Blackmailed Into His Arms: Blackmailed into Bed / The Billionaire's Blackmail Bargain / Blackmailed For Her Baby

Seven

Standing in the corner of the huge, crowded ballroom, Chase buried his hands in his pants pockets and scuffed his booted foot on the highly polished floor. Adults were milling all over, drinking, laughing, nibbling on little finger sandwiches and chunks of cheese speared with fancy toothpicks.

At least that’s what he thought they were eating. When they’d first come in, he’d taken a good look at some of the trays the waiters were carrying around and decided there was nothing on them he’d be putting in his mouth.

The big, expensive house was decorated for Christmas within an inch of its life. Santas, reindeer, holly boughs, snowflakes, bells, angels, mistletoe … if it had anything to do with Christmas, it was stuffed somewhere in this mausoleum.

He hated this sort of thing. If his mom and dad hadn’t made him come to this stupid party, at this stupid old mansion, he would be home right now, watching TV or doing chores in the barn with his brother.

But from some of the whispered conversations he’d overheard between his parents, things hadn’t been great with their family lately, financially speaking. Victor Sanchez had hired his dad to do some work with his horses and paid him well for his expertise, so when the man invited the Ramseys to his home for a huge holiday celebration, it would have been rude—according to Chase’s mother—not to accept.

But he still didn’t see why he and Mitch had had to come along. If his parents wanted to schmooze and make a good impression, fine, but this was nothing but a waste of time for him.

There were hardly any other teenagers in attendance and those who were looked to be stuck-up snobs. He recognized a few of them from school, all part of the “in” crowd—while he and his brother definitely weren’t.

Not that he was complaining. He liked his life, liked living on a horse and cattle ranch and helping his father out every chance he got. If he had his way, he’d drop out of school altogether and spend his days working with the animals and riding his favorite gelding, Skywalker.

And he’d never have to dress up in a ridiculous suit, with a tie just about strangling him to death. He tugged at his shirt collar, trying again to loosen the darn thing before it cut off his air supply.

There was only one person here he was even kind of interested in being around, and that was Mr. Sanchez’s daughter, Elena. She was a year or two younger than Chase, and he saw her around school once in a while, but they definitely didn’t run in the same crowd.

The Sanchezes were rich.

The Ramseys weren’t.

Elena Sanchez was gorgeous and popular.

Chase didn’t exactly look like he’d been hit in the face with a brick, but girls like her didn’t hang around boys who wore faded jeans, dusty boots and beat-up cowboy hats.

Of course, that didn’t mean boys in faded jeans and Stetsons didn’t enjoy watching pretty girls in their pricey clothes.

And Chase had watched Elena plenty. Not that he’d admit to such a fact, even if his brother put him in a headlock and threatened to dunk him in the disgusting, algae-covered water trough he hadn’t gotten around to cleaning yet.

Chase huffed a nervous, indecisive breath and tapped the heel of his boot a couple more times on the floor. He’d never have the courage to go up to her at school, with so many other kids around, but maybe here he could.

This was a Christmas party. Everyone was in a festive and possibly more receptive mood than usual.

So maybe …

Glancing around, he took a couple tentative steps away from his post against the wall. His mother and father were chatting with another couple on the far side of the room. His brother was dancing with some older, attractive girl, smiling and swinging her around in the center of the area designated for just that purpose. An eight-piece orchestra was playing high-brow music, interspersed with the occasional holiday instrumental.

And over by the punch bowl stood Elena with a few of her friends. They looked familiar, too. He thought their first names were Tisha, Leslie, Stephanie and Candy, but wasn’t sure of their last names. Not that the specifics mattered; they were all part of the country club set.

He took the long way around, skirting the crowd, scuffling his feet when he should have been taking long, confident strides. But his brother was the smooth one with girls. Chase liked them well enough, and most of the time, they liked him back, but they also tended to be the tomboy type and were more friends than girlfriends.

Elena definitely wasn’t the tomboy type, but she would be the first girl he’d asked to dance … if he ever got around to it.

He was at the edge of the buffet table now, only a yard or two away from her. A man walked past, bumping into Chase without apologizing or even acknowledging the slight. Typical of this crowd, Chase thought. If you weren’t one of their own—namely rich and powerful—then you might as well not exist.

Shaking off the thought, he took a deep breath, pulled his hands from his pockets and stepped forward.

It took a moment for Elena to notice him. She was dressed in a pretty red velvet dress with white lace trim. One side of her long black hair was pulled up and pinned in place with a sprig of live holly.

Her friends, however, noticed him right away. The four of them fixed him with cold, snooty stares, as though he’d just tromped in from the cow barn, covered head to toe in manure.

He ignored them, keeping his attention firmly locked on Elena.

“Hey,” he said, sliding his hands back into the front pockets of his dress pants, bunching up the bottom of his matching jacket.

She glanced at him, then at her friends, then back to him. “Hello.”

Her response could have been warmer, but it wasn’t exactly glacial, either. He pressed on.

“Um … are you having fun?”

Another shifted look to her friends. Her expression remained impassive, not terribly interested, but also not as offended as the others in her little clique.

“Yes.”

Dragging his hands from his pockets, he straightened his suit coat and wiped his palms on the sides of his slacks.

“So, do you want to dance?” he asked on a rush, feeling his face heat and resisting the urge to yank at his tie.

Her brows rose and she slanted a sideways glance at her girlfriends, who now had their arms crossed over their chests and were scowling at him. One of them threw her head back and laughed.

Chase almost told her she sounded like one of his father’s mares when she whinnied, but at the moment he was more concerned with Elena’s answer to his question.

Elena gave a snort, crossing her arms and hitching a hip in a perfect replication of her friends’ poses. “I don’t think so,” she told him in a snotty, highfalutin tone.

Her green eyes flitted down to the floor, taking in the pair of cowboy boots he was wearing. They were his best pair, black and polished to a shine, but they were still boots instead of leather dress shoes.

She lifted her head, once again meeting his gaze. “Why don’t you go dance with one of your horses?”

Her friends burst into hoots of laughter, huddling together to share their amusement at his audacity in daring to approach one of their own.

Chase felt as though he’d been doused with a bucket of ice water. His cheeks heated and his stomach lurched sickeningly.

Without another word, he turned and shouldered his way through the crowd, rushing outside into the chilly night air. Even in Texas, the nights could get cold, especially in December.

But he didn’t care; he wasn’t going back inside. He would sit in the car and wait for his parents and brother to decide to leave the party, but no matter how cold or hungry he might get, he wasn’t going back in that big house—or anywhere near Elena Sanchez ever again.

Hours after their frantic, explosive coupling against the sitting room wall, Chase and Elena were wrapped around each other in the center of the king-size bed, sheets tangled about their naked bodies. The muted noises of the outside world mingled with their breathing to lull them both to sleep.

Chase honestly hadn’t thought his legs would ever work again, never mind other parts of his anatomy. He’d thought he’d expire right there on the carpeted floor—sweaty, drained, clothes askew, with Elena sprawled half on top and half beneath him.

But within the hour, he’d somehow found the strength to climb to his feet and help Elena to hers, too.

He hadn’t intended to do anything more than get her into bed, but then he’d caught a glimpse of her flushed skin and her half-exposed breasts through the opening of her fluffy white robe, and he’d realized that where Elena Sanchez was concerned, there was no such thing as being completely exhausted—or completely sated.

He’d started kissing her in the doorway of the bedroom, and before they’d crossed the threshold, they were tearing their clothes off the rest of the way and stumbling for the bed.

Now they were once again pleasantly worn out, and—for the moment, anyway—satisfied. She was tucked along his side, her head on his shoulder, one leg thrown across his thigh. Her breathing was shallow and even, and her long, midnight hair fell over his arm like an expensive silk scarf.

She was probably sleeping. After everything he’d put her through this evening, he wouldn’t blame her if she slept straight through the rest of their time in Vegas.

And he sort of hoped she was, because after what he’d seen earlier that day, and all the old memories that had been assaulting him ever since, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from saying, “I saw you this afternoon.”

He felt her inhale sharply in startlement, then shift closer, her chin rubbing absently against the top of his chest.

“Hmm?”

He held his breath, waiting to see if she would wake up or slip back into unconsciousness, and didn’t know which he wished for more.

She continued to wiggle around, making it hard for him to remember that they’d already made love twice that night. And then she lifted her head, blinking like an owl as she struggled toward wakefulness.

“I’m sorry,” she said, covering a yawn with her hand. “What did you say?”

In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought.

“I saw you this afternoon,” he repeated, careful to keep his tone flat, indifferent. “In the school yard.”

A beat passed while he watched emotions play over her face. Shock, guilt, uncertainty. It only lasted a second, though, before her features settled back to their usual calm.

“I thought you were in meetings all day,” she said by way of response. Pulling the covers up to her neck, she settled more comfortably, still snug at his side.

“I was supposed to be. But I wanted to see where you went.”

“Why?”

She didn’t sound angry or annoyed, simply curious. Which allowed him to admit the truth without feeling self-conscious.

“You didn’t use my money or charge anything to my credit card yesterday.” He shrugged. “I wanted to know what you were doing with your time in Sin City without spending a dime.”

“I spent a dime,” she corrected. “Quite a few of them. It just happened to be my money instead of yours.”

She slid around, straightening her leg to rest between both of his and splaying herself more fully across his chest. Propping her chin on top of her hands, she met his gaze and said, “Although, I did use some of your cash for a cab and a bit of lunch yesterday. Hope you don’t mind.”

A flicker of annoyance flashed through his system. She was being purposely obtuse.

“I don’t care about the money. I wouldn’t have given it to you if I did. I want to know what you were doing at a school for deaf children, when most women with an unlimited line of someone else’s credit would have cleared out every boutique in a ten-mile radius.”

One corner of her mouth twisted up in a mocking grin. “What kind of girl do you take me for?”

“A spoiled, self-absorbed debutante,” he replied, not even needing to think about it. Pain flickered across her eyes, but he wouldn’t let himself be moved by the reaction.

With a sigh, she pushed away from him and sat up, taking the satin sheet with her.

“You’re right. That’s exactly what I was. Maybe I still am, I don’t know.”

He watched her cross her legs and fold the sheet more fully around her body, moving just far enough on the wide, firm mattress that they were no longer touching. Using his forearms, he pushed himself into a sitting position, stuffing an extra pillow behind his back so he could recline against the headboard.

“You’re a social worker. You know sign language. And you somehow managed to find probably the only special-needs school within the city limits on your first day in town. None of those are things I ever would have expected from the girl I knew in junior high.”

“Well, to be honest, I’ve known about the school for years. A friend of mine used to teach there, and even though she doesn’t live in Nevada anymore, I still like to drop by and spend time with the kids whenever I’m in the area.”

She clutched the sheet tighter against her breasts and readjusted her legs. The fire engine-red polish on her toenails peeked out briefly before disappearing again.

“And a lot has happened since we were teenagers. A lot has changed.”

Enough to turn a cruel, selfish brat into a kind, selfless woman? He wasn’t sure he believed such a drastic shift in personality was possible.

“I know this is almost twenty years too late,” she said softly, “but I’m sorry for the way I treated you at that Christmas party when we were kids. You’re right—I was spoiled and selfish and every other nasty word you can think of. My parents had money and were important in the community, and I thought that made me rich and important, too.” Her usually bright eyes darkened, and for a moment, she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “But it only made me a bitch.”

Since that was exactly what he’d always thought of her, he didn’t bother trying to correct her or make her feel better. It was only slightly gratifying to hear her admit the same.

“What I said to you that night … it was cruel and unnecessary and unforgivable. And even though I know it can’t make up for the pain and humiliation I caused you, I am sorry.”

Chase gritted his teeth, his hands fisting unconsciously at his sides. Moisture played along her lashes, adding sincerity to her already heartfelt words. But he’d be damned if he’d let a few tears and a long overdue apology convince him that she’d turned over a new leaf and no longer possessed any of those negative, stuck-up teenage traits.

“So what happened to bring about this remarkable transformation?” he asked, his voice sounding acerbic even to his own ears.

Her answer, when it came, was short and without embellishment—and immediately made him feel like a first-class heel.

“My mother died.”

Lips thinning, he muttered a curse. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” she murmured quietly. The long curtain of her hair hid her face as she turned her gaze to her lap, toying with a corner of the sheet.

“She was sick for quite a while, and that sort of experience changes a person. One minute, I was a carefree prima donna, and the next my whole world was falling apart. That’s when I realized the whole world didn’t revolve around my wants and needs, and that there are more important things in life than money or social status.”

He wasn’t sure he agreed with that sentiment. He’d spent his entire adult life working to make money and build his social status in an attempt to prove to the Elenas of the world that he wasn’t just a poor rancher’s son. He was an industrious businessman, who—in recent years, at least—had become one of the wealthiest men in Texas.

It was no small coincidence that the Ramsey Corporation happened to be the company poised to overtake Sanchez Restaurant Supply. Chase had been keeping an eye on Elena’s family for years, not only so he would know when he’d surpassed them financially, but in hopes that just such an opportunity would present itself.

He wanted nothing more than to thumb his nose at them—at Elena—and show them all what he’d become. Not just a stinking rich tycoon in his own right, but a man to be respected and admired.

Which didn’t explain why he was suddenly feeling pangs of guilt over his plans for revenge against this woman.

So she’d suffered a loss. Didn’t everyone at some point in their lives?

So he found her irresistible in bed. What red-blooded American male wouldn’t?

It didn’t make her a saint, and it didn’t make him a bad guy.

“The things I’d always thought were so important,” she continued, “weren’t anymore. And no amount of my father’s wealth or prestige could make my mother better. She had the best medical care money could buy and still it wasn’t enough.”

“So you became a social worker,” he said, tamping down on the sympathies threatening to overwhelm his better senses. “To try to save the world in other ways?”

“Not save the world,” she said softly. “But I did want to help people. Our family has more than enough money to get by. Even if we lost the business—which I don’t want us to do because of how important it is to my father—” she added with a meaningful glance, “we’d still be okay financially. I wanted to do something with my life that made a difference.”

“And I’ll bet you do. Make a difference, I mean.”

A small smile played over her face. “I try. There are so many kids in trouble out there, so many families with problems. I just do what I can—and what the law allows—to make things a little better for them.”

“And you don’t turn down awkward teenage boys when they ask you to dance, just because their parents aren’t as rich as yours?”

She flushed, her cheeks turning pink with embarrassment. “I’m not sure how many teenage boys would ask me to dance these days, but no. I wouldn’t turn anyone down based on their upbringing or bank account. Especially you.”

“But I’ve got money now,” he pointed out, arching a brow. “Doesn’t that make me more acceptable?”

“No more and no less. I don’t judge people that way anymore and I never should have to begin with.”

Wiggling around the bed, she pulled the sheet with her as she once again took up position along his side, one leg draped over his thigh, her breasts pressing into his chest.

“At the risk of making you even angrier about that night,” she told him, turning her head to rest on his shoulder, “I really did think you were cute back then. If it hadn’t been for my friends and my fear of what they might say, I probably would have danced with you—and enjoyed every minute of it.”

He didn’t reply; instead he let the room fall into silence and her words sink deep into his bones. Beside him, Elena’s breathing turned deep and even, and he knew she’d fallen asleep.

But Chase couldn’t sleep; his mind wouldn’t let him. Into the wee hours of the night, he stayed awake, trying to make sense of what she’d told him, of the thoughts and feelings ricocheting through him like a pinball in an arcade game. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to reconcile this “new” Elena with the memories he had of her and the woman he’d expected her to be.

All he knew was that the emotions this Elena was churning up inside him made him distinctly uncomfortable.

Eight

The next few days in Las Vegas passed easily. Chase spent his days in business meetings, while Elena made one more trip to play with the children at the hearing-impaired school, then did a bit of window shopping. She sent postcards to some friends, even knowing she’d likely be home before they arrived. And she bought a pair of silver and amethyst swing earrings for Alandra from a boutique in the Wynn.

In the evenings she would accompany Chase to any dinner functions he needed to attend. Once or twice, they even ordered in, eating from the room service cart while they sat in front of the television in nightgown and boxer shorts.