Blackmailed Into His Arms. Margaret Mayo

would have actually had a shot at making things work.

      But the way it stood now, she knew they didn’t. She also knew that when the time came for them to call it quits, a little part of her heart would break off and travel with him wherever he went.

      Her chest tightened and her eyes began to dampen again. She quickly swallowed and took a deep breath, hoping her companions wouldn’t notice the sudden rush of emotion that threatened to close her throat.

      To her left, the front door creaked open and she welcomed the sudden distraction as Chase entered the room, followed by his brother and father.

      Chase, she noticed, was carrying an empty tumbler and moved directly to the bar. For a moment, he hesitated, apparently contemplating a refill. But then he set his glass down and walked away.

      Moving to the sofa, he took a seat at her side while his brother did the same beside his wife, so that the two women were at the ends with the two men sandwiched between them.

      Rather than sit down, Isaac took up position behind his wife’s chair. Close enough, Elena noticed, to play the part of the loving husband, but far enough away that Theresa wasn’t likely to comment if she noticed the scent of cigar smoke lingering on his breath or clothes. To cover her grin, Elena lifted a hand to her mouth and pretended to cough.

      For the next half hour, the six of them made small talk. Thankfully, the conversation completely avoided the topic of Chase’s and her relationship.

      And then it was time to leave. Chase stood, holding a hand out to her to help her to her feet, and everyone else followed suit.

      Theresa and Emma both hugged Elena while Isaac and Mitch shook her hand and wished her well. She was invited to come back any time, and she promised that she would, even though she suspected such an event would never actually take place.

      In the car, Elena waited until Chase had started the engine and turned down the driveway before leaning against the headrest and releasing a long breath. The bright headlights created twin streaks of yellow along the dirt lane.

      “Tired?” Chase asked, glancing in her direction before returning his attention to the road.

      “Not really,” she answered honestly. She was, but only because she’d been so nervous and tense about meeting his family to begin with. With the anxiety behind her, she suddenly felt like a blown-up balloon pricked by a pin and allowed to expel its air all at once. “I was just thinking about how nice your family is. Thank you for introducing them to me.”

      A beat of heavy silence passed, then he said, “They liked you, too.”

      She smiled in the darkness. “I’m glad.”

      He turned on the radio and the soft strains of a classical CD filled the space around them. Neither of them spoke another word until they neared her house.

      At a stop sign, Chase stopped. Only when they remained there for longer than Elena thought was necessary did she look at him, brows drawn together in an unspoken query. His fingers flexed on the steering wheel and he didn’t meet her gaze.

      “I can take you home,” he said slowly. “Or you can come back to my place with me.”

      Her stomach jumped and every inch of her skin broke out in gooseflesh, tingling as though she’d just been touched by a live wire.

      She licked her lips, her mouth gone dry. “I … can go home with you, I guess,” she told him in a soft voice.

      His only response was a tight nod. Then, instead of turning right as he would have to drop her off, he went straight, toward his own home.

      She’d never given much thought to where he lived. Whenever she pictured him in his own environment, it was his office, behind his desk, as he’d been that first time she’d gone to plead her father’s case. Aside from that, she supposed she’d always assumed he lived in an apartment somewhere, perhaps a penthouse on the top floor of the Ramsey Corporation office building.

      A man like Chase—single, wealthy, independent—wouldn’t need much space. Just a bedroom, bathroom, small kitchen and of course an office where he could work.

      So her jaw nearly dropped when he turned into an upscale housing development and stopped in the driveway of a gorgeous, sprawling two-story brick home.

      “This is your house?” she asked as he cut the engine, not bothering to hide her awe.

      He sat back in his seat, offering a wry smile. “Yeah, why? Did you think I lived at some cheap hotel? Or maybe sleep at my desk at work?”

      She flushed at just how close his guess was to what she’d been thinking and was glad it was too dark for him to see.

      “No,” she denied, “I just didn’t realize you owned your own house. It’s gorgeous.”

      “Thank you. Though it’s not quite the mansion you grew up in, I know.”

      He opened his door and stepped out and she followed suit.

      “Yes, well, even I admit Pop went a bit overboard when he built it. He was the first member of his family to really make something of himself, and I think he confused the house from Gone with the Wind with the average American dream.”

      That earned her a chuckle and she joined in as he led her up the moonlit path to the front door. Reaching around the jamb, he flipped a switch. Light flooded the foyer and part of the front yard from a massive chandelier hanging in the center of the ceiling where dozens of crystal teardrops twinkled brightly.

      “Would you like a tour?”

      She nodded eagerly, already fascinated by the little she’d seen.

      He showed her the den, kitchen and family room, and stood in front of a set of wide French doors at the back of the house as he described the patio and lawn that she couldn’t see much of in the muted illumination from the house. There was also an indoor pool and workout room, two things even her father’s sizeable estate couldn’t boast.

      Then he led her upstairs and pointed out several beautifully decorated guest rooms, as well as a central restroom that didn’t look as though it was used very often.

      At the end of the hall stood the master bedroom, easily twice as large as any of the others, and done in dark, masculine tones. The bed was a giant four poster made of mahogany and covered with a comforter of forest green and navy blue swirls. On either side of the bed stood two-drawer nightstands carved of the same wood and with the same design as the bedposts, and holding matching wrought iron lamps. A doorway to the right of the bed led to the master bath, with a sunken whirlpool tub, a separate shower and two sinks set into a long marble countertop.

      As though she wasn’t impressed enough already, he informed her that he’d overseen both the design and decoration of the entire house. The man had great taste, she admitted, more than a little surprised by just how luxurious and tasteful his home was.

      It was a shame, though, that he lived there alone. Such a large place seemed wasted on only one person.

      “So,” he murmured, “would you like a glass of wine, or something else to drink?”

      They were still standing in the middle of the bedroom, but while she had felt completely comfortable a moment ago, she was suddenly faced with an attack of nerves. Her reason for being in his home, alone with him, this late at night flashed back to her and her heart gave a tiny flip.

      “No, thank you,” she said softly with a shake of her head. She’d had two glasses of chardonnay at his parents’ house. Any more and her head might start to get fuzzy.

      Her fingers worked distractedly on the strap of her purse as she added, “I should call my sister, though. Let her know I’m going to be late.”

      He nodded, then pointed to the cordless phone charging on one of the nightstands. “Help yourself.”

      Striding to the walk-in closet at the far side of the room, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and hung it in