One to Chase (One to Hold #7) Read online

  “I’m meeting with my partner Paul and his wife Kitty. She has some nephew who needs entrée into society...”

  She’s tracing my chest hair with her fingertips in the most distracting way. “You get that a lot?” She blinks up again and gives me a little smile.

  “I’m afraid so. I’m not sure why. I guess because I keep a low profile, people think I’m a role model.”

  “They haven’t seen you at your desk.” Her naughty tone has my dick perking up again.

  “You’ll be interested to know we just christened this desk. Up to now, it was very pure and wholesome.”

  At that she laughs out loud. It’s an infectious, musical sound, and I smile laughing with her. “Are you accusing me of being a bad influence?”

  Leaning forward, I briefly peck her small nose. “You’re certainly not good.”

  With a nod, she grows serious, lowering her feet to the floor and standing, smoothing her dress down her hips. “I should be more professional.”

  Catching her upper arms, I pull her back to me. “Don’t you dare.”

  She exhales another laugh and leans forward to nip my chin. “What time is dinner?”

  Releasing her, I return to fastening my pants. “Seven. Can you make it?”

  Her bra is restored, and she’s rearranging the top of her dress. It seems a bit stretched now. “Of course! It’s good that I meet your partners, since this is going to be strictly business.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “I don’t want you to think my work is compromised because I let you fuck me.”

  “Phew,” I exhale, holding her waist and pulling her to me again. “You are something else, Amy Knight.”

  “You have no idea.” She gives me a wink and heads to the door. “Shall I meet you back here?”

  “Why don’t I pick you up at your place?”

  “No.” Shaking her head, she pauses before leaving. “I don’t want Sylvia to get any wrong ideas about us. I’ll meet you at your place.”

  I don’t like the connotation there, but I’ll let it pass. “Be there around six-thirty, and we can ride together.”

  “See you then.”

  With that she’s gone, leaving me to wonder about everything that happened from the moment she walked through my door.

  * * *

  Amy

  Kitty and Paul are chatty and animated all through dinner. Their own children are visiting friends for the night, and it’s just the four of us talking business, law, marketing, and Chicago social politics.

  I’ve been distracted by what happened in Marcus’s office all evening. I don’t know why I went to him, and the way he comforted me is troubling.

  Kitty calls to them, and I steal a glance as he stands facing Paul at the bar. Dark jeans hug his ass in a deliciously sexy way, and his blue-checked oxford hangs untucked over his waist.

  They carry two tumblers back to the table still chatting, and my eyes flicker back to my wine glass. Even if I’m conflicted about my feelings, coming here was the right thing. It establishes more of a business element to our relationship—if I can call it a relationship. We’ve had nothing but banter and sex since that first night in Wilmington.

  Kitty’s words pull me out of my thoughts. “Chicago is surprisingly old-school,” she says, sipping her wine. “I expect this kind of thing in New York and Connecticut, but I thought the Midwest was different.”

  “It’s worse, possibly,” I say, running the tip of my finger along the handle of my knife. “Conservatism makes it more resistant. And then there’s the Midwest chill.”

  “What’s that?” Her dark brows pull together.

  “Some new way of saying we’re cold to strangers,” Marcus says.

  “Sounds like a woman-thing,” Paul growls, taking a pull from his scotch.

  They’re so openly candid, it’s hard to be offended. “I think it happens just as much with men as with women, although you’re right. Women are so much more skilled at social wickedness.”

  I feel Marcus’s eyes on me, and I reach for my glass. It’s almost empty, and as usual, I’m saying too much. I know he’s wondering if my statement has something to do with how I was when I arrived at his office this afternoon.

  The memory of walking through that wooden door straight into his arms floods my body with warmth. A quick glance confirms I’m right. Our eyes meet, and his are so curious... I have to grab the reins on this.

  “Well, Oscar is a charming young man,” Kitty says, “I know if you take him around and introduce him, people will welcome him at once.”

  “You have a lot of faith in my persuasive power.” Marcus exhales a laugh as he tilts his tumbler of scotch side to side. He’s only drunk half of it. Vodka man.

  “None of your false modesty,” she continues. “You know I’m right.”

  “I have my enemies just like anyone else,” he concludes, and it’s my turn to study his face. I can’t imagine who wouldn’t like Marcus.

  “Midwest chill my ass,” Paul grumbles again. “If you ask me, it’s the same old assholes being snotty.”

  Marcus catches me watching him and smiles. I can tell he’s as amused by our hosts as I am. “It does allow some people to make themselves seem important.”

  “They couldn’t do it without the sheep that follow them.” Paul says.

  Tilting my wine, I can’t help observing. “It’s the antiquated notion of social hierarchy. At its core is simple jealousy and revenge.”

  We’re quiet a moment, until Kitty jumps in, breaking the awkward mood. “Whatever it is, you’ll introduce him around, Marcus. If anybody doesn’t like you, they’re not anybody I want him knowing.”

  * * *

  We’re in Marcus’s Audi heading back into downtown. My hands are in my lap, and I go from watching the lights pass outside my window to watching them glide attractively across his square jaw.

  “Kitty and Paul are nice,” I say, turning in my seat to face him. “They so open and real. You always know where you stand.”

  The muscle in his jaw moves before he speaks. “They’re suburbanites, I guess. Kitty more so than Paul.”

  “She’s right, though. You’ll open doors for Oscar faster than if he showed up on his own.”

  He glances at me. “I wasn’t sure you agreed with her.” I don’t answer, and he continues. “You were born in Chicago?”

  “Yep. Grew up on Dearborn. It’s a bit north of where Sylvia is now.” My voice trails off, and I can’t help a flicker of sadness remembering my young life in that old house.

  “Gold Coast,” he says. “So it’s not true you can never go home again?”

  Shaking off the past, I manage a little smile. “Not if you have my mother. Sylvia always makes a soft bed for us to land in.”

  “Speaking of beds.” We’re pulling into his condo garage, and his naughty grin is back. “I should show you the other side of mine.”

  The suggestion sends a tingle of desire through my pelvis, but I laugh it off. “But tell me what you really want to do.”

  He slides the car into park and kills the engine before turning in his seat to face me. His eyes slowly rake from my lips downward, and my heartbeat quickens. “I think I just did.”

  “Marcus.” My voice is thick. “We’re working together now. I’m going home to prepare for Monday.”

  He reaches across the center console, pulling me to him. “We have plenty of time to prepare.”

  Locked in his arms, I keep my eyes on his chest, my palms on his shoulders. Still, I don’t push away. Dipping his head, his lips start a burning line from my cheek to my ear. “Just stay,” he whispers, sending chills across my arms.

  It’s crazy how quickly I respond to this man. I’ve always had a healthy sex life, but Marcus is raising the bar on normal. He follows the line down the side of my neck, and I have to bite back a moan when the scruff of his beard touches me. He holds my lower back, pulling me closer until I gently catch his cheeks.

  O
ur eyes meet, and I force the words out. “I really have to get home.”

  I know the lust I see in his eyes is reflected in mine, but he doesn’t fight me. He releases me at once. “Whatever you say.”

  I hate the disappointment surging in my chest. Turning, he opens his door and steps out. He’s around to hold my door as I do the same. We walk to my car a few spaces down, stopping when we get to it.

  “See you Monday.” I attempt a smile.

  Irritation flashes in his eyes, and faster than I can think, he catches my face and claims my mouth. It’s frustrated and demanding, his lips pushing mine apart, his tongue finding mine. A noise squeaks from my chest, and our mouths move together. I clutch his shoulders to keep my legs from giving out. Gripping my ass, he pulls me hard against his body. I can’t breathe, and after what feels like a little eternity, he eases up, finishing with three swift nips. My lips chase his after each one.

  As if nothing happened, he steps back and casually opens my car door. “See you Monday.”

  “Goodnight,” I manage, dazed.

  He closes the door with a low thunk and steps back as I pull away. Before I turn the wheel, I take a moment to look at him standing there, one hand in his pocket. My lips throb from that goodnight kiss, and shit if I’m not second-guessing everything again.

  Continuing my departure, I softly whisper, “Well played, Mr. Merritt.”

  Self-preservation is on my mind as I enter Sylvia’s dim-lit condo. I don’t know what Marcus is doing to me, but I know how it will end. It always ends the same way.

  Marcus, his kiss, everything about him is dangerous, and I have to find the control lever. From the start, he’s damaged my equilibrium. I can’t seem to get the upper hand, and I can’t make my damn body cooperate. Every touch, and I’m fighting my inner responses.

  A light coming from the third bedroom distracts my emotional battle. Dropping my clutch on the counter and slipping out of my denim jacket, I walk back to find Sylvia sitting on the queen-sized bed staring at the closet. She’s dressed in a beige cotton robe and her hair is down. Clearly, she was preparing for bed when she came in here, only I can’t tell what she’s doing or why she’s staring at the dark, walk-in closet. My heart beats faster when I see her lost expression.

  “Mom?” I approach her as I would an injured animal. “Are you okay?”

  She blinks up at me and smiles. I remember how to breathe. “How was your dinner, darling? I expected you to be later.”

  Sitting beside her on the bed, I lift her hand into mine. “Fine. Just chatting about Chicago life. What did you do while I was gone?”

  “I watched Downton Abbey.” Her eyes return to the closet then she stands and goes inside it.

  Standing, I follow her and reach inside to flip on the light. Dozens of suits hang on an L-shaped bar, and I know at once whose they are. “What are you doing, dearest?”

  “It’s time I got rid of these,” she says softly. “When it happened, I couldn’t begin to think of packing your father’s clothes. Now it seems silly to hang onto them.”

  Stepping further into the small closet, my senses are assaulted with the scent of my father. Stomach churning, I hold her waist, standing slightly behind her as I face the charcoal, tweed, and grey sleeves of the neatly lined coats.

  “It’s been eight years,” I whisper, placing my chin on the top of her shoulder. “They still smell like him.”

  “Do they?” Her voice is soft, distant. I watch as she lifts a sleeve and holds it to her nose.

  The pain of her action tightens in my throat, and I want to cry. I want to run away and not be a part of anything that could hurt her. She feels me hiccup a breath and turns her head.

  “Do you miss him?” Her voice is soft, gentle like always.

  Words escape me. It’s a question I never ask myself, and I don’t know how to answer it. “Do you?”

  For a moment, silence fills the small space. Silence and the overpowering memory of my father. “Living with him was hard.”

  It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her say a negative word about him. My heart beats faster, but I take the chance. “Did you always love him?”

  She’s quiet. Several moments pass as she seems to ponder my question, and I wonder if she’ll answer me. As I’ve grown older, our relationship has matured. We approach each other as adults and share things I never would have dreamed when I was a teenager. Still, there are secrets mothers and daughters keep from each other.

  “When we lost Sophie...” Her voice breaks off, and she’s quiet again.

  I’ve only heard stories of the baby girl still-born between Stuart and Patrick. Once when I was younger, I found a drawer filled with tiny, pink baby things. A small, hand-knit blanket made of the softest silk yarn, a little white bib embroidered with ESK, Ella Sophie Knight, a small silver Tiffany’s rattle. I’d asked my mother whom these things belonged to, since they clearly weren’t mine, and she’d told me the story of my sister, who died before taking her first breath.

  Without realizing, my arms have tightened around her waist. I only want to hold her, protect her from this pain in her past.

  Clearing her throat she continues. “He was not a gentle sort of man, and rather than growing closer, we each withdrew after it happened.”

  My voice is so quiet, I sound like a little girl. “But you had Patrick... and me.”

  Her hand covers mine, sliding up and down my forearm. “Stuart was such a perceptive child. We wanted him to have a happy home. I wanted that.” She takes a breath, and exhales slowly. “Your father was so handsome. Women always admired him, and I guess it gave me a sense of pride. It wasn’t difficult to try harder.”

  Hearing her say these things fills me with anger, and I have to swallow the bile rising in the back of my throat. “So you stayed with him?”

  “Of course!” She says it like the very idea of anything else is preposterous. “We had the two of you, and after that, my life was so full...”

  Her life was so full, she didn’t have to worry about her empty marriage. Lowering my forehead against her neck, I inhale deeply of her lingering Chanel fragrance. I want her, only her, to banish the memories of what he did. I want her to find happiness. I want her to be free.

  Releasing her waist, I leave the closet and its bad memories. “I’ll help you clean them out. I’ll take them all to Goodwill, and it’ll be done.”

  She follows me back into the room, a wistful smile on her face. “Not yet. I need to check with the boys and see if they want any of them.”

  “None of them will fit Patrick, and Stuart doesn’t wear suits.”

  “Still,” she catches my hand and together we walk down the hall into the living room. “It’s the right thing to do. He was their father.”

  I don’t argue with her. “Whatever you want.” I take my clutch and pause before heading to my bedroom. “I start working with Marcus Merritt this week, so I’ll have to be out before nine.”

  “Will you want breakfast?”

  “I’ll pick something up at Starbucks. I’m sure I’ll have an office phone, but you can call or text my cell if you need me.”

  My emotions are too spent from this day, and exhaustion is rolling over me in waves. She gives me a tired smile, and I peck her cheek.

  Just before slipping into slumber, Marcus’s face drifts across my mind. I’ve always run. I’m always ready to run. I only have to wait for the signal that comes from somewhere deep inside me.

  However, when I’m in his arms, I feel something I’ve never felt before—dread. Not of him, but of that signal, and how this time, I don’t want it to come.

  Chapter 7: Deep Background

  Marcus

  I’m behind my desk thinking about her when the message bubble appears on my computer screen. Amy Knight is in reception. For a moment, I evaluate my internal response to these words.

  Saturday night when she left, I was angry, but when I kissed her, I knew she wanted to stay. I don’t know what demons she’s
battling, but I know I’m not ready to give up on her. This situation is going to require a bit more finesse. I type my reply. Send her back.

  She enters my office wearing a grey dress that drapes across her shoulders and hugs her hips. On her feet are matching strappy heels. Her long blonde hair hangs in smooth ripples down her back, and she looks as much power-suit executive as runway model. I can’t help it. I want to turn her around and have a repeat of her last visit. I’ve been craving more of her body all night.

  “It’s time we looked at that website, Mr. Merritt.” She places a small case on my desk and fixes me with an authoritative gaze. It makes me chuckle.

  “Come around, and we can look at it together.”

  She steps around my desk and then glances left to right. “Are you expecting me to sit on your lap?”

  “I like how your mind works.”

  Her eyes roll. “If I work for you, Mr. Merritt, we will keep things professional.”

  “Is it too late for me to fire you?”

  Her eyes narrow. “Of course not.”

  Giving her a wink, I stand, turning my chair so that it faces her. “I’m only joking. Take the driver’s seat.”

  “My favorite.” Stepping back, I walk to the window while her fingers click lightly across the keyboard. “I spent a little time looking over it yesterday.”

  Turning back, I’m caught off guard by how sexy she looks navigating my computer. One long leg is bent under my chair, but the other is stretched forward giving me a nice view.

  “What’s the verdict?” I manage to say.

  “It’s not as dated as you made it out to be.” She’s clicking fast. “A few things can be added, pages removed. Try to focus on pages that don’t require frequent updates.”

  “Such as?”

  “For starters, I’d ditch the What’s New page.”

  Walking back to where she sits, I lean forward to look at the offending page. “Apparently nothing new has happened here in two years.”

  “Exactly.” She takes the Mont Blanc pen off my desk and jots a few notes on my yellow legal pad.