Putting Out Old Flames

by Allyson Charles

  Josh crawled onto his lap. “Can I get pie, Dad?”

  “No.” He smiled at Edith. “If you’re going to watch him, you don’t want him to eat any sugar. He can get wild.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be no problem.” Edith clasped her hands together, the large silver rings she wore on several fingers glittering under the lights. “So, we good here? I watch Josh while you two go check out the hotel?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Chance said. Jane’s miserable expression brought his enthusiasm down a notch. “But if Jane’s too busy . . .”

  “Her shift just ended. She’s free the rest of the day.” Edith raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that right?”

  Jane’s shoulders sagged. “Yep. Free as a bird.” Her words said one thing, but her tone pounded home that she was acting under duress.

  He gritted his teeth. How long was she going to give him attitude? When she’d swung open her front door and Chance had seen the first woman he’d ever cared about, joy had ballooned up in him. Yes, it hadn’t ended well. And yes, that was entirely his fault. But beyond their teenage romance, they’d been friends. Good friends. And if they were going to be living in the same town, he wanted her scowl to disappear.

  An image of Chance pressing his mouth against those hard lips until they softened beneath his, darted through his head. She probably wouldn’t appreciate that. Remembering just how riled up his Jane could get, he figured she’d try to punch him in the nuts if he tried.

  He’d have to think of some other way. Some way to remind her of their friendship. That he’d been the only one who could make her smile when she’d learned of her dad’s cancer diagnosis. That he was basically the same guy.

  Some way that didn’t put his family jewels in the line of fire.

  * * *

  Chance clambered out of Jane’s small Mazda and stretched, his cotton shirt rising to reveal a bronze strip of abs. The skin above his hips indented in two lines of pure muscle. Jane’s jaw dropped. Snapping it shut, she turned toward the hotel. She needed to minimize her time ogling Chance. Being cochair with him wouldn’t make that easy, but she had willpower. She could be strong.

  He caught up with her halfway across the parking lot, his long legs eating up the pavement. Something fluttered deep in her stomach. Damn, he’d filled out into one fine man. The past two days she’d made several trips past the fire station, just to pick up odds and ends she kept forgetting, but hadn’t caught a glimpse of him.

  Not that she’d been looking. And if Firehouse 10 had stopped its practice of making the newbies wash the firetrucks in the station’s driveway, covered only by water, soap, and a pair of skivvies, then good for Chance.

  She swallowed. Wasn’t there a little park across from the station? Sitting on a bench catching up on her reading was something anyone in Pineville might do. Not suspicious at all. Did he still wear briefs or had he graduated to boxers?

  “So this is where you want to hold the charity ball?” Reaching in front of her, Chance grabbed the door and held it open. They stepped into the lobby, the burgundy and gold carpeting muffling their footsteps. “It’s nice.”

  She paused on her way to the front desk. “You don’t like it?”

  “I just said it’s nice.”

  She snorted. “Your words said nice. Your tone, not so much.” She walked up to the counter and nodded when the receptionist, phone receiver tucked up between her face and shoulder, held up one finger. “What’s wrong with this hotel?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with it.” He shrugged at her continued stare. “There’s just not much personality. It’s . . . generic.”

  Jane scowled. “This place is very nice. And there aren’t any other hotels in the area that have a space the size we need.”

  He placed a hand on her shoulder, and heat seared her bare skin. “Like I said, it’s fine. And I’m sure when your mom gets done decorating the ballroom, it will be great. If anyone can make a boring space look fun and interesting, it’s Edith.”

  The receptionist hung up the phone. “Good afternoon. Can I help you?”

  Jane stepped closer to the counter. Chance’s hand slid off her shoulder, and she resisted the urge to step back into his warmth. “Yes. Hi. I’m Jane Willoughby and I’m going to be holding a fundraiser in a month. I’m interested in renting out your ballroom. I was hoping I could get another look at the space and maybe talk to the manager about a contract afterwards.”

  “Of course.” She picked up the phone again and pressed a button. “Let me just find someone to show you the ballroom.”

  Jane nodded, turning to look out at the lobby as she waited. Her lips pursed. It was true. This hotel didn’t have any character. It looked like any other three-star hotel trying hard to work its way up to four. A large chandelier dominated the room, similar to the ones in the ballroom, if her memory served her correctly. The glass prisms didn’t have the same shine as crystal. The artwork adorning the walls were inoffensive abstracts, their subdued colors asking for nothing more than an offhand perusal.

  “Miss Willoughby?” The receptionist hung up the phone. “Our manager, Mr. Yu, will meet you up in the ballroom. Do you know how to get there?”

  “Yes, thanks.” Walking over to the bank of elevators, Jane pushed the up button. Chance rocked on his heels beside her, his thumbs looped in the front pockets of his faded jeans. He started whistling, and Jane ground her teeth.

  How could he be so relaxed about this? Didn’t it churn his guts to be around her? Just seeing his slightly crooked smile, hearing his deep baritone, made her heart feel like a pincushion. The fact that he was totally unaffected by her presence made her ache.

  She hadn’t meant anything to him at all.

  The doors slid open and they walked inside. The elevator was roomy, the far wall covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors, but when the doors shut, the air felt close, the area tight. Chance’s broad frame dominated the space.

  She punched the button for the second floor. A grinding squeal erupted when the car began its climb. That didn’t sound good. “I hope they grease the wheels before the fundraiser.”

  Chance frowned and looked at the ceiling, as if he could see through it to the gears above. “It doesn’t need grease. It—”

  The elevator lurched to a stop. The lights flickered, and Jane reached out a hand to brace herself. Chance gripped her elbow, steadied her.

  She looked over at him, her eyes stretched wide. “Holy crap. Are we stuck?”

  Guiding her a step back from the control panel, Chance smiled. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.” He pressed the door open button. Nothing. The button to go back to the lobby. The elevator groaned but didn’t move.

  Jane sucked in a deep breath. She hadn’t thought she had a problem with enclosed spaces, but she’d never been trapped in an elevator before. How long did it take to run out of air? The box appeared to be about six feet by four feet wide, eight feet high. So the square footage was . . . oh, who was she kidding? She sucked at math.

  Chance punched another button.

  “Why did you pull me back?” she asked, her voice sharper than she’d intended. But better to sound bitchy than scared. “I could have pushed random buttons.”

  He raised that damned eyebrow. “Relax. We’ll be out of here soon. You’re not claustrophobic, are you?” Running his finger down the certificate taped to the wall, he frowned. “Christ,” he muttered. “It figures.”

  Jane ignored the certificate and concentrated on what was important. His absurd accusation. “’Course not.” She pulled her tank away from the front of her body, fanned herself with the fabric. “I just have a lot to get done today. My to-do list for this fundraiser is huge, and I don’t want to waste time stuck in a tin can with you.”

  “I’m your cochair. If you’d unclench a little and bring me up-to-date, I could help you with that list.” He pushed a red button. “And you didn’t used to feel that way. The backseat of my Chevy truck was a lot smaller than this, and you didn’t have any compl
aints about ‘wasting time’ with me then.”

  Only the side of his face was visible, but it was enough for Jane to see the edge of his lips tipped up in a smile. Her chest burned. “I’ll have you know—”

  “Shh,” he said, as a crackling noise came from a speaker in the panel. “Hello, anyone there?”

  “This is Rajesh with Ford Elevator Company? We’re registering that you’re calling from elevator number two at the Regency Hotel in Pineville, Michigan. Is that correct?”

  “That’s correct,” Chance said. “We’re stuck between the first and second floors. Can we get some help out here?”

  Silence.

  Jane leaned forward to jab the red button again. “Did we lose them? Hello? Can you hear me?”

  “Stop pushing that.” He grabbed her hand.

  “Ma’am, we can hear you,” the voice from the speaker said. “I’m notifying the hotel now. Does anyone inside the elevator need medical attention?”

  “No,” Chance said at the same time Jane asked, “How long is that going to take?”

  He shushed her. Actually shushed her. Placing her hands on her hips, she narrowed her eyes. “Don’t shush me. We could suffocate in here, and you’re having a nice little chat with the operator.”

  “We’re going to be fine.” He turned back to the speaker, dismissing her concerns.

  “Air is a limited resource!”

  Chance wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her backside flush to his front. He covered her mouth with his hand, and her temperature spiked. He might have been able to pull that crap when they were kids, but he was in for a rude awakening.

  She ground the heel of her shoe into his foot. Why couldn’t she have been wearing spiky heels today instead of her Keds? Of course, he was only wearing loafers, and she wasn’t exactly a lightweight. She should be able to inflict some pain.

  Besides pulling her tighter against his chest, he ignored her assault. Leaning toward the call box, he said, “Everyone’s fine in here, except for some mental instability. Just send maintenance, no emergency services needed.”

  Mental instability? Oh, hell no. Grabbing one of his fingers, she tried to bend it backward, tear it from her mouth.

  He sighed. “Will you relax? I just want to finish my conversation with the operator. Stop acting out.”

  She’d heard him use that same condescending voice with Josh when he’d been misbehaving. She growled, incensed, but Chance ignored it. She couldn’t beat him. Couldn’t argue with him. So Jane licked him. It was just like they were teenagers again. The first time he’d muffled her, he’d been calling in sick to their high school, pretending to be Jane’s father. She couldn’t stop giggling, and he didn’t want her to ruin their scam. She’d licked him then, too, just to be a brat. It had become a custom in their play fights, and here she was, falling into the same pattern.

  She was ashamed of herself. Really, she was. But damn, he still tasted salty sweet, like honey-roasted peanuts. She remembered he tasted that way all over. A tingle started at the base of her spine, and she realized just how snugly she was pressed against the man behind her.

  “Christ.” He removed his hand and wiped it on her shirt over her stomach. Another holdover from childhood. His broad palm rested just below her breasts, and her breathing sped up. “We’re adults now. You shouldn’t be licking me.” His body tensed. “Well . . .”

  Jane jerked out of his grip. She didn’t want him to finish that thought. Pulling the tank away from her heated skin, she scowled. “You started it. I could charge you with assault.”

  Chance twisted his lips, shook his head. “Janey-girl . . .” Hands on lean hips, he eyed the ceiling of the elevator.

  She mimicked his stance. “Don’t ‘Janey-girl’ me.”

  The speaker crackled. “The hotel has acknowledged our request for maintenance,” Rajesh said. “If an emergency arises, please let us know. Otherwise, have a nice day.” The speaker went silent.

  Jane snorted. Have a nice day? Not likely. The walls on either side seemed to inch a little closer. “How long do you think it will take to get us out of here?”

  Crossing his arms across his chest, he leaned back against the doors. “It depends on how responsive the maintenance crew is here at the hotel. Probably not long.”

  She cleared her throat. “Do you think . . . do you think we have enough air?”

  He chuckled. Then stopped when he saw her expression. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Pushing off the wall, he rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “Hey, we won’t be here long, and there’s plenty of air. We’re not in an airtight box. We get air from the elevator shaft, too.”

  She swayed closer. Not close enough to touch, but enough so the warmth from his body soothed her like an old blanket. She hated herself for wanting that comfort, but she didn’t move away. So what if he’d dumped her by leaving her a greeting card. He was here now, and he was a different man. In the past decade, he’d become a father, lost a wife, and embarked on a career that helped those in need.

  Not that his dream of becoming a neurosurgeon wouldn’t have saved lives. Chance had always wanted to help people. But the fact that he’d chosen a blue-collar profession surprised her. The McGoverns had been solidly upper middle-class, his father a pediatrician and his mother an accountant. A postgraduate education had been expected of Chance.

  Jane liked his new career path. It made him more approachable.

  She inched closer, his hands on her arms slowing from a brisk rub to a caress. Their eyes latched on to each other, and a shiver zipped down her spine. Heat flared in his chocolate eyes.

  She took a large breath. This was probably a bad idea. A really bad idea. Kissing Chance would be spiraling backwards, and she’d long ago promised herself that she wouldn’t live in the past.

  He stepped closer, his chest brushing the tips of her breasts. Jane bit back a moan. Screw it. He was sexy, had been kind enough to try to comfort her, and even as a teenager had been one of the best kissers with whom she’d ever had the pleasure to lock lips. Tilting her head back, she waited, his soft breath brushing across her mouth. He leaned down.

  With a jolt, the elevator screeched, rolled upwards. Chance frowned, looked over at the doors. When he turned back to Jane, she’d already stepped back. The doors dinged before sliding open.

  “Saved by the bell, huh?” He shoved his hands in his pockets.

  Voices in the hall stopped Jane’s response, which was good, because she didn’t have one. A maintenance man stood on the other side of the open doors, looking down the hall. “This one’s working now, ma’am.” He turned and smiled at Jane. “Sorry about the inconvenience.”

  “Do you know this elevator is eight months past inspection?” Chance stepped around Jane and pressed his hand to the doors to keep them open. “Who’s in charge of maintaining them?”

  “Uh . . .” The maintenance man scratched his head.

  A feminine voice floated into the elevator. “Chance? What are you doing here?”

  The shoulders under his polo hardened into boulders. Curious, Jane peeked around the doors, into the hall. A tall woman in a flirty floral dress and three-inch heels gave Chance a tentative smile. A wrap-sweater was tied with a bow around her waist, showcasing her trim figure. Its cream color stood in stark contrast with the swath of shiny dark hair that swung loose around her shoulders.

  “I was hoping to see you today, but thought I’d have to track you down.” The woman laughed, a musical tinkle. “Who would’ve thought you’d come to me?”

  A muscle spasmed in Chance’s jaw. “Annette. What in the hell are you doing here?”

  The maintenance man grinned in delight. Anyone could sense a fight was brewing, and Jane could tell he was one of those people who relished having a front-row seat for the drama.

  Jane ducked under Chance’s arm and stepped into the hallway, taking a deep breath when she emerged out of the box. The tension rolling off of Chance had made the elevator even more stifling. Cha
nce had just moved to Pineville. Did he already have an angry ex-girlfriend?

  The woman’s charming smile faded. Her mouth tightened, fine lines appearing around her lips. “You know why I’m here.”

  A dark flush crept up Chance’s neck, mottling his face. He looked like he was about to blow.

  Jane stepped close to Chance. Her hand itched to rub his back. She asked, “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” He glanced down at Jane, regret and resignation flickering over his face. Running a hand down his cheek, he sighed. “I was just hoping I’d seen the last of this woman for a good long time.”

  “Why? Who is she?”

  He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His gaze darted across Jane’s face before settling back on the woman.

  Annette stepped forward, raised her hand to shake Jane’s. “His manners never were much to talk about. Hi. I’m Annette McGovern. Chance’s wife.”

  Chapter Five

  Jane’s stomach plummeted to her toes. She shook the woman’s hand in a daze. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard. I thought Chance’s wife . . . I thought she was . . . uh . . .”

  Chance cursed under his breath, and Jane knew she hadn’t misheard. She was shaking hands with his wife, Josh’s mother. She snapped her hand back. Putting on a cool smile, she said, “Jane Willoughby.” She stepped away from Chance. “It looks like you’ll be busy here. I’ll go to the ballroom and meet with the manager.”

  She took two steps before his hand snagged her elbow. He swung her around to face him.

  “Jane, it’s not what you think.”

  She looked past him, not wanting to see regret in his eyes. Annette folded her arms across her chest and cocked her head, staring at the pair of them. She didn’t seem upset that her husband was in a hotel with another woman. She looked curious. And amused.

  Tucking his finger under her chin, he raised her face to his. “Just listen to me for a second.”

  Oh, hell no. He wasn’t allowed to lie to her again and think an apology would cut it. “Oh? So your wife is dead? That woman there is just a crazy stalker?”