Black Gold (10 page)

"Well, I mostly sing Chase's," she said loyally. "People seem to like them. He's so smart."

Their food arrived, and Chase took the opportunity to steer the conversation away from his work. "Damn, I'm hungry," he lied.

"So you're an oilman," Carl said, stabbing an asparagus spear with his fork. His voice had an edge to it. "No wonder you work up an appetite. That's hard work, I bet. Dirty, too. Do you ever manage to get all the filth off in the shower or is it sort of permanent? I mean, do you smell like oil when you go home at night?"

Regina bristled at the way Carl was goading him, but Chase only looked at him blandly. "Well, I guess I couldn't really answer that, partner, seeing as I can't check every inch of my body on my own. But I don't get a lot of complaints, if that's what you're asking. Besides, if I had to push papers and talk on a fancy cell phone for a living, I think I'd have to kill myself."

Carl chuckled. "Got me there. I do spend a fair amount of time on my phone. 'Course, I find ways to make it more bearable. Making calls from my Porsche helps. And knowing I can go shoot a quick nine holes after work at the club, that takes the edge off too."

"Whatever floats your boat, man." Chase took a big gulp of his wine and the two men glared at each other.

Sherry seemed oblivious to the hostility between the two men. Now that she was more relaxed—and had a little food in her—she chatted easily, growing more animated as Regina told her about her favorite Nashville attractions. Every once in a while, one of the men would interject something and the other would contradict him. As bad as a pair of roosters in the yard, Regina thought to herself.

But she was also aware that every time Chase lowered his eyebrows or sliced a chunk off his porterhouse with more aggression than necessary, she couldn't take her eyes off him. His strong hands, with the nails cut short and square and not a speck of grime, despite Carl's implications. His jaw, which looked like it had been forged from steel whenever he was annoyed. His eyes, which caught the candlelight and seemed to be lit from within, all gold depths and lights.

And was it her imagination, or was he staring at her too? Well, of course he was; she'd kissed him without provocation. He probably thought she was insane. At least he seemed to have forgiven her. Actually, with each glass of wine, he seemed to have put the incident, unfortunate as it was, further out of his mind. Carl had ordered a second bottle of wine and the two of them were making good headway on it, while Sherry drank a club soda and Regina barely sipped her own wine.

The waiter brought heavy gilded dessert menus. "I'll have coffee," Regina said primly. "But please, Sherry, order whatever you like." She asked the waiter, in a quiet voice, to bring the bill to her.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, bending low to answer her discreetly. "The gentleman has already taken care of it."

Regina simmered as he took their orders—chocolate raspberry torte for Sherry, brandy for the guys, ordered by Carl, of course. She should have guessed Carl would pull the dinner out from under her. It was a subtle move, making the potential clients feel beholden to him, rather than her. It was only one of the many problems she'd had with her relationship with Carl. Even the smallest interaction could turn into a power thing. Oh, he was unfailingly generous, but if she suggested a stroll in the woods, he'd counter with a drive to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. If she brought him a muffin in the morning, he'd bring a cake for dinner.

It was ridiculous—most women would kill for that kind of attention. But Regina didn't want an endless stream of cakes and roses and jewelry. After she moved out of Carl's apartment, she'd had to consider the possibility that what she really wanted was a man who'd look forward to coming home to her every night—and who would turn off his phone when he got there. Before she could stop herself, her vision took on the shape of a man who looked good in an old T-shirt, mowing the lawn.

"Here you go." The waiter, perhaps having picked up on her displeasure, had arranged several cookies on a plate with a sprig of mint to accompany her coffee. He gave her a sheepish smile and she smiled back, forgiving him. He was probably in his late sixties, with thinning white hair and thick glasses. The kind of man who probably asked his wife about her day, even after a long shift at the restaurant. He probably made her coffee in the morning and read the newspaper with her.

This was ridiculous. Regina took a sip of her coffee and burned her tongue. She didn't know the first thing about the waiter. Maybe he went home every night and kicked his dog. And she didn't know the first thing about Chase Warner, either, so why was he creeping into her lawnmower/newspaper/coffee fantasy? Which was, she had to admit, more of a lawnmower/bare chest/cold-glass-of-lemonade fantasy, whenever he caught her staring at her and gave her that knowing smirk.

But she did know a few things about Chase. She knew he sang soulful, heartfelt songs about some woman who had hurt him. She knew he didn't have two nickels to rub together, that he was probably making decent money for the first time in his life. She knew that he was the kind of kisser who could make her forget her own name.

Carl's laughter broke her concentration. She'd missed whatever it was he'd said, but clearly he felt that he'd scored some sort of victory, given his relaxed pose and the way he was grinning with his lids half closed. At least Sherry seemed to be enjoying herself. She had a bit of chocolate ganache on her lower lip, and—

Something rubbed against her foot.

Chase
. It had to be. He was sitting across from her, slouched down a little in his chair, looking at her with an expression that was hungrier than a man should be after devouring a giant steak.

His foot, shoeless, made contact with hers. The fabric of his sock teased her nerves as he slid it slowly over her ankle. Something stirred inside her, burning from her heart down through her body. "Oh," she breathed.

His foot slid higher. She wasn't sure how he managed it, his arms crossed on his chest, his expression almost bored as he listened to Chase tell some pointless story about how his triathlon team had won their division at a recent race in Knoxville.

His foot traced the outside of her shin, all the way up to the sensitive skin on the back side of her knee. It half tickled and half ignited sensations she wasn't aware she was capable of. Then abruptly it withdrew, only to start again on the inside of her leg. Slowly, slowly up, and this time he didn't stop at her knee. The tender flesh on the inside of her thighs was on fire as he inched higher. Regina could feel the blood rush to her face, as well as other parts of her body. This couldn't be happening... not here, not at a business dinner, not with a man she had practically attacked earlier in the day.

She clamped her thighs together.

Which had the unfortunate effect of lodging his foot between her knees. She put a hand under the table and gave it a push, but nothing happened.

She pushed harder, and bumped against the table. Crockery rattled and a water glass sloshed onto the white tablecloth. "Whoa, easy there, girl," Chase said, staring directly at her. He withdrew his foot. He must have outrageous core muscles, Regina marveled, since his torso didn't budge a fraction of an inch as he moved his leg.

Chase didn't look away. "You have a..." he said, tapping the corner of his mouth, just loud enough for her to hear. Sherry was laughing at one of Carl's stupid jokes. He was clearly closing in for the kill.

She touched the place he'd indicated. Oh, God, she'd probably had a smear of sauce on her face all evening. She rubbed at her skin.

"No," he said softly, shaking his head. "Let me."

He reached across the table and slid his fingertip along her lower lip, his nail grazing her tender flesh and sending new sensations through her. She wanted to taste him, to kiss him, to—she darted her tongue out without even being aware she was about to do it, and as he withdrew his hand, Chase grinned at her like the Cheshire cat.

"So, do you have a wrap?"

"Do I what?" she asked shakily. Her skin, where he'd touched her, felt like it was on fire.

"A wrap. A coat. A...whatever you ladies call it. It's chilly out."

"I'll be fine." She hadn't brought a coat. She'd worried it would muss her dress's delicate neckline.

"Okay, well, I suppose we can go."

She looked at him in confusion. "Go where?"

"Oh, maybe you weren't paying attention." He raised one eyebrow in a look that was altogether too knowing. He knew damn well she hadn't been able to focus on anything but the sensations of his foot against her skin. "You're driving me home—if you don't mind. I shouldn't drive, with what I've had to drink."

"But what about Sherry?"

"Well, that's why this works out—she can drive my car, and give Carl a lift too. Somehow, he managed to get a room at the Hilton for tonight, but I don't think he belongs behind a wheel either."

"Wait a minute." Regina shook her head to clear it. "Why don't you just ride with her too?"

"I think they have some business they want to wrap up," he said, tilting his head in their direction. "I was just trying to save you some hard feelings."

Sure enough, Carl was reaching into his faux-battered knapsack. Would he really pull out an agency contract here in front of her?

"Carl Cash!" She sputtered. "Of all the underhanded, low—"

"Hold your horses, little lady," he drawled. "I'm just showing her pictures from my last ski trip."

"I bet you are," she hissed.

"Now, now," Chase said. He pushed his chair back and stood, offering her his hand. He seemed steady on his feet despite the amount of alcohol he'd consumed. "It's been a long day. We're all pretty tired."

She glared at his outstretched hand, knowing he had her. If she insisted on staying, she'd come off as pushy. And as long as Carl wasn't actually offering Sherry a contract on the spot, Regina couldn't really blame him for entertaining her. "You'll get her home safely?" she said stiffly in Carl's direction. "Not too late? She has work tomorrow."

"Yes, Mom," Carl said, rolling his eyes, winning a giggle from Sherry.

Regina said her stilted good-byes and slipped her hand into Chase's. It was warm and firm, and he took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm and led her to the door. She caught the admiring glances of the few remaining diners, oil executives by the look of them, men in suits and sport jackets. Chase didn't pay them a lick of attention.

He wasn't the kind of man to be intimidated by other men, Regina observed to herself. Which was a fine quality... but it still didn't make up for—

He opened the door for her and they stepped into the chill evening air.

"What was that!" she demanded, shivering.

"Jeez, woman, take my jacket." Chase shrugged out of his blazer and helped her into it. She was too cold to protest—and the heat trapped by the light wool fabric felt delicious against her skin. Under the jacket, he was wearing a fine gray shirt that was a little tight across his shoulders, showing off the outline of the muscles underneath. He caught her looking. "I borrowed these clothes," he said with a trace of embarrassment. "Zane is about my size. So what are you so mad about?"

Some of the anger drained out of her. The poor guy didn't even own a decent jacket. Still, that didn't make up for him practically making love to her at the table.

"Your
foot
. On my—my
leg
."

He grabbed her hand and started leading her across the parking lot. "Where'd you park?"

"It's—uh—" In the dark, all the cars looked alike, and she didn't remember much about her rental car other than it was silver. But since most of the vehicles in the lot were trucks and four-wheel-drive SUVs favored by the oilmen, it wasn't hard to spot it. "Over here. But don't change the subject."

He led her to the car, and then he maneuvered her against the driver's side, putting one hand on the roof of the car only inches from her shoulder. She didn't feel trapped or threatened so much as... pinned. Deliciously, wantonly pinned. Nervously, she licked her lip—still feeling the place where he'd touched her earlier—as she imagined his other hand closing the gap on the other side, the feeling of his body pressing up against her as he kissed her.

But he stayed where he was. All she had to do was step out of the way. Or slap him. Or any number of things to show her displeasure at the way he'd—

"You
touched
me."

"You touched
me
," he said, and suddenly all the humor drained from his voice. "And then you kissed me."

*   *   *

"I—I—" Regina looked like she wanted to argue with him, but that wasn't the sort of a kiss any human being would be able to forget.

"You kissed me like you meant it," he continued, no longer able to quell the anger that had been simmering inside him since she stalked off down the path at the ranch. "Now I'm not some teenage boy with his heart on the line, but I still don't care to be played with."

Her eyes went wide; even in the dark of the parking lot he could see the flash of blue depths. "I wasn't
playing
with you!"

"Yeah? Well, you'll forgive my skepticism. You come up here trying to sign me and Sherry. Make some fool bet with your old boyfriend. Yeah, he told us all about it while you were in the restroom. I don't know, maybe this is some sort of twisted courtship thing between the two of you. I don't
want
to know. The balance tips toward him, so what do you do? You come out to my place and—and try to
seduce
me? So yeah, maybe tonight I thought I'd turn it back on you. Let you feel what it's like to lose control of a situation. Payback's a bitch, isn't it?"

He was breathing hard, unable to stop himself even as her expression went from confused to astonished to stricken. Was it possible that he had it wrong? But then why would she
kiss
him? A woman like that had her pick of men—even in a town like Nashville, she would stand out. Lord knew he'd never seen a woman quite like her, with her dainty old-fashioned dresses failing to conceal a bombshell body, her long, thick eyelashes and red lips and that silky pale hair that couldn't seem to stay pinned up to save her life, pieces of it even now curving around her cheeks.