The Chase Read online

  Because while my date tonight might not be with a ‘perfect’ man, I have a strong feeling that Jase Beckett is perfect for me.

  And that’s all that fucking matters.

  Chapter Four

  JASE

  As I make my way up to Emmy’s front door, I blow out a sharp breath, trying to get rid of the tension that’s been riding my back ever since Martin’s call earlier. There have been some strange rumblings from a few of the investors in my current Thailand build, and he’s trying to uncover the source, but so far hasn’t found any leads. It’s early days though, and this shit happens when rivals get pissy over your success, so I know I have to be patient. But that’s never been my strongpoint. I’m much more of a man of action, and underhanded crap like this drives me crazy. If someone’s got a problem, I want them to come right out and say it to my face. Not scuttle around behind my back, being a pain in the arse.

  As soon as I lift my hand to knock, a bright-eyed Emmy opens the door, and I suck in a sharp breath when I see her.

  She’s . . . Christ, she’s fucking gorgeous, and I immediately forget all the shit that’s happening in London, my complete focus on the breathtaking woman standing before me.

  She’s wearing a cream, flowy skirt that swings around her knees, a tight little black top and leather jacket, along with a pair of leopard-printed high heels. She’s done something to her hair that’s made it straight and choppy at the ends, the edgy style a perfect complement to the sexy-as-hell ensemble.

  ‘Damn,’ I scrape out, unable to clear the lust from my throat. ‘You look mouthwatering, baby.’

  ‘So do you,’ she says with a beautiful smile, sweeping an appreciative gaze over me that starts at my black shoes, moves up my dark jeans, then over my white shirt that’s opened at the collar and my tailored blazer, until she’s finally looking me right in the eye. She steps aside then, to let me in, and as I slide past her, careful to keep my right hand behind my back, she asks, ‘What’s behind your back, you sneak?’

  ‘My fine arse,’ I murmur, smirking at her.

  She gives a soft snort as she laughs. ‘Like I said before, so cocky.’

  Bringing my arm around, I hand her the bag. ‘I grabbed this for you on my way back over from the hotel.’

  She holds the white bag with its iconic logo with a shaky hand, looking floored. ‘Ohmygod, Jase.’ Then she looks inside and gasps. ‘This is the newest model! I can’t bel—’

  I cut her off right there, tilting her face back up with my fingers curled under her chin. ‘You needed a new phone, right?’

  ‘Yes, but that wasn’t your responsibility,’ she says, and I swear her big brown eyes are glassy with emotion. ‘And these cost a fortune. I can’t . . . I can’t possibly take this.’

  ‘Of course you can.’

  ‘Jase—’

  ‘Please, Em. Just let me do this. I want to do this.’ As I wrap my arms around her, she clutches the bag against her chest as she stares up at me, and I give her a little smile. ‘You’re going to hurt my feelings if you don’t take it. And then I’ll just keep buying them, over and over, until you finally accept the inevitable.’

  She laughs, but I know she can see that I’m serious, and she ends up shaking her head at me. ‘Okay. All right,’ she whispers, leaning up to press a sweet kiss against my lips. ‘I’ll keep it, even though it’s far too generous.’

  ‘Good.’

  I get another kiss, and this time she nips my bottom lip, before pulling back and saying, ‘Thank you, Jase.’

  Knowing that if I don’t get her out of here right now, we’re going to be in her bed again – and I’ll be buried about a mile inside her before she can even take her next breath – I ask her if she has everything she needs, take the bag from her and set it on the coffee table, and then rush her gorgeous arse out the door. She gives me a heavy-lidded look, as if she knows just how close we were to ending back up in bed together. And while I want to be there with her more than anything, I also want to take her out to have some fun and celebrate the first of what I know is going to be her many career accomplishments.

  She’s adorable when we get out to the car, oohing and ahhing over it. As we drive towards downtown, she fills me in on some local history, and it’s easy to see how much she loves living in this beautiful city.

  ‘By the way,’ I say, after changing lanes to avoid a pothole that would be hell on the Ferrari’s chassis, ‘I read your article.’

  ‘And?’ she asks, unable to keep the nerves out of her voice.

  ‘Thanks for sending it to me.’

  From the corner of my eye, I see her shoulders slump. ‘Oh, um, you’re welcome.’

  I laugh, knowing I’m being a shit. ‘God, Em. I was just winding you up. I’ve already read the thing three times because I loved it.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, really. You shouldn’t sound so surprised. I already knew you were amazing, but I had no idea you’re such a talented writer.’ I glance over to see that she’s blushing, and say, ‘I can see why you do it. You’re too good at it not to.’

  She gives a few playful hits to my arm for teasing her, and as soon as we hit the next red light, I curl my hand around the back of her neck and pull her over to me for a deep, apologetic kiss. And I know I’m forgiven, because the beautiful girl kisses me back with so much passion, I have to reach down and rearrange my dick in my jeans.

  We hit some traffic as we get closer to downtown, and Emmy helps by guiding us through a couple of shortcuts. When I spoke to the concierge at the hotel this afternoon, he told me about this hip new restaurant downtown that’s been getting a lot of buzz, and when I looked it up online, it seemed like the perfect choice for tonight. I didn’t want to take her to a place that was too casual, and since this is meant to be a fun celebration, I didn’t want stuffy and pretentious either. And when I saw that they have a dance floor where couples can slow dance, I was sold, so I called and booked us the best table in the house.

  Though Emmy had been somewhat shy about dancing with me last weekend, I’d loved holding her in my arms as we moved to the music. Our dance that night had been cut short by Oliver’s drama, but I figured we could rectify that tonight.

  We find the restaurant easily, and I know every male in the place is watching her as we follow the hostess to our table. We’re laughing and looking over the menu when our waiter approaches, and as Emmy tilts her head up to listen to his spiel about the specials, she immediately makes a sharp sound of surprise. ‘Kevin!’

  Kevin? What the hell? She obviously knows the guy, and from the awkward look on Emmy’s face, I’m guessing that they must have dated.

  ‘Wow, Emmy! I . . . I haven’t seen you in forever,’ he says, and it’s clear that he’s not only a little thrown to see her here, but that he more than likes what he’s seeing. There are a thousand questions sitting on my tongue at the moment, starting with how long ago she went out with him. And was it serious? Jesus, was she in love with him?

  ‘Kevin, this is Jase Beckett. He’s—’

  I have a feeling she’s about to say ‘a friend of mine’, so I cut in with, ‘Her boyfriend. Nice to meet you, chap.’

  Emmy blinks, looking a bit shocked, but I don’t know if it’s because I’ve called myself her boyfriend, or if she can’t believe I’ve done it in front of one of her exes.

  The guy’s frowning now, glaring down at me from behind his horn-rimmed glasses, and I have to bite back a sharp smile.

  ‘Um, if we could just have a few more minutes to look over the menu,’ Emmy says to him, ‘that would be great.’

  ‘Sure, no problem,’ he mumbles, and as I watch him skulk back to the kitchen, I shake my head, remembering her telling me last weekend that betas were more her type. And, really, this twenty-something American couldn’t be more unlike me if he tried. He’s of medium height, blond, and on the thin side, with a face that’s prettier than it is handsome. Shit, he’s even got fucking peach fuzz on his chin!

  �
�Well that was fun,’ she murmurs drily.

  I slide her a wry grimace. ‘He’s going to spit in my food, isn’t he?’

  She covers her mouth as she tries not to laugh, but I can see the humor shining in her eyes.

  ‘That’s okay,’ I sigh, really playing it up. ‘I’ll just eat when we get back to your place.’

  With a wince, she reaches over and sets her soft hand on top of mine. ‘Would it be awful if we just went back to my place now? It was so lovely of you to bring me here, but this is just too awkward.’

  ‘We can do whatever you want, Em. But before we go, you have to dance with me.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ she groans, making me laugh.

  ‘Come on, whiner,’ I tease, taking her hand as I move to my feet. ‘I know you can do it, because you danced with me in England. So no stalling.’

  I take her into my arms the moment we’re on the dance floor, and an acoustic version of Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds’ ‘Broken Arrow’ begins to play. We move together like we’ve danced this way hundreds of times before, and I hope like hell that we get that chance. That it’s in the cards for us.

  ‘I’m sorry for intruding,’ says the stylishly dressed older woman who’s dancing with an elderly gentleman beside us, ‘but I just wanted to tell you both that it’s lovely to see a young couple who look so in love.’

  Emmy turns the color of a cherry, and I have no idea what my expression is saying. The old man winks at me, as if he knows just how big the bomb is that his wife just dropped on us, and I cough to clear my throat, trying to think of something to say. ‘I, um—’

  ‘Dad?’ Emmy suddenly breathes, leaning to the right to look around me. ‘Ohmygod, Jase. My dad is here!’

  Wishing I’d picked any other bloody restaurant than this one, I look over my shoulder and see a tall, silver-haired man heading straight towards us, his brown gaze moving from Emmy to me, and then back to Emmy again. He’s left a table of suited-up businessmen behind him, and with a glance I can see that they’re all drinking and talking loudly, clearly out for a good time tonight.

  ‘Hi, Dad,’ she says, after we walk over to meet him at the edge of the dance floor. ‘Uh, what are you doing here? I didn’t even know you were in San Diego.’

  ‘Business trip,’ he drawls in a much deeper southern accent than Emmy has, making me think he must have lived in Georgia his entire life.

  ‘Dad, this is Jase Beckett. Jase, this my father, Phillip Reed.’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ he says, shaking my hand with a firm grip, and I murmur a polite, ‘Likewise.’ But I don’t mean it. Not after what Emmy has told me about him.

  ‘Um, where’s Mom?’ she asks with a soft note of confusion.

  Looking at his daughter again, he pushes his hands into his pockets as he casually says, ‘She had to have emergency surgery on Monday to get her ruptured appendix out, so she couldn’t make the trip.’

  Emmy instantly stiffens beside me, and I fight the urge to scowl at this dickhead. He’s left his recuperating wife on the other side of the country to come here for business, and hasn’t even bothered to let Emmy know he’s in town or that her mother had surgery? What a fucking tosser.

  ‘Are you . . . She had . . .’ Emmy pulls in a deep breath, obviously struggling to control her temper, and her top lip curls as she steps up to him and growls, ‘Why the hell didn’t you call me?’

  The man actually frowns, as if he doesn’t get what has her so upset. ‘I’m on a tight schedule, Emmy. I don’t have time to—’

  ‘Not about your visit,’ she snaps, looking ready to stomp her foot in frustration. ‘About Mom!’

  ‘There’s no need to make a scene. I’m here with clients,’ he says tightly, his image obviously more important to him than his daughter’s justifiable anger. ‘And it’s not like I left her on her own. I hired in a nurse to stay with her.’

  ‘I don’t care about the damn nurse. Did you ever think that I’d want to know that my mother was ill? That she was having surgery?’

  He blinks at her, as if she’s confounded him.

  Emmy shakes her head as she gives a derisive little snort. ‘No, of course that never occurred to you, because it doesn’t have anything to do with you, does it?’

  Christ, I’ve met so many men like her father. Ones who think the bloody world revolves around them. Who can never appreciate what they have, because they’re always consumed with wanting more. That’s Phillip Reed to a T, and I can see the exact moment that my name finally clicks for him, because there’s a new, calculating gleam in his eye as he completely ignores his daughter and leans toward me a little, saying, ‘You wouldn’t happen to be the same Beckett from that spectacular Dubai project last year, would you, son?’

  ‘Don’t,’ Emmy snaps at him before I can even get a word out, and I have to bite back a smile. Jesus, this girl is sharp. She saw right through the bastard in two seconds flat.

  He gives her an affronted look down his narrow nose. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ she says with a soft, thick note of disgust. ‘Stay away from him. And stay away from me.’

  He stiffens, and I can see the anger building in his eyes, so I decide it’s time to get her the hell out of there. Because if the idiot tears into her, I’m going to lose my shit, and that’s not how I planned for this night to go.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she says, after we’ve grabbed our things from the table, told the hostess we won’t be staying, and are on our way out to the car. ‘I didn’t mean to speak for you, but I know what he’s like. He’d try to weasel in on your deals and expect special treatment because you know me. God, he’s awful.’

  ‘Hey, there’s nothing to be sorry for,’ I tell her, pulling her closer to my side as I hold her hand in mine. ‘You want to just head home?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she says with another soft note of apology. ‘I hate to call an early end to our night, but I need to get in touch with my mom and make sure she’s okay.’

  I tell her we can go out for dinner anytime she wants, and to stop feeling bad about it. She’s quiet on the drive back to her apartment, and the minute we’re through the front door, she slips off the killer leopard-print heels and grabs her cordless house phone. I take a seat on the sofa and watch her as she paces back and forth across the small living room.

  ‘Hey,’ she says a moment later. ‘I tried to call you on Monday, to let you know that I’m back from England, but all I got was your voicemail. When I didn’t hear back from you, I assumed you were busy while traveling with Dad, but I just ran into him and he told me what happened. I can’t believe you didn’t call me.’

  She frowns as she listens, her grip tightening on the phone. And then she says, ‘Mom, that’s ridiculous. You can’t keep things like this from me just because you don’t want me to worry. I’m supposed to worry about you when you’re ill. I can’t believe he didn’t call me when you went in for surgery.’

  There’s more listening, as well as pacing, and then she blurts, ‘Stop! Just . . . stop. Don’t defend him to me. I don’t want to argue with you, but you know how I feel about him, so don’t try to make it sound like he was acting in anyone’s best interest but his own.’

  Her shoulders stiffen as she listens to whatever her mother is saying in response, and then, in a softer tone, Emmy says, ‘I love you, too. And I’m glad the nurse is taking good care of you. But please, just call me if you need anything, okay?’

  Her chest lifts with a shaky breath as she disconnects the call, then walks over to the end table at the side of the sofa and sets the phone back in its cradle.

  ‘Come here, sweetheart,’ I murmur, reaching over and grabbing her hand. I tug her into my lap, loving how it feels when she curls into me, seeking comfort, her cheek pressed against my chest. I wrap my arms around her and lower my head, pressing a kiss to the top of her honey-gold hair. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she sighs. ‘It’s just . . . God, he makes me so angry. She’s just
this . . . this beautiful, loyal, mistreated afterthought to him.’

  ‘I’m sorry, baby, but your dad’s a total knobhead.’

  She starts to shake with quiet laughter. ‘You’re right. Knobhead is the perfect word for him.’ She tilts her head back, and there’s a soft, worried look in her eyes as she says, ‘I’m so sorry for ruining our night out.’

  ‘You didn’t ruin anything. I’m just sorry you didn’t get to relax and enjoy yourself. After writing such a brilliant article, that’s what you deserved.’

  A smile starts to twitch on her pink lips. ‘What would you say to doing dinner and dancing another night, and for now just ordering some of the best, most mouthwatering pizza I swear you’ll ever have and maybe watching something on Netflix?’

  ‘I’d say that sounds like heaven, Em.’

  After we look over the online menu and choose our toppings, Emmy calls in the order, and then we both change into shorts and T-shirts. It’s not easy to keep my hands off her when she slips out of the sexy skirt and top, but I somehow manage to behave, knowing damn well that I need to feed her before I start fucking her again. But I catch the way she keeps stealing glances at me from the corner of her eye, and it’s gratifying to know that she’s finding it just as difficult to keep her hands to herself.

  Just as we set our ice-cold drinks on her coffee table, the pizza is delivered. It smells delicious, and she’s right, my mouth is already watering as we pile up our plates and settle in to watch the first episode of Stranger Things, since I’ve never seen it and she says it’s one of her favorites.

  And when she casually mentions that the second season will be starting in October, and that we’ll be able to watch it together, I get this burst of warmth in my chest that feels so good I start grinning like a sap. I don’t even let the logistics of our situation concern me – I just give myself the chance to enjoy the moment, soaking it in as deeply as I can.