Big Girl Panties (15 page)

Logan shook his head, a small grin playing at his lips. “I don't think so.”

“Pity,” Amanda replied, temporarily sidetracked from her annoyance with her husband. “I don't think I've ever seen him drunk.”

“You haven't,” Logan said as Glen returned with the change from his twenty. “Keep it.”

“Thanks, man,” the bartender told him, leaning on the bar, and asked jokingly, “Did I hear the word ‘drunk'? Does anyone need me to call a cab?”

“No, Glen, we're good,” Chase said good-naturedly, shaking his head. “My wife and her friend here were just hoping to see Logan get that way. What they don't know is that a drunken Logan, while good for endless punch lines, is a god-awful sight.”

“Why would a guy want to get drunk anyway when he's got a pretty lady to take home and impress?” Glen mused aloud.

“Oh, he doesn't have to impress me,” Holly said, quick to clarify, hoping to save herself and Logan any embarrassment. “I'm already impressed with him. Besides, we're just friends.”

Glen promptly stood back up. “Hold up, wait a sec. Logan, this isn't your girlfriend?”

“No,” all four of them replied at once, each voice in a distinctly different tone.

Glen laid both his hands on the bar, taking in the widely varied expressions on all four faces before resting his gaze on Holly and smiling. “Well well well,” he said slowly. “Ain't that something?”

Chase was the only one who actually smiled back. “Yes. Yes it is.”

T
he silence on the car ride home was deafening. Holly wasn't used to it; they always had something to talk about. Logan didn't even put the radio on, as he usually did. And there was such an edge to his mood that she didn't feel comfortable putting the radio on either. It was the first time they had done any drinking together, not that she considered his two beers actually drinking. She had gone way beyond that and it left her feeling at a disadvantage.

“Everything all right?” Holly finally asked.

“Of course,” he replied brusquely. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason. You just seem sort of quiet.”

“It's been a long day,” he said quickly, staring straight ahead. “I'm pretty tired.”

“We could have left earlier.”

“And ruin your good time?” Logan said with a hint of sarcasm. “I wouldn't hear of it.”

Was she drunk and acting sloppy or was he just tired and she was reading into it? Holly concentrated on not slurring. “I wasn't having that good a time. Don't ever jack up your schedule on my account.”

Holly leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. The silence resumed for several more minutes before Logan finally broke it.

“So the bartender certainly took an interest in you,” he said casually.

She straightened back up. “Glen? Yeah. He's nice.”

“You two looked like you were getting pretty chummy.”

“Why? Because he bought me a shot of . . . what was that stuff called again?”

“Goldschläger.”

“Yeah. Goldschläger. It was yummy. You know it has real flakes of gold in it?” Holly recalled the sweet cinnamon schnapps that went down smooth and then set her insides on fire.

“It's also like ninety proof,” Logan replied. “Let's see how much you like it tomorrow when I'm whooping your ass all around that gym.”

“He bought us all one,” she said, ignoring his comment about how she would pay for it in the morning.

“We tip him like fifty bucks every time we're in there. This was the first night he ever did anything like that. I can only assume it was to impress
you
.”

“I guess that explains why you refused yours?”

“I'm driving,” he said, his voice bordering on reproach, as if she should have known. “It was nice of you to drink mine for me.”

The silence resumed again. So what? She had a couple of shots. And three beers. Holly stole sideways glances at Logan as he concentrated on the road. Sweet Jesus, his profile was just incredible. Why did he have to be so damn perfect? Always so self-controlled. Why couldn't he have let down his guard, gotten drunk, maybe even made a pass at her that they could both regret later? Instead, they were having a conversation like none they'd ever had before. It almost seemed as if he was accusing her of something, or worse yet, disapproving of her. And it hurt.

“Guess you'll be seeing him again?” Logan tried to sound indifferent.

“What makes you say that?” she immediately asked.

“Well, you took his phone number.”

“He offered it to me. I didn't want to be rude,” Holly explained.

“And you don't think it's rude to take a guy's phone number and then not call him?”

“Are you saying I'm rude?” Holly snapped, the hurt beginning to fade and indignation taking its place.

“I just think if the guy felt comfortable enough to give it to you, he must've thought there was a chance you'd use it.”

“Or he's a horn dog who gives his number to every girl he meets.” She laughed.

“True.” He laughed along with her nervously. “I guess the real question then becomes, how many horn dogs' phone numbers will you be collecting?”

“Wow. That sort of makes me sound like a slut,” she said, her hurt having reappeared.

“I just think you're new at this and you need to be careful, or guys might get the wrong impression.”

“Now you're really making me sound like one,” Holly said defensively.

“Sorry. That's not my intention.” Logan tried to backtrack, knowing that he was failing at coming to grips with just why he was so antagonistic.

“I can't tell if you're concerned or just insulting me.”

He tried to clarify. “I'm just saying, guys don't usually give their phone number out unless they think they stand a chance of seeing some action.”

“You did,” she was quick to reply.

“That's completely different. You and I have a business arrangement. Besides, this guy totally isn't your type.”

“I don't have a type,” she replied, muttering under her breath, “Unlike some people.”

“Somehow I can't picture you on the back of a Harley with Glen the tattoo-loving bartender.”

“Well, when you put it like that, maybe I will call him, because that sounds like fun. And what's your problem with tattoos?” she responded with sarcasm of her own.

“No problems here. Whatever floats your boat.” He strived to go back to casual, knowing it wasn't working.

“Geez. Tired and beer makes Logan really bad tempered,” she said jokingly, trying to follow his lead and lighten up the exchange.

They went back to awkward silence. Holly wished that if she had done something wrong, Logan would just come out and tell her. At least Chase was nice about it. By the time he pulled into her driveway, she only knew one thing. She needed to put some distance between them, at least until she sobered up. She was on the verge of doing something she was going to regret, and regret alone.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” he reminded her as she got out of the car.

She made sure the door was closed before releasing her pent-up frustration and snapping, “Unfortunately.”

Chapter Twelve

C
hase unlocked the front door and held it open, resisting the urge to usher Amanda in with a firm hand applied smartly to her backside. She walked stiffly past him, maintaining the same brooding silence that had greeted his attempts at polite conversation since they left the bar. She crossed hurriedly through the foyer and directly to the elaborate winding staircase, while Chase waved off the security guards who picked them and his car up. When she was in the middle of her climb up the mountainous stairs, she heard the front door shut. She stopped short, turned back to Chase, and glared down at him.

“Sometimes you just don't know when to shut up,” she told him frostily before turning back around, picking up her pace, and making her way to the top. Then she disappeared into the hall. By the time Chase reached the first step to pursue her, he heard the reverberation of their bedroom door slamming.

Amanda Walker was in the first phase of a tantrum.

Chase recognized the signs. Women had been throwing temper tantrums at him for as long as he could remember, often specifically for his benefit. His wife, however, wasn't prone to them, at least not genuine ones. He could pinpoint the moment that ignited the flare-up. Chase was positive that the bar napkin with Glen's phone number on it had everything to do with it.

Amanda went from sensual to surly as soon as she heard Chase had given Holly advice, and only became more so as the evening progressed. By the time they left the bar and the flirtatious repartee between Holly and Glen had resulted in the exchange of digits, Chase could feel her seething. It was the kind of irrational anger she reserved only for him, setting the stage for his favorite kind of altercation. Interested and already turned on, Chase followed Amanda up the stairs and down the long hallway to their room. He reached for the doorknob and turned. It wouldn't budge. The door was locked. He knocked lightly.

“Come on, Mandy, open up. Let's talk this out.”

His request was met with more stony silence. After waiting a few moments, he knocked again with a bit more force and issued a stern warning. “Amanda Walker, unlock this door this instant, before I lose my sense of humor.”

This time he heard fiddling with the knob and the door opened. His pillow came flying out to land in the hallway. The door slammed again and was quickly relocked.

How symbolic,
he said to himself. They had six fully furnished bedrooms. He looked at his pillow on the plush carpet at his feet and remained outside the locked room for a minute, trying to decide how best to handle the increasingly unpleasant turn of events.

Relationships like theirs had rules. Important rules, many of them unspoken, that needed to be adhered to, for the sake of both partners, or the relationship would not only cease to flourish but would be destined to fail. If Amanda had disappointed him or, worse yet, disobeyed him, his response would be easy. He would inform her that a spanking was in order and she would accept it, knowing the requirements of the life they chose together. Chase would then become methodical, almost dispassionate. Tip her, bare her, spank her . . . soundly. More times than not, she would purposefully set out to fulfill that very scenario, seeking the excitement of his reaction and craving the domination. It was a playful scene they often acted out. She wasn't really naughty and he wasn't really punishing her. There was usually a great deal of banter and plenty of threats, and it was all about choice.

But what was happening now was woefully unfamiliar. If she was truly angry with him, that meant hands off. It didn't matter if he thought her anger was misplaced or not. It was a boundary he had to respect. There could be no misunderstandings between them when he put her over his knee, ever. And he didn't find it the least bit appealing to imagine Amanda being submissive to the point of never speaking her mind with confidence. The only decision he had left to make was whether or not she was really angry with him. He could count the times they'd actually fought on one hand, each of them disturbing and soul wrenching. He loved her to the point of going out of his way to make her needs paramount, and she reciprocated those feelings. What did either of them have to be miserable about? He was living a fairy tale and she was the appointed princess within it. Every now and then the demands that came with the position would frustrate her and she would need to be reminded that he was a package deal and the good that came from the lives they'd been blessed with certainly outweighed the bad. But times like that were never more than a blip, usually brought on by fatigue, and her sunny disposition soon returned.

Luck had once again been on his side when he met and fell in love with her. She wasn't spoiled or temperamental. The more he gave her, the less she wanted. She was sophisticated and refined, never failing him when they appeared publicly. She shared his values, realizing the importance of giving, always participating with gusto in any charity he chose to represent. To the outside world, she was the epitome of graciousness. Until he got her alone and she became his delightful brat, capable of erotically enraging him beyond his wildest imagination. She entertained his fetish like no woman had before her, making it as much about his needs as her own, and never making him feel guilty for it. And he couldn't recall one instance since they were married when she'd ever shut him out.

No sound came from behind the still securely locked door. Chase stared at it. Here there was no premeditated disrespect or childish display designed to elicit his trigger response. No indication, not even a hint, that she wanted his company or his attention at all. Suddenly Chase Walker felt like having a tantrum of his own.

“We don't go to bed angry!” he shouted lamely at the door. Dejected, he picked up his pillow and tucked it under his arm, then retreated into the guest bedroom closest to where Amanda had isolated herself. Feeling uncomfortable and disconnected, he tossed the pillow on the bed and left, heading back downstairs.

He aimlessly wandered from room to room in his twelve-thousand-square-foot castle, the forlorn prince longing for company other than his own. He turned on lights that were already on timers, only to turn them off again. He made a point of checking that all the potential points of entry were secure, despite the extensive alarm system that was monitored by his security team twenty-four hours a day. While passing the den, he debated watching some TV. Maybe he could find his way to the screening room and watch a movie instead. Deciding against both, he continued on. He stalled in the game room, considering a few rounds of pinball, maybe a game of Pac-Man or any of the other full-size arcade games he owned. Then he spied the pool table, the stark reminder of how the whole rotten night started. A night that started out like most others, with teasing and innuendo and such promise. He turned off the lights and left the games behind. He pondered a workout when he reached his gym, maybe just a quick exhausting run to release the anxiety brought on by Amanda's sudden fury and withdrawal. From the sliding glass doors that ran along the outside wall of the gym, he caught sight of the light reflecting off the pool. Perhaps a swim? Maybe a run, then a swim?

He stepped outside onto the patio that surrounded the pool and looked into the depths of the crystal-blue water. He listened to the waterfall that cascaded freely from the ornate pool's deepest end, a sound that usually brought with it the feeling of peace and serenity but now was bringing neither. The nights had turned cooler, but the pool's heating system would counterbalance that if he chose to dive in. There was always the hot tub. He took a few steps in its direction and frowned. The hot tub was no fun without his nearly naked—sometimes completely naked—wife in there with him. The same could be said for the pool. Shaking his head, he went inside the house and resumed his roaming, the overwhelming feeling of forced solitude daunting his every step. Every sound he made echoed throughout the silent house, reminding him of his seclusion. He stopped in the kitchen, opened and closed the refrigerator door several times, trolled the cupboards for a possible snack. He threw some ice in a glass and added some water even though he wasn't particularly thirsty. He could take most things in stride, but Amanda's being pissed at him was downright unsettling. It left him scattered and indecisive, characteristics he wasn't used to and didn't even know what to do with. And so much anger, for such a tiny infraction! Maybe he'd read it all wrong and was supposed to come crashing through the door to take her in hand? No, she would have joined him by now, to either make amends or egg him on.

Not bothering to take a sip from his freshly poured drink, he took it with him and headed back upstairs. He stood outside the silent closed door that his wife was behind a minute more before returning to the lonely guest bedroom where his pillow waited. He placed the glass on the nightstand, stripped off his clothes, and got into the bed. A bed half the size of the one in his master bedroom, but it suddenly seemed too big, even as his feet dangled off the edge in front. He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh of discontent before drifting off into a restless sleep.

Less than an hour later, Chase was awakened by a single sniffle. He opened his bleary eyes and saw her silhouette in the doorway. The light shining from the hall glowed behind her, and she reminded him of an angel. His beautiful, maddeningly headstrong angel.

“Come to bed, baby,” he said softly, uncertain that she was really there and not just the wishful figment of the fitful sleep he had finally given in to. He lifted the blankets up in invitation. Not bothering to turn off the light in the hall, Amanda closed the door halfway and dashed over to the bed, climbing in beside him. Without a sound, he wrapped the blankets and himself around her, enfolding her. She snuggled in until she was flush against his sturdy muscle-bound frame and sniffled again, her face still damp with tears. He brushed his lips lightly over hers, tentative and unsure, until he felt her sensual touch travel up his steely arms. Feathery-soft fingertips against iron crept from his biceps to his neck, where they settled, then tightened. Her mouth sweetly covered his and she breathed new life into him. His reaction was instantaneous and amorous despite the few remaining cobwebs of grogginess. Impatiently, he pulled the T-shirt she was wearing over her head, then hugged her tightly to him again. Her nipples responded to the smattering of hair that covered his chest, exciting them both further. She kissed him again, her own mouth open and delicately probing. He grabbed her bottom to shift her center into line with his pulsating shaft and felt the fabric of her panties, the same fabric that would hinder his access to her. Tearing his lips away from hers and easily maneuvering around her in spite of his bulk, he reached for the tiny piece of cloth with both strong, determined hands. He insistently tugged at the fragile lace while she wriggled in haste, as eager as he was to see them removed. Pulling them off completely and away from her, he discarded them haphazardly over the side of the bed. His large hand passed over her sex and his fingers dipped inside her wetness, rubbing, teasing, and enticing. She released a small moan of appreciation at his invasion and wiggled into it but said nothing more. Touching her wasn't enough, would never be enough. He was anxious to become part of her. He brought his hands back up to both sides of her face and tilted it up to his, placing another tender kiss on her lips. Chase entered her slowly as they still lay side by side and heard himself groaning as her body welcomed him. He was home. Wordlessly, he moved slowly within her, so that she might fully comprehend the way she affected him. He lovingly took his time with every single thrust in adoration of her until she could no longer stand it. Her breath turned into short mindless gasps and he could feel her muscles begin to involuntarily squeeze around him as her grip on him tightened. Amanda teetered on the brink of rapture and her gasps turned into little mews of breathless pleasure. Holding her tight within his embrace, he rolled her beneath him and precisely finished her off. She wrapped her limbs around him and he joined her.

I
hate it when you're mad at me,” Chase confessed, breaking the silence some time later. They were still side by side, pressed together, in the too-small bed of the guest room. Light from the hallway spilled in from the half-open door. Each of them, spent and sated, was reluctant to move and leave the touch of the other.

He sounded despondent. The complexity of the man was amazing. He was so strong, to the point of sometimes being an overbearing brute. And she was able to reduce him to a pile of emotional rubble with nothing more than her displeasure.

She apologized without hesitation. “I'm sorry. I overreacted.”

“Mind telling me what I did to set you off?” he asked, smiling. He already knew the answer.

“Nothing. I'm just in a mood,” she reluctantly told him, burying her forehead against his chest. “I said I'm sorry.”

“Amanda, are you lying to me?” Chase softly chided her, having none of it. He crooked a finger under her chin and gently lifted it.

She allowed him to pull her head up before placing it on the pillow beside his. “Are you lying to me, pretending you don't know why I'm mad?”

“Touché,” he said, bringing a hand up and tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. His eyes searched hers. “This whole thing is getting out of hand, don't you think?”

He was giving her the look. The one she loved and hated at the same time. The look came so naturally to him, and even in a room that wasn't fully lit, he had gotten it across. It was the indulgent yet authoritative stare that always left her feeling like a combination of woman and child, probably because of what usually followed it.

“I don't know.” She pouted, feeding into it. “Probably. But things were going along swimmingly before you stuck your big nose in.”

“What did I do? I encouraged a single woman to take the phone number of a perfectly nice bartender,” he said with feigned innocence.