Chase and Seduction (10 page)

Wrapping the condom in toilet paper, he dropped it in the toilet and flushed, then washed himself off in the sink. A smile crept onto his face and he looked at his reflection. He was a greedy bastard when it came to Reno, and a part of him hoped she was pregnant. It was like insurance that he could keep her—once she realized how different they were. And she would, too. Sooner or later, he'd screw up and she'd look at him like he was the slime on a bug's butt. But maybe if he could keep her happy, turn her ‘like’ into ‘love’ before she saw him for the high school dropout he was, he'd have a chance at a real life with her.

Leaving the bathroom light on, he walked back into the bedroom and sat next to her on the bed. “Reno, wake up, baby.” How did a man tell his woman she might be pregnant?

She mumbled something into her pillow.

He picked up his kit bag and one of the empty condom foils fell to the floor. He bent to pick it up and the light from the bathroom spotlighted her small travel bag, already packed and ready to go, sitting on the lower shelf of the nightstand. On top of it was a round, flat, plastic container. He picked it up and shook it, hearing the telltale rattle then popped it open. Birth control pills.

He closed his eyes and let out a breath, puffing out his cheeks. She was on the pill. Thank God. That was a near miss.

He dressed quietly then bent over her, kissing her temple. “See you tonight, baby."

She didn't move.

That evening, Reno attended a party at the home of one of
Prairie Fire's
actors, waiting for Chase to arrive from the studio. She sat on a barstool at a high patio table, her floral sundress and sandals perfect to soak in the warm L.A. weather. In a few hours, she'd be back in the harsh South Dakota winter, fighting blizzards, freezing rain, blowing snow, and frigid temperatures.

Tracy sat with her, two champagne flutes and a bottle of expensive champagne in an ice bucket forming a triangle in front of them. Next to their table, the infinity pool ended abruptly with a beautiful view of the city, its lights twinkling in the starry night, and a warm breeze blew Reno's hair back from her face.

She could almost live here, if it weren't for the pollution, congestion, and noise. The perfect solitude of her cozy stacked-log A-frame outside of Rapid City was a trade-off for the horrible weather there. She'd love to get Chase alone, snowed in for a month or two. Last night was—she shivered with pleasure—marvelous. He'd coaxed more orgasms from her in ten hours than she'd had in ten months. Her stud.

But she needed to take it slow, let things happen naturally. She wouldn't beg him to come and live with her, or ask if she could go on the road with him on his upcoming tour. He'd take the lead, and let her know what was on his mind. And in his heart.

Tracy interrupted her daydream. “So, what did you do last night?"

She felt her face turning red. “Nothing. What did you do?"

"Went to bed early. We had retakes this morning."

Chase's laugh bounded across the patio.

Reno turned. He stood on the other side of the pool with three very famous actors. Her heart paused then stampeded in triple time, and her breath caught. A reaction she hadn't experienced since high school.

Tracy said, “Chase Tanner is much handsomer than those pretty-boys. He should be in more pictures. He's so...” She scrunched her face then smiled. “Rugged."

Unexpected tears burned the backs of Reno's eyes as she memorized him, filed away this moment to view whenever she felt alone. She'd miss him. Terribly. “What do you know about him?"

Tracy's tone turned conspiratorial. “He's thirty, but he tells women he's twenty-seven."

Reno bit back a smile. He'd told her the truth. That was a good sign.

"And he's from Kentucky, an only child,” Tracy continued. “He wanted to be a songwriter, but he won a singing contest when he was twenty, and got a contract with an agent."

Reno knew all this from their private talks during filming, but she wanted to hear the Hollywood gossip. “Where does he live?"

"He's got a beautiful ranch in Texas, right on the Gulf."

He'd be heading east to the sunny Gulf, she'd be heading north to the barren cold. So far away from each other. Worlds away.

His laughter echoed across the pool.

Reno closed her eyes. How would she live through this?

Tracy said, “Go. Be with him. It's your last night."

A burn of emotion clogged her throat, and she croaked, “Thanks, Tracy.” She hugged her friend. “I'll miss you."

"No, you won't.” Tracy sniffed back tears. “I'm going to visit you in South Dakota as soon as it's warm enough to be outside without dressing like an Eskimo."

Reno laughed. “I'll text you when it gets above eighty."

She grabbed her purse and walked toward the house. On the other side of the pool, Chase disengaged himself from the actors and walked parallel to her, then came around the end to intercept her.

"Hi.” His eyes sparked. “It was a long day without you."

If he got mushy on her, she would break down and..."Can we get out of here?"

He took her hand. “Exactly what I was thinking.” He pulled her through the partiers, not giving anyone more than a few seconds to say goodbye to her.

But that was what she needed. Just quick goodbyes and air kisses. Then a few last minutes with Chase.

His sports car sat in the driveway and they jumped in. He squealed the tires out of the driveway then slowed to cruise along the quiet neighborhood streets.

On a flat stretch, he took her hand. “Reno.” His brow furrowed, but he didn't say more.

She watched his profile as they meandered past million dollar houses. The quiet time together was what she needed, yet so poignant it hurt. She'd miss him. Her phone beeped in her purse, and she sighed. “That's my reminder. I have to get to the airport."

He pulled over at a spot with a view of a canyon, and tightened his grip on her hand. “One more day, Reno. I promise I'll make it worth the cost of another plane ticket."

Chase gritted his teeth and fought the urge to steal her away. He wasn't ready to let her go.

Reno stared at him, her eyes sad and slightly red from her tears. Her hand smoothed over his cheek. “I wish I could. But the studio is flying me home in one of their jets. On their way to Canada to pick up some execs who are fishing, or hunting, or something."

He opened his mouth to say he'd arrange for another flight, but she cut him off.

"I have a meeting with my agent tomorrow morning. And...” She sucked in a choppy breath. “...putting it off is just going to make things harder. I need to get home."

"All right.” He released her hand, drove to the airport, and found the studio's hangar. Both of them silent.

He wanted to argue. To swing a U-turn and kidnap her. To beg for one more day. But she was right. The closer they got to each other, the harder it would be for them to be apart.

He helped her out of the car and walked her to the plane's steps. This was tough. He didn't know how to say goodbye.

She turned and attempted a wavering smile. But she broke down crying and flung herself into his arms. “I'll miss you, Chase."

A clod of emotion lodged in his throat. “Yeah, me too,” he growled and blinked to keep himself together. She felt too damn good in his arms. This was where she belonged.

"Okay,” she caught her breath and squared her shoulders, pushing back from him. “Goodbye.” She leaned in for a kiss.

He grabbed her, tipping her sideways and kissing her hard, desperate. He wanted every inch of her, just one more time. But it wasn't meant to be. Not today, maybe not soon, but he had hopes for them, and he wouldn't let them die.

When he set her up straight again, she listed to the left, and he caught her. “Goodbye, Reno."

She climbed the stairs and found a seat, and as the plane taxied away, her hand pressed on the glass of the window.

"It won't be long,” he whispered and walked back to his car.

Three days later, Reno trekked through the falling snow. Her snowshoes were heavy with the wet, sticky stuff, and her legs ached, but the exercise felt great. She topped the last hillock in the bare wheat field as the sky darkened with twilight. It was downhill the rest of the way to her house.

As she got closer, she spotted a big, black SUV in the driveway, covered with an inch of snow. “Huh.” Did her brother have a new vehicle? She trudged forward, a dozen thoughts going through her mind. Was it the FBI?

Then she saw him. Standing on her porch in the last of the daylight. Her ex-boyfriend, Drake Blastad. Or “bastard,” as she preferred to call him.

She walked out of the deep snow in the field onto the plowed driveway, and up to the foot of the stairs. Unbuckling her snowshoes, she slid out of them, picked them up, and thwacked them together to shake loose the snow.

Then she looked at him.

He stared at her, his annoying grin as firmly in place as his wavy blond hair. “Hi."

She nodded, climbed the stairs, then hung her snowshoes on nails in the horizontal logs.

He turned to follow her movement, and asked. “Can we talk?"

She dusted the snow off her powder blue jacket and pink hat and mittens. The snow fell heavily outside the covered porch, creating a silence that made it seem like they were the only people on earth. She'd let him say what he had to say, then get the hell out of her life.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, “Talk."

He blinked. “This might take more than a few seconds.” He shivered. “Can we go inside?"

"No.” She didn't want him in her home. This last year, she'd worked damn hard to build a wall between her heart and the memory of him, and she didn't need any reminders of the hell he put her through.

"Reno, I think you will be interested in what I have to tell you. I pulled some strings, and I might be able to get you a teaching position."

"I
have
a teaching position."

He snorted. “Adult education classes? In South Dakota? You're better than that."

Her eyes narrowed. She'd let him guide her career for two years, critiquing her last book from a soulful tale of a struggling family into a piece of literary fluff, well received by critics, but not by the buying public.

She'd let him modify and polish her personality to fit into his world of snooty scholars, promising her that was the best career path. But she'd wised up. And her job as an adult ed teacher was as important to her as her writing career.

He waited a few minutes, and when she didn't move, he walked to her door and opened it, gesturing for her to go in ahead of him.

Her lips pursed. Damn it, she never locked her door. She stomped into the house and he followed and shut the door. She turned to him and waited, letting her boots drip snow onto the mat.

He fidgeted, his way of showing annoyance. “Okay. I see how it's going to be. You're not going to give me an inch of breathing room.” He stepped toward her.

She stood her ground, glaring.

"But you're going to listen to me. I'm concerned about you and I want to make sure you know what you're getting into."

Her forehead creased as she tried to fit the puzzle of his words together. “What are you talking about?"

"This man you're seeing. Chase Tanner."

"What?”
How the hell...?

He reached into the breast pocket of his navy pea coat and pulled out a tabloid. “This is you, isn't it?"

She took the rag. A picture of her gazing raptly at Chase brought heat to her face. “Yes. That's me.” Sneaky asshole paparazzi. The caption read, “Chase Tanner Sweet-Talking a Pretty Filly."

"Filly?” she mumbled. “Do I really look like a horse?"

"Reno, I know that you and I didn't end well."

His words tore open the dark place inside her where she'd stored all her anger. She let her voice rise. “We didn't
end
at all. You left me standing with a group of your friends, and you walked out of the gala with another woman."

He had the decency to look ashamed. For about three seconds. “I did phone to apologize, but you didn't take my call."

She snorted. “Yes, three days later."

"I didn't mean it to happen. We hit it off and got carried away.” He took back the tabloid, pointed to the picture, and opened his mouth.

Uh uh, he wasn't changing the subject. She cut off whatever he was going to say. “Carried away to Vegas? Amazing.” She crossed her arms, but it had to look silly with her puffy coat and pink mittens. “Are you still married to her?"

"Her name is Celeste, and yes, we're together."

"Of course you are. She's a critic for a major newspaper. You're a writer. She can do so much more for your career than I ever could."

He resembled a teapot about to boil, his face growing red, his breath sucked in sharply. “That's not what it's about. And I did not mean to hurt you."

She opened her mouth to spout more of the sarcastic bile she'd rehearsed in her mind for the day she finally ran into him, but it was his turn to cut her off.

"I still consider you a friend. A very important part of my life. And this man...” He backhanded the tabloid. “He's not the right person for you."

"Why? What do you know about him?"

"I know he's not in your social stratus. He's handsome and charming, but his lifestyle is not compatible with yours."

"That seems so biased.” He hadn't been an elitist while they were dating, had he? But then, they'd never frequented events that were not literary-related.

"Can you see yourself with him at writers’ award dinners or scriptwriters’ galas?"

No, she couldn't. Chase would be uncomfortable in both those situations. But no one had the right to tell her whom she should date. “Who the hell are you to come back into my life and give me advice?"

"A man who knows you. Well."

She'd heard enough. She bent to unlace her boots and slipped her feet out of them then pulled off her wet stocking cap and mittens, shoving them into her coat pockets. She took off her coat and hung it on the rack.

Facing him, she announced, “You do not know me. But thanks for stopping by.” She gestured to the door, unable to hold back the sarcasm.