The Beaumont Brothers. Sarah M. Anderson
and intent as his fingers spread out to cover her stomach, “just makes you better. I can’t control myself around you anymore and I don’t think I want to.” As he said it, his hand circled lower. The tips of his fingers crossed over the demarcated line of her panties and dipped down.
The warmth from his touch focused heat in her belly—and lower. A weight—heavy and demanding and pulsing—pounded between her thighs. She didn’t want him to stop. She wanted him to keep going until he was pressing against the part of her that was heaviest. To feel his touch explore her body. To make her his.
If she didn’t know him, she’d say he was feeding her a line of bull a mile long. But Chadwick didn’t BS people. He didn’t tell them what they wanted to hear. He told them the truth.
He told her the truth.
Which only left one question.
Now that she knew the truth, what would she do with it?
* * *
The absolute last place Chadwick wanted to be was at this restaurant. The only possible exception to that statement was the gala later. He didn’t want to be at either one. He wanted to go back to Serena’s place—hell, this restaurant was in a hotel, he could have a room in less than twenty minutes—and get her out of that dress. He wanted to lay her down and show her exactly how little he could control himself around her.
Instead, he was sitting across from Serena in one of the best restaurants in all of Denver. Since they’d left her apartment, Serena had been...quiet. He’d expected her to push back against dinner like she’d pushed back against the gown that looked so good on her, but she hadn’t. Which was not a bad thing—she’d been gracious and perfectly well-mannered, as he knew she would be—but he didn’t know what to talk about. Discussing work was both boring and stressful. Even though this was supposed to be a business dinner, he didn’t want to talk about losing the company.
Given how she’d reacted to him touching her stomach—soft and gently rounded beneath the flowing dress—he didn’t think making small talk about her pregnancy was exactly the way to go, either. That wasn’t making her feel beautiful. At least, he didn’t think so. He was pretty sure if they talked about her pregnancy, they’d wind up talking about Neil, and he didn’t want to think about that jerk. Not tonight.
Chadwick’s divorce was out, too. Chadwick knew talking about exes and soon-to-be-exes at dinner simply wasn’t done.
And there was the part where he’d basically professed how he felt about her. Kind of hard to do the chitchat thing after that. Because doing the chitchat thing seemed like it would minimize what he’d said.
He didn’t want to do that.
But he didn’t know what else to talk about. For one of the few times in his life, he wished his brother Phillip was there. Well, he didn’t—Phillip would hit on Serena mercilessly, not because he had feelings for her but because she was female. He didn’t want Phillip anywhere near Serena.
Still, Phillip was good at filling the silence. He had an endless supply of interesting stories about interesting celebrities he’d met at parties and clubs. If anyone could find something to talk about, it’d be his brother.
But that wasn’t Chadwick’s life. He didn’t jet around making headlines. He worked. He went to the office, ran, showered, worked, worked some more and then went home. Even on the weekends, he usually logged in. Running a corporation took most of his time—he probably worked a hundred hours a week.
But that’s what it took to run a major corporation. For so long, he’d done what was expected of him—what his father had expected of him. The only thing that mattered was the company.
Chadwick looked at Serena. She was sitting across from him, her hands in her lap, her eyes wide as she looked around the room. This level of luxury was normal for him—but it was fun seeing things through her eyes.
It was fun being with her. She made him want to think about something other than work—and given the situation, he was grateful for that alone. But what he felt went way beyond simple gratitude.
For the first time in his adult life—maybe longer—he was looking at someone who meant more to him than the brewery did.
That realization scared the hell out of him. Because, really—who was he if he wasn’t Chadwick Beaumont, the fourth-generation Beaumont to run the brewery? That was who he’d been raised to be. Just like his father had wanted, Chadwick had always put the brewery first.
But now...things were changing. He didn’t know how much longer he’d have the brewery. Even if they fended off this takeover, there might be another. The company’s position had been weakened.
Funny, though—he felt stronger after this week with Serena.
Still, he had to say something. He hadn’t asked her to dinner just to stare at her. “Are you doing all right?”
“Fine,” she answered, breathlessly. She did look fine. Her eyes were bright and she had a small, slightly stunned smile on her face. “This place is just so...fancy! I’m afraid I’m going to use the wrong fork.”
He felt himself relax a bit. Even though she looked like a million dollars, she was still the same Serena.
His.
No. He pushed that thought away as soon as it cropped up. She was not his—she was only his assistant. That was the extent of his claim to her. “Your parents never dressed you up and took you out to eat at a place like this just for fun?”
“Ah, no.” A furious blush raced up her cheeks.
“Really? Not even for a special event?”
That happened a lot. He’d be eating some place nice—some place like this—and a family with kids who had no business being in a five-star restaurant would come in, the boys yanking on the necks of their ties and tipping over the drinks, the girls being extra fussy over the food. He’d sort of assumed that all middle-class people did something like that once or twice.
She looked up at him, defiance flashing in her eyes. The same defiance that had her refusing dresses. He liked it on her—liked that she didn’t always bow and scrape to him just because he was Chadwick Beaumont.
“Did your parents ever put you in rags and take you to a food pantry just for fun?”
“What?”
“Because that’s where we went ‘out to eat.’ The food pantry.” As quickly as it had come, the defiance faded, leaving her looking embarrassed. She studied her silverware setting. “Sorry. I don’t usually tell people that. Forget I said anything.”
He stared at her, his mouth open. Had she really just said...the food pantry? She’d mentioned that her family had gone through a few financial troubles but—
“You picked the food bank for this year’s charity.”
“Yes.” She continued to inspect the flatware, everything about her closed off.
This wasn’t the smooth, flowing conversation he’d wanted. But this felt more important. “Tell me about it.”
“Not much to tell.” Her chin got even lower. “Poverty is not a bowl full of cherries.”
“What happened to your parents?” Not that his parents had particularly loved him—or even liked him—but he’d never wanted for anything. He couldn’t imagine how parents could let that happen to their child.
“Nothing. It’s just that...Joe and Shelia Chase did everything to a fault. They still do. They’re loyal to a fault, forgiving to a fault—generous to a fault. If you need twenty bucks, they’ll give you the last twenty they have in the bank and then not have enough to buy dinner or get the bus home. My dad’s a janitor.”
At this, a flush of embarrassment crept over her. But it didn’t stop her. “He’ll give you the shirt off his back—not that you’d want it, but he would.