The Millionaire Claims His Wife

Was it too late? Annie wondered. Was it possible to roll back time? They were two different people now, she and this handsome, wonderful man who had once been her husband. He had moved into a high-powered world that was eons removed from her quiet country life.

And then, there was Janet Pendleton. The woman Chase was engaged to marry. The woman he loved.

Tears stung Annie’s eyes. What an idiot she was! How could she have forgotten? They’d moved on, the both of them, and Chase had found someone to replace her, in his heart and in his life.

She swallowed hard. Chase was looking at her so strangely. Oh, how tempting it was to let herself believe, just for an instant, for a heartbeat, that he still loved her. But she knew that he didn’t. What she saw in his eyes was regret for the pain they’d caused each other, and compassion—but not love.

Not anymore.

“Annie.” His voice was soft, almost tender. “Annie,” he said, “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said quickly. Compassion was one thing, but pity was another. Pity was the last thing she wanted from Chase. “There’s no point. It’s spilt milk, you know?” It wasn’t easy, but she smiled. “And nobody should ever waste tears over spilt milk.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“But it is.” Annie spoke quickly, rushing her words, hurrying to keep him from offering her another apology. What she wanted from him, needed with all her heart, was something she wouldn’t think about, wouldn’t admit to thinking about, even to herself. “It’s very simple,” she said, with another little smile. “It looks as if us spending time together was a good idea, after all.”

“Yes. I agree.”

“If we hadn’t, we’d never have gotten this chance to—to make peace with the past.”

“Can you forgive me, for hurting you?”

“Of course.” It was easier to smile, now that she knew it was the only choice left to her. “As long as you can forgive me, too, because I wasn’t blameless. And then, we get on with our lives. With—with our new relationships.”

The tiny flame of hope in Chase’s heart flickered and died.

“Milton Hoffman.” His voice was toneless.

“And your Janet Pendleton. Yes.”

Chase could see the radiance in Annie’s smile. It lit her eyes. Funny, but a couple of minutes ago, he’d foolishly let himself think the light in her eyes was for him.

“We’re very fortunate people,” she said softly. “Some never find love once but we—we found it twice.”

Chase stared at the stranger who had once been his wife. He thought of pulling her into his embrace and kissing her until that smile for Milton Hoffman was erased from her lips. He thought of kissing her until all she could think of was him.

But, in the end, he did what he knew was right.

“That’s true,” he said, touching his hand to her hair, because he couldn’t keep from doing it. He kept the touch light, though, so that it matched his smile. “We’re very lucky, the both of us.”

He let go of her, turned away and reached blindly for a peeled onion. Annie watched, her heart breaking, as he sliced into it. She felt the sting of tears again and she scrubbed the back of her hand furiously over her eyes.

“Damned onions,” she said, with a choked laugh. “You’re slicing them but I’m suffering. Isn’t that silly?”

Chase, lost in his own thoughts, nodded. “Yeah.”

“So,” she said briskly, “what are we having for supper, anyway? Onion and potato pie?”

Somehow, he forced his attention back to the kitchen, and the mundane chores they were performing. He smiled, put down the knife, wiped his hands on the towel and opened the door of the cabinet just over the sink.

“Voilà,” he said, whipping around to face Annie and holding out a small, round can as if he were a sommelier presenting her with a bottle of fine wine.

“Tuna? That’s it? That’s all you could find in this kitchen?”

“There’s another half a dozen, right on the pantry shelf.”

“I don’t believe it. All this, and Mr. Tanaka eats canned tuna?”

“I don’t think sushi would have much of a shelf life.” Chase grinned. “Less than thrilling, huh?”

“You’re sure there isn’t anything else?”

“A couple of cans of evaporated milk. A bottle of corn oil. Some soup—”

“Cream of mushroom?” she asked hopefully.

“Yeah. I think so.”

Annie sighed. “Get me the soup and the evaporated milk, Cooper. Then step aside and let an expert get to work.”