Time, the local women's shelter, but why should she be forced to defend herself when she'd done nothing wrong? Exhaustion swept over her worsening the headache, which had
been gnawing at the edges of her consciousness all day. “Are we through here, Mr. Larson? I'd like to go home, if you don't mind.”

“First, my brother's opinion does not reflect my own, so I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't color me with his brush. I prefer to form my own opinion about you, just as I expect you to form your own about me. And second, you still haven't answered my question.”

She wondered if her desperation to escape showed. She'd had years of experience maintaining a calm, remote demeanor. But for some reason, whether the man or the occasion, she couldn't pull it off tonight. “What question?”

“Why did you leave without a word?”

She really didn't feel well. And now that she thought about it, it occurred to her that she hadn't eaten since breakfast. That, combined with the few sips of champagne she'd consumed, was leaving her seriously off-color. “Sorry, Chase, but we'll have to save this for another day.” She pulled free of his arms. “You know who I am now and how to get in touch with me, assuming it's even necessary.”

“What's wrong?”

“I haven't eaten,” she admitted. “I'm feeling a bit light-headed.”

She should have known better than to offer so much information to someone like Chase. He instantly took charge. “There's a buffet across the room. Why don't we find something that will help?”

She couldn't bring herself to look in that direction. Not when the scent of seafood drifted off the gleaming tables. “What I'd really like is to go home, put my feet up and fix myself some tea and toast.”

“Fair enough. How did you get here?”

“With my father,” she reluctantly admitted.

“You live with him?”

“Yes, but—”

“His estate is a few miles south of here, isn't it?”

She eyed Chase sharply. “How do you know that?”

“I get paid to know things like that.” He cupped her elbow. “Come with me.”

After collecting her wrap from the cloakroom, he drew her toward the wide-flung doors exiting onto the portico. A stunning view of beach and sea spread like a carpet beneath the bluff on which the Vista del Mar Beach and Tennis Club perched. A setting crescent moon dipped toward the Pacific Ocean, gilding the waves in silver.

He escorted her around the building toward the valet stand. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“You need tea, toast and quiet. That's what I plan to provide.”

“What I need is to go home,” she insisted gently.

And yet, somehow she found herself ensconced in the cherry-red Ferrari Fiorano Chase had rented. With the windows open, the chilly air helped clear her head. The instant he hit the freeway, he headed north, instead of south.

“Where are we going?” she asked, though at this point she wasn't sure she cared anymore.

“To get you something to eat.”

Emma surrendered to the inevitable. She had a feeling that when it came to Chase there wasn't another option. Five minutes later he pulled in to a circular drive protected by an electronic gate and lined with palm trees. The instant he killed the engine, he helped her out of the car and escorted her to the front door of the beachfront condo.

“Is this yours?” she asked, impressed.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but it's a rental.”

She wandered deeper into the condo. “This is gorgeous.”

“I didn't bring you here so you could tour the place.” He ushered her into the main living area, a huge room banked with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the ocean. Stripping off his tux jacket, he slung it across the back of a chair. “Sit and relax. Tea and toast coming up.”

As much as she wanted to insist that Chase take her home,
she didn't have the energy. She sank onto the couch and leaned against soft, thick cushions that molded themselves around her like a pair of warm arms. Despite all her attempts to remain alert, her eyes drifted closed. It wasn't until she heard the rattle of glassware that she opened her eyes again.

She glanced around, disoriented. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Just for a minute.” He set a cup and saucer on a table at her elbow, followed by a plate with several slices of lightly buttered toast, cut into manageable bite-sized pieces. Pale greenish tea steamed gently from the clear glass cup. “Whoever stocks this place is big on herbal teas. This one's chamomile and peppermint. According to the package, it's guaranteed to relax and soothe.”

“Thank you. Just what I wanted.” Before she could take so much as a sip of tea her BlackBerry rang. She pulled it out of her purse and checked the caller ID. “Excuse me. I should take this. It's my dad.”

The conversation was brief. But then, when it came to her father that was often the case. “Where are you?” he asked without preamble.

“With Chase Larson.” She spared him a brief glance. “He offered to give me a ride home.”

“Thought you were going with Kathleen.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Fine. Saw her here and I didn't see you, so I wondered.”

She smiled, softening. “Thanks for worrying, Dad.”

“Of course I worry,” he retorted brusquely. “You're my little girl, even if you are all grown up. Good night, sweetheart. Don't stay out too late.”

“'Night, Dad.” She disconnected the call and dropped the BlackBerry on the table beside her tea and toast. She caught Chase's undisguised amusement and lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

He reached in his pocket and pulled out his BlackBerry. It was identical to her own. “I use the same ringtone, too,” he said. “Great minds.”

“I guess we'll have to be careful not to get them mixed up.” She buried her nose in the delicate cup, inhaling the mild aroma. Then she forced herself to look at Chase. “Why are you doing this? I mean, why am I here? Why are you feeding me tea and toast instead of taking me home?”

He allowed his expression to say it all. “You know why.”

She shook her head. “There's no point, Chase. You might be here long enough to put Rafe's deal together, but then that'll be the end of it. We live on opposite sides of the country. We want different things in life.”

“How do you know that?”

She sighed and reached for a square of toast, nibbling on it. “Because I've met men like you before.”

His eyes narrowed, the grayish-blue as turbulent as a stormy sea. “Men like me,” he repeated softly, a disturbing tension rippling through his voice. “Would you care to explain what you mean by that?”

She took her time, finishing the slice of toast and washing it down with a sip of tea. She wanted to moan in pleasure, but didn't dare. Not when the gaze he turned on her still contained a whisper of desire mingled with a hint of intimidation. “Driven men. Men who put business ahead of everything else in their life. Men who live large and take whatever they want.”

Amusement replaced his tension and, to her alarm, the whisper of desire became a shout. “What's wrong with taking what I want, especially if it gives you as much pleasure as it gives me?”

“Nothing. It makes—made—for an incredible night. But that's over now. I've returned to my life. You've returned to yours.”

“And yet, here we are together again.” He joined her on the couch, sitting far too close. “As long as I'm here, why not enjoy another incredible night or two?”

How did she answer that, explain the conflict over wanting a man so closely connected to Rafe Cameron? How did she explain she didn't want another incredible night? That getting
over the first incredible night had been next to impossible? That if they spent another night together she might lose the final vestige of protection standing between her heart and her common sense?

She couldn't afford to fall for a man like Chase. She'd watched what living with a man like him—her father, to be exact—had done to her mother. It had destroyed her. Emma had taken the lesson to heart. What she and Chase experienced in November had been a lit match. Taking the next step might turn the affair into a dangerous wildfire, one that could consume and destroy instead of pleasure and warm.

She smiled, fighting to keep the moment light and easygoing. “Thanks so much for taking care of me, but it's time for me to go home. It's long past my bedtime.”

“No problem.”

Before she could guess his intention, he stood and swung her into his arms. “What are you doing?” she demanded in alarm.

“Since it's long past your bedtime, I'll see to it you turn in. Now.” He carried her down a hallway and into a huge bedroom with views as spectacular as the living area. He released her so she dropped the few feet to the mattress. She bounced once before falling backward into the welcome embrace of the down-filled comforter. “And I'm turning in with you.”

S
he lay on the silk duvet in glorious disarray, outrage flashing across her gorgeous, Sleeping Beauty face. Between the breeze from the drive and her tumble onto his bed, her hair had escaped its intricate knot and long, loose curls fanned out around her head. Her eyes in the dimness of the room were hard to read. Her expression was not.

Color bloomed in her too-pale cheeks while indignation animated her face. “Have you lost your mind?”

He snagged the ends of his bow tie and yanked. “Not that I'm aware of.” His shirt studs and cuff links followed and he dropped them carelessly onto the bedside table, followed by his BlackBerry. “I've wanted you back in my bed from the moment you left it.”

She sat up. The light filtering from the hallway cut across the upper portion of her face, highlighting the incredible power of her eyes. The odd forget-me-not blue, a shade just shy of lavender, had haunted him for two endless months. Well, not any longer. Whatever it took, he'd find a way get her out of his
system so he could continue his life without the memory of their time together distracting him.

“You can't believe I'm going to simply fall in bed with you.”

“That's precisely what you did last time and what you're going to do right now.” He stripped off his cummerbund and shirt, followed by his shoes. His hand dropped to the fastening of his trousers. “You feel it, Emma. Don't pretend you don't. It's gotten so strong that it hurts to breathe. I can't think about anything but you, about having you under me, being inside of you.”

Her breath quickened and those eyes, those amazing eyes, darkened with raw passion. “I'm not some cheap one-night stand, damn it. I won't sleep with you tonight and have you walk away tomorrow.”

Humor had his mouth curling upward. “I believe you were the one to walk away last time. And considering you don't have a car, I'm hoping you'll still be here when I wake up.”

She waved that aside. “This is a mistake. You're part of Rafe Cameron's entourage.” She inched toward the edge of the mattress. “I can't be seen fraternizing with the enemy.”

That stopped him. Granted, there was no love lost between Rafe and Ronald Worth. But why would Emma consider Rafe the enemy? “Do you oppose the sale?” he asked softly. “Are you trying to stop it from happening?”

She led with her chin. “I'm not convinced your brother is the best person to run Worth Industries. There are too many questions about his future intentions that are still outstanding. But since it's not my decision, there's not much I can do about it, is there?”

“No, there isn't,” he stated. Okay, warned her.

“But that doesn't mean I want to sleep with you. Not now that I know you're Rafe's brother.”

“One has nothing to do with the other.”

Her eyes narrowed in clear assessment. “How can I be certain you're not seducing me so I won't cause trouble?”

“First, because there's nothing you can do to stop the sale of Worth Industries to Rafe. It's as good as done. Second, when we made love that night in New York you were unaware of my connection to Rafe Cameron the same as I was unaware of your connection to Worth Industries.” The sound of his pants zipper being lowered grated against the stillness in the room. “And finally, you know damn well that what we're experiencing tonight is identical to what happened two months ago.”

“Except it isn't.”

The instant she said the words her breath hitched and he knew she'd give anything to snatch them back. “No, it isn't,” he agreed. He stripped off the last of his clothing and approached the bed. “This time it's far more intense.”

She stared at him, riveted. He waited to see whether she'd attempt to evade him, but to his surprise she didn't. One minute she sat on the edge of the bed and the next she came into his arms. The silk of her dress flowed across his flesh like a teasing caress, while the curves that lay beneath it impacted against him, warm and delicate and deliciously feminine.

“This is a mistake,” she informed him.

He could barely contain his groan. “How can it be when we feel like this whenever we touch?”

He scorched a pathway of fire along her bared shoulder to her neck. Cupping the back of her head, he drew her up for a kiss. A low, delicious moan escaped her and her lips parted, surrendering beneath his. She tasted amazing. How had he survived two whole months without tasting her again? Without having her in his arms. And soon—very, very soon—he'd have her beneath him, be inside of her again. One way or another, before he left Vista del Mar, he'd quench the insatiable thirst she roused in him.

He pulled back and smiled down at her. “You're overdressed, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I don't know.” She offered a swift, gamine-like grin. “I rather like having you naked and at my mercy.”

“And what do you plan to do with me?”

“This…”

Her hands slid downward, over steely abs, and lower still. She cupped him, her hands unbelievably soft, shaping the length and breadth of him with gentle strokes. He almost lost it. But when he attempted to pull away, she shook her head in mock disapproval.

“Ah, ah, ah. You're at my mercy, remember?”

Hell. “Is there any point in begging you to be gentle with me?”

“None.” A sultry smile drifted across her mouth and deepened the color of her eyes. “Since you're one of those types who likes to be in charge all the time, you have to play this my way or we don't play at all.”

“I'm not sure I like those rules,” he complained.

Just when he thought he couldn't control himself a moment longer, she slid her hands upward and wrapped them around his neck. “But you'll play by them, won't you?”

He shot her a look filled with a combination of threat and warning. “For now.”

She tilted her head to one side in assessment. “Something tells me you're a dangerous man to cross,” she said slowly.

“That something is called sheer self-preservation. I'd listen to your instincts.”

She simply laughed. “You wouldn't hurt me.”

“How can you possibly know that? We've only been together for a handful of hours.”

Her laughter faded beneath the challenge of his statement and she studied him, pinned him in place with a penetrating stare. In that moment, he could see the father reflected in the daughter, the same fierce determination. “Is that the sort of man you are? Do you deliberately try and hurt people?”

“No. Not even a little. Will I hurt you? I hope like hell I won't. It depends on where this takes us and what we decide to do about it if we continue down this road.”

A shadow flickered across her face. “I don't want to worry
about what happens next. If we're going to do this, I can only handle tonight.”

“Then let's make tonight count,” he suggested, allowing her a glimpse of the intensity of his passion.

She teetered, but she'd already made her decision, had made it shortly after he'd dumped her on to the bed. Whatever they'd ignited in his penthouse apartment in New York had continued to burn, the embers buried but still white-hot and ready to burst into flames with a simple touch.

“Please make love to me,” she whispered into the darkness.

“My pleasure.”

She pulled him in for another kiss, this one slow and languid, expressing a longing that matched his own. “Undress me,” came the hungry command.

“I was hoping you'd say that.”

He found the zip beneath her arm and lowered it. The bodice loosened, parted, allowing him access to the soft roundness of her breast. He shaped it in his hand and felt the nipple tighten and swell. She was so elegantly made, delicate and fine-boned. And yet there was a supple strength beneath her softness that spoke of someone well-honed in both body and spirit.

He pulled her up off the bed and into his arms, allowing the gown to drift downward. It snagged at the swell of her hips and she gave a quick shimmy that sent it sliding to the floor. She stood before him clad in garter and stockings, a small pale triangle of silk panties protecting her modesty. He eased her back onto the mattress.

“You're beautiful, Emma.”

The words seemed so inadequate. Shallow. And despite what Rafe claimed, Chase didn't find anything shallow about Emma. Granted, he didn't know her well. Yet. But her intelligence glittered in her eyes, and enthusiasm exuded from her, a quiet, wholehearted joie de vivre filling her up and overflowing onto everyone around her.

With swift, economical movements he loosened the straps of
her heels and tossed them aside. He took more time removing her garters and stockings, tripping his fingers along the outer edge of her shapely legs and then up again along the sensitive inner length. She shivered when he reached her thighs. Moaned as he approached the apex. Released a soft cry of need the instant he cupped the very heart of her through her silk panties.

Just that one touch left her teetering on the brink, as close to going over as he was. At the last possible moment he remembered to grab a condom from the nightstand table. Then he swept her panties from her hips and settled down on top of her. Her lips were swollen from his kisses and a flush ran feverishly high along the curve of her cheekbones. Passion turned her eyes dark with need, a ripe, blistering ardor that more than matched his own.

“Why did you leave me last November when we have this between us? When it only takes a single touch for us both to go up in flames?” he demanded. “Why didn't you tell me who you were or how to find you again?”

“I was afraid.”

“Afraid of me?”

She shook her head, her hair forming a pale, tangled halo of white gold. “Not of you. Never of you. I was afraid of this. Of wanting someone like you so much.”

“Afraid of how you respond when we come together?”

In one swift move he mated their bodies, one to the other. The breath sobbed from her lungs. “Yes. Oh, please don't stop. I've been waiting so long to feel like this again.”

“Look at me, Emma. I want you to know who you're with.”

Anger burned alongside her desperation. “I know who I'm with, Chase. How could I possibly forget how it was between us?”

The admission threw him off stride, but only for a moment. “It'll be even better this time,” he promised.

Because this time he knew what she wanted. What made her sing. What made her explode. What made her soar within
his arms. And he'd do everything within his power to give her all that and more.

As much as he wanted to take her fast and hard, he wouldn't. Couldn't. He needed that slow build, to experience that climb every inch of the way. To absorb her breathless moans with his every kiss and have that soft, soft flesh brushing against his. To savor the sweet scent of desire gathering in the air and taste it on her mouth and skin.

He sampled first her lips, then her breasts. And he moved with her, a slow, gliding waltz. He caught her hands in his and locked them over her head, their fingers entwined. Her legs slid along his, her toes pressing into his calves in joyous welcome, then wrapping around his hips, anchoring him tight. The tempo increased, moving from waltz to tango.

Sighs turned to murmurs of demand. Control escaped his grasp. How was that possible? He never lost control with women. Always maintained a safe distance even in the most intimate of situations. Never allowed anyone to glimpse his raw emotions in case they were used against him. But with Emma… The dance grew ever faster and he surrendered to the drive, to the magical music the two of them made whenever they came together. She arched beneath him, bowing upward as her climax slammed through her. He couldn't help himself. He followed her up and over, leaping with her into that glittering place of rapture met and fantasy realized.

Silence reigned for endless seconds afterward, while they both struggled to catch their breath. “How do you do that?” Emma asked at last, gasping for air. “How do you take us so much further than I ever believed possible?”

Her heartbeat thundered against his, a perfect counterpoint to his own. “It's a skill.”

“One you have down pat, apparently.” She spared him a speaking glance. “Lots of practice?”

“Some. But with you—” He broke off before he revealed too much.

“With me…what?”

“It's different.” And that's all he intended to say.

She slipped out from beneath him and curled tight against his side, one leg thrown across his. “Different how?”

How the hell had he gotten into this? He decided to take the manly way out. “Why ruin the moment by picking it apart?”

She simply laughed. “Oh, please. You can't get out of explaining yourself with that old dodge. You're the one who brought it up.”

“You know it's different without my explaining how or why,” he insisted gruffly.

“I just wanted to hear you admit it.” She relaxed against him. “And if it makes you feel any better, I don't understand why we're like this together, either.”

Chase had always been good at analyzing disparate elements and organizing them into a recognizable shape. It was one of the factors that made him such an outstanding investor. The instant Emma admitted that her reaction to him didn't mirror what she experienced with other men, a puzzle piece clicked into place, causing that night in New York to assume a new and fascinating shape.

“You realized it the first time we were together, didn't you?” he asked. “You realized that what we feel when we're together is different somehow.”

She reluctantly nodded. “Yes.”

He dropped the other shoe. Hell, a closet full of shoes. “And that knowledge scared you.”

She hesitated for another telling moment before asking, “Doesn't it scare you?”

“Anything I can't control scares me,” he admitted.

“So what now?”