Blackmailed Into His Arms. Margaret Mayo

had said. She’d thoroughly scrambled his brain and sent every ounce of blood in his body just below the equator.

      “Can we leave yet?” he whispered in her ear the first chance he got, pressing himself along her back so she would know exactly why he wanted to get out of there.

      With a wide smile on her face for everyone else’s benefit, she cocked her head in his direction and said, “We just got here. It would be rude to leave so soon.”

      He took the plate she offered, covered with a little bit of everything from the dinner buffet, while she turned back to get something for herself.

      Leaning close, he let his breath stir the hair at her nape. “Then let’s find a dark corner somewhere so we can be alone.”

      She laughed, the sweet tinkling sound going straight to his gut. His fingers clenched so tightly on the plate in his hand, he was surprised it didn’t shatter.

      “I’m not going to sneak off with you in the middle of this event so you can have your wicked way with me.”

      Her voice was moderately chastising, but her eyes glimmered with a sensual, teasing light.

      “Then you shouldn’t have told me about your underwear,” he growled.

      She blinked a couple of times with supreme innocence, then replied with equal innocence, “But I’m not wearing any.”

      His teeth snapped together hard enough to crack his molars. “That’s what I mean,” he hissed through tight lips.

      With both their plates filled, she sashayed away from the buffet and toward the large round table where they’d been assigned seats with three other couples he recognized, but barely knew. Chase had no choice but to follow. When they reached the table, Elena set her plate at her place, then took his and did the same.

      Still with that overly bright smile on her face, she moved close to him and whispered, “That was just an aperitif. A tiny treat to keep you interested until this little soiree is over, when we can go back to your place and do all of the things I know you’re fantasizing about right now.”

      He studied her for a minute, nostrils flaring as he breathed heavily through his nose. She had no idea how close she was coming to being thrown over his shoulder and hauled out of there like a sack of grain. It would cause a horrified uproar, and their pictures would probably be in the morning paper, but at this point he honestly didn’t care.

      Then she moved even closer, brushing against him from shoulder to thigh as she took her seat from the side closest to him rather than farthest away.

      “I promise it will be worth the wait,” she murmured softly before sitting down.

      Rather than tempering the desire that thrummed through his veins, her words threw fuel on the fire. But there was something to be said for waiting, wanting, letting arousal build to a near-agonizing level.

      And when he finally got her alone, he would hold her to her promise. There were at least sixteen highly evocative images simmering in his brain at this very moment, and he intended to make sure they executed every single one.

      He pulled out his own chair and sat down, muttering for her ears only, “It better be.”

      She smiled at his attempt to pout and patted his knee.

      For the next hour, they picked at their meals, sipped champagne and chatted with the people around them. Chase couldn’t have cared less about what anyone was saying, but he was well-schooled in the art of schmoozing.

      After the food and drink and requisite speeches, everyone got up from their seats and once again began to mingle. This was when he could lean in and say, We’re out of here, and drag her off the way he’d been dying to all night.

      He put his hand on her elbow, prepared to do exactly that, when a small gaggle of tall, willowy, attractive women sidled up to them, their gazes sweeping over him before settling on Elena.

      “Elena?” one in a low-cut lavender gown queried. “Elena Sanchez?”

      “Yes?” Elena returned, her eyes warm and welcoming, as they’d been all night. Chase was beginning to think of it as her “polite public demeanor,” the way she interacted with everyone from his business associates, to the chairwoman of tonight’s fund-raiser, to the servers who milled around clearing tables and making sure no one’s glass ever became truly empty.

      “I thought it was you,” the other woman practically squealed, taking Elena’s hands in both of her own and giving them a squeeze. “I haven’t seen you in years. Since high school.”

      The other three women in the little clique nodded and smiled just as widely. But when Elena didn’t seem to recognize them, the one in lavender clucked her tongue and gave her an admonishing eye roll.

      “Tisha Ferguson. We went to school together. Of course, I’m Mrs. Ferguson-McDonald now.” She waved her left hand, making sure everyone in a six-foot radius got a glimpse of the huge diamond weighing down her ring finger. “I married very, very well.”

      To keep from scoffing Chase tightened his jaw until the bones nearly cracked. She’d married well. Well, bully for her. So had every other woman present. A person couldn’t spit in this room without hitting a woman who had married very, very well.

      “Tisha!” Elena said. “Of course. You look wonderful, I barely recognized you.”

      Leaning in, the two women kissed—that double cheek thing Chase had never understood. Then Elena’s glance slid to the other women standing just behind Tisha.

      “Leslie. Stephanie. Candy. It’s nice to see you again. How have you been?”

      The five of them chatted for a few minutes, with Tisha—the obvious spokesperson for the group—monopolizing most of the conversation. Finally, when there was an opening, Elena turned to him and attempted introductions.

      “Do you remember Chase Ramsey?” she asked the four of them. “He went to school with us, too, though he was a year or two ahead of us.”

      The three standing back a bit smiled and nodded, but Tisha tipped her head and studied him more closely through narrowed, heavily painted eyes.

      “Chase Ramsey. You’re not …” Her glossy pink lips, previously pursed in thought, widened a split second before she broke into a high-pitched, cackling laugh. “Oh, my God! Chase Ramsey. I remember you now. You’re that pathetic farmer’s son who asked Elena to dance at that Christmas party at her parents’ house. You should have seen your face when she turned you down. Oh, it was priceless!”