Chance groaned as her tongue shyly touched his. He reacted and responded, even as he acknowledged how inexperienced she was. He tightened his arms around her, bending her backward under the force of his kiss.
The dark enveloped them, the breeze gently buffeted. The buzz of distant traffic was replaced by the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears. And the small whimpering sounds that came from deep in her throat.
He wanted her. She wanted him. All he would have to do was say the word and she would be in his bed.
He had better run for his life.
The thoughts collided in his brain and Chance lifted his head. Her eyes were open, and she gazed at him with a combination of shock and desire and... trust.
Chance stiffened, moving a step away from her. He tried to smile. And failed. “I told you this was crazy,” he said, his voice thick.
Beth looked at the ground. She’d lied to herself—she did care what he felt. She did care why he’d kissed her.
Chance swore silently. He’d hurt her. He saw it in the stiff way she held herself, the way she avoided meeting his gaze. Regret and remorse curled through him, and Chance lifted a hand to cup her cheek, then dropped it.
If she was angry, if she hated him even, it would be for the best. This was not a woman who dallied. This was not a woman who would think nothing of kisses shared under a dark, star-studded sky.
And he was a man who did and thought exactly that.
“Beth, I... I’m sorry. I just...” He groped for the right words, because the honest ones wouldn’t do at all. “You were crying,” he said finally, inadequately, “and I didn’t know what else to do.”
Hurt arced through her. And anger. The earth had moved, and he hadn’t known what else to do. Classic.
Color climbed her cheeks, and Beth lifted her chin. “Sorry about putting you in that awkward position. Believe me, it won’t happen again.”
He swore again. Her eyes were blue pools of hurt. She hadn’t the experience—or the guile—to conceal what she felt. “Dammit, Beth, I didn’t—”
“It was just a kiss, Chance.” She tossed her head back. “For Pete’s sake, I am a grown-up. I have been kissed before.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets, unreasonably annoyed by her words even as he told himself to be relieved. “This has been an unusual night.”
“Exactly.” Beth fought to keep her tone even and almost businesslike. “And since I doubt we’ll ever be in this type of situation again—”
“It’ll never happen again,” he supplied, fighting the urge to take her back into his arms and kiss her silly. He turned toward his car. “Why don’t I call that tow truck, then I’ll give you a lift home.”
* * *
A week later Beth stood outside Chance’s office door, her heart a freight train in her chest. She had serious financial problems: no clothes, no furniture, no savings, only a piece-of-junk car.
Beth wiped her damp palms against her thighs. She could see only one viable solution—become Chance’s personal assistant. She wanted the job, she had for a long time. She could do it, she knew she could.
All she had to do was convince Chance of that fact.
Chance. Beth squeezed her eyes shut, thinking of their kiss, reliving every nuance of the moment, her every sensation. She could still taste him, could still feel the pressure of his mouth on hers, feel the pounding of her pulse as she’d clung to him.
And she could still see the expression in his eyes as he’d pulled away from her. Disbelief. Regret. Anxiety.
Dammit. She had to put this thing into perspective; he obviously had. During the last week, he’d joked and teased and treated her as he always had—like his funny little receptionist.
And why shouldn’t he? They’d shared only a kiss, after all. If he could handle that, so could she.
Taking a deep breath, Beth peeked into Chance’s office. His head was bent as he flipped through some papers; his thick dark hair tumbled across his forehead in a way that made her want to smooth it back with gentle fingers.
She clasped her hands together. Thoughts like those did nothing to calm her nerves. Nor did remembering the brush of his mouth on hers or the feel of his heart beating under her palm.
Beth squeezed her eyes shut, shook her head, and took another deep breath. She was a grown woman, not an ingenue with a crush. She could do this.
Bold, she told herself, lifting her chin jauntily. Self-confident and determined.
With those thoughts ringing in her head, Beth stepped fully into the doorway. “Chance, do you have a minute?”
He looked up and smiled. The curving of his lips was slow, sexy, and sanity-stealing. Her confidence slipped a notch, and she ordered herself to get a grip.
“For you? Of course.” He motioned her in. “Have a seat.”
Beth crossed the room and, choosing one of the two leather and chrome chairs across from his desk, sat down. She was still trying to remember all the words she’d practiced, the gestures and facial expressions that Eva had coached her on, when Chance suddenly spoke.
“Did you have a nice weekend?”
“Very nice. And you?”
“Good. Fine.” He capped his pen and tossed it onto the papers littering his desk. “How’s your car?”
Heat crept up her cheeks as the memory of that night flooded her mind. She cursed the telltale color and attempted a casual smile. “Fixed. Almost.”
Silence fell between them. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “It’s been two weeks and we haven’t had any luck with our ad.”
“That’s an understatement.” Chance tapped the stack of resumes in front of him. “The best applicant so far has an undergraduate degree in art, but no business skills and no arts management. And frankly, he acted like a flake.”
Beth swallowed. Hard. She had no art degree and no arts management. She’d gotten her business degree only by the skin of her teeth. But she wasn’t a flake. She thought of the way she’d swooned in his arms the other night and grimaced, uncertain Chance would agree with her assessment.
Chance pushed the hair away from his forehead. “Let’s run the ad for another week,” he continued. “You never know when the perfect person will walk through the door.”
He’d just given her an out—she could leave now and he would never wonder why she’d knocked. But he’d also given her the perfect in. Screwing up her courage, Beth blurted, “She already has.”
Chance lifted his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
“The perfect person... through that door. Me.” When he still didn’t seem to understand, she added, “I’d like to be your assistant. I’d like the job.”
Beth could see that she’d surprised him. She didn’t find the fact comforting. “I’ve wanted it all along,” she rushed on. “Each time one of your assistants quit, I’d hoped you’d think of me.”
“I see.” Chance leaned back in his chair. “So, now you’ve taken matters into your own hands.”
“Yes.”
“Beth, you’re a valued employee. I want you to understand that. But I’m not sure about this. As evidenced by the number of assistants that come and go around here, I’m difficult to deal with.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?” He picked the pen back up and tapped it thoughtfully against the desk top. “I’m demanding to the point of tyranny, honest to the point of rude. I don’t watch my tongue and I don’t pull punches. And you seem... sensitive.”
Beth knew exactly what he referred to—the other night and her tears. She clasped her hands tighter in her lap and refused to retreat. “Your badgering will not scare me off. In the last six months I’ve taken plenty of it and haven’t run home in tears. The circumstances of the other night were... special.”
“Yes,” Chance murmured, moving his gaze slowly over her face. “They were.”
His gaze found hers; she couldn’t look away.
Chance broke the contact first. “Do the police have any leads?”
“No.” Her voice sounded husky even to her own ears, and she prayed Chance wouldn’t notice. “They told me they probably wouldn’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m dealing with it.” Beth looked down at her hands, then back up at him. “I think I can do the job, Chance. I know I want to try...”
Beth let her words trail off at the reticence in his expression, her resolve evaporating. He didn’t think she could do it. That was obvious. Maybe she was the one being unrealistic. Maybe she should back off, admit she—
No. She curled her fingers into fists. For the first time in her life she wasn’t going to be ruled by insecurity, by fears or what-ifs. For the first time in her life she was going to express how she felt and what she wanted.
Beth straightened her spine. “Let me amend that. I know I can do the job. I’m smart and a hard worker. I already know Art One procedures. I know the artists, the clients and gallery directors. They all like me.”
Beth marveled at the clarity and confidence in her voice. Giddy with a feeling of power, she stood and faced him. “I want this job, Chance. Give me the opportunity to prove to you that I can do it.”
Chance rubbed the side of his jaw thoughtfully, buying time. Everything she said was true. He’d received many compliments on her performance since she’d started at Art One. She was efficient and punctual and hardworking. She took the initiative and did more than required in her job description.
But still... Chance swung his chair around toward the window and stared out at the brilliant day. He thought of how she’d looked that morning, standing hesitantly in his doorway, looking at once determined and as though she wanted to run for her life. The rush of warmth he’d felt for her in that moment had startled him. As had the pleasure he’d experienced at just looking at her.
He’d fought them off, just as he’d fought the memory of their kiss. She’d affected him like a spark to explosives; he couldn’t remember when the simple brush of mouth to mouth had made him feel so much. Or so strongly. If it ever had at all.
Explosions blew worlds apart and forced reasonable men into unreasonable acts. Acts they would come to bitterly regret, acts that wounded innocent parties. Chance understood that. His own father and mother had taught by example.
Chance frowned. And none of that had a thing to do with the decision Beth was asking him to make now.
It had taken a lot for her to face him, to ask for the job. He knew her well enough to know that. She wanted it badly. More than any of the assistants he’d ever hired, certainly more than the lame ducks he’d interviewed in the last couple of weeks.
Chance thought of the expression in her eyes and voice when she’d talked of her sister’s artwork. She had passion for art. She understood it. She loved it.
Sunlight tumbled through the windows, creating bright patches of light on the floor and walls, on himself. He put his hand over one of the bright rectangles. He stared at the shape of light, its warmth penetrating his skin. Beth Waters’s eyes were as guileless as a sunny day; she smelled of sunshine. When he looked at her, he thought of spring.
Chance swung back around. She stood still as a stone, her expression a combination of hope, determination, and apprehension. He didn’t like that the combination tugged at him. Emotionalism had no place in business, no place in his relationships with his assistants.
Or in any of his other relationships.
“What about the job you do now?” he asked, his voice brusque.
“I’ll call an agency,” Beth said quickly. “We’ll have somebody by noon.”
Still he didn’t commit. Heart hammering against the wall of her chest, Beth placed her palms on his desk and leaned toward him. “Give me two months. A trial period. If it doesn’t work out, I’m back at the receptionist’s desk. No complaints. No pouting or hysterics. I want this job. I need it. Give me the chance to prove I can do it.”
Chance grinned; he couldn’t help himself. His little mouse had turned into a lion. He’d known a lot of high-powered, gusty women, but at this moment they had nothing on Beth Waters.
She was right too. A trial period offered him a no-lose scenario. It offered him a solution to his immediate problem and offered her an opportunity to prove herself. And both of them an easy out if the solution didn’t work.
“I’m still skeptical,” he murmured.
“I’ve got the job?”
“Two months. Start first thing in the morning.”
She laughed out loud, delighted. She felt brave and powerful, able to conquer the world. For the first time in her life she’d gone after what she wanted—and she’d gotten it!
“You won’t regret this,” she said, practically skipping to the door.
Chance watched her, amused—and charmed—by her delight. He couldn’t remember ever having made anyone quite so happy. It felt good.
“No,” he said softly, “I don’t think I will.”
Beth paused at the door. “I’ll call an agency immediately.”
“You do that.” He grinned. “And be ready to kick butt tomorrow morning. You know I will.”
Chapter 4
“What do you mean you can’t find it?” Chance demanded, propping the phone into the crook between his neck and shoulder and waving Beth into his office. “Dammit, Cody, buildings don’t just get up and walk away!”
Beth’s heart sank. This was the first time she’d been late in the two weeks since she and Chance had begun their trial period—and it looked as though her timing had been bad in more ways than one.
Chance covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Where the hell have you been? This is the sixth call about—” He swung his attention back to what the caller was saying. “Yes, dammit, I do think a map would be a good idea.”
Beth shoved her paint-stained hands into her pockets. She’d gotten up at four a.m., consumed by the need to work on a problematic painting, and even the alarm she’d set hadn’t roused her from her art. She had a rule about not painting before work for precisely that reason.
“Call me back.”Just as Chance replaced the receiver, the phone rang again. Not waiting for the receptionist, Beth grabbed it. “Art One.” As she spoke to the caller, she held up a finger to indicate to Chance that she needed to talk with him and that he should wait. He scowled at her.
“Yes, Joe?” Beth listened to the man on the other end of the line, understanding immediately Chance’s call of a moment ago. Today an important installation was going up at World Life. She’d spent the last two weeks coordinating every detail of the event, including getting maps made for the drivers. Unfortunately, the directions she’d gotten from World’s curator led not to the insurance company’s swank new corporate offices but to a taco stand in East L.A.
“You’re sure you didn’t miss an exit or... Okay, okay.” Beth plucked the pen from Chance’s desk set. “What’s the number there? Stay put, I’ll get back to you.
“The maps are wrong,” she said calmly, picking the phone back up and dialing World Life. “This isn’t a big deal.”
Chance stopped pacing. “Twenty technicians on hand, being paid by the hour to install works that are God knows where, and she tells me this isn’t a big deal.”
“Calm down. We know where they are or are heading—Grinning Maria’s Taco Hut.” He didn’t laugh, and she rolled her eyes and punched out World’s number. “If any of the other drivers call in, get a number and tell them to stand by.”
Chance whirled around and glowered at her. Beth smiled and got the switchboard to connect her with the curator at World Life.
Within minutes she had an apology, revised directions, and the promise that things would be smoothed over on that end. One by one the drivers called in, received the new address and directions, and got back on their way.
“There,” Beth said crisply, turning back to Chance. “Crisis over. Yes we lost a couple of hours, but I have confidence our team can make them up.”
“The Art One wizard does it again.” He shook
his head. “You amaze me.”
She waved aside his praise. “I just made a phone call.”
“And managed to soothe the savage beast. And everybody along the way.”
Beth smiled shyly, coloring with pleasure. “It was nothing.”
“It was something. The savage beast, by the way, apologizes for being so—”
“Savage,” she supplied, then laughed. “Don’t worry about it. After all, you have your reputation to think of.”
“Unreasonable bastard.”
Beth angled him an amused glance. “That’s the one.”
His eyebrows shot up in mock outrage. “You’re getting pretty cheeky, Ms. Waters. Perhaps I better buy you a cup of coffee.”
Suddenly tongue-tied, Beth nodded, and together they walked to the kitchen. Working alongside Chance the last couple of weeks had been a mixed blessing. On the one hand, she loved the work. It challenged her, excited her. It was fun. But on the other, being with Chance day in and day out, having their hands brush, their gazes meet in silent communication, laughing and talking together, had been sweet agony.
She wanted them to be more than employer, employee. She wanted them to be more than friends.
She wanted the impossible.
“Car trouble again?” Chance asked, referring, she knew, to her tardiness. He filled two cups and handed her one.
She took the cup, conscious of the paint stains on her fingers. “No,” she murmured vaguely, “I just got... involved with something.”
Chance leaned against the counter and studied her over the rim of his coffee cup. Seconds ticked past, and Beth shifted nervously.
“What?” she asked finally, smoothing her khaki-colored skirt.
Chance shrugged and sipped. “You’re odd.”
“Odd?” she squeaked.
He smiled. “Maybe odd’s not quite the right description. Unusual’s better.”
“Oh, much better,” she said. She likened him to Michelangelo’s David, and he thought of her as... unusual. “Maybe you could think of me as unusually odd.”
“There you go,” he said, laughing. “Your cheeks are the color of fire, but your wit is immediate and acerbic. One moment you’re shy, the next bold. You’re timid and easily embarrassed, but calm in a crisis and levelheaded, even with the most unreasonable clients.”
Tempting Chance Page 4
