‘That sounds incredibly boring and unromantic, but OK. Good for you.’
She let out a trembling laugh. He never let up, but then neither did she. ‘This doesn’t sound very intense, though,’ she told him. ‘I thought this week was all about excitement.’
‘There are different kinds of intense. And I think a quiet evening at home will be intense enough for you.’
He rose from the bench and Millie watched as he steered the boat, one hand on the tiller. The wind ruffled his short hair, his eyes narrowed against the setting sun. He paused, his hand still on the tiller, to watch the glorious descent of that orb of fire towards the now-placid sea. Shock jolted through her because for a moment Chase looked like she felt. Desperate. Sad. Longing to hope.
Then he straightened his shoulders and turned back to her with a smile, all lightness restored. ‘Almost there.’
Half an hour later Millie was soaking in the most opulent tub she’d ever seen, huge, sunken and made of black marble. Chase had filled it right to the top with steaming water, half a bottle of bubble bath, and then left not one but two thick, fluffy towels on the side. Then with a smile and a salute he’d closed the door and gone to cook dinner.
When, Millie wondered, had she ever felt so incredibly pampered? So loved?
She froze, even in all that hot, fragrant water. Don’t even think that, she told herself. Don’t go there. The dreaded L-word. She’d loved Rob. She’d loved Charlotte. And here she was, two years later, heartbroken and alone.
She slipped beneath the foaming water and scrubbed the sand from her hair. The thoughts from her mind. She wanted to enjoy this evening, all the lovely things Chase had promised her. It had been so long since she’d had anything like this.
Since she’d felt anything like this.
Don’t think. One week. That was all they had, all she wanted to have. One week of enjoyment, of fun and, yes, of sex. Despite today’s disaster they could still have it. Enjoy it.
And then walk away. Move on, just like she wanted to, because anything else—anything real or lasting—was way too frightening. She’d loved once. Lost once. And it wasn’t going to happen again.
One week suited her perfectly. One intense, wonderful week.
When Millie came out of the bathroom she saw, to her surprise, her suitcase laid out by the bed. How on earth had Chase been able to get into her room and take her stuff?
The answer was obvious: he was a Bryant. For a little while there she’d forgotten; he’d just been Chase. Annoyance and affection warred within her. It was nice to have her clothes, but it was a little too thoughtful. Sighing, she discarded her towel and reached for one of the boring outfits her secretary had chosen, this one a beige linen dress with short sleeves and no shape. She glanced down at it and gave a grimace of disgust. She wished, suddenly and fiercely, that she owned something sexy.
But then she’d never owned anything sexy. She and Rob hadn’t been about sexy. Their sex life had been good enough, certainly, but they had both been so focused. There had been no time or inclination for sexy or silly or fun.
Everything that Chase was.
Was that why she’d chosen him for her first fling? Because, despite initial appearances, he was utterly unlike her husband?
Her thoughts felt too tangled to separate or understand. And maybe, like Chase said, she was over-thinking this. Straightening the boring dress, Millie headed out into the rest of the villa.
It was a gorgeous house, made of a natural stone that blended into its beach-side surroundings, the inside all soaring space and light. She found Chase in the gourmet kitchen that flowed seamlessly into the villa’s main living space with scattered leather sofas and a huge picture-window framing an expanse of sand and sky.
‘That smells delicious.’
‘Chicken with pineapple and mango salsa,’ Chase informed her, whipping a dish cloth from his shoulder to wipe something up on the granite work surface. Millie felt her heart—or something—squeeze at the sight of him. He’d changed into a worn blue tee-shirt and faded jeans, and he looked so natural and relaxed standing there, different bowls and pans around him, the smells of fruit and spice in the air.
She and Rob had never cooked. They’d eaten takeaway every night or ready-made meals from the gourmet supermarket. Why cook, Rob had used to say, if you don’t have to? And she had agreed. After a ten-hour day at work, the last thing she felt like doing was making a meal. And they’d both been proud of the way Charlotte, at only two years old, would eat all the things they ate. Brie and smoked salmon. Spicy curries and pad thai. She’d loved it all.
A knot of emotion lodged in Millie’s throat. Why was she thinking about Charlotte? She never did. She’d closed that part of herself off, shut up in a box marked ‘do not open’. Ever.
Yet here she was, memories springing unbidden into her mind, filling up her heart.
‘Millie?’ Chase was glancing at her, eyes narrowed. ‘You OK there, Scary?’
She nodded. Sniffed. How stupidly revealing of her, but she couldn’t help it. She’d thought she could handle this week, but already she was finding she couldn’t. She was thinking too much. Feeling too much. She’d thought Chase would make her forget, but instead he was helping her to remember.
‘That bath was wonderful,’ she said, in a deliberate and obvious effort to change the subject. ‘I could live in it for a week.’
‘The water might get a bit cold.’ Chase reached for a couple of green chilies and began dicing them with practised ease.
‘Fair point.’ She took a breath and decided she needed to get on firmer footing. Find a little distance. ‘As nice as it is to wear my own clothes, I’m not sure how they got in your bedroom.’
‘A very nice bell hop drove them over while you were in the tub.’
‘Don’t you think you could have asked?’
He glanced up, eyebrows arched. ‘Are we still going over this? My terms, remember?’
‘You can’t keep throwing that at me every time I object to something, Chase.’
‘And that is because...?’
She blew out an exasperated breath. ‘It’s not fair.’
‘True.’
‘So?’
‘We’re not playing baseball, Millie. Or Parcheesi. There are no rules.’
She folded her arms. ‘Are you on some huge power trip? Is that what this is about?’
‘Does it seem like it?’ He sounded genuinely curious, and Millie was compelled to an unwilling honesty.
‘No, which is why I don’t get it. I still don’t really get what you want, Chase. Most men would take the sex and run.’
‘Has that been your experience?’
‘Don’t go there. No questions about the past.’
‘I told you what I wanted. One week.’
‘One intense, all-in week.’
‘Only kind that works for me.’
‘Why?’
Chase didn’t answer for a moment. He concentrated on his cooking, taking out some pieces of chicken from the bowl of marinade and tossing them into a pan shimmering with hot oil. Millie listened to the sizzle and spat as they cooked, a delicious aroma wafting up from the pan.
‘Why not?’ he finally said and flipped the chicken. ‘I know it’s easier and simpler on the surface, Millie, just to skim life. Don’t dig too deeply. Don’t feel too much. I’ve been there. That’s most of my misspent youth.’
She