Perfect Chance

by Amanda Carpenter

  With one hand he gently teased the buttons of her dress aside. “I love you,” he said in her ear. “I need you.” Then the last part of her dress fell away, revealing her slender torso covered with a red lace teddy, and he trembled. “Oh, Mary—oh, baby, you are so lovely.”

  She arched up to him hungrily, gripping his fore-arms. “I love you,” she whimpered.

  Carefully he uncovered her, so carefully he undressed himself and pressed his tight, hot weight down upon her. He kissed and kissed her all over, nibbling at her breasts, stroking between her legs, while the moon lit the curve of his shoulder and line of his back in silver. It shone on the side of his face as he bowed over her, sparkling on wetness.

  Tears? Was he crying?

  What could she give him? She gave him herself. “There’s never been anyone but you. There’s only you.”

  He sucked air and came inside her, and the piercing shock of being filled by him made her claw at the sheets and cry out.

  He held still, pressing her into the bed, and with hands and broken voice he soothed her, until the pain passed and she could hold him again.

  His head bowed onto the pillow beside her. He was so rigid, she was afraid he would break into pieces. Carefully she stretched, straining to meet him, and when that didn’t break his rigidity, she whispered, “Please.”

  He sobbed then, clutching her, and started to move, and it was so liquid, so exquisitely right, that the hot curl of passion wound tighter in her with every slow pumping stroke of his hips. She twisted underneath him, whining, and he fisted a hand into her tangled hair, pinning her down. She raked her fingernails down his back frenziedly and sank her teeth into his shoulder.

  His control shattered. He slammed into her, head thrown back, the tendons of his neck etched. She stared into his contorted face, then shook explosively into climax.

  “You—are—mine,” he gritted.

  She touched his ferocious face and gasped, “Yes.”

  At that he thrust into her one last time, and broke into a convulsive shuddering. Shakenly she murmured to him, wrapping both arms and legs around him tight, bringing him back to himself again, bringing him home.

  CHAPTER NINE

  OVERCOME by exhaustion, cradled close against Chance’s chest, she fell asleep and dreamed of being surrounded. Every time she moved, the warm cocoon followed, curving around her slender frame with intimate sensitivity. Someone murmured love words to her in a dark, low voice, and brushed aside her heavy mass of hair to nuzzle the nape of her neck. Caught in the silken threads of the dream cocoon, she did not fully awaken but stretched with languid, incoherent pleasure as she was stroked delicately all over her body.

  When at last she opened her eyes, the pale silver light of early morning illuminated a window. She blinked at the sight, not recognizing the window or the trees outside. She was curled on her side and pinned by a warm weight.

  Chance. She followed the long, tanned arm that curved around her torso to its source. His face was relaxed in sleep, the edges smoothed. He was lying on her hair. As she watched, he nestled into the long, soft strands and drew her closer against his wide, furred chest.

  Warmth flooded her. Sore muscles murmured of last night’s pleasure. His heavy thigh was pressed between hers. She was pinned and couldn’t go anywhere even if she’d wanted to, which she didn’t. Why consider going anywhere else? Where was there to go? She had arrived. She had come home finally, and it had been worth the long years of waiting.

  Could they have made a baby last night? She knew the chances were fairly slim after just one night, but oh, she hoped so. She wanted a daughter with his dancing hazel eyes. She wanted a son with his wicked grin.

  She craned her neck and nibbled at his lips. His hand came up to cup her face, eyes slitting half-open as he kissed her back.

  “Good morning,” she murmured.

  He pulled her hips back against his and kissed down the side of her neck. “Good morning, precious. Did we say we were getting married this morning?”

  Her heavy head fell back to the pillow as sexuality stirred. “Mmm. N-no, I think we said in two weeks.” Her breath caught. He had slid one hand between her thighs and was probing her gently with those long, callused fingers. “Oh! That’s—that’s nice.”

  He growled softly deep in his chest, a lion’s purr, and muttered, “So we opted for the long engagement. Want to change your mind?”

  She stretched deliciously, feeling him harden against her hip. “But everybody would be disappointed.”

  “So? We could get a special license, or fly to Las Vegas.” His hand roamed, reaching up to trace circles around her nipple as he crooned in her ear, “Wouldn’t you like to get married by Elvis? I’ve heard several of them are alive down there.”

  She laughed weakly. “But what about Timmy? I couldn’t look my grandfather in the face afterward— and Cassie, and your parents?”

  “We’ll buy plane tickets for all of them. Tim’d like Vegas.” He rolled her onto her back, captured the nipple he’d been teasing with his mouth and began to suckle. Her eyes fluttered shut and she gripped his head while the deep, sensual hunger began to build. After a time he leaned his forehead against her, breathing hard. “All right. Maybe not Vegas. But I won’t be without you for two weeks, dammit. So are you going to move in here, or should I come there?”

  She nuzzled at his hair, running her fingers through it. It was so much more silken than hers. In the morning light the top strands were the palest of golds. “Why don’t we ask my grandfather?”

  “He’ll have to either put up with me, or face losing you,” he said quietly. “That’ll be a hard choice for him.”

  “I love him, but I won’t be without you, either,” she answered just as quietly. She framed his lean face, looking deeply into his eyes. His morning growth of beard was as golden as the rest of him, tickling her fingers, and his eyes were bottomless, ringed with rich flecks of brown, blue and green. She felt as if she were falling into him. “He’ll have to come to terms with it, Chance. Sooner or later he would face losing me anyway.”

  “I love you,” he said from the back of his throat. “I love you.”

  The words pierced her with the same power as the first time she’d ever heard him utter them. She wrapped both arms around his neck, cradling his head against her breast. “I love you,” she whispered.

  “Let’s go to the county-city building later and order a marriage license.”

  “All right.”

  “When do you have to be at work?” He teased a wavy lock of her tawny hair over her shoulder and rubbed it against his cheek.

  “Three o’clock.” She rediscovered the width of his shoulders, the beautiful interplay of the muscles in his back.

  “We have time, then. We can call my parents and Cassie. They won’t be surprised. Cassie helped me pick out your ring. When I take you back home, we can talk to Tim and your grandfather.”

  “That’s a good idea—oh, God!” She let her head fall back on the pillow.

  He propped himself on his elbows and stared down at her. “What?”

  “I have to call them. I didn’t come home last night, and they’ll be so worried.”

  “Ssh, now,” he said soothingly. “They must not be awake yet, or they would have found my number in the book and called.” He glanced at his bedside clock. “It’s still very early. You can leave it for a couple of hours—until eight-thirty or so. If they’re awake by then, they’ll probably just think you’re still in bed.”

  Chance was right, she realized. That was exactly what they would think. After all, she’d never spent the night with a man before. She relaxed, her gaze caught by the kite pattern of hair on his chest. She followed the arrow of it down his flat abdomen until it disappeared in the tangle of blankets around his hips.

  He noticed the direction of her gaze, and his eyes darkened. Bending down to press quick, light kisses against her mouth, he whispered, “Mary.”

  “Hmm.” Her lips caressed his.


  “Mary, are you very sore?” He licked at her collarbone. One of his hands had started to roam over her again, hungrily.

  She arched up to him. “Not—not very.”

  “We could wait if you like,” he purred. He touched her between her thighs again, and she convulsed.

  “No!” She dug her nails into him. “No, you don’t, you devil.”

  He started to laugh, and she pushed him back against the pillows, exploring him as he had explored her, with lips and tongue and shaking hands.

  Soon his laughter stopped, and he guided her to what brought him pleasure, tutoring her with hoarse, whispered encouragement. She was unskilled but eager to learn and thrilled to find him writhing under her light, tentative touch.

  His head turned restlessly, the bones of his face stark. She paused, looking up at his blazing eyes in wonder. He grasped hold of her by the hips, lifted her over him, and as she automatically parted her legs to straddle him, he thrust up inside her.

  She arched and cried out.

  He withdrew, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs, then arched again to fill her. She clung to his rigid forearms, shaking violently.

  He paused, forcing her to stillness while he devoured every aspect of her: the long, tangled hair that clung in strands to her dampened neck, the wild, predatory hunger in her face, the undulating grace of her torso, the jutting delicacy of her slight, rounded breasts.

  She clawed at his arms, grinding down on him as she sobbed, “Don’t stop.”

  He slammed into her again and again, gasping her name, and she bowed over him, twisting as she climaxed. Her inner muscles tightened on him, and he splintered helplessly.

  He clutched her shivering shoulders as she fell down on him. She burrowed mindlessly, seeking the warm, safe cave, and he wrapped himself around her, stroking the back of her head tenderly, until her shivering had stopped and all was peaceful again.

  An hour later Mary stepped out of the shower, toweled herself dry, and slipped on Chance’s blue terry-cloth robe. It would be thigh-length on him; on her the hem came to past her knees.

  She loved their size difference. She loved everything about him. She loved everything in the world. She was drunk and she knew it, and if she was very, very fortunate she might live the rest of her life without ever sobering up. She straightened the shower curtain, giggled at the mermaid print on it, and waltzed out of the bathroom.

  The robe smelled like him too. She hugged herself delightedly, thinking, I’ll surprise him by cooking his breakfast while he showers. A mushroom and cheese omelette maybe, or French toast. I know he has a sweet tooth. He enjoyed his caramel apple at the fair. Or—she looked at the stairway and started to chuckle again as she remembered what Cassie had said about his lack of culinary skills. Maybe I’d just better wait to see what kind of food supplies he has before planning anything too ambitious.

  She slipped into the kitchen and started to root through his cupboards. There were several different kinds of soup, packaged noodles, a box of Melba toast, a jar of beluga caviar, a small can of oysters and some black olives. And a bottle of Scotch, and another one of Courvoisier brandy. She put her tongue between her teeth, amused and not very surprised, and went to see what tale the refrigerator had to tell her.

  The freezer held eight microwave dinners, containers of gourmet ice cream, a bag of ice and a bottle of vodka. She squatted and rummaged through the rest of the fridge in fascination. There were vast quantities of leftover Chinese take-out boxes, filled with everything from fried rice and moo goo guy pan to sweet and sour shrimp.

  There was no bread to be found anywhere, ergo no toast. No eggs, either. She did find a half gallon of milk, a tub of margarine, a can of coffee and several containers of flavored low-fat yogurt. Sighing, she rocked back on her heels and nibbled at a fingernail. She supposed all that yogurt was vaguely encouraging about some kind of nutritional sense.

  When Mary didn’t come back to the bedroom, Chance slipped on a pair of light cotton shorts and went in search of her. She wasn’t in the bathroom, either. He strode through the downstairs, unsettled, and as he rounded the corner to the dining room and kitchen area, he glanced around quickly and noticed that the refrigerator door was open.

  “Mary?” he asked.

  Up popped a small hand from behind the counter, and short fingers waggled at him. The sleeve of the blue robe flopped around her wrist like a giant bell. It was her left hand. He paused to appreciate how prettily the diamond ring flashed on her finger, and then strolled over to lean his elbows on the counter and regard her.

  She smiled up at him. “I was going to surprise you with breakfast.”

  He smiled back. The robe also made her blue eyes glimmer like jewels, and it was beginning to slip off one fine-boned shoulder. Everything about her was perfection in miniature, even down to the coltish length of her leg and the shapely curve of her ankle. She had painted her toenails red to match the outfit she’d worn last night; her toes curled like tiny pink seashells on the tiled floor.

  He decided he liked her wearing his clothes. “What a nice idea,” he told her, then chuckled as she shrugged and gestured helplessly at the contents of the fridge. “As you’ve probably deduced, I’m no chef.”

  She shut the refrigerator door, straightened, then leaned on the counter toward him. “I love to cook. Since I can’t make you breakfast, I’ll fix Sunday dinner for you if you like.”

  His eyes lit up. “Sunday dinner? Do you know how to cook ham?”

  She nodded. “How about ham with pineapple slices and a brown sugar glaze? I could do crescent rolls and mashed potatoes.”

  He couldn’t resist. “And do you know how to make peach pie?”

  She nearly laughed out loud at the look of helpless longing on his face. “Yes,” she promised, and he closed his eyes dreamily. “A peach pie, too.” She caressed his cheek. “I’m looking forward to cooking lots for you,” she said softly, then tweaked his nose. “If you’re good.”

  His eyes snapped open. She twinkled at him merrily. He stared at her for a moment, enchanted. Looking at her in this playful mood was like recovering a cherished part of himself, long misplaced and nearly forgotten. It was almost painful how much he needed her.

  He shook himself. “Hey,” he joked, “be careful with that nose. I’m saving it for you to lead me around by it.”

  Her laughter was light and silvery. “I’m looking forward to that, too.”

  He curled a hand around the back of her head and pulled her close for a kiss. She returned it enthusiastically. He drew away reluctantly, taking a deep breath. “I’d better go shower.”

  She smiled up at him. “All right. While you’re doing that, I could…I don’t know, heat up some of the Chinese?” He made a face and she giggled. “By the way, there’s an awful lot of it. Did you have a dinner party recently?”

  He nodded. “Sort of. I had people over on Monday night.”

  “I started wondering if there might be anyone you would like to invite to the wedding,” she went on, then paused. He hadn’t mentioned having company over when they’d talked on the phone.

  “I’ll think about it,” he said absently. “There are some people from the university I’d like you to meet.”

  “I’m sure I’ll like them.” She searched his eyes, not sure what she was sensing.

  “I have some things I want to talk to you about,” he said. He bent forward and kissed her again, hard. “It’s nothing to worry about. Look, why don’t you just make coffee while I shower? I’ll take you to breakfast after we talk, and then we’ll go see Tim and Grampa.” He smiled.

  She nodded. “All right.”

  He left, and she found filter papers and pulled the coffee out of the fridge, wondering what he might have to talk about that made him turn so serious. There was old coffee in the machine from the night before. Smiling reminiscently, she washed the carafe, looking out of the window over the sink. Their two cups were on the table where they’d left the
m, still full of dark liquid. She went out the sliding doors to fetch them.

  On her way back inside, she noticed the stacks of files on the sideboard again and paused. Well, they were right out there for anyone to see. She cocked her head, listening. She could hear the distant sound of the shower running.

  She could just ask him. Chance, what are all those files for? Do they have something to do with the people you had over on Monday? In fact, she would ask him the minute he returned. In the meantime, she put the cups on the dining-room table, sidled over, and reached out a forefinger to flip open one of the files.

  The phone rang in the kitchen, and she jumped guiltily and put her hand behind her back. Then she looked around for a clock. Oh, God, what time is it? Could that be Grampa or Tim? She hurried to snatch up the receiver. “Hello?”

  There was a slight pause, the line crackling with interference. “Mr. Armstrong, please,” said a man’s voice through the interference.

  The formal title jarred her a little. It was a stranger. Not Tim, not Grampa. Relieved, she said, “He’s busy. May I ask who’s calling?”

  Another slight pause. “This is Andrew Duncan, ma’am. Who’m I speaking to?”

  “Mary Newman.” It must be a long-distance call, maybe from overseas. She smiled a little. Maybe he was one of those work contacts of Chance’s. She confessed with shy pride, “I’m his fiancée.”

  “Is that so?” His voice warmed. “Well, congratulations. Could you have him call me just as soon as he can?”

  “Certainly—oh, wait a minute.” She turned as Chance, dressed in cutoffs and a white T-shirt, entered the room. He was freshly shaved, and his combed hair was damp. “Here he is now.”

  “Thank you.”

  She handed the receiver to Chance, who gave her a questioning look. “Andrew Duncan,” she mouthed, and went to retrieve the coffee cups from the table while he spoke quietly into the phone.

  He moved into the dining room to talk while Mary washed the cups and saucers, thinking ahead to when he got off the phone. She wouldn’t wait any longer but had to call home right away, even if she woke someone up. She hated the thought of their finding out she wasn’t home and then panicking.