"Stop it, you crazy little fool!" he shouted, his heart slamming with terror when he realized she had nearly stepped out in front of the dark sedan that had come up behind them from the direction of the club. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
"Leave me alone," she cried, hammering his chest with small, clenched fists.
"Shea, stop—"
"Go away!" A choking, wrenching sob broke from her. "Go and have a good laugh at the stupid, naive woman who was too blind to see what was in front of her nose!"
"Damn it, will you calm down—"
"I hate you! I hate you and what you do! You don't care who you hurt, who you destroy, as long as you have your fancy cars and your women. Well, I'm not one of them! I won't ever be, so just leave me alone!"
Chance grabbed hear shoulders, exerting more force than he'd expected to have to. Shea was stronger than she looked. She was also on the verge of hysteria, and he put every ounce of stern calm he could manage into his voice.
"Exactly what is it," he said slowly, "that you think I do?"
"I may be slow," she choked out, "but I'm not a complete idiot. The fancy cars, the beeper, all the vague answers about your work … and a gun to … to protect your 'interests,' I suppose? No wonder you knew what that guy was on at the café! Did you sell it to him? Or did someone you sold it to sell it to him? Or maybe you sell it to innocent little kids, huh? Where exactly do you stand on that trail of misery?"
The pain and disappointment in her eyes was almost tangible. Chance stared at her, stunned.
"You think … I'm a dealer?"
"Just let me go, please."
"Answer me! Is that what you think?"
"Yes! And it disgusts me!" She twisted from his grasp, her voice coming out as a tortured moan. "God, I wish I didn't love you. I'd go to the nearest phone and turn you in so fast—"
She broke off with a gasp of pain as his fingers dug into her shoulders. He stared at her, his eyes so intent they seemed to burn into her.
"You wish what?"
She shook her head.
"Say it, damn it! Say it again!"
"All right! I love you! Is that what you wanted? Are you satisfied? Will you let me go now?"
"Oh, God, Shea." He pulled her into his arms. She fought him, pushing at his chest. "Shh," he soothed. "Stop it, songbird, it's all right."
"No," she moaned, shaking her head.
"Yes."
He pressed her head to his chest, smoothing back her wet hair with a gentle hand. He knew as surely as he'd ever known anything that she was as innocent as he'd wanted to paint her. And if he was wrong, it wouldn't matter, because he would walk out onto some lonely beach somewhere and follow Marty into hell.
"I'm going to tell you something, Shea, and I want you to listen. I want you to listen and believe, because it's the truth. It's not all of the truth, but it's as much as I can tell you."
She choked back a sob as his hands went once more to her shoulders. He held her away from him and looked steadily into her eyes.
"I don't," he said firmly, quietly, "sell drugs. Not to children, not to anyone. I never have, and I don't help anyone who does."
She stared up at him, her cheeks wet with tears and rain. "I know how it must look to you. And I wish I could explain it all. But I can't. Not now. I can only ask you to trust me."
"But if you're not—"
He put a finger to her lips and shook his head. "I can't. If you can't accept that, I understand. I'll take you home, and get out of your life. Just say so."
Her mind was whirling, and for a moment it seemed the world was, too, much too quickly. She swayed on her feet, and before she could steady herself he had swept her up into his arms. He carried her back to the waiting car, only dimly aware that another dark sedan was making its way slowly along the wet street. Or maybe the same one, afraid that he might have hit her after all. Or just wanting another look at the wet, bedraggled but still gorgeous woman.
He set her in the car with exquisite care, then knelt beside her to fasten the seat belt. She looked at the luxurious interior rather numbly, then murmured, "All these cars—"
"They aren't mine. They belong to a CEO with a fetish for distinctive transportation. He lets me drive them." He smiled at her. "My car happens to be a very undistinctive Jeep, and happens to be very un-leak-proof."
"He sounds generous."
"He is. But I do a favor for him now and then in return."
Speculation glowed in the gray eyes, supplanting some of the strain. "Like security?"
"Occasionally," he said with complete honesty. Good, he thought. If she thinks I work for some private company, all the better.
"What is he CEO of?"
"About three different electronics and computer development companies. Generally known as PLH, Incorporated."
More of the strain faded, and he knew it was because he had, for once, given her a straight, unequivocal answer. It was worth the risk, he thought, to have her look at him without doubt in her eyes.
"He also," he said tentatively, "rents me the apartment over his garage."
"That," she said, a little of the sparkle returning to her eyes, "must be the size of most houses."
He smiled, but it was a little shaky because of the enormity of the relief that had flooded him. "Would you like to … see it?"
Her eyes widened. Never had he even suggested that she come to his place. He wasn't shutting her out anymore.
"Yes," she said, a little startled at her lack of hesitation. "Yes, I'd like to."
His smile widened and steadied. He got to his feet and walked around to climb into the driver's side. He reached for the key but then stopped. He turned sideways to look at her.
"You believe me?"
Slowly she nodded. "If I didn't, I wouldn't be here."
"I know I'm asking you to take an awful lot on faith."
"I find I have more faith than I realized."
Chance felt a sudden pressure in his chest and a stinging behind his eyelids. He hadn't shed a single tear since he'd seen Sarah's heavy casket lowered into the ground, but he was perilously close now, and from a few simple words.
"Thank you," he said hoarsely, and started the car. Her eyes widened as they pulled through the tall, elaborate iron gates. She stared in wonder at the main house and commented wryly on the size of the garage, but she was utterly charmed by the pool. He had left the waterfall on, and in the rain it looked for all the world like some tiny jewel of a mountain lake caught in an early winter storm.
"Remind you of home?" he asked softly.
"Yes," she admitted, her eyes shining with pleasure. She nearly jumped at the loud squeak emitted, even in the rain, by the two noisy steps.
"Sort of a makeshift burglar alarm," he said. If she noticed a slight undertone in his voice, she didn't comment.
"This is really nice," she exclaimed when he flipped on the lights. "And it is huge!"
"Your place is nice," he said as he hung up their dripping jackets, "this is … a place to sleep. Want some coffee?" He looked back over his shoulder from the kitchen alcove. "Or some hot chocolate?"
"Chocolate sounds wonderful." She kicked her high heels off her chilled feet and promised her toes they'd be warm again sometime.
"Hot chocolate it is."
"This is beautiful." She looked around at the carpeting of pale blue, and the furnishings and drapes of a matching blue patterned with gray and a soft mauve shade. "It must have been decorated professionally."
"That's what I mean. There's not a touch of personality in the place."
"Not even yours?"
He shrugged. "I'm just renting it. I didn't mess with anything."
Sitting on the pillowed couch, they sipped at the chocolate, Shea silent as she tried to formulate the difficult words in her mind. At last she just settled on the simplest.
"I'm sorry I thought what I did."
Chance gave her a soft, understanding smile. "I can't blame you, under the circumstan
ces."
"I should have trusted you."
"How could you, when I didn't trust you enough to at least tell you what I could? Which isn't," he added wryly, "much."
"It's all right. As long as you're not…" She lowered her eyes. "I hated the thought that you were one of them."
"I don't care for them much myself."
"Chance?"
"Mmm?" It was all he could manage as he swallowed the last of the chocolate.
"Why did you stay away?"
He'd been dreading that question, knowing it would take truths he'd barely admitted to himself to answer it. But with everything else he had to hold back from her, she deserved to know.
"I said there were things I can't tell you yet, and some of them are why I didn't want to … get involved. But mostly it was…"
"Was what?"
"I was scared," he said simply.
The gray eyes rounded in surprise. Her lashes were still damp, clinging together in thick little spikes, and she looked wide-eyed and innocent. She was innocent, he thought exultantly, and it was all he could do not to reach for her right now. He wanted to taste her sweet mouth again, feel those slender curves beneath him—
"Scared? Of what?"
"You." He shifted on the couch, trying to ease the discomfort of his sudden arousal.
"Me?" She gaped at him.
"You … made me feel things I didn't ever want to feel again, because it hurts too damned much when you lose them. And then you made me feel things I'd never felt at all, and that scared me even more. And on top of everything else, I felt guilty."
"Guilty?"
"Because I was feeling anything at all. Because I was here to feel it. Because of…"
"Because of your wife?"
He nodded, his eyes fixed on a swirl of color on the sofa. "I know she wouldn't want it that way, but I still felt like I was … betraying her somehow."
"By being with me?"
"At first. And then it was … I never felt like this with her. It was good, but it was never … I mean, it was just a kiss, but it was … cataclysmic."
"Oh, Chance." He lifted his head at the soft note that had come into her voice. "I never really loved anyone before, so I don't have anything to compare it to. I just know no one has ever made me feel the way you do."
He let out a long sigh, grateful that she so easily accepted, didn't try to deny what he had once felt for Sarah. It was followed rapidly by an expanding pleasure at what she had implied—not only that she loved him, but that what she was feeling was as new to her as what he felt was to him.
"I loved Sarah," he said softly, "but by comparison, I must be absolutely nuts about you."
Suddenly, without either of them being certain who had moved, she was in his arms. She was hugging him fiercely, burying her face in the soft thickness of his sweater. He just held her for a long time, smoothing the strands of her hair as it dried into a dark, silken cloud.
She shifted her weight, one thigh pressing against the part of him that he couldn't stop from responding to her closeness. He smothered a groan, but it escaped when he felt her hand slip up under his sweater to caress his bare skin. He lowered his head to press his lips to her forehead, then forgot what he'd meant to do when her searching fingers' flicked over the sensitive flesh of his nipple. He sucked in a low, harsh breath.
"Shea?"
"What?" Her hand continued its explorations, finding his other nipple and sending another jolt through him.
"Did you mean … what I think you meant by coming here?"
"If I didn't then, I do now."
He groaned, low and deep in his throat. "You're sure?" Her hand slid down his chest to his belly, to linger at the snap at his waistband. "If you are."
He covered her hand with his, and slid it down to the aching thrust that strained at the denim of his jeans. He pressed her palm against himself, unable to restrain a convulsive little jerk of his hips.
"Do you think I'm sure?"
"I think," she said silkily as her fingers traced the full length of the hardened column of flesh and he gasped with pleasure, "that you missed me almost as much as I missed you."
* * *
Chapter 7
«^»
Chance didn't care anymore about the risk he was running. He didn't care about anything except the feel of Shea in his arms, and the fact that she was driving him crazy with her hands and her mouth, and had been since he'd set her down on his bed.
He fumbled with the annoying number of buttons on the red silk blouse she wore, his fingers made clumsy by the fact that she had already tugged off his sweater and was running her hands over him. When she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the center of his chest, he very nearly gave up on the buttons and ripped away the soft fabric.
At last, as her slender fingers tangled in the sparse scattering of hair over his breastbone, he freed the last button and the blouse floated down into a scarlet puddle. The matching skirt, still damp at the hem, soon followed, leaving her in the one-piece bra slip she wore beneath it. He reached for the fastener, but had to stop when she leaned forward again and brushed her tongue over the flat disk of his nipple.
"Lord, Shea!"
Shea looked up at him, her eyes wide with wonder at the way he trembled at that slightest flick of her tongue. He was so solid, so strong, yet she could do this. Such a heavy, drugging pleasure filled her at the thought that she could feel her muscles go slack. She swayed against him, trying to brace herself with her palms against his chest.
With a growl of impatience he stripped away the silky slip, the clinging panty hose, but then stopped with a look that bordered on reverence as she stood naked and trembling before him.
"Oh, Shea," he murmured tautly, his eyes going over her with a hunger he couldn't, didn't even try to, conceal.
Her color was high, but she didn't back away when he reached for her. He pulled her to him, and a little gasp escaped her as her breasts were crushed against his chest.
She felt as if she'd been waiting all her life for the feel of his naked skin against hers. She twisted sinuously, rubbing her breasts against him.
Chance groaned as she moved, her taut nipples two points of fire as they slid over him. He moved his hands down from her shoulders, knowing he had to touch that pebbled hardness centered in the abundant swell of her breasts. He cupped the feminine curves, lifting and savoring the soft weight.
Shea moaned, her head lolling back as she arched herself to him. When his fingers crept up to stroke her already tingling nipples, she gasped with startled pleasure.
That tiny sound ripped through his control as if it had been a saber. He picked her up with barely restrained haste, then laid her down with a slow care that made the muscles in his arms and chest stand out with the strain.
He went down beside her, his hands eagerly caressing every inch of silken skin. He traced the delicate line of cheek and jaw, down the long curve of her throat and over the fragile line of her collarbone. He once more lifted the ripe curves of her breasts, feeling a shiver of pleasure take him as she arched upward to give him their full weight. His hands slid down to the indentation of her waist, and over the jut of her hipbones. He trailed his fingertips through the dark curls between her thighs, thinking of himself nestled between them, thinking of them parting for him.
The thought sent him rocketing to full arousal, his body surging to such a sudden hardness it made him groan at the aching pressure of it. He wanted to reach for the snap of his jeans, had to get out of the unbearably tight confines of the cloth. He started to do it, but couldn't bear to take his hands off her when she lay there, open to him.
Shea had smothered a little cry of dismay as his hands left her, but it changed to a sigh of pleasure when they came back, to stroke and caress the tender flesh of her stomach. It took a few seconds for the meaning of his aborted movement to penetrate her pleasure-drugged mind. When it did, and the resultant images formed vividly in her mind, she was swamped with the sudden,
urgent need to see him, touch him.
With an eagerness she couldn't conceal, her fingers shot out to undo the snap he'd tried to reach. He raised his head suddenly, and he seemed to stop breathing.
"Chance?" She was suddenly doubtful.
"Yes." It came out on a long, harsh breath as he shifted himself to give her greater access. "Please."
She tugged at the zipper, her fingers trembling. After a moment it gave in a rush, the swollen, straining bulge beneath giving it impetus. She tugged at the heavy cloth, and at the cotton of his briefs beneath, until suddenly his rigid flesh sprang free into her hands.
He threw his head back, a throttled groan tearing from his throat as she clasped him between her palms. His hips jerked forward convulsively, and he groaned again as her fingers measured his length, moving from the blunt tip to the thatch of sandy curls at the base. The hot, boiling tide rose, fierce in its suddenness, and he had to grab for her hands.
"Shea, stop. You've got to stop."
"You don't … want me to touch you?"
"I want it more than anything. But I can't … if you keep doing that, I'm going to be the most humiliated guy in this state."
She blushed as his meaning came home to her. "I didn't know…"
He smoothed her damp hair back from her forehead. "It's been—" He broke off, shaking his head. "I was going to say it's been a long time. But I think it's been forever."
"Oh, Chance," she murmured, reaching for him.
He kicked free of the tangled clothing and moved over her. He retraced every path his hands had taken with his mouth, tasting her smoothness, kissing each curve and hollow, flicking his tongue over every sensitive place. He was relentless, never stopping until her every breath was a gasping little moan of pleasure.
Shea heard the tiny sounds but was only vaguely aware that they came from her. He was everywhere, hands, mouth, setting blaze after blaze, causing a tidal wave of heat that rolled around inside her as if trying to burst free, the pressure building until it was almost more than she could bear. She was being engulfed, inundated with more sensations than her nerves had ever had to carry, and she was quivering helplessly under the onslaught.
ONE LAST CHANCE Page 11
