Claimed: The Pregnant Heiress (12 page)

“I love it,” she said with absolute sincerity. “I was serious when I said I didn't think I'd do it justice.”

“Sweetheart, you could wear Tarzan's loincloth and make it work.”

Her mouth quivered. “Tarzan's loincloth? Not Jane's?”

“Definitely Tarzan's. And the bracelet.” He shot her a hungry look. “Or maybe just the bracelet.”

After another delightful hour together, the two couples parted, Bob claiming they had a long drive home. “We took the coast road on the way here,” Penny informed them. She nudged Chase with her elbow. “I saw a place just north of Busted Bluff with an open house sign. You and Emma should check it out. Remember how we used to play the game?”

“Sure. If we find time, Emma and I will drop by.”

She waited until his parents left before regarding him with a lifted eyebrow. “Was that a suggestion that we find a place and move in together, or did she really mean a game?”

“She really meant a game.”

Intriguing. “How do you play?”

He stopped by a vendor on the outskirts of the street fair and bought them each an ice cream cone. She could see him debating how much to explain. “We didn't have a lot of money during those early years,” he admitted. “Mom refused to accept any support from my father. Or to be exact, she refused the strings that went along with the money. So, after church on Sunday, wearing our one good outfit, we would stop by open houses and pretend.”

“Pretend?” She didn't understand. “Pretend…what?”

“Pretend that we could afford to buy the house we toured. We'd talk about where we'd put our furniture or what changes we'd make.” He smiled reminiscently. “We'd spend that hour fantasizing about what it would be like to live in a big, fancy house.”

“It's not always what it's cracked up to be,” Emma murmured.

Chase leaned in and kissed a smear of ice cream from her
chin. “No, it's not. But those childhood fantasies are part of what gave me the drive to succeed in life.”

“And to exchange fantasy for reality?”

“Of course.”

She eyed him shrewdly. “For you? Or for your mother?”

“It didn't hurt that I could give Mom all the material things she couldn't afford when I was little. For a while it got to be a competition between me and Rafe. Who could give the bigger, more outrageous gift to our parents.”

“I'll bet your mother and Bob didn't let that go on for long.”

“Nope. They finally told us the only gift they'd accept from either of us was the gift of our time.”

“That's so sweet.” Emma gave serious attention to her ice-cream cone while she framed her next question. “Do you suppose going to open houses would be as much fun now that you're older and can actually afford any house you toured?”

“I don't know. I guess we'll find out.”

Startled, she looked at him. “Find out?”

“Do you have other plans?”

“No.” Emma considered, then nodded. Why not? “Sounds like fun.” Well, maybe
fun
wasn't the right word, Emma decided when she stepped across the threshold of the open house. Mind-boggling. That would be one word she'd use. Eye-popping. That would be another. Some crazed decorator had taken a nice, solid home with excellent flow, light and balance, and had deliberately done their best to crush it beneath the most opulent and garish furnishings she'd ever seen.

“I can't seem to wrap my head around it,” she whispered to Chase. “My eyes won't settle on anything.”

“Mine are settling on everything and I think my head's going to explode.”

“There's something else, though…” She wandered into the living room and paused on the threshold. Someone had stuffed far too much oversized furniture into far too small a space.
“Something almost familiar about the place. I just can't put my finger on it.”

“You've been to a bordello?” he asked politely.

She struggled to control a laugh, unwilling to attract anyone's attention. Bordello. It perfectly described the gold-and-red wallpaper stamped with black velvet fleurs-de-lis. “I have now,” she murmured.

“Do you have any questions I can answer?” A woman in her sixties appeared behind them. She smiled in a friendly fashion. “I'm Mrs. Strickland, the owner.”

Chase stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you. My fiancée and I were just commenting that we've never seen anything like this before.”

The older woman beamed. “Oh, well. I tried.”

Emma felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, it didn't seem so funny, anymore. She glanced at Chase and gave him a worried look, hoping he wouldn't say anything insensitive. He noted her concern and nodded to let her know he'd caught the silent message. “You decorated this yourself?”

“I did, though I can't take all the credit. I duplicated a magazine layout of the Worth estate.” The woman examined her living room with intense satisfaction. “Everything you see here is exactly what they have. So, if you buy the house, you'll be living in the same luxurious comfort as the Worth family.”

“Oh.” Emma stiffened in dawning horror. “Oh, my. You're right.”

“You saw the layout? You must have been very young since it's been years ago now.” The woman stepped forward and ran her hand along the back of the sofa in an affectionate manner. “This is identical to the one the Worths own. All the furniture is. I simply improved on it a little. Tweaked some of the duller bits.”

“Duller bits?” Emma repeated weakly.

“The late Mrs. Worth liked more neutral colors. Surprising, considering she was an artist. I decided to brighten it up a bit.”
She leaned in and lowered her voice. “A vast improvement if you ask me.”

They allowed the woman to take them on an extended tour of the house, proudly showing them all the improvements she'd made so that her standard of living matched or exceeded the Worths. Once she satisfied herself that they'd seen every detail the house had to offer, they returned to the car.

“Well, that didn't go quite as planned,” Chase observed.

Shell-shocked, Emma slid into the passenger seat. “No, not at all.”

“Are those the same furnishings that are out at your dad's?”

“When my mother was alive, yes. Not anymore, thank God. We've remodeled over the years. Otherwise I'd have to gut the entire estate.”

He glanced at her in concern. “Are you all right?”

She took a deep breath. “To be honest, I don't know whether to laugh or cry.”

“You're lucky she didn't recognize you.”

“Very, though I do try to stay out of the limelight. I'm not often photographed these days, so that probably helped.”

He reached for her hand, laced her fingers with his own. “I'm sorry, sweetheart. That was supposed to be fun and instead I'm afraid it bordered on creepy.”

Emma waved his comment aside. “I'm not concerned about that part. I just feel terrible for that poor woman.”

“Why?” Chase asked in surprise. “She loved her home. You could tell she didn't want to sell it, just as you could tell she spent many wonderful years living in a home every bit as grand and beautiful as the Worths.”

“More beautiful,” Emma reminded him.

“An improved version.”

They looked at each other and burst out laughing. She rested her head against his shoulder and grinned. It felt marvelous to simply kick back, relax and act a little silly. So much had
happened in the past few months, much of it stressful, that she'd forgotten how to enjoy herself.

Until Chase.

Even though he epitomized the driven businessman, he still knew how to play. He'd demonstrated that on the first day they'd met, when they'd treated New York City like their private playground. She studied him, caught the edginess evident in the taut set of his jaw and the sharp intelligence in his smoky blue eyes. There sat the financier.

She also noted the lines that fanned out from the corner of those eyes and the easy curve of a mouth she'd taken great delight in kissing. A mouth quick to smile, a man quick to laugh. A protective man. An honorable one. She found the combination irresistible.

“What?” He'd caught her staring.

“Just trying to figure you out.”

“What's your conclusion?”

“I'm not sure, yet.” She hesitated. “You were so kind to Mrs. Strickland.”

“Did you expect me to be cruel?”

“No, of course not.” She swiveled to face him. “But she made a mess of that house. She chose completely inappropriate furnishings and then added to the disaster with her color choices, all so she could imitate my family's lifestyle. I don't understand that, especially since her perception of the Worths is about as far from reality as it could get. And yet, as you pointed out, you could tell how happy her home made her.”

“There's no accounting for taste or what will make people happy.”

“No, there isn't. Clearly, she loved the fantasy she created. That doesn't change the fact that you were so gentle with her when you could have been sarcastic. She wouldn't have caught on. It would have gone right over her head.”

“That's not who I am.”

“No,” Emma murmured. “I can see that.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Did you think I was?”

“Not really.” She fastened her seat belt with a satisfied smile. “Today you proved it.”

He started the car and continued along the coast road to a section where the homes became mansions sitting on several acres of property. Balloons marked another open house and on impulse, Emma pointed to it. “Stop there. I'll bet you'd normally have to make an appointment to tour that place. Let's take a look. Do you mind?”

“You really are a glutton for punishment.”

“Think of it as cleansing your palette after eating something bitter.”

“Okay, but don't get your hopes up.”

The two of them entered the house. The difference was so dramatic that they both heaved a sigh of relief, then laughed at their identical reaction. “Now pay attention to how it's done,” he murmured.

“You're the expert.”

He draped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. Her hip and thigh bumped up against his and she couldn't stop herself from surrendering to his warmth. Not when he felt this incredible. It suddenly occurred to her that he hadn't kissed her yet today and she missed those moments of passion more than she could have believed possible.

He must have read something in her face because a hint of desire drifted across his expression and settled in his gaze. “Tonight,” he said, and she wondered if he meant it as a threat or a promise.

A real estate agent greeted them, handing out literature detailing information about the property, including the multimillion-dollar price sticker. “Feel free to wander. I'm showing another party through, but I'll be around if you have any questions.”

They started with the living room. “See, now this is a terrific room. Nice flow,” Chase commented. “Our living room set would fit perfectly.”

Emma blinked. “It would?” He gave her a swift hip nudge and she caught on. “Oh, right. It would.”

“I love the stone fireplace. Put a couple of chairs there and we could read in front of the fire.”

Emma shook her head. “A love seat would work better. That way we could curl up together with a glass of wine and a good book.”

He feathered a kiss along the curve of her cheek. “See? You're a natural.”

Actually, she'd been serious. “Why don't we check out the kitchen? Nilda worked very hard to teach me to cook and I'd like something worthy of my truly unfortunate skills.”

“That bad?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Does it have a refrigerator? That's all I care about.”

Emma couldn't prevent a laugh. Then she stepped into the kitchen and sighed. “Oh, Chase. It's a gourmet kitchen.”

“Gourmet?”

“It has all the extras.” She pointed. “A grill, a warming drawer under the oven, a faucet over the stove, a walk-in pantry and wine cellar.”

“Not to mention an industrial-size refrigerator.” Chase nodded in satisfaction. “I'll bet that'll keep my beer cold.”

She waved him silent. “Look at the terra-cotta backsplash. It's modern and yet has that Italian-farmhouse feel to it, don't you think?”

“You're even better at this than my mother,” he informed her in an undertone.

He still thought she was playacting. She sighed. “There's a pretty breakfast room.” She wandered in that direction. “I like how it has a view of the water.”

“Do you want to tour the upstairs?”

“I really would.”

She trailed behind him, admiring the wood trim and expert craftsmanship. Everything about the house appealed. It offered the beauty and lightness she craved and the sophistication better
suited to Chase's New York palate. She couldn't have found a better blend of their two tastes if she'd designed the place herself.

“Check this out, Emma.”

She turned to discover that Chase had wandered down the lengthy upstairs hall of the south wing and into one of the rooms there. She joined him, inhaling sharply. “A his-and-her office.”

The two rooms were identical, each with its own gas fireplace and doors that opened onto a shared balcony. Etched glass pocket doors could be opened so that the two rooms became one, or shut for privacy. The current owners had a pair of desks positioned opposite the doors, one in each room, hers a dainty French provincial in cherry and his a more substantial piece carved from mahogany.

Chase stilled. “They're facing each other.”

“So they can see one another while they work.” For some reason, tears threatened and Emma crossed to the balcony door while she struggled to regain her equilibrium. “And look at this. The deck doesn't connect to any of the others around the house. They have complete privacy.”