Perfect Chance

by Amanda Carpenter

  “For heaven’s sake, Chance,” said his mother chidingly. “As if we would. If she’s not scared away by you, she deserves all our sympathy and support.”

  Chance grinned and Mary chuckled, looking up into Carmen’s face. Chance’s mother was a tall, strong-boned woman, with red hair touched gracefully at the temples with silver, Cassie’s facial features and Chance’s hazel eyes. Those hauntingly familiar eyes were warmly welcoming as they looked at Mary. Suddenly her nervousness fell away, and she glowed with pleasure as she shook the older woman’s hand.

  Chance’s stepfather, Johnny, was a slim, distinguished man, also graying, with an elegantly erect carriage, aquiline features and gentle green eyes. He smoothly interposed himself between Mary and Chance, held out a chair for her, and proceeded to see to her every comfort.

  Chance changed course and headed for the chair on the other side of Mary, but his mother beat him to it. He stopped, cocked his head and said, “I think I’m being outmaneuvered.”

  “Of course you are,” said Johnny comfortably, settling back and smiling at the younger man. “We want to talk to you and get to know Mary, not watch you two sink into a world of your own.”

  Chance frowned mock-seriously, then acquiesced and took the chair opposite Mary. But he glanced at her as he did so, and the ravenous, leashed part of him spoke to her. Later, it said.

  Though she was warm, she shivered. Her face shone with wonder and delicious apprehension, and no small bewilderment at what he did to her. Later, she promised.

  With that, the predator was content and drew back to wait, and Chance turned to his parents to pretend that he was interested in more commonplace things.

  Mary was amazed. Neither Carmen nor Johnny seemed to noticed the pretender in their midst, and they had known him all his life. They laughed heartily at his dry witticisms, and drew Mary out of herself with gracious kindness and a genuine liking. They asked for her opinions and listened with respect to her replies.

  As she grew to know them, she could see how they had both had a hand in shaping his character as he’d grown from being a troubled teenager into becoming the man that he was. Chance’s own brilliance, hard and cutting as a diamond, could have once been what would have broken him. But the gifts they had given him—his mother’s gritty determination, his step-father’s ethics and gentle strength—had saved him from himself.

  Even as the excellent meal progressed and she expanded to sparkle under the wise nurturing they showered upon her, one part of her was always intimately aware of the man opposite her. He stalked her with patient silence. He lounged back in a languid manner, and one of his long legs brushed against hers. He talked to his mother about taking Tim to the fair, while his gaze caressed her. He and his stepfather ordered brandy and coffee for dessert, while he reached across the table and carefully refilled her wineglass.

  The part of her that was his prey knew it was being hunted. It crouched still and small, considered the possible wisdom of bolting, and knew it would not.

  Then somehow the evening was over with, and Carmen and Johnny were saying good-night. Mary shook both their hands and was immensely pleased when the older woman bent to brush her lips against her cheek. “We so enjoyed meeting you, Mary,” Carmen said. “You must come to dinner again soon. We’ll have a more cozy time of it at our house, and we’d love to meet your family, as well.”

  “We’ll ask Cassie to come, too,” Johnny added.

  Mary smiled, and the other three paused to drink in her delight. “Oh, I’d like that.”

  “Next week?” Carmen asked, and she nodded.

  Chance strolled around the table to put a hand at the small of her back. The heavy warmth of it seared through the thin material of her dress and seemed to brand her. “We’ll arrange for a night when everybody’s free,” he said. “I’ll call you, Mom.”

  Carmen looked at her son for a long moment, her gaze sober and loving, and that was when Mary discovered that both his parents knew quite well what had really gone on that evening. They knew, accepted, and she realized just how comprehensive their welcome to her had been.

  “Thank you for everything,” she said quietly.

  “I couldn’t be more pleased,” Carmen answered just as quietly.

  She and Chance walked outside, and they both paused on the doorstep of the restaurant for a moment, taking in the fresh night air. The breeze teased at her skirt and licked against her legs. She looked up and said softly, “I liked your parents.”

  His preoccupied expression vanished, and he focused on her. “They both loved you, but then I knew they would.” He paused, staring intently at her, then whispered, “Come back to my place.”

  Again, it flashed through her: Bolt. Hide. She shoved the thought aside and reached out both arms to him. “Oh, yes, please.”

  He made a hoarse sound and crushed her to him briefly, a hard, bruising hold. Then he swept an arm around her waist and walked her swiftly to his car.

  She was heated, exhilarated. Chance’s face, in the dim glow of the dashboard, was like an ageless marble sculpture, the tiny signs of humanity, both temper and humor, smoothed away by the semidarkness. She averted her eyes and watched the road scroll past them.

  When they got out of town, he took a side road that wound through the hills bordering the shore of the lake. On either side of the road, houses nestled in land covered by forest. After a few minutes, he signaled and turned left into the driveway of a two-story, wood-shingled house. Mary could see, through the break in the trees, dark, glimmering water.

  The engine died into silence. For a moment neither one of them moved. She clasped her hands tightly together in her lap, refused to look at him, and tried hard to breathe normally.

  This was excruciating. Saturday night, in spite of Victor, had been filled with so much magical promise, and now she wondered if she might have made some terrible mistake. She opened her mouth to ask him to take her home, but just then he shifted and put a hand over hers.

  “I bought you a present yesterday,” he said quietly. Huge, terrified blue eyes turned to look at him, and he almost groaned.

  Some of the awful tension that had gripped her eased somewhat as curiosity pricked. “What is it?”

  “Come on inside—I have a deck that overlooks the beach. We can have coffee out there if you like.”

  He sounded so calm and unruffled. Relief and disappointment warred inside her. How could he act as if this was just another date—maybe he really meant for her to meet his parents, visit awhile, and then to take her home. Maybe her imagination had been overactive. Maybe that was a good thing. She trailed behind him to the house, tangled up in herself.

  The interior of the house was paneled with the same natural wood as the outside, and furnished with plain leather furniture, plenty of shelves filled with books, and large framed photographs of varying landscapes on the walls. The overall impression was undeniably masculine, but comfortable, homey.

  Mary had stopped dead ten feet in from the front door. Chance appeared not to notice as he strolled easily toward the back of the house, shedding suit jacket and tie as he went. He flashed her a brief smile over his shoulder. “Feel free to look around while I make the coffee.”

  “Thank you,” she said, bewildered. He disappeared around a corner.

  In the space left by his absence, she had time to think, and she discovered she was curious. Wandering through the house was like a private treasure hunt, as- she gleaned clues about him wherever she looked.

  One of the downstairs rooms had been converted into an office. She peeked inside briefly, saw a desktop computer, laser printer, filing cabinets, shelves with textbooks and journals, a dart board obviously well used. That made her smile to herself. The room was the most cluttered in the house, scattered with stacks of papers and maps. The desk chair was also leather and somewhat battered, bearing the impression of his body.

  He liked classics, biographies and mysteries, puzzles and strategy games. A handwoven afghan was thrown
carelessly over the back of the couch. A polished wood chessboard with pieces carved from dark and light onyx sat on an end table near the fireplace in the living room. The bathroom was neat and somewhat spare, but she smiled to see the aqua-colored shower curtain that bore the pattern of stylized mermaids and seashells. She opened the medicine cabinet, spotted a bottle of after-shave, and inhaled the familiar spicy scent.

  She gave the shadowed staircase leading to the second floor one curious glance, but at the thought of exploring up there, her courage failed. She scuttled into the hall toward the kitchen and bumped into him as he rounded the corner.

  His hands curled around her elbows to steady her as he chuckled. “Do you like the place?”

  His hair had fallen over his brow. She spread her hands over his chest and smiled up at him. “Yes, it’s lovely. Do—do you own or rent? Oh—the coffee smells…nice.” His eyes had started to crinkle. Shut up! She closed her mouth with a snap and fell silent.

  His fingers slid along her bare skin. “I haven’t been here long, just a few months, and I could be persuaded to move—for the right reasons. And the coffee’s just done. Would you like some?”

  She nodded, and he took her into the kitchen, walled on one side with bricks. A white countertop separated the kitchen from the dining room. He had opened the glass doors leading onto the deck, where lights around the rail illuminated redwood tables and chairs. The murmuring sound of the lake drifted in.

  Chance poured two cups of coffee and added cream to hers. Mary paused, her attention diverted by the high stack of dishes in the drainer. She started to smile, guessing that he had cleaned the house thoroughly that day. Then she noticed the dining-room table, which seated eight, and the deck furniture, with room for at least eight, as well. That was a great deal of seating space for a single man, unless he entertained often.

  She wondered who his acquaintances here were, and whether he had had people over the night before. He hadn’t mentioned anything to her over the phone. Her gaze fell on the sideboard in the dining room, which was stacked with papers and files and empty ashtrays. For the first time she noticed a faint odor of stale cigar and cigarette smoke in that part of the house.

  Chance followed her gaze, drew a breath, and put a hand on her arm. “Want to go out on the deck?”

  Her attention came back to him with a start. “All right.” He carried their full cups out carefully, and she followed, feeling an odd tenderness at how he bent his head so studiously to the small task. “Chance?” He set the cups down on one of the tables and turned to her. “I quit my job. I—wanted to tell you in person. I gave them two weeks’ notice on Sunday.”

  His calm stripped away. “You did?” She nodded, and he took a swift, uncontrolled step toward her, then stopped and said hoarsely, “Mary, for God’s sake—are you going to marry me or not?”

  She made a noise—it was supposed to be a laugh— and nodded again.

  He finished the small journey to her, took hold of her shoulders, and hauled her against him. “I’ve been half out of my mind,” he growled.

  Her head fell back. At the same time she said, “I told you I would on Saturday—I didn’t need time—”

  His eyes were ferocious with joy. “Yes, you did need time.”

  She just shook her head and whispered, “You’ll have to start trusting me to know what I want.”

  He paused tensely, then whispered back, “I trust you, and you’d better be prepared to trust me. Even the parts of me you don’t know about yet.”

  “I love you,” she moaned.

  His fingers dug into her shoulders, compressing bones together, then he sank his hands into her loose hair greedily, lifting the heavy mass to bury his face in it. “I love you. I will always love you. That’s it, you’re mine—you said so. Swear it, Mary.”

  “I swear.” She clung to his lean waist, face buried in his chest.

  Silence, filled with the quiet sound of the water and the scattered song of crickets. He said very quietly, “You’re everything, Mary.”

  “You’re mine, too.”

  She felt the murmured words shudder through him. “Yes. I swear it. Oh—” He lifted his head. “Damn— your present. I put it in the chair I was going to make you sit in.” She blinked up at him, and he flashed her a crooked grin. “I hope you like it.”

  She looked at the chairs, saw the wrapped box in one of them, and wobbled over giddily to snatch it up. It was so small it looked like…She tore the silvery paper off and yanked open the top. Inside, nestled against dark velvet, was a large diamond ring surrounded by sapphires. It was so obviously and undeniably an engagement ring. There was no mistaking what that ring was. She held it against her chest and bowed her head over it.

  Unsteady laughter threaded his voice. “Here, let me put it on you.”

  She stuck her hand out and covered her trembling mouth as she watched him slip the ring on her finger. He’d guessed the size well so that it fitted snugly enough, but still she closed her hand into a fist. He cupped her fist, staring down at it, and said, “Soon.”

  After all the whirling her head had done over the past week, at last she could see the future with perfect clarity. “After I finish working out my notice? That soon?”

  A muscle bunched in his jaw. “Yes. Do you mind not having a large wedding?”

  She reached up to stroke the hair back from his brow. “I think a wedding with just our families would be wonderful. Maybe we could have it in my grandfather’s horrible garden.”

  His eyes gleamed with mischief. “With the rotting boathouse and the pavilions.”

  “That silly bridge.”

  “The aroma of the swamp.”

  She giggled. “The swamp doesn’t stink. Much. And anyway, we have acres and acres—we could find some way to stay upwind of it.”

  He laughed out loud and clasped her to him. He was such a different man from the one she had first met. Cleared of cynicism, stripped of barriers, he was boyish and severe, mature and youthful, and his face was a miracle. “Your grandfather’s going to pack a shotgun to make sure I take my vows seriously,” he remarked dryly.

  She nestled into him. “And your parents will send me a sympathy card.”

  He passed a hand over her hair. “Cassie’ll cry. She always cries at weddings. Lord, she’ll be mad at me for that.”

  “Timmy’s easy,” she said dreamily. “He’ll be over the moon.”

  He turned serious, taut. He slid a hand between their bodies, pressed it flat against her belly, and murmured throatily in her ear, “We could try to make it a real shotgun wedding.”

  For a moment she didn’t get his meaning. Then it sank in. Shotgun weddings were for pregnant brides. Realization bolted through her, shaking the strength out of her knees and shortening her breath. Pregnant, with a part of him inside her. The idea, first planted by him on Saturday, had taken root and grown.

  “Oh, God.” She tilted her hot face up, and he rubbed his cheek against hers slowly, eyes closed.

  “I want a baby girl, with your hair and eyes and a startled, innocent little face,” he whispered fiercely. “I want a boy like Tim. I want twins, dammit. I’m so hungry for what we’re going to have together. I’m impatient for it, Mary, but if you’re not ready I can wait if I have to.”

  She covered his mouth. “No. We’re not going to have it, Chance. We have it now. I want it, too.”

  His breath hissed, and his head reared back. He stared into her eyes, saw confirmation there, and plummeted down to devour her mouth.

  He would have knocked her off her feet had he not been holding her so tightly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back wildly. He sucked hard on her lower lip, muttering incoherently, and she pulsed in reply, a startling, violent, involuntary reaction.

  He molded himself around her, hardened and roused, bowing her back over one arm while he learned the delicate curves and hollows of her body. Needing to feel his skin against hers, she fumbled at the buttons on his shirt. She w
as shaking so much that they seemed like an incredibly insurmountable task—until one fell open, and she could see the shadow of his rapid heartbeat in the base of his neck. He was sheened in sweat.

  She bent forward, put her open mouth to that luscious golden skin and licked him.

  A groan wrenched out of him, and he put a hand at the back of her head and pressed her mouth harder against him. Mindlessly she explored that furred, hard-muscled expanse with lips and tongue. His powerful body shook.

  Then he grasped hold of her and pulled away. He was gasping; she stared at him bemusedly. Did he mean to let go of her? She didn’t think she could stand on her own.

  “Not here, baby. Come on.” He picked her up and carried her inside, pausing only to shut and lock the balcony door. She didn’t know or care where he was going. She lay back in his arms and stared up at him. The planes and hollows of his face were bladelike, and his brilliant eyes glittered. He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, but his sheer rampant male aggression was frightening.

  Then he looked at her, and his expression underwent a dramatic change as he laid her tenderly down on his bed. The room was shadowy, lit only by moonlight and the distant glow from downstairs.

  Her tawny hair lay in a fan around her, and the red dress fell in a tangle around her legs. Her eyes were immense, her face shaken.

  He paused to stare down at her. She was so fragile and precious he could barely breathe. Nothing in his life had prepared him adequately for this moment, for the exquisite mixture of fear and love and faith in her eyes. He needed to shield her from everything painful in the world, protect her, surround her with her dreams. His dreams. Theirs. He crooned and pressed his lips gently to her neck. “Mary. Precious. Trust me.”

  Her fingers pressed lightly against his cheekbone. She whispered, “I do.”

  He straddled her while still nuzzling softly at her neck, bracing himself on his elbows on either side of her head. Her eyelids drooped. He was over and around her, covering her with himself. She was in that warm, safe cave again, and she never wanted to come out.