Beth. Chance gazed down at her photograph, pain a living thing inside him. He’d been the unfeeling, manipulative bastard. She hated him now; he couldn’t blame her. He’d lost her.
He lifted his eyes from her image to his picture window. The rain had stopped and the dark clouds were beginning to part, brilliant sunlight peeking from beyond. Some of the light escaped and tumbled through his window. Taking a deep breath, he reached his hand out to the light, to its brilliant warmth. Despite his actions of late, he wasn’t a coward. He certainly wasn’t a quitter.
And the measure between love and hate was small indeed.
Chance thought of the hurt in Beth’s eyes at their last meeting, of the way her voice had trembled. Then he thought of their lovemaking. She had given herself to him, wholly and with complete trust. She’d loved him. She still did.
But could she forgive him?
There had to be a way, Chance thought, determination and hope colliding inside him. The clouds parted some more, the sunlight fell over him, bathing him in heat. He would see Beth at her opening tonight; he would get her alone and beg her forgiveness. He would coax and court, and if necessary begin back at square one to prove to her he was a changed man. And that he loved her.
* * *
Six hours later Chance stood at the edge of the opening-night crowd, watching Beth’s progress as she moved through the room. Things were not going according to plan, Chance thought grimly. Because of the crowd clamoring for her attention, not only had he been unable to get her alone, he hadn’t even spoken to her.
The show was a huge success, just as he’d known it would be. The press had arrived en masse, as had collectors and the usual art crowd hangers-on. Her paintings had wowed them. She had charmed them. Beth was on her way to becoming an art star.
Chance frowned. And for the first time ever, he didn’t give a flip about the show’s success. If it hadn’t meant so much to her, he would have kicked everybody out before it had even gotten under way.
From across the room he heard her laugh, and his frown deepened. All evening he’d catch her peeking at him from the corner of her eyes, then someone would claim her attention and she’d turn her back to him. He’d vacillated between believing she loved him and believing she hated him. The woman was driving him crazy.
Her dress didn’t help. Red, with a short, flirty skirt, it played peek-a-boo with her legs as she walked, and Chance had found himself following her with his gaze, mesmerized and hoping for a glimpse of creamy skin. The dress’s color, especially on a redhead, shouted, “Notice me!”; its soft silky fabric whispered “Touch me.”
God, how he wanted to.
Chance tightened his fingers on the stem of his champagne glass as she tipped her head back and laughed at something one of the collectors said to her. Chance narrowed his eyes. The man was as rich as Roosevelt and a notorious womanizer. If he so much as touched Beth, Chance vowed, he’d pulverize him.
As if Beth sensed his appraisal, she turned and looked directly at him. She smiled, the curving of her lips slow and saucy. Then the collector whispered something in her ear and she turned away from him once more.
Chance slammed down his glass, muttered an oath, and began to thread his way through the crowd, ignoring the greetings of the people he passed.
When he reached her, he took her arm. “Excuse us, Malcolm.” As the man began to balk. Chance narrowed his eyes in warning. He didn’t give a damn if the man was one of the most important collectors in California—Malcolm J. Reynolds was not going to collect his woman.
The other man took a step backward, flushing. “Of course, of course.” He turned back to Beth, bending gallantly over her hand. “Au revoir, my dear. Later, perhaps?”
“Perhaps,” Beth murmured, biting back a smile at the way Chance glowered at her. She sighed as the collector walked away. “Charming man.”
“He’s an old lech,” Chance said tightly. “Stay away from him.”
“My, my,” she murmured. “That’s rather territorial, isn’t it? Was there some fine print in my contract that I missed? Something about who I could choose to spend my time with or date?”
Chance gazed down at her, furious. His shy little virgin had turned into a vixen, and he had no one to blame but himself. He bit back an oath. “You seem to have bounced back remarkably well.”
“From what?” she asked.
He wanted to kiss her so badly, he shook. “From me, dammit.”
“If I recall correctly, you left me no choice. Remember, I’m just a business opportunity?”
He tightened his fingers on her arm and lowered his voice. “Stop it, Beth.”
She tugged against his grasp. “If you’ll excuse me, I have collectors to charm.”
Instead of releasing her, Chance tumbled her against his chest and lowered his mouth to hers in a bruising kiss. Her head fell back at the pressure of his mouth, and she grabbed his arms for support. Conversation around them came to a halt, then began again in a symphony of delighted whispers.
Chance glared at them all; Beth smiled brilliantly. “You’re causing a scene.”
“Vultures,” he muttered. “No doubt a little juice will help sales.”
“I’m doing just fine without ‘juice,’ as you so elegantly put it. Or haven’t you noticed?”
Furious, he turned his narrowed eyes on her. “Believe me, I’ve noticed plenty tonight. Come on.” He began dragging her toward the storage room, the only place he was sure they would be alone.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Beth whispered, halfheartedly resisting. “I’m the artist, I can’t leave.”
“The opening is almost over, and the artist always leaves a fraction before the crowd. It’s the way it’s done.”
“Oh, I see,” Beth murmured. “Being dragged from the room by a glowering barbarian is the way it’s done.”
“Watch it, Red.” He tugged her into the storage room and snapped the door shut behind them. “I’m on an extremely short tether.”
“Really?” She lifted her eyebrows in mock surprise. “And I thought that was a thundercloud following me around all night.”
He glared at her. “Do you want him?”
“Who?”
“Malcolm.”
She lifted her chin. “What do you think?”
“You’re driving me crazy.”
“You deserve it. Now let me go,” she said, pushing against his chest.
“Stop it, Beth.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I love you, dammit.”
Beth looked weakly up at him. “What did you say?”
“I love you.”
Beth stared at him. She hadn’t expected this. She’d been determined to prove to him he felt something for her, even if only lust. She’d been prepared to take their relationship one step at a time, giving him all the time he needed to fall in love with her.
She caught her breath in disbelieving wonder. He loved her already?
He pulled her closer, breathing a sigh of relief when she didn’t resist. “I’ve loved you for a long time, but I was too afraid to see the truth. That’s what was going on the night of Artful Fools. You hit it right on the head. I was terrified of being hurt, of feeling the way I had as a child. So I played games. With you. With myself. I closed myself off from emotion. If I didn’t allow myself to care; if I didn’t let anyone touch me, I couldn’t be hurt.”
He ran his fingers over her face, absorbing and memorizing everything about her. “Remember me telling you that I liked children’s art because it’s so honest, so emotional? It seems so obvious now, I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. I didn’t allow myself to feel, so I surrounded myself with somebody else’s feelings. Somebody else’s honest emotions.”
He smiled. “Then you came along. You forced me to feel again. You touched me. I couldn’t protect myself from you. And it scared the hell out of me. So I pushed you away. Or rather, I tried to push you away. But I couldn’t hide my heart, and yo
u had it almost from the first.”
“What about...” The words caught in her throat. Swallowing her fear, she took a deep breath. “Are you sure it’s me you love? Not some figment of my own imagination... not Liza?”
Chance brushed his mouth over hers. “I always wanted to be only with you, Beth. After Artful Fools, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I couldn’t eat or sleep, I couldn’t concentrate on work. That’s damn terrifying for a man who had never let anyone close enough to matter.”
“But the way you acted when I was Liza—”
He laughed softly. “Acted, Beth. It wasn’t real. But I couldn’t admit the truth. How could I? Admitting the truth would force me to admit other things I wasn’t ready to. So I played games. I used proving a point as a way to be with you.”
“Oh, Chance...” Beth stroked his cheek. “We were both so afraid of being hurt, we almost lost out on being really happy.”
“I always saw the whole you,” he whispered. “I always saw the woman who created the paintings out there—images of sensitivity and spirit, of heart and hurt and strength of will. And I love the woman who made me laugh and feel, the woman who made me see how much I needed her.”
“I love you so much, Chance.”
He caught her mouth, and she wound her arms around his middle, holding him tightly, vowing to never let him go. When he ended the kiss, they were both breathless.
“We should go back out there,” he murmured.
Beth pressed against him. “I’d rather stay in here and make love. I’ve missed you so much, I thought I would die from wanting you.”
Chance groaned. “And I you. Come here—”
At the knock on the door, they sprang apart guiltily.
“Darlings,” Eva called. “I know you’re in there. Come out, come out... people are talking.”
Beth opened the door a crack and frowned out at her grandmother. “Since when have you cared if people talked?”
The older woman stiffened. “I don’t mind if people are talking about me. Which is part of the reason I want you out here. I have an announcement.”
Chance groaned again; Beth sighed. They reluctantly left their haven. As they stepped back into the showroom, they saw that save for a handful of friends and the gallery personnel, everyone had left. But those still in attendance burst into applause.
Chance flushed and threw his hands up. “I love her, okay? We needed to talk.”
As the applause died down Eva moved to the center of the room. “May I have your attention, please. I have just learned,” she said with dramatic flourish, “that I have been chosen to play Monique on “Park Place.” You are all invited to a celebration at Malibu’s directly after the opening.”
Beth gasped and turned to her grandmother. “What? When did this happen?”
Eva laughed. “After you’d already left for the opening. The actress they hired, the younger actress, fell and broke her hip and won’t be able to take the part. So...” Eva paused for effect. “You are now looking at a television... star. I leave for New York in the morning.”
“Oh, Eva.” Beth hugged her. “I’m so happy for you!”
Eva shrugged nonchalantly. “As I’ve always said, it’s all a matter of believing in yourself. And of following your heart.”
As everyone excitedly circled her grandmother, Beth stepped back, giving the older woman the limelight. She met Chance’s eyes. Smiling, he held out his hand. She caught it, and they laced their fingers. “I love you,” she whispered.
“And I love you. Come here.” Tugging on her hand, he drew her against him.
She pressed one hand against his chest, enjoying the steady beat of his heart under her palm. She tipped her head back and smiled up at him. “No more fears.”
He shook his head solemnly. “No more fears.”
“From now on we follow our hearts.”
“Exclusively.”
She slid her hands up to his shoulders. “You know what?”
“Hmm?” He tangled his fingers in her hair, rubbing the silky strands between his fingers.
“I think Eva has stolen this show. Which...” Standing on tiptoes, Beth pressed her lips to his. “...frees us to pursue...” She nipped at his ear. “...other ventures.”
“Such as?” he murmured, moving his hands in slow circles against the small of her back.
She sighed. “The storage room.”
“I like the way you think.”
“Me too.”
Laughing and holding on to each other, they began their life together.
Epilogue
Beth stared at the laptop, a grin tugging at her mouth. The email letter promised all manner of reward and retribution, depending on her response to its demands.
“Anything interesting?”
Beth turned to smile at Chance, who had poked his head into her studio. “Frightening, actually.”
He sauntered across the room, stopping behind her and dropping a kiss on the top of her head. Hands on her shoulders, Chance peeked at the screen. “Another chain letter?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Uh-oh,” he teased, “anything could happen.”
Beth tapped her index finger against her chin, pretending to think it over. “Let’s see, last time I got one of these, I pitched it and found true love, my true self, and a professional success I’d been too afraid to even dream of.”
Laughing, she hit delete and turned to face her husband. “I have more pressing things to take care of now.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Important plans.” Beth stood and taking his hand, she led him to their bedroom, where she put her plans into action.
Epilogue
Beth stared at the laptop, a grin tugging at her mouth. The email letter promised all manner of reward and retribution, depending on her response to its demands.
“Anything interesting?”
Beth turned to smile at Chance, who had poked his head into her studio. “Frightening, actually.”
He sauntered across the room, stopping behind her and dropping a kiss on the top of her head. Hands on her shoulders, Chance peeked at the screen. “Another chain letter?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Uh-oh,” he teased, “anything could happen.”
Beth tapped her index finger against her chin, pretending to think it over. “Let’s see, last time I got one of these, I pitched it and found true love, my true self, and a professional success I’d been too afraid to even dream of.”
Laughing, she hit delete and turned to face her husband. “I have more pressing things to take care of now.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Important plans.” Beth stood and taking his hand, she led him to their bedroom, where she put her plans into action.
About the Author:
A New York Times and International bestselling author of romantic thrillers, Erica Spindler began her career writing sexy romances for Silhouette and Bantam Books. Her skill for crafting engrossing plots, creating compelling characters, and touching hearts has earned her both critical praise and legions of fans.
Erica is a four-time RITA® Award finalist, a Romance Writers of America Honor Roll member, and a Kiss of Death award winner. Her romantic thriller BONE COLD won the prestigious Daphne du Maurier Award for excellence. Perhaps the craziest place her career has taken her is to Japan, where her novel RED was turned into a successful manga series then adapted for television, becoming a popular daytime drama.
Erica is currently writing a paranormal thriller series called The Lightkeepers. The first book in the series, THE FINAL SEVEN, is out now, and the second, TRIPLE SIX, publishes November, 2016. In addition to her series, she’s putting the finishing touches on a new romantic thriller, THE OTHER GIRL.
Erica lives in atmospheric New Orleans, Louisiana, the setting of many of her novels.
Connect with Erica Spindler Online:
Facebook: www.Facebook.com/EricaSpindler
Twitter: @EricaSpindler
Instagram: @ericaspindler
Website: www.ericaspindler.com
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