“Oh, really?” Her voice held a touch of pique.
He glanced down at her, but could see little more than the top of her head. “You sound surprised.”
“Well, yes, I suppose I am.” She tilted her face up, revealing an expression that looked as accepting as it always did. “Since I’ve been home a week and you haven’t made any attempt to see me.”
Has she really been home a week? He mentally scrolled down his desk calendar and realized she had. “I was giving you time to get settled.”
“Chance.” She stopped, so he did the same. “I’m staying in the house where I grew up. How much time do you think I need to get settled?”
“Oh,” he said, chagrined. She shook her head at him, and they resumed walking. He tried to think of a conversational gambit, and wondered when talking to Paige had become a task. And an awkward one at that. “So, um, you’re going to live with your parents this summer?”
She heaved a sigh. “It’s a little hard to get an apartment when you don’t have a job. And Daddy would kill me if I touched my trust fund.”
He glanced at her in confusion. “But you have a degree in interior design. Don’t you plan to use it?”
“Did you honestly think my father would let me work? Good heavens, it took me four years simply to convince him I wanted to go to college and get a degree. Actually wanting to use that degree seems beyond his ability to comprehend.” She made a sound that came dangerously close to a snort. “To think, I was actually hoping to go to work for his architect and design team. But you know how he is. He expects me to be his pampered darling until I marry. And then he expects me to be my husband’s pampered darling till the day I die.”
“And what do you expect?”
She didn’t answer. As they passed from shadow into moonlight, he noticed emotions flickering across her brow. Before he could read them, they slipped back into shadow.
“Chance?” she asked as they stepped onto a footbridge. “Why haven’t you ever kissed me?”
Chapter Three
“What are you talking about?” Chance stared at Paige, stunned. One moment they’d been having a rational conversation. Now he felt as if he’d been hit in the head with a two-by-four. “I’ve kissed you.” He thought for a moment, his mind racing. “The first time I kissed you was during the Connelys’ Christmas party when Nerdy Ned ran over and held mistletoe above our heads.”
Paige gave him a disgruntled look. “A kiss on the cheek doesn’t count.”
“Of course it counts. Everyone in the room was watching. I thought my face would catch on fire I was so embarrassed, but I knew if I didn’t do it all our friends would call me a coward. Trust me, Paige, anything that traumatic counts.”
She just leaned against the bridge rail and shook her head.
“Okay,” he persisted, “the first time I took you to a school dance. I distinctly remember kissing you on the lips when I drove you home. We were standing on your parents’ front porch, and I kept expecting your dad to open the door and point a shotgun at my chest.”
“He wouldn’t have done that!” Paige gaped. “Even if he and Mom were watching from the living room window. It still doesn’t count, though, because it was a polite, thank-you-for-the-date kiss. Not a real kiss.”
“And what exactly do you call a real kiss?”
She plucked at her sweater rather than look at him. “The year you were a senior and you took Carri Hempstead to your prom, the next day in the locker room before dance class, she called you Clark Kent.”
“Clark Kent?” Chance slumped back against the opposite rail, wondering if he’d slipped into the Twilight Zone.
“Hmmm.” Paige’s eyes twinkled as she looked at him through her lashes. “Carri said you might look mild mannered, but when you kiss, you turn into Superman.”
“She said that?”
“She said you could take a girl flying through stars with the way you kiss.”
“Really?” His chest expanded with pleasure as he remembered that night with Carri Hempstead in the back seat of his father’s Lincoln.
“So”—Paige crossed her arms—“how come you’ve never kissed me like that?”
Kiss Paige the way I kissed Carri? Images flooded his mind of his hands on Carri’s naked breasts, of her fingers tugging at his shirt. Lips locked, tongues entwined. The rush of cool air on his backside when he finally kicked free of his pants. And the glorious heat of Carri Hempstead’s eager body taking his virginity. At least one of them had had experience that night. And oh, the wicked things she’d taught him all through the following summer. The carnal feast had ended on friendly terms when he’d left for UT in Austin, and she headed for Texas A&M.
He tried to imagine doing those things with Paige and his mind drew a complete blank. Paige stood waiting, all but tapping a sandal on the wooden bridge.
He looked around, hoping for a graceful way out of this predicament. Only... why would he want out of it? Wasn’t this the moment he’d been waiting for? He should want to kiss Paige. But once he kissed her—kissed her the way a man kisses a woman he wants to take to bed—the courtship would officially begin. It would no longer be a thing in the future. They’d be headed straight down the path of dating, engagement, matrimony, mortgage, children, diapers, IRAs, retirement, and vacations spent on cruise ships.
It all loomed over his head, ready to crash down on him the minute his lips made contact with hers.
“Paige, you know how interested I’ve always been in you.”
She mumbled something that sounded like “You could have fooled me.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” She smiled sweetly.
“But going from being friends to being... something more is awkward.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” He gestured outward with his long arms. “It just is. And it’s not something we need to rush.”
She looked stricken. “Do you really find the idea of kissing me that offensive?”
“No! Of course not. I just don’t want to rush you into anything. You’ve only been back a week. Surely you want to spend time with your friends before I start monopolizing you.”
“I see.” She hesitated, her brow dimpled. “I guess we aren’t as suited for each other as people think, if you find me so repulsive.” She turned and started walking back toward his parents’ house.
“Paige, wait!” He caught up with her and took hold of her arm. She refused to look at him and he wondered if she were crying. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just feeling a bit pressured. Aren’t you? I mean, all our lives people have talked about what a perfect couple we’d make, and I’ve always agreed with that. I just didn’t want to act on it too fast. I wanted to give you time to grow up first.”
Her head whipped around and he saw moonlit tears shimmer in her eyes. “You think I need to grow up?”
“No!” He felt as if he’d just kicked a kitten. “But, well, don’t you find it daunting to have something that has always been off in the future suddenly... you know... here?”
“Actually, yes, I do.” She dabbed beneath her wet lashes. “I just thought maybe we should get this one thing out of the way. You make me nervous, Chance. All week I’ve been jumping every time the phone rings, wondering if it’s you, and if you’d want to see me. Want a date. A real date. Then, this evening I’ve barely been able to breathe, wondering if tonight would be the night you’d finally kiss me. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve tried to imagine what it would be like? I don’t care about what happens after. We don’t have to start dating right away. To be honest, I’d like a little time to myself rather than going straight from college to being tied down. I just want you to kiss me and get it over with so I can quit being sick to my stomach. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said softly, willing to do anything to stop her tears.
“Okay?” Her eyes widened.
“Okay.” He stepped forward, his heart pounding as he cupped her jaw. His thumb stroked her wet cheek
. Steeling his nerves, he lowered his mouth to hers.
Her lips were soft and pleasant. But the scent of baby powder distracted him, made him remember how she’d looked as a little girl, so tiny and lost and looking to him to protect her. It was an image to inspire brotherly affection, not great passion. Brushing her lips a second time, he searched his mind for something more erotic, anything to get him through this moment. A mental image to turn him from Clark Kent into Superman.
The memory of Aurora St. Claire flashed to life. He saw her towering over him, the long bare legs leading to a body made for pleasure and all that glorious golden-red hair flying about her. With a groan he deepened the kiss, molding and tasting the lips beneath his as arousal rushed through him, tightening his groin.
The instant erection made him jerk back, breaking the kiss. Paige swayed toward him, off balance. He caught her shoulders to steady her, thankful his hips hadn’t been pressed against her. Still, he was mortified that he’d been so violently turned on with thoughts of another woman while kissing the woman he intended to marry.
Aurora was a fantasy in the flesh. Paige was his sensible reality. He needed to remember that.
He struggled to slow his breathing as she blinked up at him.
“How was that?” he asked at last.
A frown flickered briefly across her brow. “It was... nice.”
“Yes, nice,” he echoed, trying not to be disappointed. Maybe he could keep his mind on her while kissing if she’d wear perfume instead of baby powder. He wondered how rude it would be to mention it, and promptly rejected the idea. He’d just have to get used to the scent. At least she’d quit crying, he noticed with relief. “Should we head back to the house?”
“All right,” she agreed reluctantly. When they turned to walk along the path, he took her hand in his. Her bones felt small and fragile.
As they neared the house, his mind drifted back to Aurora. He couldn’t help but wonder how he would have felt if he’d just kissed her in the moonlight. Somehow he didn’t think “nice” would properly describe the experience.
* * *
The enthusiasm that had kept Rory up half the night faltered when she reached the Liberty Union National Bank. Stepping through the glass doors framed in polished brass, she tried not to gape at the opulent lobby. Mahogany paneling rose twenty feet to the coffered ceiling. To one side of the entrance, leather sofas bracketed Oriental rugs, and financial magazines lay in regimented order on antique coffee tables.
A low hum of voices drew her attention in the opposite direction, where tellers sat behind a long counter, waiting on customers. Two of the tellers she recognized as classmates from high school, girls who’d gone on to college and now worked at a job she couldn’t even fathom. The thought of all those numbers they dealt with so effortlessly made her stomach clench.
Between customers, they bent their heads together and laughed over some bit of gossip, then glanced toward an older woman with mocha skin and jet-black hair smoothed into a French twist. When the older woman looked up, the tellers instantly sobered, like schoolgirls spotting their teacher.
Rory noticed the older woman’s desk guarded a hallway lined with closed doors. Chance’s office would probably lie behind one of those doors. Never one to let intimidation hold her back for long, she took a deep breath and crossed the lobby. Her rubber-soled deck shoes squeaked on the marble floor, making her cringe. She’d worn her tour guide uniform since she planned to go straight to work afterward. Galveston was a casual community and she’d never felt out of place wearing shorts—until now.
“Excuse me,” she said in a subdued voice when she reached the desk. “I’m here to see Oliver Chancellor.”
The older woman looked up and took in Rory’s attire over the tops of reading glasses. “Is he expecting you?”
“Yes, of course, I’m Rory, I mean—” She took a breath and slowed down. “I’m Aurora St. Claire.”
The woman ran a finger down a list of names. “I don’t see you. What time was your appointment?”
Rory squirmed. “I didn’t exactly make an appointment. But I did tell him I’d be coming in today.”
“Regarding?” The woman arched a black brow.
“He’ll know,” Rory said, hoping he remembered.
“Hmm.” The woman’s lips compressed. “I’ll see if he’s available.”
“Thank you.” Rory offered a smile that seemed to go unnoticed.
As the woman picked up the phone and spoke in a hushed voice, Rory tucked her hair behind her ears and wondered if she should have pulled it back. People who worked at real jobs always seemed to have a secret set of standards she could never quite grasp. Looking about the lobby, at the framed portraits of men with dark suits and serious expressions, she suddenly felt like a bit of flotsam that had been tossed by a storm onto a manicured lawn.
“Aurora?”
She turned to see Chance striding toward her and her heart skipped a beat in surprise. He looked quite fashionable—and intimidating—in an olive-colored suit. Yet something in his welcoming smile made her nervous stomach relax.
“You came,” he said. “I wondered if you would.”
“Yes, of course. I said I would, and here I am.” She spread her arms to either side.
“So I see.” His gaze swept downward, toward her legs, then darted away. “Perhaps you’d, um—” He cleared his throat. “Care to step into my office.”
“Certainly.” Her enthusiasm returned and tangled with her nerves as she followed him down the hall. She caught her breath when she passed through the door, for the room was every bit as grand as the lobby, but on a smaller scale. “Wow,” she said. “What a great office.”
“Thanks,” he said from behind her. She turned and saw him smile as he pushed his wire-rimmed glasses higher on his nose. He really was cute, in a scholarly sort of way. Except for his mouth. His mouth wasn’t cute at all. It was well defined, full, and... sensual. The kind of mouth that put thoughts into a girl’s head.
Glancing about, she took in the massive desk, the wet bar set discreetly within the custom-built cabinets, and an oil painting of the beach at sunset. “You must love working here.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You know, the office, the bank, everything.” Her gesture took in the whole room. “God, it must have been wonderful to grow up knowing you had all this waiting for you. You know”—she laughed and waved her hand— “instead of being like me and wondering what the heck you would do with your life.” When he just frowned as if confused, she clasped her hands to keep them still.
“Can I get you anything?” He nodded toward the coffeepot on the bar.
“No, nothing. I’m fine.”
“Well, then, have a seat.” He gestured toward a pair of chairs that sat on either side of an end table and lamp that gave the room a homey feel. “I assume you’re here to talk about Pearl Island?”
“Yes!” Trying to contain her excitement, she took a seat in the closest chair and waited for Chance to sit in the other. “I, we, what I mean is, Adrian, Allison, and I talked about it and they agreed with my idea. Well, actually, they didn’t agree, but they didn’t object to me looking into it.”
“‘It’ being...?” Chance prompted, smothering a smile.
“What?” She blinked at him. “Oh! Sorry,” she laughed. “I got ahead of myself.”
He watched, enthralled, as energy sparkled in her blue eyes. How could one person contain so much joy for life?
“We want to turn the house on Pearl Island into a bed-and-breakfast.”
With her face distracting him, the words took a second I to sink in. But when they did, the enormity of such a project—the complications, cost, possible solutions, potential income—clicked through his mind. “I assume you’ve looked into the logistics behind something like this?”
“Not yet,” she admitted. “I mean, I’ve thought about it off and on over the years, but more as a dream, not something that could actually come true. Th
en, when I saw you putting up that sign, I just knew it was meant to be!” She I gestured with her hands and hit the lamp on the table between them.
“Oh!” She gasped as they both grabbed the lamp. When it was settled, she folded her hands in her lap. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He chuckled. “At least it wasn’t me knocking something over.”
His smile faded, though, as he absorbed her lack of business expertise and weighed it against her obvious passion. Passion, he knew, could make the difference between a new business succeeding or failing. But it was an uncertain element, and best left out of the equation.
“Aurora,” he said, leaning forward to brace his forearms on his thighs. “You do realize that what you’re proposing will be impossible to pull off without a great deal of financial backing and research.”
“Yes, of course.” Her expression showed the first signs of doubt. “But I figured you could help me out with the money part. As for the research...” She glanced away. “I’ll think of something.”
He cocked his head. “What do you mean, you’ll ‘think of something’?”
She shrugged. “It’s just that I’ve never been very good at that sort of thing. Researching, I mean. I guess I could get Adrian and Alli to help me some. Maybe.”
He watched her shoulders slump. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m not good at analytical stuff.” She leaned forward and a scent, like exotic flowers washed by the rain, drifted to him. Subtly, he breathed it in as she lowered her voice. “You know, reading up on things, filling out paperwork.” Her gaze met his and the anxiety he saw in her eyes confused him. “I’m not stupid or anything. I’m just... a bit slow... at certain things.”
“I see,” he said, even though he didn’t see at all. There didn’t seem to be a single thing “slow” about Aurora St. Claire. She’d always struck him as being very bright, from her quick wit to her shining personality. “Unfortunately, research is the first step in forming a business plan. You’ll need to do that before you even think of applying for a loan.”
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