Chance cupped her breasts, then pressed his mouth to the swell of flesh he exposed. The skin there was softer still, whiter, more fragrant. Her nipples hardened against his palms, begging for attention. He lowered his mouth, tasting her through the thin fabric of her blouse and bra. She arched her back and moaned as he did, pressing herself to him as if she couldn’t get close enough.
Chance’s control, already at the snapping point, slipped more; desire trembled through him until he thought he had to have her or die. The images from her paintings, their spirit, their heart, filled his head. At that moment nothing mattered but the moment and their passion.
Being with her felt right. Touching and kissing her felt righter yet. He wanted to make love with her—more than anything he’d ever wanted and with an urgency that took his breath.
He’d felt this way only once before.
“Beth... Beth...”
Her name slipped from his lips without plan or pretense. Chance stiffened, realizing with a shock what he’d done. He lifted his head. As he broke their kiss, she opened her eyes and gazed at him, her eyes glazed with passion. She hadn’t caught that he’d called her her twin sister’s name. No woman—or man—would miss such an unforgivable slip.
He had his proof.
Shaking with an anger that knew no bounds. Chance pulled away from her. Why did knowing for certain make such a difference in the way he felt? Had he been wanting to believe in her innocence all along? “I’ve got to go,” he said, his voice taut with controlled fury.
“Go?” she repeated, not quite comprehending, still dizzy with desire.
“Yes.” He moved away from her, forcing her to drop her hands. The look in her eyes would have torn at him if he didn’t know what a consummate actress she was.
What kind of a fool did she take him for? A big one, he acknowledged.
Beth slid off the table, self-consciously straightening her blouse, a dozen different emotions barreling over her, not the least of which was embarrassment. She looked at him, fighting back tears. What had she done? What happened to change him from a heated lover to a cold and angry stranger?
“Do you...” She cleared her throat. “Do you still want... my disk?”
Chance stopped at the doorway and swung around, pinning her with his angry gaze. “Your disk?”
Confused, Beth clasped her trembling fingers together. “Yes, you said—”
“I know what I said. Bring them to work. I mean,” he corrected harshly, “have Beth bring them.”
She took a step backward, stunned. Chance knew the truth. He knew she’d deceived him. The realization dizzied her, and she pressed a hand to her stomach as if she’d received a blow. What had tipped him off? she wondered, her world crashing around her ears.
He would never understand. Never.
But she had to try to explain. She couldn’t let him leave thinking her a...
What? A liar?
Beth’s eyes filled with tears, and, mustering all her self-control, she held them back. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, only to protect herself. Fear didn’t excuse her, but surely he could understand the why.
She ran after him, catching him as he opened the door. “Chance, wait! Please—” He whirled around lo face her, and her breath caught at the fury in his eyes. “Please, let me try to... explain. Let me—”
Muttering an oath. Chance yanked her against his chest and caught her mouth in a bruising kiss. A second later he let her go and she stumbled backward, her eyes wide with shock.
“Don’t say anything... Liza. Not one more word.” Her tears spilling over, she watched him let himself out.
Chapter 7
Chance stood at his office picture window, gazing out at the new day and thinking of Beth. And of the way she’d tried to dupe him. He’d thought her a woman without wiles, a woman who didn’t play games. Everything he’d thought she was had been a lie.
How she must have laughed at him.
He reached out and touched the plate glass with his fingertips, denying hurt, denying that the ache that twisted inside him was pain. Anger, he told himself, balling his fingers into a fist on the hard, unyielding surface. Helpless fury.
He’d spent a sleepless night wondering why she’d done it. The sun had been easing over the horizon when he’d figured it out.
Her art.
Beth had used him to promote her art. It was as simple as that. He’d had artists follow him, camp out on his doorstep, and send gifts; one had even tried to seduce him. But Beth had stooped to a new and elaborate low.
She’d missed her creative calling. She should have been an actress. Like her grandmother.
Anger tightened in Chance’s chest, and he swung away from the window and the light that stung his tired eyes. If only he didn’t remember the way she’d felt in his arms, if only he couldn’t recall the way she’d reacted to his kiss, his caress. Chance scowled. No doubt that had been a part of her act as well.
But the way he’d responded hadn’t been part of an act.
And maybe that was the hardest of all to live with.
Chance shook his head against that thought and the others that crowded his mind. Thoughts of his parents, of their hell of a marriage, of their emotional blackmail, their manipulation of his feelings. With the thoughts came a feeling of suffocation, of being torn in two. He hadn’t felt those in a long time. He’d promised himself he never would again.
Beth had manipulated him, just as his parents had. Chance swung defiantly back toward the window and the light that spilled through. At least his parents’ motivation had been understandable. At least their deceit had had a basis in honest emotions. But this...
Chance hardened his jaw. During the dark, sleepless hours, he had decided Beth’s deceit was a blessing in disguise. It had reminded him of his vow to never become emotionally entangled with a woman, his promise that he would never put himself in the position of having his emotions manipulated again.
He’d broken his own vow; he had become involved with Beth. He’d been drawn to her vulnerability, her softness. He had begun to care for her.
Chance swore, the ache tightening in his chest, stealing his breath. That woman didn’t exist, he reminded himself harshly. Beth Waters was as vulnerable as a barracuda, as honest as the worst politician.
Chance turned his gaze to the painting across from his desk and the bold slash of crimson that trailed across it. Red, he thought. The pet name fit the Beth Waters he had thought he’d known, the one he had begun to fall in love with.
Love? Chance flexed his fingers, denying the truth with everything he had. How could he have been so blind? So stupid?
Beth’s wily grandmother had helped her concoct this scheme, no doubt about it. Well, he’d come up with his own scheme. Confronting and firing Beth would be too humane. Chance smiled grimly and moved to his desk, sliding into the chair behind it. Even though he had his answers, he would continue to pretend he didn’t know what she’d done, and he would romance both “sisters.” In the process, he would trap her into admitting the truth.
The only part of the equation that perplexed him was what to do about her art. If he didn’t promote it, someone else would. He had no uncertainty about that. Beth was a great talent, and there was a monumental amount of money to be made from that talent.
And money hadn’t a thing to do with it.
Chance frowned. He couldn’t forget her paintings. Their images had stayed with him; even when he’d been fuming over the fool she’d made of him, they’d been on his mind.
His frown deepened. How could she have done it? He picked up a marker and twisted it between his fingers. It was inconceivable to him that the person who had created art with such depth and spirit and sensitivity could so cold-bloodedly lie and manipulate.
But then he’d learned long ago that creative genius and nice didn’t necessarily go hand-in-hand.
Chance tossed the marker down. When Beth realized he knew what she’d done, he wanted her contracted to him. Not t
hat he would try to stall her career or hurt her professionally—but she would be uncomfortable, she would always wonder.
He wanted to make her sweat.
Chance smiled. The thought of that was appealing. Very appealing.
* * *
Beth stood outside Chance’s office door, their weekly agenda clasped in her trembling hands. She took a deep breath, readying herself for what would surely be the most traumatic moment of her life.
She knew what to expect. If Chance’s behavior of the night before was any indication, she would be fired. But that wasn’t the worst of it, not by a long shot. The worst was knowing Chance would have nothing but disdain for her, and knowing that after this meeting she would never see him again.
Beth squeezed her eyes shut, remembering the way she’d felt in his arms, the freedom, the abandon. Knowing she would never feel that away again hurt so much, it frightened her.
Beth opened her eyes and looked at his door. She couldn’t avoid this, couldn’t pretend her way out of it. The time had come to face the consequences of her actions.
She peeked in his partially open door, tapping on the doorjamb. He looked up and their eyes met. Regret curled through her, as did love. This was it.
“Chance?” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “Could I... speak with you?”
For a moment she thought she saw fury in his expression, and she braced herself. A moment later he smiled and beckoned her into his office. “Good morning.”
Confused, Beth stared at him. She had expected anger, disdain, rejection. She had wondered if he would curse her or simply and coldly ask her to clean out her desk. She hadn’t prepared for “good morning.” She hadn’t prepared for warmth.
His smile deepened. “Beth, is something wrong?”
She shook her head, opening her mouth to speak and finding she couldn’t. She hesitated a moment longer, then stepped the rest of the way into the room and crossed to the chair opposite his desk. She sank into it, the agenda still clasped in her hands.
“Did you have a good weekend?” he asked softly, looking her straight in the eyes.
Beth shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the directness of his gaze, totally unbalanced. “It was fine,” she said cautiously. “Quiet.”
“But you did go out?” Chance picked up a red marker and twisted it in his lingers.
Beth watched him toy with the pen. He wasn’t a man who fidgeted. She lifted her gaze back to his and found that he was studying her. Unsettled, she shifted in her seat. “Why do you ask?”
Chance tossed the marker down and leaned back in his chair. He cocked his head and smiled. “I was over at your apartment last night. Visiting Liza. Didn’t she tell you?”
If he didn’t know, then what had happened last night? She cleared her throat, the memory of what had occurred between them filling her head. “Yes. You came to see her art.”
Chance stood and rounded the desk, stopping beside Beth’s chair, forcing her to tip her head back to meet his eyes. “Did she tell you what I thought of it?”
“Yes,” she murmured again. He hadn’t realized the truth—but she would come clean anyway.
She opened her mouth to do just that, then closed it again, calling herself a coward. She couldn’t do it. The truth was, she was only ready to face the consequences if she had to. She wasn’t ready to say good-bye to Chance.
“Did you bring Liza’s disk?” Chance asked.
“Her disk?” Beth repeated, struggling to sound normal but sounding breathless anyway.
“Mmm-hmm.” Chance leaned down and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. As he did, his fingers brushed her cheek. She shuddered at the sensation. “Don’t worry about it, Red. I’ll get it from her myself.”
That was the name he’d called Liza. She opened her mouth to remind him, then shut it again as she remembered he called her that, too. “Fine. Whatever.”
Chance lifted his eyebrows in question. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Of course she did. She didn’t want him to see Liza; she didn’t want him to refer to her and another by the same name. But how could she tell him she was jealous of her imaginary sister?
“No... I... of course not.” Beth cursed both her telltale blush and her stammering. “We’ve got a lot on the schedule this week.” Beth held the week’s agenda out to him. “We’re still far from caught up.”
Chance reached for the book, but instead of taking it, he caught her hand. He held it in his, running his fingers over hers. “Your hands are just like your sister’s.”
“We’re twins,” she said quickly, tugging against his grasp. He tightened his grip and turned her hand over.
“You are. But still...” He traced the lines on her palm. “Did you know that this is the line of creativity?”
“No. I—”
“Yours is long. Like Liza’s.”
The blood rushed to her head. “Is it?”
“Yes.”
He moved his finger hypnotically over the crease in her palm. Her hand trembled: Beth knew he felt it. He’d had to, but he didn’t comment.
“Are you creative, Beth?”
He looked deeply into her eyes, and the trembling spread to every part of her. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.
He moved on. “And here is your love line. I wonder what this means?” He rubbed his finger against a small break in the line. “Not a broken heart, I hope?”
Without waiting for a reply, he moved his fingers until they circled her wrist. She wondered if he could feel the wild staccato beat of her heart. “Have you ever been wounded by love, Beth?”
He meant to kiss her.
She wanted him to, wanted so badly, she ached. Her breathing light and fast, Beth tipped her head back a fraction more, her lips parting, her eyelids fluttering shut.
He dropped her hand. “I’m moving the Summer Show up a week. Can you be ready to leave for San Francisco day after tomorrow?”
Beth snapped her eyes back open, stunned and embarrassed by her own behavior.
He hadn’t meant to kiss her. And even if he had, they couldn’t kiss. Or anything else. He was dating... her imaginary identical twin sister.
Her life was as baroque as a daytime drama.
If only she was a viewer instead of a participant.
“We’ll only be gone overnight,” he continued, not looking at her, flipping through their agenda.
Beth stood. “Fine. I’ll be ready to go.” When he still didn’t glance up, she cleared her throat. “Have you picked the artist for the show?”
His fingers stilled on the book, and he lifted his gaze to hers. “Why?”
She jammed her hands into her blazer’s pockets, uncomfortable with the look in his eyes. “I’m your assistant. This is the biggest event of our year. The press has been hounding me, and the new artists are whipped into a frenzy. They all just... want it so bad. They know that the artist represented in the Summer Show always goes on to become a star.”
“And you understand that want, don’t you, Beth?”
She understood it, even though she didn’t share it for herself. She had never wanted to be a star; she had only ever wanted to create. “Yes,” she said softly. “I guess I do.”
“I see.” Chance closed the agenda and tossed it on his desk top. “And that’s the only reason you want to know?”
“Yes. What other reason could there be? I’m your assistant, and I don’t understand why you won’t share this me.”
“Don’t you?”
“No, I don’t.” Suddenly angry, she put her fists on her hips. She was tired of playing this damnable game of cat and mouse. “Is this arrangement working out, Chance? Are you dissatisfied with my performance?”
“Your performance? Your performance has been spectacular.”
Beth stared at him, confused. She had the feeling they were talking about two different things. “If there’s something you’d like to say to me, I’d appreciate—”
“Yo
u’ll understand, Red. Believe me, you will.” Chance reached out as if to touch her, then dropped his hand. “I want to keep this to myself a little longer.” He flashed her a brilliant smile. “Okay?”
She let out a deep breath. “Okay.” She started for the door, then stopped and looked back at him. She found him gazing at her with an almost intense expression on his face. She shuddered, at once warmed and chilled by the look. “Is there anything else?”
Chance blinked. “Yeah, there is. You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had.”
Beth let herself out, the strangest sensation in the pit of her stomach. If that were true, why had his eyes been filled with regret?
* * *
The next morning Beth dragged herself out of bed and, yawning, pulled on the psychedelic floral print robe that had been a gift from her grandmother the Christmas before. She padded out to the kitchen to make coffee, her thoughts filled with Chance.
After grinding the beans, she filled the kettle with water. While she waited for the water to boil, she stared sightlessly out the window above her sink. The day before had turned out to be an emotional roller coaster, Chance’s behavior seesawing between businesslike and outrageously flirtatious. And she had seesawed between believing that he knew she and Liza were one and the same person and believing he didn’t know.
Beth frowned. But if he knew, why was he keeping the knowledge a secret from her? Chance had never seemed the type to play games. What could he hope to gain by subterfuge?
The kettle whistled and she poured the boiling water into the filter. Several times the day before, she’d glanced up to find him watching her, the expression in his eyes almost... hungry. Beth shuddered, remembering the way her body had responded to that look, with a wild, uncontrollable heat. A heat that had unnerved and excited her.
Timid little virgins weren’t accustomed to wanting so desperately that they felt aflame. They weren’t accustomed to wanting their bosses to kiss them senseless.
Beth shook her head. Now she was imagining Chance looking at her with hunger in his eyes. Chance wanted Liza, not her.
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