Black Gold (12 page)

"Send me a bill."

"On the other hand, it's a rental..."

"We're going to your room," he said sternly, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her around the car to the passenger side. He opened her door and practically picked her up and deposited her in the seat. "Put on your seatbelt."

"Are you all right to drive?" She could barely get the words out.

"In case you didn't notice, your old boyfriend drank that last bottle all by himself. Seat belt.
Now
."

Regina decided she liked when he ordered her around. She was tugging her seatbelt on when the non-lizard part of her brain caught up with the rest. "You're a client," she reminded him as he slid into the driver's seat and turned on the engine.

"No, ma'am, I'm no such thing. I’ll call Carl Cash and sign with him this second if it means you'll drop that tired subject."

Her heart sank. "Then you
are
going to sign—"

"Shut your damn mouth, woman. I'm not signing anything but my rent check. I'm staying right here in Conway. My home is here, and I'm not going anywhere, but I don't report back to the rig for six more days and I don't really want to spend that time arguing with you, if that's all right. What hotel?"

"The, um, Wayfarer." Regina gasped as he pulled out into the street and floored it, then immediately hit the brakes.

"Sorry. Now that Cal's almost a cop, I can't get pulled over for speeding or he'll bust my ass."

"Oh no," Regina mumbled.

"Sorry, I'll try to keep it steady until we get there."

But Chase's driving wasn't the problem.

My home is here
, he'd said. And,
Six more days
.

What was she doing, undertaking a fling with a man who made it clear that he wasn't leaving North Dakota? Whose life was measured out in three-week hitches when he did nothing but work and sleep? Her work was in Nashville, and she couldn't—this fake vacation aside—just up and leave whenever she felt like it. She had to be there for the crises and opportunities and opening nights and recording sessions and handholding and everything else that went along with the job.

Chase drove the six blocks to the Wayfarer without attracting the attention of any police cruisers and without hitting a single red light. He wedged the car in a narrow space between two jacked-up pickup trucks, then changed his mind and backed out.

"Get out," he said, his teeth gritted as though he was in pain.

"What?" So he'd had second thoughts too, Regina guessed. Because it was wrong. So wrong. Very very wrong. So why had her heart plummeted into her stomach?

"I said, get out so I can park this stupid car in this tiny space and we can get up to your room."

"Oh," she said in a small voice and got out of the car.

He parked in two seconds flat.

They were in the building and he was holding her hand and fumbling the key card in the door in another thirty.

"I wasn't expecting company, I didn't tidy up—"  Wishing he'd hurry with the door, Regina faintly remembered getting ready for the evening: the dresses tried on and abandoned, tossed onto the bed; the arsenal of makeup and creams and perfumes littering the vanity. Preparing for an evening with Chase had taken more guesswork and fussing and changing her mind than dressing for any event Regina could remember, including attending the Country Music Awards five years in a row.

"Don't care," he grunted, shoving the door open and dragging her with him. Then, "Holy smokes, girl."

He picked her up and deposited her unceremoniously at the head of the bed, against the pile of pillows. "Don't move."

His voice was deep and urgent as he picked up one of her feet and undid the buckle of her shoe, then tossed it on the floor. The other shoe followed. Then he lifted her foot to his lips and kissed the arch, thumbing the delicate skin underneath, and sending electric showers of sensation up her legs to the very center of her.

"Oh," Regina said weakly, as he gently returned her foot to the bed and her skirt fluttered back down.

"What the…?" Chase gathered up the discarded dresses over his arm and Regina figured they were going on the floor too, all that delicate vintage taffeta and chintz that had taken hours to press, and she didn't even care. But instead, Chase walked over to the closet and yanked the door open and began hanging the dresses one by one.

Watching him hang up her clothes undid the last little vestige of reserve that Regina had held onto. He took such care with the task, fumbling with each dress to make sure it stayed on the hanger. He wasn't good at it. The way he jammed them in there, she'd still have to get out the iron to fix them, but he was trying.

For
her
. How often had Carl been thoughtful when the cameras were off and it was just the two of them, in private? He hadn't been
un
-thoughtful, that wasn't it, but she'd always felt like just another fixture in his apartment.

Chase hung the last dress, closed the closet door and regarded her, his eyes inky and his brow knitted. He folded his arms over his chest, straining the shoulder seams of his borrowed jacket.

"I had no idea they still made girls like you," he said. "With that... hair and those damn dresses of yours and..."

He advanced on her, and she stretched her legs out coquettishly, curling her painted toes, and lifting her arms up against the headboard in a fake little yawn, knowing the effect the gesture had on her breasts. Then she let her eyelashes flutter down. God, what was she doing? She was never this flirtatious. She never felt confident enough to consciously use her body to seduce anyone. The clothes and accessories she chose were meant to distract as much as to call attention. When people focused on the period details, the full skirts and Bakelite jewelry and elaborately pinned hair, they were less likely to compare her to all the beautiful women in Nashville. Gorgeous girls with silky hair and long legs and perfect teeth and million-dollar smiles.

Just like she had learned she could never compete with Priscilla and Annabel when they took to the stage in their long, black gowns and high-heeled pumps. Regina had grown up believing she'd never grow into the swan she longed to be, so she'd disguised herself as a one-of-a-kind duckling in a wardrobe from another era.

Chase sat down next to her and picked up the hem of her skirt. He crushed the fabric in his fist and pushed it slowly up her leg. Somehow, she didn't think he was thinking about the details of the dress now.

He kept going until he'd slid the hem up over the edge of her stockings.

"Sweet holy Mary mother of all things good and...." He caught his breath. For a moment she thought he might faint. "Are you wearing... garters?"

Not just any garters
, Regina thought somewhere in the recesses of her mind. Fire-engine red satin ones she'd found in the bottom of a vintage hatbox in a shop in Murphysboro. Most of the underpinnings in the hatbox belonging to the long-ago temptress—satin corsets and gored slips—were too small for her. But that was the thing about garters. You just had to be able to slip them up over your knees and up your thighs to…

He tugged one experimentally and let it snap against her thigh.

"Oh," she breathed, eyes widening.

He froze. "Did I hurt you?" he asked hoarsely.

"Oh, no..."

He slipped one finger under the scrap of silk and tugged at the elastic. "These are something else," he breathed. "But they've outlived their usefulness."

Then he was sliding them down, his hand grazing her thighs and calves as he pulled off her stockings. They floated down onto the floor.

"Turn over," he demanded.

She rolled onto her stomach, enjoying the way her skirt pouffed out behind her. She felt his hands on her zipper, wondering if it would stick this time, as vintage zippers often did, and—if it —if he would just rip the dress open. She wouldn't mind.

"Hurry," someone demanded, and it took Regina a second to realize it was her voice.

The zipper cooperated. She lifted her hips off the bed as Chase pulled the dress free, bunching the voluminous skirt in his hands to slide it off her. She helped, twisting her body and writhing out of the garment. Then she was wearing nothing but her pale pink lace bra and panties.

He appeared to be stunned. Was he having a heart attack? Oh, no, that wouldn't do at all, not when Regina was fairly sure she was about to have the most satisfying sex of her entire life, not that the bar was set all that high, since before Carl there were only a handful of—

Chase pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. She kissed back, drinking in every sensation, trying not to miss a thing, from the warmth of his hands along her spine to the feel of his hair between her fingers as she tugged him closer, to the…
oh, my
, the hardness of him against her thighs. His hands found the clasp of her bra and dispatched it in one practiced twist, and then his hands were taking the measure of her breasts, his fingertips grazing her nipples and sending white-hot rivers of need through her.

"No fair," she managed to mumble. Her hands found his belt, but they were trembling too much to tug the buckle free. "I want... I need..."

He pushed her gently down against the bedcovers, taking her searching hands in his and setting them gently but firmly at her sides. Then he stood, never taking his eyes off her, and undid his belt in half a second. He kicked off his pants and made short work of his shirt and then he was naked in front of her and, heaven help her, she had never seen a man like Chase. She suddenly suspected that her entire sexual history had been a bit misleading, that she'd convinced herself that Carl and the man before him and the one before that were as good as she'd ever get, and that she ought to be grateful to have them at all.

"Please," she said, her teeth chattering. "Please come back here."

He had a few golden hairs curling on his chest and it was these she focused on as he lowered himself over her. Her fingertips landed there and then slid over powerful shoulders and across his work-hardened back. Somehow they rolled and she ended up on top of him. Her hair, loosed from all of its pins, cascaded down onto his body and he didn't appear to mind a bit. He made a sound that was as much of a wish as a demand and pulled her against him, and when he held back a little too long and touched her with a little too much care, she took matters into her own hands and it wasn't long at all before they were lost in each other.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A rhythmic pounding woke Chase from a deep and dreamless sleep, but it took him only seconds to register the important details: first, a fragrant cloud of fine blond hair—not his—cascaded over his chest; second, the leg entwined with his own was shapely and smooth and fit just about perfectly and third, Regina McCary cursed like a sailor when startled.

She was at the door in a matter of seconds with the bed sheet. She yanked it off him so hard he was pretty sure he had a fabric burn across his torso, then wrapped it around her body in a manner that almost left her decently covered.

Then she skidded to a halt comically, rubbed her eyes, let the sheet fall most of the way off her body, and turned to look at him.

Her eyes widened and her lips parted. She stared down at herself in surprise, then back at him in all-out shock, and then her face relaxed into what was surely the loveliest smile he'd ever seen.

"I do this sometimes," she said bashfully.

"Answer the door stark naked? Wow, I'll have to make a note of that," Chase said lazily, sitting up in the bed and leaning back against the headboard.

She blushed, which only enhanced the pretty smile further. "No, silly. What I mean is, sometimes I'm all the way out of bed and half way across the room before I actually wake up. I was dreaming..."

She blinked several times, staring at him. He could feel his body respond, but he didn't bother to pull the covers back over himself. He hoped she liked what she saw. Heaven knew that he enjoyed looking at her.

"You were dreaming?" he prompted her.

"Or remembering. Or something."

Chase nodded gravely. There was a lot to remember. The last time he'd caught a glimpse of the clock, it had been nearly three in the morning and Regina was only beginning to show signs of fatigue, purring like a kitten as she wound her body around his and let her eyelashes flutter against his cheek.

"Regina! Who are you talking to?" The banging continued as a voice, a
male
voice, came through the door. "Is that Meredith on the phone?"

This time Regina really pulled the sheet up around her body quickly and expertly. "Oh, no," she stage whispered. And then she added, in full voice, "Go away, Carl."

"Tell Meredith I signed her. Stiletta."

There was a silence while Regina appeared to take in that news. Chase watched her carefully. He knew she'd been counting on signing the girl. A wave of disappointment washed over her face but was quickly gone. "Good for you," she said. "I'll make a congratulatory call later. But I'm indisposed at the moment, so could you go away, please?"

"Let me in, honey. We have to talk about the deal."

"What deal? You win. Fair and square. She's your client now."

"Which means... remember? Now I just have to sign Chase too, and then we talk about getting back together. Tell you what, we'll talk over dinner. That's hours and hours away. How's seven?"

Regina gripped the sheet tighter against her body. She'd forgotten that part. "Forget it, Carl. That's not happening."

"Deal's a deal. Come on, Reggie. Let me in. What's the issue? I've seen you without your makeup plenty of times."

"That's not the problem," Regina said, but she knew he wouldn't give up without a fight. Not unless she gave him something to satisfy him. "Look, okay. I'll have lunch with you. Just leave me in peace now."

"Can't do lunch. I've got a meeting with my new client."

Regina rolled her eyes. Even when he was trying to get back together with her, he couldn't keep a hint of smug victory out of his voice. Carl liked winning, even when—maybe
especially
when—she was the one he beat.