Reclaim Me (23 page)

“Consider this a belated wedding gift,” he said, passing her the document then stretching out alongside her on the chaise.

“What is it?”

“A stock transfer.”

“Hudson, I don’t want your shares of Ingram. How they were acquired is irrelevant now. And I rather like being Mr. and Mrs. CEO. I want us to remain partners.” She fixed him with a teasing grin. “Assuming of course you can handle it when I dominate the boardroom.”

Something dark flashed in his eyes. “Bring it on. Just be prepared for a rough night in the bedroom.”

Her breath caught. While Hudson loved to go toe-to-toe with her in the boardroom, he made no apologies for his caveman tendencies once he had her alone in their bed. Or bent over her desk. Or chained to the ceiling. And truth be told, she fucking loved it. “If that was supposed to be a deterrent—”

“It’s wasn’t.”

She cocked her head to one side. “Then what’s all this about?”

“Open it,” he mouthed.

Allie tugged the ribbon free and unfolded the pages. What she saw stopped her cold. As promised, it was indeed a document authorizing a transfer of stock to Allie’s name. But the company in question wasn’t Ingram Media. It was Chase Industries. Her eyes were wide when she met his steady gaze. “I can’t accept this.”

“You can and you will,” he said matter-of-factly. As if he was offering her a Mai Tai and not fifty percent of a multibillion dollar empire.

“You built Chase Industries from the ground up. I can’t let you sign half of it over to me.”

“The company wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t met you,” he said. “The first time I saw you, my world shifted on its axis. Quite simply, you made me want to be a better man. For you.” The breeze kicked up, rustling the thatch roof above their heads and blowing a loose curl across Allie’s face. Hudson tucked it behind her ear, letting his knuckles brush across her cheek after he did. “And besides, that’s your name on the building too, Mrs. Chase.” He leaned closer so his mouth hovered mere inches from hers. “You’re my wife, my lover, and my partner. Not just at Ingram or Chase. In everything,” he whispered just before their lips met.

The word
partner
echoed in Allie’s heart and mind as Hudson deepened their kiss. He was right: no matter what obstacles or hardships they faced, they had each other, and they always would.

Forever.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Our acknowledgments always begin with a nod to our agent, Pamela Harty, and this book is no exception. We thank our lucky stars to have an agent who not only offers continuous support and encouragement, but who loves our characters almost as much as we do. Pamela, the Chasing Fire series wouldn’t exist without you and the fact that you teared up when we told you how it ends made the journey seem all the more complete.

Huge thanks to our editor Leis Pederson and her assistant Bethany Blair. We could talk about Hudson Chase with you ladies until the restaurant closes around us . . . oh wait, we did! To Erin Galloway and Ryanne Probst, thank you for helping us spread the word about our sexy CEO. And to Lisa Filipe, you are the Queen of Blog Tours. You not only came through for us when we needed it the most, but you always go the extra mile. Not to mention coining the hashtag #HudsonChaser, which in case we haven’t told you is flipping amazing!

Each book in the series has been dedicated to David Gandy, our inspiration for Hudson Chase, but we would be remiss if we didn’t also thank his assistant, Laura Terhune, and the people who make up the Gandy Nation. Thank you for the chance to fan girl along with you on a daily basis. Laura, it was an honor and a privilege to have you as our guest at our first official signing. So glad to call you friend!

To the bloggers and readers who astound us with their support: whether Tweeting, posting on Facebook or just telling your friends and family, your endorsements and kind words mean so much to us. To those who maintain the Chasing Fire fan sites and to the role players who devote their time and talents to making the series interactive, thank you for your creativity and dedication. We will never forget the day we got an e-mail that said, “Hudson Chase is now following you on Twitter.”

Keep reading for an excerpt from the first book in the Chasing Fire series

REMIND ME

Available now from InterMix

There were few things in life Hudson Chase couldn’t control. He’d conquered Wall Street, dominated the business world, and had a net worth that made him a regular on the pages of
Forbes
. But rushing a woman when she was getting ready for a black tie affair was a power even he didn’t possess.

“Cut the overhead by twenty percent.” With the cell phone tucked under his chin, Hudson’s free hand pushed up his sleeve. He stole a glance at the platinum watch peeking out from under his French cuff before turning his attention back to the hired suit billing by the hour on the other end of line. The bastard had the balls to feed him an endless stream of excuses.

“The ‘how’ isn’t my problem.” Hudson’s tone was razor sharp. “That’s why I pay your law firm a ridiculous amount of money.” He crooked a finger, tugging at his black bow tie. How long does it take to put on lipstick and a pair of shoes, anyway?

Just when he’d reached his limit, the limo door swung open to reveal a red dress and a set of legs splitting open a convenient slit to heaven. Goddamn if he didn’t plan to have his head in the clouds.

Sophia slid onto the bench seat beside him and adjusted her gown, optimizing his view as she languidly crossed her legs. The dress clung to her, accentuating voluptuous curves maintained by the top trainers in Chicago. Hudson’s gaze swept over every inch then settled on the Harry Winston nestled between her breasts.

The limo pulled away from the curb and he immediately hit the button to raise the privacy screen.

“Liquidate the assets we discussed,” he said, cutting off the suit from enjoying the sound of his own voice. His hand came to rest on Sophia’s knee. “This isn’t personal, it’s business. Start letting people go on Monday.”

As the limo picked up speed down Michigan Avenue, so did Hudson’s hand. He smoothed his palm up Sophia’s leg while listening to his lawyer fast talk his way back into good graces. Just picturing the sweat forming on the guy’s brow caused Hudson’s mouth to curve into a satisfied smirk.

“No, tomorrow. I’m attending an event tonight.” And hell if it was by choice. Hudson would have preferred to simply cut a check to the charity and spare himself the glad-handing. He’d been flying under the radar since his arrival in Chicago, but with his name going up on a building, his PR department decided it was time for him to make the rounds. Their persistence was the only reason he was sitting in a godforsaken limo being strangled by a motherfucking bow tie.

Hudson glanced at Sophia as she purposefully uncrossed her legs. His eyes flared slightly at the panties she wasn’t wearing. “Keep me posted,” he said, abruptly ending the call.

The limo rolled to a stop just as his hand slid between Sophia’s thighs.

Well, fuck.

The Field Museum of Natural History soared above them with stately columns lit from below and banners announcing the latest exhibits flapping in the late September breeze. Hudson climbed out as soon as the valet opened the door, eager to get this shit over with. Make a donation, shake a couple hands, then he was out of there. He buttoned his tuxedo jacket and offered Sophia his hand. She placed her palm into his, strategically exiting the limo without flashing the waiting photographers. He pulled her into his side and his lips brushed her temple. “We’re not staying long.”

She ran a finger along his jaw. “I hope not.”

Hudson cocked a grin that was more forced than genuine. He knew Sophia wanted to be more than just a leisurely fuck. She wanted to be Mrs. Hudson Chase and there wasn’t a chance in hell that was happening. He wasn’t interested in walking down the proverbial aisle. With anyone. Ever.

Sophia was nothing more than a current distraction.

They stepped onto the red carpet and cameras lit up like the damn Fourth of July. Sophia leaned into him, offering a seductive smile to each photographer who called their names.

She was in her element. Hudson was on autopilot.

This sort of thing grated on his last nerve. But he’d made the effort to be there, might as well document it. He let them snap some pictures, gave a few brief nods, and then was ready to move on.

With his hand on the small of her back, he guided Sophia up concrete steps littered with guests entering the building checkbook first. Once inside, he scanned the room for the nearest bar. He had expected endless rows of tables for ten where he’d be trapped for hours talking to whoever had been seated next to him for a dinner of rubber chicken under an indistinguishable sauce. But the room before him was far from anything he expected. Swathes of sheer fabric cascaded down walls, vaulted archways glowed with ambient lighting, and plush rugs formed seating areas where coffee tables replaced dinner tables and overstuffed couches replaced straight back chairs. The entire place had a high-end club vibe.

“Mr. Chase.”

Hearing his name, Hudson turned. An older gentleman was beating a path his way. His hand was already extended and judging by the look on his face, he was gearing up for a request.

Sophia touched Hudson’s forearm, but her attention was on the room. “I’m heading to the bar,” she said, her eyes already scanning the crowd. “Can I get you a scotch?”

For a moment he thought about following her simply to escape a conversation he already knew he didn’t want to have. “Blue Label. Make it a double.”

“Elliot Shaw,” the man said, somewhat out of breath, “executive editor,
Chicago Magazine.
So glad to run into you. I’ve left several messages with your assistant.”

Hudson shook his hand. “What can I do for you, Mr. Shaw?”

“I’d like to feature you in our annual ‘Power 100’ issue.”

“That’s handled by my PR department. I suggest you talk to them.”

“I have,” Shaw politely persisted, “but we want more than a standard press package. We’d like an exclusive interview.”

Hudson was about to cut him off when Shaw played his trump.

“In return we’re willing to offer you the cover of the issue and rank you number one on the list. Not every day someone moves to town with the clout to knock Oprah off her throne.” Shaw chuckled at his own joke then launched into a well-rehearsed spiel. “In the local market our circulation is larger than
People . . .”

Hudson tuned the man out. He was scanning the crowd for his date, and more importantly his scotch.

And then he saw her.

His heart beat like he’d just finished the Chicago Marathon.

The hem of her black dress sat conservatively above the knee and the neckline was far from revealing, yet she was still the sexiest damn woman in the room. Sophisticated and elegant.

She turned towards a petite redhead, revealing the low cutout in the back of her dress and a whole lot of perfect skin.

Holy shit.

Hudson drew a sharp breath. He couldn’t help but wonder what she was wearing underneath. Or how her blond hair, once released from the pins holding it in place, would tumble in loose curls around her face. Soft waves that would brush like satin across his bare chest . . . his abs . . . his . . .

“. . . Of course the social media element can’t be minimized.” Shaw’s voice yanked Hudson right out of his fantasy.

“Do you know that woman?” He inclined his head in the blonde’s general direction. “Speaking with the redhead?”

Shaw followed his gaze. “Yes, that’s Alessandra Sinclair, the event chair. Her family—”

“Thank you, Mr. Shaw. Excuse me.” Hudson strode confidently through the room, reaching Sophia just as she turned away from the bar with two drinks in hand. He caught her by the elbow without ever breaking stride.

“Careful,” she warned, “this dress cost a fortune.”

Hudson snatched his scotch out of her hand and drained it, skidding the empty glass across a table as he passed. He steered them quickly towards the blonde, his awareness of her heightening with every step. When he was standing behind her, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for her reaction.

“Excuse me. Who should I see about making a rather sizable donation?”

*   *   *

Sizable donation? The words were music to Alessandra’s ears. A confident grin spread across her face. Convincing fat cats to part with their cash was her specialty. This guy wouldn’t know what hit him.

She turned around, prepared to give Mr. Potential Donor the full benefit of her charm, and froze.

It couldn’t be.

Her practiced smile slipped as she gaped at him in disbelief. He was older, obviously, and dressed in an Armani tux instead of faded Levi’s. His dark, wavy hair was shorter than it had been and his once wiry frame was replaced with the muscular build of a man well acquainted with the gym. He was taller, his shoulders broader, and even his stance had changed. The boy she’d once known was now a man who exuded an overwhelming sense of masculine power.

So much about him was different and yet his eyes, those gorgeous blue eyes, were exactly the same as she remembered.

“That would be us,” a voice to her right offered. She could barely make out the words over the sound of blood rushing through her ears. “I’m Harper Hayes and this is the event’s chair, Alessandra Sinclair.”

“Alessandra,” the man said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he offered his hand. “Hudson Chase.”

For a moment her gaze lingered on his full, sensual lips. His strong, rugged jaw. The designer stubble he wore now made him look even darker and more mysterious than he had when she’d first met him. She wondered how it would feel beneath her fingertips, against her cheek, between her thighs . . .

Harper’s elbow nudged her arm, pulling her from her errant thoughts.

Holy hell, where did that come from?

Alessandra looked up to find Hudson watching her, one brow quirked, and a warm flush crossed her face. She placed her hand in his, hoping he didn’t notice the way her fingers trembled.

“So what’s this you were saying about a donation?” Harper asked.

Hudson held Alessandra’s hand, his eyes locked on hers, as he answered. “Perhaps this is a matter I can discuss with Miss Sinclair over a dance?”

For a moment the atmosphere between them seemed to shift, becoming charged with anticipation as his question hung unanswered in the air. Then the woman on Hudson’s arm interrupted with an exaggerated sigh. She feigned disinterest, inspecting her perfect manicure as she shifted her weight from one stiletto to the other. Alessandra studied her. Curvy in all the right places with legs that went on forever. Lush red lips matched her barely there dress and dark, cascading curls framed a face worthy of a magazine cover. Granted, the magazine would likely be
Maxim
. But still, she was stunning.

Alessandra quickly withdrew her hand but Hudson’s gaze was steady. “I’m considering writing a large check this evening,” he said. “The least you can do is dance with me.”

“She’d love to,” Harper volunteered.

Alessandra whipped her head around, her narrowed glare meeting Harper’s broad grin.

“Work it,” Harper mouthed as she nudged her forward.

Hudson waited, his blue eyes fixed on her. She knew she should politely decline. She could turn him down and no one would be the wiser. After all, she was the event chair. Any number of responsibilities or pressing issues could be deemed a plausible excuse. But at that moment, she couldn’t think of a single one.

“After you.” He waved her toward the parquet dance floor as his date beat a hasty retreat to the bar. The orchestra began to play Frank Sinatra’s “Summer Wind.” Hudson slid his hand around her waist, pulling her against him with a gentle pressure. “You look lovely as ever,” he said, his breath hot against her ear as he spun her slowly into the crowd.

Alessandra felt a shiver run down her spine. She pulled back to meet his piercing stare and a spark passed between them, so potent it was nearly tangible. She swallowed hard to find her voice, and when she did, blurted out the one question that had been on her mind since she’d discovered him standing behind her. “What are you doing in Chicago?”

His brow creased. “Exercising my right as an American citizen to move about this country.”

She blinked up at him, his cold reply taking her by surprise.

“My business is here.” Hudson stopped dancing and nodded to a photographer poised to snap their photo. “Smile pretty for the camera, Alessandra.”

Flashes fired in rapid succession. “Thank you, Mr. Chase,” the photographer said before scurrying off the dance floor.

She used the brief interruption to regain her composure. “What type of business are you in?”

“I acquire things.” His tone lacked any trace of humor.

So much for making small talk. She stared over his shoulder, watching the other couples sway and turn as they moved around the dance floor. Ms.
Maxim
Cover Girl was standing under the giant T. rex, scowling from behind her flute of champagne.

Jeez, if looks could kill.

“You’re not doing a very good job convincing me to part with my cash, Ms. Sinclair.”

She reared back to look at him. “You were serious about that?”

He leveled his stare at her and the intensity was almost too much to bear. “I take a million dollars incredibly serious.”

“A million dollars?” Her words came out in a high-pitched squeak. She cleared her throat and lowered her voice. “You want to donate a million dollars?”

“Yes,” he answered matter-of-factly.

Confused, Alessandra stared at him blankly. He’d just pledged a million dollars with no more fanfare than if he’d told her he’d bought a bottle of wine from the silent auction. A million dollars was more than a “sizable” donation. It was
four times
the highest amount she’d ever received from a single donor. Surely he was joking. How could he not be?

As if reading her mind, Hudson offered a vague explanation. “A lot can change in ten years, Alessandra. Though I see you’re still using your formal name.”

“You’re the only one who ever called me Allie,” she whispered. Her eyes met his, searching for any sign of the boy she once knew. His gaze softened, and for a moment she felt it, the connection that made her knees go weak even now.