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He strode quickly to catch up with her, grasping her arm. "Where the hell are you going?"
She ignored his viperous tone and laid her hand on his chest, gazing into his eyes. "To get a drink. Would you like one?"
The heat of her touch scalded through the fabric, and Chase stepped back. "No. Our table is number seven." He turned on his heels and headed to it.
Tessa masked her disappointment and continued, stopping to speak with other shop owners, then continuing on to the bar. She didn't normally drink, but decided she needed a little something to give her some courage, however false. She thought she could soften him, reach past their problems and draw back the Chase who loved her so gloriously. She knew the dress was a terribly manipulative thing to use, and from his reaction, which was little more than bland, she was afraid it had failed. But she at least felt beautiful, sexy. Even as much as Chase had insisted she was before, now she felt the power of her femininity. And the two hundred crunches she executed daily to get her figure back.
She gave her order to the bartender, feeling the heat of Chase's stare on her spine, its stroke move up to her hair. She stole a look at him over her shoulder, and his blue gaze was like an assault, raking her from head to foot. Tessa smiled tremulously and tugged at her long drop earring. He turned his gaze elsewhere and she felt the cut like a slap. He was tolerating her this evening. But she had other plans. She accepted her drink and headed back to him.
Chase watched her come, her breasts bouncing deliciously with every long-legged step, her dress, that damn dress, offering more movement than it should. Chase thought he was going to make an absolute fool of himself and run across the room, punching out every man who looked at her. Because he recognized those glances. It was the "I'd like to see that body naked" look or the "does she make love as good as she moves?" look or the one that made his teeth grind, the "I want her now" look. He knew them all personally. And when several men started to intercept her as she crossed the room, Chase left his chair and met her halfway.
"Did you get what you wanted?"
She frowned at his sudden concern, the softness in his voice evoking memories. What I want is you, she thought, but nodded.
Again Chase placed his hand on her back, guiding her across the floor. It was an utterly possessive gesture and he had no right. Not now, not after the papers had been served, but the temptation of her skin beneath his palm, its smoothness, was more than he could resist.
Tessa swallowed a moan. His touch was almost like coming home and she would have moved closer, but three men blocked their path.
"Chase? Introduce us," a blonde in his late twenties insisted.
God, Chase thought, if he didn't know better he'd swear they were salivating.
"Gentlemen, this is Tessa Lightfoot, owner of—"
"Tessa's Attic," one man finished. "My sister shops there."
"You mean your wife does," another said, and the man flushed red.
They were Chase's competitors and she quickly discovered it went beyond business.
"Didn't you just have a baby?" the blonde asked with a quick, speculative glance down her body.
"Yes, a boy," she said, looking at Chase. "A beautiful boy." Chase smiled down at her with such unabashed pride she almost forgot the hurt they'd dealt each other.
"So what are you doing here with ugly?" blond and tall asked, nodding to Chase. "You could do much better, Tessa," he said moving closer, his eyes sliding to her breasts, then her face.
Her expression was bland. "With you, I suppose?"
"Oh yeah," he said with feeling, and the suggestion snapped Chase's patience.
"Back off." Chase slid his arm tighter around Tessa's waist. "Miss Lightfoot is my fiancée."
The man winced, shrugging sheepishly as he retreated.
Tessa stared up at Chase and hoped her mouth wasn't hanging open. She didn't dare contradict the man she loved in front of his colleagues, yet her eyes narrowed with swift anger as she agreed. The crowd of admirers quickly dissipated.
"That was unfair, Chase," she hissed the instant they were alone.
His hard gaze slid to her. "Are you on the prowl already?"
"I never was and you know it!" she said through a tight smile.
"I was wondering, with that dress."
"I can take care of myself with those wolves. And your fiancée? Was that really necessary?"
His features tightened. "It did the trick."
When he didn't offer more than flippancy, she stopped abruptly and faced him, head-on, her voice a low, angry bite. "It isn't my clothes that are bothering you, is it? You don't want me, but you'll be damned if anyone else will, either."
