she turned him down, she would have to go home and watch her father lose the business he loved, the company that essentially defined her family and made their name so well-known across Texas and the surrounding states.
But becoming Chase Ramsey’s mistress … Sleeping with a virtual stranger was a difficult concept to swallow, but she was pretty sure this particular near stranger hated her with every fiber of his being. It was probably the driving force behind his proposition, since she couldn’t picture him sitting across from any other woman who came to his office to discuss business and announcing that he would give her more time if she agreed to go to bed with him.
She took a deep breath, letting the fresh oxygen fill her lungs and pump through her bloodstream. Her fingertips turned numb from the death grip she had on her handbag.
“Can I have some time to think it over?” she asked, making sure to keep her voice strong and steady. “Or do you need an answer right this minute?”
Instead of responding, he pulled his hands from his pockets and returned to his desk. Still standing, he grabbed a sheet of memo paper and a pen, then leaned over to scribble a quick note. Marching back in her direction, he handed it to her.
When she glanced down, she found a date, time and the name of the local airport. Below that, he’d added the gate number for a flight to Las Vegas.
“I’ll give you until Thursday. If you show up, I’ll take it to mean you agree to my terms, and your father will get the chance to try to save his company. If not—” He tipped his head and raised a brow. “I’ll continue with my plans to buy out SRS.”
She heard the underlying threat loud and clear, and left his office with the butterflies in her stomach flapping even harder than when she’d arrived.
Two
When Elena arrived home later that evening, she was both physically and emotionally exhausted. After her fateful meeting with Chase Ramsey, she’d gone back to her office and tried, to no avail, to focus on the appointments and paperwork involved in her job as a social worker. Thankfully, she didn’t have any home visits to make and could go over her notes again later, when she was feeling more herself and less … distracted, drained, overwhelmed.
All day she had heard only four words playing over and over in her head. Chase’s deep, seductive voice saying, I need a mistress.
I need a mistress …
I need a mistress …
I need a mistress …
And what bothered her most, what sent her mind careening into confusing, dangerous territory, was that every time those words rumbled through her brain, vivid images were quick to follow.
She could picture him stripped of that expensive suit, all tanned skin and rippling, corded muscles. Hovering over her as she lay stretched across satin sheets, naked and panting for his touch.
He was an attractive man—a handsome, virile, mouthwatering man—and she was a flesh and blood woman. No one could blame her for entertaining a fantasy or two about him, especially after he’d invited her to share his bed not five hours before.
What frightened her was that, instead of being outraged as she was initially, she was now seriously considering it.
Dropping her briefcase at the base of the coatrack just inside the front door, she kicked off her shoes and gave a sigh of relief as she wiggled her toes in freedom. She didn’t usually wear such high heels to work, but the red sling-backs went best with her favorite power outfit, and she’d needed all the self-confidence she could muster to make her way to Ramsey Corporation to face Chase Ramsey himself.
In her stocking feet, she padded across the highly waxed parquet floor of the wide foyer, pausing for a moment to flip through the pile of mail on the table at the base of the steps.
She’d lived in this house in Gabriel’s Crossing all her life, but lately had begun to feel uncomfortable and out of place. Maybe because it wasn’t so much a house as a mansion, looking like something out of Gone with the Wind. There were giant Ionic columns out front; a wide, curved staircase directly across from the front door leading to the second-story; and balconies at the back overlooking several acres of beautiful Texas landscape.
Her father had had it built when Sanchez Restaurant Supply first began to turn a decent profit, and Elena had long suspected the ostentatious design was in part the home her parents had always dreamed of living in, and part proof to anyone who doubted that a first-generation Mexican-American could not only do well for himself and his family, but do extremely well.
And until a few years ago, she’d loved it here. As a teenager, she’d considered it another status symbol to impress her friends, and she’d taken every opportunity to have sleepovers or pool parties.
Now, though, without her mother to fill the house with her own brand of love and laughter, the house felt somewhat empty and much too large.
It was time, Elena knew, to start thinking about moving out. She should have done so years ago, but first her mother had been sick, and then her father had needed her.
Her sister, Alandra, had stuck around for the same reason.
Pulling out the letters and magazines with her name on them, Elena started up the stairs and headed for her room. All she wanted was to climb out of her clothes and sink into a nice hot bubble bath. She would light a few candles, turn on some soft classical music, and maybe even pour a glass of wine to sip while she floated away and did her best to forget Chase’s troubling proposition.
Halfway down the hall, Elena knew it might be awhile before she could be alone with her exhaustion and jumbled thoughts. Her sister’s choice of music—loud, blaring rock and roll—vibrated through her closed bedroom door, and Elena could hear Alandra’s voice singing along.
She was about to pad by, sneak into her own room a few doors down and attempt to block out the thrumming beat of drums and a bass guitar, when Alandra’s door opened and she stepped out in nothing more than a pale pink chemise-style slip and black stockings.
Both women jumped slightly in surprise, then Alandra threw her arms wide and rolled her eyes in relief.
“Oh, Elena,” she called over the volume of the music, which was even louder with the door open, “I’m so glad you’re home. I was about to go downstairs and ask Connie what she thinks of my outfit, but I value your opinion more.”
She waved a hand, inviting Elena in, as she moved across the lushly carpeted floor and turned off the stereo. The sudden silence was almost deafening, but Elena appreciated the gesture; her sister knew how much the loud music bothered her. At a lower volume, it was almost tolerable.
“I’ve got a dinner in an hour. We’re trying to raise money for a battered women’s shelter. I’m not in charge this time, thank heavens, but I still want to look good.”
While Elena perched on the end of her sister’s canopied princess bed, Alandra went to the closet and pulled out two dresses on padded hangers.
“Which of these do you like best?” she asked, holding one and then the other in front of her tall, slim body.
Alandra Sanchez was, quite simply, gorgeous. Olive skin, as
