The Millionaire Claims His Wife

“And?”

“And,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “it’s not a regular phone they’ve got here, it’s a radio thing.”

“So?”

“So, it doesn’t seem to work.”

Annie bit her lip and fought down a rising tide of hysteria. “If this is your idea of some kind of joke, Chase...”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Chase smiled tightly. “The guy left a note, in the kitchen. It seems we’re trapped until tomorrow.”

“That’s impossible. Why would he strand us here?”

“I don’t know why. I don’t much care, either. All I know is that we’re going to have to make the best of things, until the jerk with the boat shows up tomorrow morning at eight.”

“At eight,” Annie repeated, through lips that felt numb. She looked at her watch. Sixteen hours to get through. Sixteen hours, alone with her ex-husband.

“Just get this through your head,” Chase said. Annie looked up. “This setup. This—this honeymoon hotel. I assure you, it wasn’t my idea.”

“I certainly hope not. Because if it was, you’re in for a heck of a disappoint—”

Annie gasped as Chase grabbed her shoulders and hauled her to her feet.

“Lady, I have taken all the insults I’m going to take! I promise you, I’m not so desperate for a woman to warm my bed that I’d go to all this trouble to arrange it.”

He was right, and she knew it. Her accusation had been dumb. He couldn’t have arranged this fiasco if he’d wanted to.

And he was right about all the rest, as well. Chase wouldn’t have to resort to subterfuge, to get a woman into his bed. He was—what had Deb called him, the day of the wedding? Hunky, that was it. He was hunky and he always had been, especially now that he was in his prime. Chase was a man who’d turn women’s heads without even trying.

No wonder she spotted his photo in the paper so often, with some smiling bimbo on his arm.

Except they weren’t bimbos. She might as well admit that, too, while she was going for the truth. She liked to tell herself they were, but the women in the photos with her ex-husband were invariably beautiful and elegant.

Like Janet Pendleton, who was going to become his wife.

Annie’s throat felt raspy. It was silly, but she felt like crying.

“You’re right.” she said.

“You’re damned right I am.”

“This entire thing—our getting on that plane in the first place, and now our getting stuck here is—just, what’s the word? Karnna.”

Chase could hardly believe it. Annie, holding out an olive branch? It seemed inconceivable but hell, most of what had happened during the past forty-eight hours fell into that very same category. If it was an olive branch, what did he have to lose if he accepted it? If he was going to spend the night in that rocker—and he was—it would be a lot better for the both of them if they weren’t at each other’s throats.

“Karma,” he said, as he lifted his hands from her shoulders. “Don’t tell me. You’re taking a course in Eastern religions.”

Annie smiled and shook her head. “I bought a computer. That’s what the guy who installed it said. It’s karma if you can get a computer to work right, and karma if you can’t.”

“You bought yourself a computer?”

“For business. But it’s turned out to be fun, too. The Internet, that kind of thing.”

“Uh-huh. Who showed you how to use it? The pan...Hoffman?”

“I taught myself. Well, with a little help from Dawn.”

“Really.” Chase smiled. “Maybe you’ll give me some pointers, sometime. I’m still all thumbs at anything more complicated than punching up a spreadsheet.”

“Sure.”

Their eyes met and held, and then Chase made a show of looking around at the room. “I’m really sorry about this. The accommodations, I mean. I never dreamed Tanaka would dump us out here.”

“It’s a bit much, I admit.” Annie smiled. “But it’s beautiful, too. Maybe this is what hotels are like, wherever it is he comes from.”

Chase grinned. “He’s from Dallas, babe—I mean, Annie. No, I suspect he figured we wanted to spend some private time together.”

Annie laughed. “Cupid Tanaka, huh?”

“So it would seem.”

Again, silence closed around them. Annie sat down on the edge of the rocker.

“So,” she said briskly, “what’re you going to do? Tear this place down, then build the retreat he wants from scratch?”

“Something like that.”

“I’ll bet the final result will be spectacular.”