Perfect Chance

by Amanda Carpenter

  Chance smiled at her. “I’d be really surprised if Tim gave you the kind of trouble I gave my parents. He’s such a sensible boy.”

  She couldn’t resist asking, “What kind of things did you do?”

  “Oh, mostly the usual. Ran with the wrong crowd. Drinking, smoking—I stayed away from drugs because I didn’t like feeling out of control. I got arrested once for being in a stolen car, but I didn’t know it was stolen and wasn’t driving, so I was never charged.” He glanced sidelong at her, and under his casual veneer was something more searching, an unspoken question.

  She pressed closer to him, her expression nonjudgmental, just listening. He continued, “And I dated a lot of girls. Ran after anything in a skirt, really. This one girl—” He stopped momentarily, and the skin around his eyes tightened. “I got pretty serious with this one girl. We thought we were being careful, but she ended up pregnant.” He drew a breath. “I was going to marry her, but her parents took her out of state for an abortion. I wasn’t told about it until afterward.”

  He fell silent. In its corner, the donkey nibbled at a pile of hay. A couple passed by, chatting together. Mary was oblivious to it all, tracing in her mind’s eye the path of his pain and disappointment, and how it had shaped him. That must have been when he enlisted in the army to get away from home. She reached up and smoothed the hair away from his forehead. “I’m sorry, Chance.”

  He turned to kiss her palm. “Things got better. She and I corresponded for a while, but after a few months that stopped. I did all right for myself, and she’s still in the area. She’s married now and has a family of her own, and we’ve managed to retain a friendship. In fact, she’s one of those married women I’m supposed to be having an affair with. But her husband and I get along, too. He knows better.”

  “I’m glad you felt like you could tell me,” she said huskily.

  He straightened from the railing. “You made it easy, Mary. I didn’t mean to go on so much, but you’re a very good listener.” Palpably, he shook off the mood that had settled on him and said, “Now that you know the worst of it, do you still want to sit by me on the roller coaster?”

  “Of course I do.”

  His face lightened with pleasure and a relief he was far too proud to put into words. He took her hand, threading his fingers through hers, and they left the horse barn.

  It was fully dark now, and the lights on the fair rides were a kaleidoscope of whirling color. The crowd was noisier and older, most of the parents with children having gone home at sundown. Loud music blared from speakers at the fastest rides.

  Chance kept her close and smoothly negotiated a path through the crowd. A burly man, involved in a heated argument with his companion, nearly walked into Mary. Instead, he walked into an iron barrier as Chance shot out his arm protectively.

  “Hey, why don’t you watch where the hell—” the man began, and then saw Chance’s face. “Hah. ‘Scuse me.” He and his friend dodged away.

  Mary was hardly aware of the altercation before it was all over. She looked in the direction the man went, then up at Chance again. The fleeting hint of the hard-faced stranger was already gone before she was ever fully sure it was there.

  “Which ride first?” he asked easily.

  She smiled, tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and they got in line for the Octopus.

  Six rides later, they stepped off the Himalaya, a mini roller coaster that went very fast, both forward and backward. Mary was wobbling giddily, laughing at the look on Chance’s face as he stared at her.

  “Iron stomach is right,” he said, laughing, as well. “Is there anything that you won’t go on?”

  “If so, I haven’t found it. Tim and I spent the weekend at Cedar Point one time. I love the Demon Drop and the Blue Streak.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Are you ready for more?”

  “Sure.”

  They got in line for the Ferris wheel and stepped into their carriage when their turn came. The attendant put the safety bar down, and after all the other passengers got on, the wheel smoothly started to turn.

  The breeze, over the tree line, was fresh and invigoratingly cool. It tugged at Mary’s hair and blew long strands across Chance’s arm and shoulder as she craned to stare, enchanted, at all the fair lights and the surrounding countryside. In the distance she could just see the lake, glimmering in the moonlight.

  As they rounded the top of the wheel and began another descent, Chance put his arm around her and pulled her close. She turned to him with a smile. She caught a glimpse of his shadowed face before he put his mouth to her ear and said, “Do you know what’s supposed to happen on the Ferris wheel?”

  “What?”

  His lips brushed the sensitive hairs at her temple. “You’re supposed to share a kiss. Would you share a kiss with me, Mary?”

  A shiver trickled down her spine and spread to her limbs. Their carriage swung back up again and ascended to the top. Her eyes drifted closed as she breathed, “Oh, yes.”

  His mouth was already covering hers. His lips caressed her delicately, over and over, shaping and rediscovering definition of taste. Her shudder deepened, and then he held the back of her head, parted her lips and delved in hard.

  A moan broke from one of them; they shared the sound and drank it into silence. Then he crushed her to his chest and kissed her hotly. Time fell away, and the world spun gracefully. There was a rhythm to what he did as he bent her over his arm and pierced her repeatedly with his tongue. Each time, she throbbed with a spasmodic, agonized pleasure that was hunger.

  He cupped the small curve of her breast with one hand, and her nipple hardened instantly into a small, round pebble. He sucked in a breath, rotating his thumb over the sensitive nub until she writhed mindlessly, needing to get closer, to reach for something she only understood instinctively.

  He was shaking. She gripped the back of his head, murmuring incoherently.

  The carriage stopped, and someone cleared his throat. “Hey,” said the attendant, “you want to ride again?”

  Chance lifted his head. Mary’s face was naked, her wide eyes blind. He groaned, tucked her face into his neck and cradled her. “Let’s get out of here, precious.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LEAVING the fair was a blur for Mary. Everything but Chance, who kept an arm protectively around her, was peripheral. His body was taut. When she looked up into his face, she could see a muscle bunched in the straight, clean line of his jaw, and she had to work hard to keep from stumbling.

  It was close to midnight when they climbed into his Jeep and he pulled out of the parking space. The tension between them was unbearable, like atmospheric pressure just before a storm. He shifted, then put his hand on her thigh, stroking up the slender length of it. The sensation burned through the denim. She covered his hand with hers and swallowed dryly.

  “Chance,” she said hoarsely, “we have to talk.”

  He shot her an unsmiling glance, his hazel eyes smoky. “Yes, I know. Where do you want to go? Can we talk at your house? I could take you to mine if you like.”

  His house would be filled with his presence, and very private. What would it look like? She pushed aside longing, fought for caution and said, “I think we’d better go back to mine tonight. If you don’t mind.”

  He inclined his head in a terse nod, his fingers tightening on her leg before he let go and turned his attention to the road. She leaned back against the headrest and looked out the window, absorbed in the rhythm of her racing pulse.

  She had only understood in the most intellectual sense the passions that drove some people to disaster. Now, sharp as a knife edge, sexual excitement surrounded her, and all of her previously held convictions were terribly fragile in the force of it. His smallest actions, the rustle of clothing, the quiet sound of his breathing, caught and tugged at her. He was so beautiful he made her ache, and she was gripped with a fierce, primeval desire.

  They pulled into the driveway, the tires of the Jeep crunc
hing on gravel. He turned off the ignition, tightened his fingers on the steering wheel, then came around to open her door.

  Mary couldn’t look at him, even as she reached out and gripped his hands hard. She stared at the house instead. The only illumination that showed down-stairs came from the front hall light and the porch light. The upstairs floor was dark. Grampa and Tim would be in bed, but it was such a large house that muffled sound that this wasn’t any more safe than his place would have been.

  She noticed a dark car, pulled to one side. It was a Volvo, and as she watched, the driver’s door opened and Victor climbed out.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered. Chance turned sharply to follow her shocked gaze.

  Victor strolled toward them, dressed in an elegant navy blue suit. His tie was loosened, white shirt unbuttoned at the throat, and his eyes glittered like black diamonds.

  “Goddammit,” Chance growled tightly. He moved fluidly to place himself between her and Victor.

  Victor looked at him and his handsome face twisted. “I might have known it,” he drawled. “You’ve been panting after her like a dog in rut.”

  Chance stood at his ease, feet planted apart, but Mary saw his fingers flex, a tiny, violent movement, and her heart started to hammer sickeningly. “Mary,” he said quietly, “do you want to speak to Victor right now?”

  “No,” she choked out. “Victor, are you drunk? Go home.” But no matter how offensive he was, she couldn’t let him drink and drive—maybe she should call him a cab…

  Victor sneered. “That would be convenient for you. I spent two years of my life on you, Mary—and you threw it away like garbage. You didn’t even listen when I told you I could explain. No, you had to believe that lying redheaded bitch.”

  Chance stiffened and took a step toward him, the broad angle of his shoulders menacing. “Mary, get in the house.”

  “No!” she said sharply, walking up behind Chance to put a hand on his rigid back. “Not unless you come inside with me. You should be ashamed of yourself, Victor! I’m embarrassed for you—”

  “Embarrassed for me!” He laughed furiously. “What about all the times I was embarrassed to be seen with you! To think I coaxed you along, putting up with your social ignorance and tight-assed prudish morals. You’re a misfit cartoon, Mary, and no amount of money or your family name will change that.”

  She recoiled as if she’d been slapped. Chance snarled and sprang forward, his body blurring, and suddenly Victor grimaced in pain as Chance pinned his arms behind his back.

  Chance’s features were contorted with rage, but his voice was still low and controlled as he clipped out, “He’s not drunk, Mary, he’s just a son of a bitch, a social climber who got knocked off his rung.” He looked at her, and his eyes softened slightly. “Go on inside, sugar. I’ll persuade Dr. Pretense to leave quietly.”

  Her hands twisted together. She looked at him numbly and nodded. “All right.”

  Chance force-marched Victor to the Volvo while Mary hurried up the porch steps. She paused, hand on the doorknob, looking over her shoulder.

  Chance opened the driver’s door and let go of Victor, who swiveled to throw a punch at his face. Almost casually, Chance’s powerful body swung into a graceful maneuver, dodging the blow easily and knocking Victor’s legs out from under him. The other man fell with a heavy thump and scrambled to his feet, cursing.

  Chance said with what sounded like amusement, “Try not to be such an idiot. I’m not a doctor and you’re not a fighter. You’re outclassed, fool. Go home before you get hurt.”

  Victor stood stiffly, hands fisted. Chance leaned closer and said something to him in a low voice. Even from that distance Mary could see the other man pale. Then he turned abruptly, got into his car and sped away.

  Chance pivoted, saw Mary frozen on the doorstep, eyes like saucers, and he quickly strode over to her. She said in a very small voice, “I never thought he would act like that. I never really knew him at all.”

  “Forget about him, Mary,” he said gently, pulling her into his arms. Now that it was all over, she started to shake. “Don’t look like that, sugar. He won’t be back.”

  She buried her face in his chest. “But I wouldn’t have thought he’d come here at all. What else is he capable of? He turned violent—he knows where Tim goes to school.”

  Chance rubbed her back, murmuring, “Ssh, now. This was a last-ditch attempt to get you back, I think, and when he saw me here his temper blew. He won’t try anything else. I promise.”

  “But how do you know?” she queried anxiously.

  His arms tightened and he said in a hard voice, “Because I told him what I would do to him if he did. He got the point. I can be a mean bastard when something I care about is threatened, and he not only hurt you badly, he insulted Cassie.” He nuzzled her hair and she could feel him smile. “Nobody slams my sister except me.”

  But Mary couldn’t laugh yet. She felt furious pain for what Victor had said about her, and another wave of outrage for Cassie’s sake.

  Chance said softly, “Let’s go inside, precious. I could use a drink, and I think you could, too.”

  She hugged him swiftly and they went into the house. He followed Mary to the kitchen, leaning back against a counter as she asked without looking up, “Would you like a soft drink, or we have wine and brandy?”

  “No beer?” he asked.

  She smiled a little at that, glancing sideways. “No, sorry.” She made a mental note to ask Janice to pick some up next week. “But the wine’s good.”

  “That sounds fine.”

  There wasn’t any in the fridge, so she pulled a bottle of dry French white from the rack on the wall and looked for a corkscrew in the drawer.

  “Here,” he said, “let me open that while you get the glasses.”

  She handed it over to him, went to the counter and got two wineglasses from the cupboard. Tight-assed, prudish morals, he’d said. Absently she reached for a chocolate chip cookie from the jar nearby and munched on it. A misfit cartoon.

  Chance popped the cork while he watched Mary eat four cookies broodingly. He poured wine into the two glasses, then reached for a cookie himself. “You know,” he remarked, “I can tell you’re thinking about what Victor said outside.”

  Mary looked at him guiltily.

  He suppressed a smile. Her face was so easy to read. “I know he said some hurtful things, but don’t grant them any validity. He meant them to hurt.”

  She sighed. “I know. There was just enough accuracy in it to make it sting all the more.”

  He finished his cookie, then reached out smoothly to pick her up and set her on the counter, bringing her gaze more on a level with his. He planted his hands on either side of her hips and came nose-to-nose with her. “Mary Newman,” he said sternly, “you are a gorgeous, refreshingly honest young woman. It’s a compliment that Victor sees you as a misfit—who’d want to fit in with him?”

  Her eyes stated to brighten. She’d begun to squirrel away all of the things he’d said to her: “sugar”, “precious”, and now, “gorgeous”, to be pulled out and marveled over in private. She fiddled with a button on his shirt and admitted, “You have a point.”

  He raised a hand and laid the palm against her cheek. “And I don’t think you’re a prude. Not at all. Ever since I bumped into you on Monday, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. For God’s sake, Mary, I’m almost thirty-eight years old, I’ve been all over the world, and I was on that Ferris wheel this evening acting like a lovesick teenager.”

  Face flaming, her gaze dropped to the button she was playing with. It fell open and she caught a glimpse of the dark brown skin underneath, dusted with gold hairs. She snatched her hand back quickly.

  “There’s something I wanted to tell you,” she said in a low voice. “I’ve not—I’ve never…” Her breath shuddered in her throat. “You see, Victor called me a prude for a reason.”

  Silence. His hand dropped to her shoulder and gripped her hard. “Neve
r?” he whispered. “Not even with Victor?”

  Mutely she shook her head, then peered up to see his expression. His eyes were wide, wondering. Of all the things she’d been afraid to see in his face, she’d never expected to see such vulnerability. Impulsively she cupped his lean cheeks and said unsteadily, “I never wanted to before. It was always easier to be safe, to say I’d wait until I had some kind of commitment. But now I’m so attracted to you I can’t see straight. I’m not even prepared—”

  He moaned and bent forward to kiss her, his mouth already open. She met him halfway, feverishly wrapping her arms around his neck, and he thrust his hips between her legs and crushed her torso against his. She sighed, arching against him. He bit her lower lip, one hand splayed at her lower back as he slowly, roughly ground his pelvis hard against her.

  Pure animal need bolted through her. She was overheated, ravenous. She raked her fingernails across his back, and he yanked up the jersey material of her top to cup her breast. She didn’t have on a bra and he inhaled sharply as he connected with bare, soft flesh.

  She needed—she needed something more. She needed him. She sank her hands into his hair as he gently flicked her sensitized, erect nipple and ran his tongue down the side of her neck.

  He stilled, gasping as if he’d run for miles. She burrowed closer, legs wrapped around his hips. He buried his face in her neck, grabbing hold of her waist as he groaned, “No—no, baby. Stop—be still now. Stop.”

  She sobbed out a whimper. His hold on her tightened to the point of pain.

  “I know—baby, I know, but it’s been years—” A violent shiver racked through him and he said raggedly, “I’m not prepared either—and if you do that sexy little wiggle with your hips again, I swear I might lay you down on the floor and take you right here and now.” She froze, feeling his heartbeat thud against her chest in great, rapid strokes. After a moment his arms loosened somewhat and he sighed, “And that’s not how it should be, precious. Not your first time. Your first time should be slow and tender. I want you to feel safe with me.”