Tempting Chance

by Erica Spindler

  He shook his head and dragged his gaze away. He selected a canapé from the assortment and held it to her mouth. She bit into it and made a sound of pleasure. His body tightened, and he swore silently. On the pretense of getting her a plate, he swung away from her.

  What the hell was he doing? he wondered, selecting a variety of the finger foods for her to sample. Why, when it came to this woman, couldn’t he do what he knew he must? Why couldn’t he keep his distance?

  He turned back to her, finding that she had crossed to the wall of glass that faced the ocean. A hundred feet below, the ocean crashed against the shore.

  He set the plate aside and moved up behind her, acknowledging that he didn’t know why. And that, for tonight, he wouldn’t try to analyze, wouldn’t question.

  “It’s dizzying,” she murmured, not taking her gaze from the view.

  Lightly touching her shoulders, Chance leaned toward her, inhaling in the fresh, light scent of her hair. “Would you like to go out?”

  She tipped her head back, her eyes glowing sapphire in the soft light. “Could we?”

  “Come.” He took her hand and led her out a side door and down a curving flight of stairs. The stairs led to a small terrace cut into the side of the cliff.

  The wind buffeted them, whipping her gown, tearing her hair from the pins anchoring it in place. The smell of the ocean was so strong, she grew drunk on it; the sound of the water roared in her ears, competing only with the thrum of her own blood.

  Beth threw her arms out and her head back, and laughed up at the star-studded sky. “I love this!” She whirled around, arms still wide, face still turned to the heavens. “It’s wonderful! Exhilarating! Delicious!”

  Chance laughed with her, stunned at her daring, captivated by her uncomplicated beauty. “The first time I came out here I felt drunk, although I hadn’t had a drop to drink. I felt at once large and small, a conqueror and the conquered.”

  “Yes. That’s how I feel.” Beth laughed again and crossed to the railing. She leaned over, breathing in the ocean, absorbing its power. At that moment she felt more alive, more free, than she had in her entire life. The wind caught in her hair, tugging more strands free. She pushed them away from her face and leaned farther out.

  Chance caught her from behind, anchoring her to him with his arms around her waist. “You’ll fall.”

  Laughing, she looked back at him. “But what a fall it would be.”

  He tightened his arms, his heart a drum in his chest. “I’d never forgive myself.”

  She turned in his arms. “Would you even miss me, Chance Michaels?”

  He took in the wild color in her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes, the rose of her mouth. He would miss her more than he should, in ways he would have thought impossible mere weeks ago. A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed against it. “Yes,” he murmured. “I would miss you.”

  She stood on tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his, then spun away from him. “I fantasized about dancing under a sky just like this one.”

  “Did you?” he asked, closing the distance between them once again, drawing her against his chest. Even in the dark he could see her blush.

  “I don’t get out much.” She pressed her hands to his chest. “You can probably tell.”

  “I find that hard to believe.” Chance wrapped a piece of her fiery, shiny hair around his finger. He brought it to his nose. The ocean hadn’t stolen her own sweet scent, but combined with it to create something at once feminine and wild.

  “You’re so beautiful tonight.” He lowered his eyes to her mouth. “So beautiful.”

  Beth sobered, the laughter dying on her lips. She shook her head. “I’ve never been beautiful. Never been... alluring.”

  “No?” Chance slipped his hands from her shoulders to the small of her back, then beyond, to softer curves and slight dimples, to the place where her dress disappointed by covering her once more.

  “You are so alluring,” he murmured, catching her bottom lip between his teeth and nipping. “So exciting.” He pressed closer, moving his pelvis against hers, letting her know without words just how exciting she was.

  “You”—he moved his lips to her ear, to the pulse that beat wildly just behind it—”are driving me mad with need.”

  Beth moaned and leaned into him, slipping her fingers beneath his tuxedo jacket to stroke the crisp white linen stretched across his broad chest, wishing it was his skin she stroked, not fabric.

  She acknowledged that she’d had too much champagne. She acknowledged that tomorrow she would be overwhelmed by regrets and embarrassment. But none of that mattered at the moment. All that mattered were Chance’s arms, his touch, that he wanted her.

  Beth pressed herself against him. “Then kiss me, Chance. Show me the way I make you feel.”

  With a groan. Chance did as she asked. Her lips were moist and already parted; she tasted of the fruity wine, of the delicately seasoned canapé, of desire.

  Who was this woman? he wondered again, twining his tongue with hers, sampling all the secrets of her mouth. Shy virgin or exotic temptress?

  He’d thought Beth Waters plain, now he thought her quietly alluring. He’d thought her conservative, he now considered her subtle. He’d thought her shy, he knew now she had great passion, a well of fire as hot as the color of her hair.

  She moaned low in her throat and he pressed closer, desire speeding over him, his arousal painful. He moved his hands in slow circles against the small of her back, then dipped his fingers underneath the fabric to stroke whiter skin, skin that had never been kissed by the sun.

  Chance dragged his mouth from hers, to taste her ear, her throat, her shoulder. “Beth... Beth...”

  In response to his words, Beth arched against him. He made her feel beautiful. He made her feel sexy, made her feel for the first time like a whole woman.

  Places that had never wanted, ached for his touch; places that had never been touched, warmed, then grew damp. And those feelings made her daring enough to act on her needs. And to hope. Murmuring his name, she dragged his mouth back to hers.

  A woman like Beth would always draw a man back, Chance thought, reality crashing into him with the same force that the waves below struck the shore. And like the sand on that shore, he would be towed in and under.

  He broke the kiss. She whimpered, and he twined his fingers in her hair, wanting to make love to her, wanting so badly he ached. She would acquiesce, he knew. She told him with her hungry eyes, with the way she clung to him. But she didn’t play games; she was a woman without wiles. He would hurt her.

  She wasn’t for him.

  “We should go in,” he murmured, his voice thick with wanting.

  “Must we?” she asked.

  She trembled; the involuntary show of hurt tore at him. “Yes.” With a gentleness that surprised him, he pushed the hair away from her face. “People will wonder.”

  Beth lowered her eyes. She wanted to tell him to let them. She wanted to suggest they make love. But she read the resignation—and the regret—in his eyes already. It was better that they end this now, before either of their regrets made it impossible for them to work together.

  She forced a smile. “I’ve had too much wine.”

  Chance searched her expression and saw that the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was offering him an out. A better man would refuse it and pull her back into his arms. But he was who he was; he’d made his plans and promises long ago.

  He brushed his mouth lightly against hers, then laced their fingers. Without speaking they climbed the stairs, parting at the top to go in search of mirrors to repair the damage made by the wind and their passion.

  They met again by the dessert buffet. Chance held out a cup of coffee, and she took it with a weak smile of thanks. The vulnerable quality of her smile tore at him. He moved his gaze over her face, wanting to murmur soft words about what had occurred between them only minutes ago, but knowing some things must be left unsaid.

  He
felt both coward and fraud.

  “There was no fixing my hair,” she said, needing to fill the silence between them. “The... wind took too many of the pins.”

  Not the wind, Chance thought. His fingers. And his urgency. Frustration tightened in his chest, along with something else, something that made him ache. Chance reached out and touched her fiery mane of hair, just once and lightly, then dropped his hand. “I like it this way. It’s—”

  “My darlings, where have you been?” Eva swept across the room to where they stood, her date trailing behind her. She stopped and moved her gaze speculatively over them. “Well, well...”

  Chance shifted and cleared his throat; Beth glowered at Eva, then turned and smiled at her grandmother’s date. “Are you two having fun?”

  Eva answered for him. “A delightful time, darling.”

  The older woman batted her false eyelashes at Chance, and Beth ground her teeth. Really, she fumed, flirting with a man half her age.

  Eva turned her attention to Beth, sweeping her gaze over her. The older woman narrowed her eyes, and Beth muttered an oath. Nothing slipped by her grandmother, and as soon as Eva got her alone, she would be in for the third degree.

  If she even waited until she got her alone, Beth thought, a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. The sparkle in her grandmother’s eyes was undeniable. And dangerous.

  “Grandmother,” Beth murmured, knowing the older woman hated the title, “aren’t you and Raphael going to the art auction? I think it’s about to start.”

  Eva ignored her and turned to Chance. “It’s such a shame Liza couldn’t come. Then we’d all have been here.”

  Beth had told Eva all about the fiasco with the sketches and how her little fib had grown into a monster. She shot her grandmother a warning glance, not that she had much hope it would do any good.

  Chance faced Beth. “How was the south of France, anyway? Did Liza enjoy her trip?”

  Beth caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Yes... I guess. We haven’t talked much about it. Her trip, that is.”

  “It was marvelous,” Eva cut in. “Liza is such an inspiration. So creative... so free. Whatever the whim, she follows it.”

  “Raphael, isn’t one of your paintings being auctioned tonight?”

  “You must meet her,” the older woman continued as if Beth hadn’t spoken. “And soon. She’s absolutely delightful. You did know she’s an artist?” Eva asked with exaggerated innocence. “Her work is nothing short of fabulous.”

  “I have wanted to meet her,” Chance said. “I saw some of her sketches, and they looked interesting.”

  Listening to her grandmother sing Liza’s praises and watching Chance hang on every word, Beth experienced a stab of jealousy, then groaned silently. Dear Lord, now she was competing with a sister she didn’t even have.

  “Beth, dear,” her grandmother said, turning to her, “when are you going to get the two together? Liza is in town. You even said you thought Chance should take a look at her work.”

  Beth wanted to sink into the floor; she also wanted to wring her grandmother’s neck. Instead she narrowed her eyes. “Have you forgotten, Grandmother, that she’s leaving for—”

  “Marrakesh,” Eva cut in. “I just spoke with her, the trip’s been canceled. She’ll be here for the next... three months.”

  Chance looked at Beth. Eva looked at Beth. Beth decided the floor wasn’t deep enough to sink into.

  Beth took a steadying breath. She’d been cornered. Neatly too. Promising herself that she would never speak to her grandmother again, she forced a smile. “Well, if that’s the case, I’ll have to set something up.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.” Chance cocked his head. “I think you’re right, Beth. The auction’s started.”

  “Why don’t you two go ahead,” Beth said to the two men. “Eva and I need to talk for a moment. We’ll meet you out there.”

  The moment Chance was out of earshot, Beth whirled on her grandmother. “How could you? How... could you?”

  “I did it for your own good,” Eva said primly, adjusting the spray of feathers at her hip. “You wouldn’t show Chance your art, so Liza will.”

  Beth dropped her head into her hands, so furious she shook. After a moment she looked back up at the older woman. “Grandmother,” she said softly, enunciating carefully, “I don’t have a sister. There is no Liza. We both know this.”

  “Nonsense.” Eva took out her compact and inspected her nose. “I’ve called you Liza all your life.”

  Beth sighed. “My grandmother’s succumbed to senility, and my boss wants to meet my nonexistent sister. This is perfect.” Beth sighed and closed her eyes. “What am I going to do now?”

  “Senile, indeed. I resent that remark.” Eva snapped the compact closed. “And the answer to your question is so simple. And so obvious.”

  Beth stiffened her spine. “Is that so? Well, why don’t you fill me in, because at this moment nothing seems simple or obvious to me.”

  Her grandmother turned regally toward her. “My darling, you just become... Liza.”

  Chapter 5

  For Beth the rest of the night passed in a disturbing blur. Now, ensconced in the dark of Chance’s car, with him silent and brooding beside her, she could do nothing but think about the past hours and what had occurred between them. And wonder what she was going to do.

  Beth turned and gazed out the car window. The night had started out so magically—they’d both been relaxed, they’d laughed and talked and enjoyed each other’s company. Their embrace had changed that. From the moment they’d returned from the terrace, it had been awkward and uncomfortable between them.

  Beth couldn’t forget their passion, and she knew he couldn’t either. For very different reasons.

  She balled her fingers into fists in her lap. It hurt, knowing he regretted, knowing he would change those minutes if he had the ability to. Because, even though she ached—with embarrassment, with hurt—she wouldn’t change one moment of that time on the terrace. Those moments had been the most special of her life.

  Beth peeked at Chance from the comers of her eyes, her heart turning over as she found him studying her. Without acknowledging his gaze, she shifted hers back to the car window and the black night beyond. She sighed. How could Eva have chosen that moment to complicate her life even more?

  Become Liza? Beth thought incredulously. The idea was ridiculous, and yet...

  Beth shook her head, a feeling of panic tightening in her stomach. She could still hear her grandmother saying, “What are your other options, Liza dear? Getting fired? Running back to Kansas?”

  And hearing “We told you so,” Beth thought, twisting her fingers together in her lap. Admitting she had fallen flat on her face. Beth squeezed her eyes shut and sighed again. What was she going to do?

  Chance heard Beth sigh and tightened his fingers on the steering wheel. He felt like a cad, a heel. Even knowing she wasn’t the woman for him, even knowing she was inexperienced, he had kissed her. Chance scowled. What had occurred between them had been so much more than a kiss.

  He wanted her still. So much so, the need clawed at him. But it would be wrong between them, he knew that. He could never give her anything more than sex. And hurt. That was the kind of man he was.

  He stole a glance at her. What was she thinking? She had been uncommunicative since returning from the terrace, the easiness that was usually between them replaced by an awkward wariness. He wanted the easiness back. He wanted her to smile and to laugh. He wanted her to like him again.

  He didn’t know why that was so important to him, but it was. He would make it right between them. He had to.

  “Beth?” he murmured.

  She turned to him. “Hmmm?”

  “I want to show you something.”

  “What?”

  “At my place.”

  “Your etchings, perhaps?” She lifted her eyebrows. “Old line. Chance.”

  Her lips curved into the firs
t semblance of a real smile he’d seen in hours. It warmed him more than he liked to admit. “That did sound pretty lame.” He laughed. “But sort of, yeah. Trust me, this is on the up-and-up.”

  “Said the spider to the fly.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. We’re almost there.”

  Chance hadn’t exaggerated and within ten minutes they were pulling into his driveway. Beth stepped out of the car, studying her surroundings. The exterior of his home was what Beth had expected, low-slung contemporary, lots of glass, but as they moved inside, she was surprised. Basing her expectations on his office decor, she’d expected steel and glass, minimal colors and lines, cool elegance.

  She would describe this interior as anything but cool, far from elegant. Surprised, Beth moved her gaze around the room. His home was warm, cozy even. He’d filled it with a mishmash of antiques and contemporary and country French furniture, all put together in a way that was disorganized but somehow chic.

  Beth followed Chance as he went through the house, flipping on lights, her surprise growing as she did. The art here bore no resemblance to the sophisticated stuff they carried at Art One. This was naive art, funny little pieces made out of tin cans and discarded wood and magazine clippings, pieces glued together with Elmer’s and sprinkled with things like glitter.

  Charmed, Beth stopped in front of a particularly delightful tempera painting of what looked like a flying pig. She turned and met Chance’s eyes. “I didn’t expect this.”

  Chance stuffed his hands into his pockets, feeling suddenly uncertain and exposed. He called himself fourteen kinds of fool. “Do you like it?”

  Beth laughed. “How could I not?” She picked up a crudely crafted clay figure and ran her fingers over its rough edges. She met his gaze again. “Why children’s art?”

  “Because it’s honest.” He shrugged. “Direct and uncomplicated.” He crossed to her and took the figure from her hands. Her warmth lingered on it, and he clasped the piece gently, absorbing her from the porous surface. “Young children don’t have the ability to lie about their feelings, and art is a direct outlet for those emotions. Even when the feelings are sad, they make me feel good. Does that make sense?”