Tempting Chance Page 7

  She nodded, then moved her gaze around the room before settling it back on him. “This is what you wanted to show me, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  He took a deep breath. “I don’t know. It seemed the right thing to do at the time.”

  “And now?”

  “And now I don’t know.” He set the sculpture down, then immediately regretted it. The action left his hands free and itching to touch her. He shoved them into his pockets instead. “I like you, Beth.”

  “But?”

  He frowned. “I want to be honest with you. I want to clear the air between us.”

  Beth took in the determined, almost grim, set of his expression, and her stomach tightened. She wasn’t certain she wanted to hear what he had to say, didn’t think honesty was such a hot idea right now. Turning, she crossed to the picture window that looked out over his sloping backyard. He followed her, stopping so close, she could feel his breath against her back.

  Chance gazed at her stiff back and rigid shoulders. He lifted a hand to touch her, then dropped it. “I’ve told you a little about my parents, a little about their disastrous marriage.” He laughed without humor. “They were both volatile, passionate people. They loved each other too much, ferociously even. They were jealous and possessive of each other, of their respective careers. Of my affections.

  “They finally divorced,” he continued. “But they turned the sum total of that jealousy and possessiveness onto me.” He paused, giving in to the urge and touching her hair. “I became a pawn in their emotional game. They used me and my love in order to get back at each other.”

  Hurt for the boy he must have been curled through her. Beth turned to face him. His words made her ache, made her want to hold and stroke him. Lifting a hand to his cheek, she tenderly caressed it. “Poor Chance.”

  He covered her hand with his own, savoring her touch for a single moment, before setting her away from him. He crossed back to the funny little ceramic figure. For long moments he stared at it. “You know what else I love about children’s art? It’s a labor of love, but it’s not labored over. It’s not so damn... precious.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “Does that make sense?”

  Knowing what she did of his past and his parents, it made a lot of sense. “Yes,” she murmured, crossing to him, her dress rustling against her legs as she moved. She stopped before him and met his gaze. “But what I don’t understand is, why you’re telling me all this.”

  Panic shot through him. He didn’t know. That was the damnable part. He’d made a life out of not sharing his feelings, of not sharing himself. And here he was, sharing everything.

  The truth of that scared the hell out of him.

  Even as he called himself a fool, he cupped her face in his palms. “Love ruined our lives, Beth. Not hatred or bitterness. Not jealousy.” He lowered his voice. “Love.”

  “I still don’t... understand.”

  Chance dragged his thumbs across her cheekbones. “I promised myself I would never let that happen to me. I vowed I would never put a child through that. I’m never going to fall in love, Beth. I’m never going to marry.” He dropped his hands and stepped away from her. “I thought you should know that.”

  Beth stared at him, realization dawning on her. This was some sort of apology for what had happened between them tonight. Some sort of request for absolution. Anger took her breath, hurt and embarrassment her good sense. “Don’t be sorry,” she said, her voice shaking. “Be anything but sorry.”

  “I can’t help it. I feel I’ve taken advantage of you. I feel I’ve led you on.”

  “Taken advantage of me?” she repeated, heat stinging her cheeks. “Led me on? I’m not a child, Chance. Not a teenager who got carried away with an older man’s glib line.”

  She took a step closer him, her anger growing, crowding out hurt and embarrassment, making her want nothing more than to prove her point. “I don’t want your regrets. I don’t want an apology for your passion. I asked for them, I enjoyed them. And I’m certainly not going to apologize for mine.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Isn’t it? You feel like you’ve led on poor, plain Beth. You’re afraid naive little Beth will get the wrong idea and hound you.” She placed her hands on his chest. “Well, I won’t hound you. And I won’t expect anything from you because we kissed.”

  “Beth, I—”

  “I’m not a child,” she said again, cutting him off, her voice vibrating with fury. “Shall I prove it?” Taking his hands, she placed them over her breasts. Her nipples hardened with desire, and she wrapped her fingers around his, pressing him closer. “Does that feel like a child to you?”

  Chance sucked in a sharp breath, his arousal instant and overpowering. He moved his hands against her, and the hard points of her breasts scraped against his palms.

  Beth leaned into his hands, against him. “Why?” she asked again, fighting for breath. “Why can’t you be honest with me? What are you afraid of, Chance?”

  Her words struck a nerve. Even as he shook his head in denial of that and the panic that coursed through him, he lowered his mouth to hers in a bruising kiss.

  Beth’s head fell back under its pressure and she grasped his shoulders for support. A moment later he released her, and she stumbled backward a step.

  “I’m not afraid,” he said tightly. “I am being honest. I don’t want to hurt you. I want to be your friend.”

  The word cannonballed into her, crushing her. It took the anger, the outrage from her. She fought not to let her devastation show, fought to hold on to her tattered pride. She had offered him everything, and he wanted to be her friend. She’d made a total fool out of herself.

  “Fine,” she said stiffly, stepping away from him. “I won’t push myself on you again. Friends. Colleagues. Nothing more.”

  “Beth.” He reached a hand out to her. “Let’s talk about this, let’s—”

  “I think we’ve talked enough, Chance.” She crossed to where she’d dropped her wrap and picked it up. “Take me home.”

  * * *

  Two weeks later Beth gazed into her bedroom mirror. Mercifully, the days since Artful Fools had passed swiftly. The business of art was booming, for which Beth was grateful. It left little time at the office for brooding over Chance or for “friendly” conversation between them.

  But the nights had passed with agonizing slowness. She couldn’t close her eyes without remembering how she had felt in his arms: alive and free and beautiful. Nor could she forget how she had placed his hands on her breasts or the pitying expression in his eyes when he’d told her he wanted them to be friends. It still hurt so badly, it took her breath.

  Beth pushed away the pain, focusing instead on the reflection she barely recognized. She looked... sexy. She looked confident, world-wise... Dear Lord, she looked hip.

  Awed, Beth skimmed her gaze over her reflection, taking in the short skirt, the dangerously dipping neckline of her shirt, the bangle bracelets. She fluffed her hair with her fingertips and studied the effect. She’d never thought herself attractive, had never had a reason to. But now—

  “You look wonderful,” Eva said, clapping her hands together.

  “I do, don’t I?” For long moments Beth continued to gaze into the mirror, thinking of Chance once more, wondering what he would think of the new her.

  She frowned at the woman in the mirror. She hadn’t created a new “her,” she’d created a whole new person. It didn’t feel right... she felt like a phony.

  But what other choice did she have? In the time since Artful Fools, Chance had asked again and again about meeting Liza. Eva had been like a bulldog with a juicy bone between its teeth, and finally, despite both skepticism and dismay, Beth had agreed to the charade. So, putting herself in her grandmother’s hands, she had begun her transformation into the sexy, reckless, and daring Liza.

  The first thing they did was buy clothes, wild, colorful ones: leggings in bold p
rints, skirts with saucy little kick pleats, off-the-shoulder tops in soft, sexy fabrics, and pencil-slim jeans.

  Beth had argued that one outfit would be enough—she planned to introduce Liza to Chance, then send her sister on an extended trip out of the country. Maybe even concoct a sudden marriage to a reclusive billionaire. But, as usual, Eva had seen the situation differently, and they’d ended up buying everything “just in case.”

  Next had come her hair. Eva had insisted she lose the “old lady” hairstyles and wear it in a loose tangle of red waves. Beth admitted to being surprised by the results. Her hair, fine and wavy, couldn’t have looked better if it had been professionally crimped. New jewelry, shoes, and cosmetics came next, until her grandmother’s credit cards had maxed out.

  But the most important transformation had been one of attitude. Eva had coached her on being dramatic and impertinent, on how to move, speak, gesture.

  Finally, her grandmother had pronounced her ready.

  Now here she stood, staring at a person she barely recognized and wishing she could somehow turn the clock back. Beth swung away from the mirror. “This has gone far enough, Eva. I’m going to tell Chance the truth. His parents were artists, he deals with artists everyday, surely he’ll understand why I—”

  “Lied,” Eva supplied.

  Lied. The word sounded so dishonest. So guilty. Beth dropped her face into her hands and groaned. “How did this get so messed up? I didn’t mean to hurt anybody, I didn’t mean to... lie. I just couldn’t bear for him to know the sketches were mine.” Beth glanced back into the mirror. “You really think I can pull this off?”

  “I do.” Eva handed her a tube of lipstick. “Besides, would you rather lose your job? Would you rather lose Chance?”

  Beth shot her grandmother a startled glance. Was she really that transparent? Heat flooded Beth’s face, and her grandmother gently patted her cheek. “You won’t regret this, Liza. Just trust me.”

  With a sigh, Beth did, and forty minutes later Beth—as Liza—stepped into Art One. She’d planned this meeting carefully: she’d asked for the afternoon off, the same afternoon Jody always left early, a day that Virginia, the bookkeeper, was on vacation.

  That left Chance. Alone. She’d figured pulling this off would be a lot easier if she didn’t have to pass everybody’s muster.

  Beth rubbed her damp palms together. She would pop in, let Chance meet Liza, and leave. She would trump up reasons never to see him again, and that would be that.

  Putting a saucy spring in her step, Beth headed for Chance’s office. She stopped in the doorway, her heart thudding uncomfortably against the wall of her chest. Chance stood with his back to her, staring out at the spring day. She drank in the sight of him, the soft, dark shirt and slacks, the way the fabric stretched across his broad shoulders, the way it molded other places, places she had no business noticing.

  She jerked her gaze back up. Would Liza notice such things? Probably. And dear Lord, the sister she’d created would probably comment.

  Sucking in a steadying breath, Beth stepped fully into Chance’s office. “Anybody home?” she asked deepening her voice just a little, the way Eva had taught her.

  Chance turned. Their eyes met. Surprise registered on his features, followed closely by shock. Her heartbeat, already frenetic, doubled its pace. Her legs trembled so badly that for a moment Beth feared she would fall flat on her face. Or faint from lack of oxygen to her brain.

  What the hell was she doing?

  “Beth?” Chance asked, his voice a croak.

  Say yes, she told herself. Back out now, before it’s too late. Ignoring all good sense, she sauntered into his office. “That’s who I’m looking for. I’m Liza.”

  Several seconds passed. To Beth it seemed like an eternity. Fainting became an even greater possibility than a moment ago.

  “Liza?” Chance repeated, obviously stunned. He took a step closer. “Beth didn’t tell me you... and she... were twins.”

  Beth swallowed, the urge to confess all warring with the absolute and paralyzing fear of doing just that. She cocked her head and slanted him a coquettish glance. “Then I have two reasons to be annoyed with her.”

  “Two?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Beth moved her gaze brazenly over him, feeling at once shocked and liberated by her own behavior. “She didn’t tell you that she and I were identical twins, and she didn’t tell me that you were so... yummy.”

  Chance laughed and shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.”

  Beth felt her cheeks heat and cursed the color. “Somehow I doubt that, Mr. Michaels.”

  “Chance,” he corrected, closing the distance between them and holding out his hand. “And believe me, I would have remembered if I had.”

  Beth took his hand, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tremor in hers. He stared down at their joined hands for a moment, then lifted his gaze back to hers. “The likeness is amazing.”

  The blood rushed to her head, and Beth slipped her hand from his. “That’s why we’re called identical.”

  She turned away from him on the pretense of interest in a piece of art. “My sister said you wanted to meet me,” she murmured, picking up the bronze sculpture. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Why?”

  “Curiosity.”

  She set the sculpture down. “Well, now you have.”

  She flashed him a cocky smile, then started toward the door. “Tell Beth I stopped by.”

  “Have a drink with me.”

  Beth stopped, but didn’t turn, using the moment to collect herself. When she finally glanced back over her shoulder at him, she hoped he saw a self-confident woman accustomed to turning down drink invitations.

  She lifted her lips in a small smile of regret. “No can do, Chance. Thanks anyway.”

  “Another time, then?”

  “I don’t think—”

  “I’d like to talk to you about your paintings.”

  “My paintings?” she repeated, suddenly breathless.

  “I saw some sketches Beth brought here by mistake. They intrigued me.”

  Her work intrigued him. He wanted to talk about it.

  A dozen different emotions tumbled through her, not the least of which was the desire to say yes. But every moment she prolonged this charade, the more entangled in it she became.

  “I’d like that,” she said finally, hesitantly. “But I have some things I have to do.... Someone I have to... meet.”

  Chance checked his watch. “I have to finish up here, too. Why don’t I meet you at the Dana Point Coffeehouse in an hour? Would that give you enough time?”

  Feeling as if she were stepping off the edge of a cliff, Beth said it would.

  * * *

  Chance arrived at the coffeehouse early. He chose a table on the sun-sprinkled patio, ordered an espresso, and waited, his thoughts filled with Beth.

  But then, since the night of Artful Fools, a moment hadn’t passed when his thoughts hadn’t been filled with Beth. The memory of their kiss, of their disturbing words later, had lingered, interfering with business, penetrating sleep. He’d wake up thinking of her, wanting her. And aching in a way he never had before.

  Chance forced his thoughts away from Beth. For a moment, when he’d first seen Liza, he’d been so startled by her resemblance to Beth, he’d almost thought they were one and the same person. But then she’d moved and spoken. Chance smiled at the memory. She’d called him yummy, for Pete’s sake.

  How could two people—even identical twins—be so much alike yet so different?

  His espresso arrived, and he took a sip of the strong, thick brew. Liza’s eyes were exactly the color of Beth’s, the light, clear blue of a spring sky. And she had the same disarming way of looking at him—directly and without pretense.

  Chance stopped on the thought. He hadn’t realized how much Beth’s eyes affected him. Until now.

  He frowned, uncomfortable with that realization. But more uncomfortable with the dawn
ing truth that he’d noticed a lot about Beth. Like the way she caught her bottom lip between her teeth when feeling insecure or vulnerable, or the soft spot she had for hard-luck stories and stray dogs. Or the way she made him feel when she smiled at him, big and bold and all man.

  Chance shook his head in denial of his thoughts. Liza was the kind of woman who interested him. Brash, worldly, and a bit cynical, sure of herself. With her he would be on even footing.

  In a way he wasn’t with Beth.

  Chance took another sip of the espresso. Even after only one meeting with Liza, he understood her and knew she understood the kind of man he was. Liza wouldn’t expect things he couldn’t deliver. Her expectations from a man-woman relationship were direct, uncomplicated. He’d dated a dozen women like her; she wasn’t a mystery.

  Beth was. Soft and gentle and sweet. Vulnerable. Beth made a man think of things he’d promised himself he never would, made a man forget hard-learned lessons about self-preservation.

  Then why was he sitting here wishing with everything he had that it was Beth meeting him instead of her twin?

  Annoyed with his own thoughts, Chance flexed his fingers. He didn’t need any mysteries in his life. He didn’t need complications. And he was not about to forget the lessons of his childhood.

  Artful Fools had been a mistake. Their kiss had been an aberration brought on by the heady scent of her perfume, the moonlit night, his own restlessness.

  Chance tapped his index finger against the side of his cup, ignoring the voice inside his head that called him a liar, forcing his thoughts to Liza’s art. The first time he’d looked at Liza’s sketches, he’d felt a stirring, an excitement he’d felt every other time he’d discovered rich, unplumbed talent. He’d studied those sketches, had thought about the things Beth told him about Liza’s artwork. The excitement he’d felt hadn’t dimmed over these past weeks. If anything, he’d become almost obsessed with the images.