Tempting Chance Page 12

  He cringed inwardly. Her words were uncannily close to the truth—it was, indeed, almost over. But for tonight.

  “It’s not over,” he murmured, brushing his thumb slowly across her bottom lip. “We have tonight. I’ve planned something special.”

  “Something special,” she repeated breathlessly, a smile tugging at her mouth. “What?”

  “A surprise.” He sensed her questions, but he bent his head and brushed his mouth against hers before she could voice them. She melted into him, inviting him to go deeper, to taste more. He fought the urge to wrap his arms around her, fought the desire to take her up on her invitation.

  When it came to Beth, right and wrong blurred, then melted away; plans became vague, then disappeared. Fact and fabrication became unclear—and unimportant.

  That he wanted her was no fabrication. Of that he was certain.

  Why, when he was with her, did he find it so difficult to remember the kind of woman she was?

  Chance broke the kiss and straightened. “I’ve got some things to take care of,” he said, his voice thick. “I’ll have a cab call for you at seven-thirty. Will that give you enough time to get ready?”

  She nodded, but instead of dropping her hands, she pressed them against his chest. “Where’s your room?”

  “Just next door.”

  She nodded again and stepped away from him.

  Calling himself a fool for wanting to pull her back into his arms, he started down the hall. When he reached his door, he turned back to her. “See you tonight.”

  She lifted her hand in acknowledgment, but didn’t make a move to go into her own room. After he’d closed his own door, he leaned against it. If he looked out into the hall now, would she still be standing there, longing in her eyes? And if so, would he be able to resist the urge to take her into his arms and hold her forever?

  Deriding himself for his answer, he set about completing his plans for their evening. And his revenge.

  * * *

  Two hours later, plans complete and revenge at hand, Chance stood in front of the warehouse he’d rented, waiting for her. He checked his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes, cursing the way the seconds seemed to creep.

  Tonight was the night. Tonight she would either admit what she’d done or he would confront her with it. Either way, this time she was the one being played for the fool.

  He should be pleased. He should feel satisfaction. Yet instead of pleasure, he felt a hollow ache in the vicinity of his heart. Instead of satisfaction, he felt... sadness.

  Chance scowled. Although he’d long ago learned to suspect motives, he had trusted her. He had grown to like her.

  Like? His chest tightened, just a bit, and he swore. What a tame word to describe his feelings for Beth Waters. She made him feel alive and whole and...

  She made him feel.

  Only because of his parents, he rationalized. Her manipulation had brought back the pain of his childhood, the disillusionment. The feeling of being torn in two. For even as he stood waiting for Beth, he felt as if he were being wrenched into a dozen different pieces.

  Headlights sliced across the dark parking lot. Beth. Finally. Anticipation trembled through him, and the breath eased from his lungs as if he’d been holding it forever.

  The cab pulled to a stop; Chance crossed to the door and opened it for her. Beth stepped out, wearing a soft knit crop top and skirt, the color a deep, velvety plum. The sweater buttoned up the front, and the tiny gold buttons shimmered in the soft light. The shawl around her shoulders was made of a filmy transparent material, and he couldn’t help thinking of the way it would look draped over her nude body.

  Arousal pulsed through him. He reminded himself of what she’d done, that she was the kind of woman who lied and manipulated. He told himself that this seduction was an illusion only, a scene set up to trap her. Making love was not a part of his plan.

  He found himself smiling anyway.

  “Pier twelve?” she murmured, looking up at the sign, then down at the row of obviously deserted warehouses. She lifted her gaze back to his. “What is this?”

  “It’s the surprise,” he murmured. “Come.”

  He linked their fingers and led her inside. The huge warehouse was empty save for a double row of potted trees laced with twinkling white lights. The trees ran the length of the warehouse, bordering a white runner. At the end of the twinkling runway stood a gazebo, also laced with white lights.

  Filled with delight, Beth turned to him. “It’s so beautiful, Chance. But why—”

  “Shh.” He laid a finger gently on her lips and led her down the runway to the gazebo. Spread out on the gazebo floor was a blanket and picnic basket, a bottle of champagne on ice.

  “I wanted us to be alone,” he murmured, unable to take his gaze from her lovely profile. “No waiters. No musicians. Nobody but... us.”

  That word again, Beth thought, shivering. Questions rushed to her tongue, but she fought them back. She would enjoy this moment, she would take what was offered her. Chance’s motivation didn’t matter, nor did his feelings for Liza.

  She sank onto the blanket, curling her legs under her.

  “A friend owns this warehouse,” he continued, following her down. “He rents it out for parties.” Chance popped the champagne, then poured them each a flute of the sparkling wine. He handed her one and pinged his glass against hers. “I was lucky that it was available.”

  “Are we celebrating?” she asked.

  “Could be.”

  “The Summer Show?”

  “Could be.” He sipped his wine and looked at her over the rim of his glass. “You left your hair down.”

  “Yes.” She pushed at the unruly waves, enjoying the way they brushed against her cheeks. Over the last weeks, she’d found she liked wearing her hair down, just as she’d found she like wearing clothes with color and style.

  “Are you hungry?”

  She was, but not for food. She nodded anyway.

  He opened the basket and begun unpacking their feast. “Boiled shrimp on ice. Pate and crackers, crusty French bread and Brie, petits fours and chocolate-dipped strawberries.”

  “What?” she teased. “No fried chicken?”

  Chance laughed. “Sorry.” He spread some pate on a cracker and handed it to her.

  She took a bite. “Mmm, delicious.”

  Chance fed her another and another, then sampled some of delicacies himself. Through it all he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He enjoyed the way she licked her lips and fingers, enjoyed the way she murmured her appreciation at a new texture or flavor.

  Would she be as open making love? he wondered. Would she murmur her appreciation? Would she tell him with—and without—words when his mouth or his hands pleasured her?

  Beth bit into a strawberry, and the juices pooled on her lips, red and wet. Arousal, sweet and stunning, took his breath. He turned away from her, working for control.

  This wasn’t going as he’d planned. The mood was softer, his feelings gentler. He tried to remind himself why they were here, of the things he’d planned to say to trap her, but all he could think of was the blue of her eyes, the rose of her softly parted mouth. The way his own heart hammered in his chest.

  “When I was a little girl,” she said, tipping her head to the canopy of lights above them, “I was a hopeless daydreamer. My parents worried over it and discouraged it. If they caught me, they would punish me.” She laughed lightly. “My favorite fairy tale was Rapunzel.”

  “I didn’t know they had castles in Kansas.”

  She blushed. “Oh, sure. And towers in which to lock up misunderstood redheaded princesses.”

  He laughed and eased onto his side on the blanket, propping himself up on an elbow. “You’re a romantic.”

  “Was,” she corrected, meeting his gaze, then looking away. “I fantasized all manner of romantic moments and scenarios. This reminds me of one of them.” She ran a finger around the rim of the wine flute. “Silly dreams.�
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  “Why silly?” Her shawl had slipped off her shoulders and pooled on the blanket. He rubbed the filmy fabric between his fingers. “Don’t all little girls dream of knights in shining armor and Prince Charming?”

  “I suppose so.” She shrugged. “But I stopped a long time ago.”

  Even as she murmured the words she realized they were a lie: all along she had wished Chance to be her knight in shining armor, her Prince Charming.

  “Because of your parents?” He let the delicate, shimmering fabric slither through his fingers.

  “No.” Her cheeks heated more, and she lowered her eyes. “For other... obvious reasons.”

  “Obvious to who? Not to me.”

  “You’re being nice.”

  Is that what she called what he was doing? Being nice? Being captivated was a much better description. Mesmerized would also do.

  Chance reached across the blanket and covered her hands with his. “I’m never that nice. Come on, Red. Spill it.”

  Beth looked down at their joined hands, then back up at him. “All right. I realized pretty quickly that no Prince Charming was going to come after me. I decided to stop setting myself up for disappointment by fantasizing about what I’d never have.”

  Chance frowned. “Why no Prince Charming?”

  She made a sound of embarrassment. “I have eyes. And so, unfortunately, did the boys. You get to a certain age, and you have to stop kidding yourself. In addition to being plain, I was shy. I didn’t know how to flirt or tease. I couldn’t even have a conversation with a boy without stammering like a total idiot. I still can’t, if you haven’t noticed.”

  As she said the words, he realized that once upon a time he would have described her in such a way. But no more. “You’re doing pretty well right now.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes, and she made a move to stand.

  Chance stopped her. He tumbled her down onto the blanket so she sprawled out beside him. He cupped her cheek and searched her expression. The tears that sparkled in her eyes pulled at him, as did her silent shudder of pleasure. “All those things are past tense, Beth. All of them.”

  She looked away and he swore silently. With a gentleness that took him by surprise, Chance eased her onto her back. Placing his arms on either side of her head, he forced her to meet his eyes.

  “Do you remember the night of Artful Fools?” he asked, his voice thick.

  How could she have forgotten? It had been the most wonderful night of her life. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “You were so beautiful. So alluring. That night was so... special. I haven’t been able to forget it. Or you, Beth.” Even as he spoke the words, he wished they were lies. He wished he had been able to forget. And now his thoughts of revenge skittered away, replaced by other, softer thoughts. By other needs, other feelings. Ones that couldn’t be pushed away, wouldn’t be denied.

  She shook her head. “It was the dress.”

  “No.” He leaned down and brushed his mouth against hers. Her lips trembled, whether with uncertainty or passion, he wasn’t sure. He tasted her mouth again, this time diving deeper. She caught her breath. The tiny sound, one of both surprise and pleasure, warmed him immeasurably.

  He lifted his head. “Not the dress, Beth.”

  Blood thrummed crazily through her veins. She wanted this, wanted him, more than she’d ever wanted anything. That he desired her was almost incomprehensible to her. She’d never been attractive to men, had never been aroused enough to forget sanity or even good sense.

  She’d never been with a man for those reasons.

  But now, good sense seemed a laughable illusion, sanity a stifling cloak. She wanted Chance no matter the consequences. She wanted him to stroke and excite and awaken. She wanted to be a woman at last. Chance’s woman.

  “It was the night,” she whispered, reaching up and touching his mouth with her fingertips. “The ocean... the food... the magical atmosphere.”

  “No...”He caught her fingers and kissed each one, slowly, lingeringly. “No...” He kissed her palms, scraping his teeth over the sensitive flesh. “And no.”

  Beth opened her mouth to protest; he covered hers with his. He found her tongue and stroked with his own, exciting, taking both their breaths.

  When he broke the contact, it took a moment for him to find his voice. “Do you remember what happened at my house... after the ball?” She nodded shyly, color flooding her cheeks. “When you put my hands on your breasts...” He moved his hands now, so that they skimmed the sides of her breasts. She arched her back, a small moan escaping her lips.

  “I wanted you so much, I thought I would die,” he murmured, moving his hands some more until they cupped her. Her nipples hardened under his palms, and this time it was he who bit back a moan. “But you were right, I was afraid. Because you were the magic, Beth. You still are.”

  Beth pulled his head to hers and caught his mouth, then his tongue. Arousal, stunning in its intensity, swept over her. She pressed herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  She opened her mouth more, her desire laced with desperation. She had tonight. Tomorrow they would return to L.A., to reality. And to the truth. After that, in all probability, she would never see him again.

  Pain at the thought arced through her, and she pushed it and the pain resolutely away. Tomorrow there would be plenty of time for pain, for regrets, and what ifs.

  But not tonight. Tonight was for making dreams and illusions a reality.

  Beth slipped her hands underneath his sweater and stroked his chest, reveling in the way he felt under her palms—hard, angular. The differences between his body and hers weren’t subtle, and she gloried in them. Man was the other part of woman, this man the other part of her. Tonight, for the first time in her life, she would be whole.

  Chance tore his mouth from hers, yanked his sweater over his head and threw it aside. Delighted, Beth rein her hands over him, exploring with hands and eyes. He was beautiful. Muscular, his flesh hot, as if he burned with fever. She pressed her mouth to his flat nipple. It pebbled under her tongue, and when she nipped, he sucked in a sharp breath.

  She’d pleasured him, Beth thought, dizzy with her own power. She moved her mouth to the opposite nipple, pleasuring again.

  Chance groaned and dragged her face back to his. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he gazed at her. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?” he rasped.

  Beth nodded. “I... think so.”

  He tightened his fingers in her hair. “I want us to make love.”

  Suddenly afraid, Beth searched his gaze. Women from the beginning of time had faced this moment. And lived through it. Chance would be gentle, she knew. He would care for her body, he would cherish her—if only for this night.

  She wanted him. And she wanted to know.

  “Yes,” Beth whispered, arching against him. “Oh, yes, Chance. Make love to me.”

  Without waiting for further invitation, he began to unbutton her sweater. Impatient, she tried to help; he pushed her fingers away, working the tiny buttons through their holes. When he’d slipped the last one through, he almost reverently parted the fabric.

  Her skin glowed white and felt like satin. Her breasts, encased in a lacy brassiere, rose and fell with her labored breathing.

  Chance made a sound of pleasure, and their eyes met. “You’re beautiful, Red.”

  Reaching out, he eased the sweater from her shoulders; the fabric slid down her arms, and she shook it off. His fingers barely brushed her skin, and she shuddered at feathery caress, the sensation erotic. With his index finger he hooked a bra strap and, as gently as he had her top, eased it over one shoulder, then the other.

  A moment later she was nude before his eyes, trembling with desire. He trailed his fingers over her. A fine sheen of gooseflesh raced after his fingers. Her breasts peaked, and he lowered his head and caught the peak in his mouth. She arched against him, pressing herself closer.

  “Beth... Beth...”He moved his mouth
to the opposite breast and, as she had done to him, laved and then nipped.

  She thought she would go mad with wanting. She ached, she burned. She moved her fingers to his belt buckle, fumbling in her haste. Again, he pushed her hands aside, only this time it was because she went too slow.

  Panting, they kicked off shoes. They pushed impatiently at concealing garments; fabric groaned, then eased. Chance tumbled her to the blanket, covering her nude body with his own. She’d never before felt the weight of a man over her, and her breath caught at the sensation. Flesh against flesh, soft against hard, smooth against rough. Earthy and elemental and exciting, it felt so very right.

  Chance caught her mouth, then her tongue. His arousal was hard and insistent; hers was just as insistent, but wet and yielding. He moved his hips; she shifted her legs in invitation. He thrust into her.

  She gasped in pain and dug her fingers into his shoulders.

  Chance stilled, then stiffened, shock rippling over him. It couldn’t be. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at her, at the tears trembling on her lashes, at the truth in her eyes. It couldn’t be—but it was.

  The possibility that she was a virgin had never entered his mind. It changed everything. He didn’t know why, but it did.

  Chance began to pull away from her, and she tightened her fingers, holding him to her. Pleading without words for him not to stop.

  “Beth, I—”

  “No.” The word shuddered past her lips, and she caught his mouth. Wrapping her legs tighter around him, she moved her hips, forcing him back inside her.

  He groaned. “Beth... God, do you know what you’re doing?”

  “Yes.” She met his gaze and tightened her legs. “Make love to me. Chance. I want you. And I want to know.” She moved her hips again. “Teach me.”

  He fought for control, knowing that he wanted her too much to refuse. And knowing also he must move slowly and gently, or he would hurt her.

  He lowered his mouth to hers, finding it open and wanting, and kissed her deeply. Stroking his tongue against hers, he imitated the dance they would do with other parts of their bodies, showing her how good it would be.

  “Come with me. Red,” he murmured against her ear, his skin growing slick with the effort of control. He eased them onto their sides, slipping from her.