Chance's Rule

by Reese Gabriel

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Chance’s Rules

  ISBN 9781419921667

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Chance’s Rules Copyright © 2009 Reese Gabriel

  Edited by Pamela Campbell.

  Cover art by Willo.

  Electronic book Publication February 2009

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, thisbook may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Chance’s Rules

  Reese Gabriel

  Chapter One

  “M’kalu! M’kalu!” cried the group of small boys, running barefoot toward the village.

  Dr. Kinzie Sanders saw them from the clinic doorway and frowned. M’kalu was the word for white man but the enthusiasm of their chants could only apply to one.

  The last man on earth she wanted to see.

  Sure enough, there he came, Chance, rolling in like some kind of savior in a four-wheel-drive pickup. The villagers poured out to see him—so many that he finally had to get out and continue the rest of the way on foot.

  Good grief, he was carrying a dozen red roses, the fool.

  “M’kalu Bonaki,” chanted the elders.

  White hero, indeed.

  Big deal, so Chance had chased away bandits last spring, saving them all. And he had also made sure they continued to receive medicine and dry goods even when the government’s storehouses ran low two months ago.

  Kinzie sighed, feeling the familiar tightness in her chest. Okay, so he was a goddamn hero but he was still a heel in her book. Never mind his hard, chiseled body, deep blue eyes and gorgeous, tawny hair. Never mind what he could do to her body with just a glance, making her ache for his touch—soft and gentle…or hard and firm.

  They were not conventional lovers by any stretch of the imagination. She doubted anyone would guess that she, the stalwart, always-in-charge doctor, took on the submissive role, a prisoner in Chance’s bed, by mutual agreement—his sex slave.

  She tried to fight the burn between her thighs, her nipples straining against the cotton bra. It always started that way, her every muscle straining to be under Chance’s command, moved to unspeakable pleasure, bound by an indefatigable will.

  No, she told herself. No more, Kinzie, never again. You made a vow, remember?

  “Dokta Keena,” cried one of the elder women, employing their nickname for her. “He is here. Your zamala’ki.”

  She had called him her sweetheart. Hardly. Chance’s idea of love was to sweep in whenever he damn well felt like it, possess her body and soul for short, fiery explosions and then drop her afterward like the proverbial hot potato.

  She should have shut him down long ago. For such a strong woman, Kinzie was an embarrassing pushover when it came to Chance. Medical school had been a breeze in comparison, as had the many serious obstacles she had faced serving as a doctor in Luzumbia, under the auspices of the Physicians for World Mercy program.

  If only she weren’t so damn lonely and starved for dominant male affection. Or was it Chance himself? She shuddered to think she might have feelings for such a man. That was a sure way to emotional suicide.

  Speaking of which, Chance was headed straight for her, entourage in tow. She’d almost forgotten how tall he was. Damn, he looked so good in his khakis, his chest peeking through his half-unbuttoned shirt, the material pulled taut by his strong muscles.

  How she longed to run her hands over his bare skin, or better still, to kiss every inch of him. It had always been her secret desire to worship a man’s body but it wasn’t until Chance that she met one bold enough to compel her to live the fantasy.

  He walked straight up to her. She could scarcely breathe, waiting for him to speak. “You cut your hair, Kin.”

  She reacted instantly. So? Did he disapprove or something? She hated it when he used that tone, so blasted neutral. It wasn’t as if it were his business, anyway.

  “I’m making changes,” she said, stopping short of telling him that he was next on the list.

  “They’re a little faded.” He held out the roses. She tried not to be impressed, focusing as best she could on the thorns.

  “I would ask where you got them but I’m sure I don’t want to know,” she said dryly.

  He leaned in for a kiss. Kinzie turned her face, forcing him to make contact with her cheek.

  His gaze narrowed, became appraising. “Is something wrong?”

  What wasn’t wrong? And damn it, why did his lips have to burn like a hot flame, searing her body all the way down to her toes? “Just the usual—you taking off in the middle of the night, no word from you for a month.”

  Listen to her, she sounded like a spurned girlfriend, bitter and pathetic.

  You could almost excuse his part in their sordid little affair—at least he was consistent. But she should know better. It wasn’t as though they had any formal arrangement, right?

  “It’s easier that way, Kin.”

  “Easier for you, you mean, and don’t call me Kin.” They were about to fight in front of the villagers. Two minutes after his arrival. Typical.

  Except this fight was personal. Until now the arguments had centered on safety and security. For some reason Chance insisted on telling her what risks she should or shouldn’t take.

  As much as she craved submission behind closed doors, she was anything but submissive in public, especially when it came to a man trying to keep her from doing her job.

  “You can take your flowers,” she pushed them into his chest, “and shove them.”

  “Dokta Keena, what is wrong?” the old woman asked. Worried looks passed from villager to villager. For some absurd reason they had it in their minds that she and Chance were a happy couple.

  “Let’s go to your hut,” Chance said. “We’ll sort everything out.”

  He always made it sound so freaking simple. “No,” she refused. “I have things to do.”

  “Let M’Benga take over the clinic for a little while. You work like a dog as it is.”

  The tall male nurse had been monitoring the situation and was more than ready to sell her down the river. “I am fully capable of continuing the morning medication count on my own,” M’Benga told her in his clipped British-African accent. “Go and talk.”

  “There, you see?” Chance grinned, showing off those irresistible dimples. There really ought to be a law against a man looking that good and having all the commitment of an alley cat.

  “Talking is the only thing that is going to happen,” she said pointedly.

  “Sure, absolutely.” Next thing she knew, Chance had handed the flowers over to the old woman, tossed a bag of candy in the air as a treat for the children and steer
ed her toward the simple wooden structure that was her living space.

  She’d been embarrassed at all the work they had done on her behalf, bringing supplies all the way from the provincial capital and laboring for days. She would have been happy with a thatched hut like the others had.

  “I mean it,” she warned as he closed the door behind them and locked it.

  Chance rubbed his hand over her back, sending instant hot chills down her spine. “You’re tense as hell, Kin. We need a nice long session.”

  He meant the BDSM, the domination and submission that would leave her completely drained, happy and mindless, none of which were things she could afford to be right now.

  Kinzie tried to fight the wild urges. Being this close to Chance was like standing on the veldt in a lightning storm, the vast dome of sky lit like an angry cauldron, electric daggers ripping apart the air.

  He was so solid, his heartbeat so strong. She could smell the musk on him, mixed with the raw scent of the land.

  His cock was rock-hard too, pressing against her crotch. Squirming as best she could, she sought to keep her distance. “Jeezus, Chance, what did I just tell you?”

  “You said we’d talk. So talk—tell me how much you’ve been dreaming of me and all the things I’m going to do to you.” He kissed her neck, momentarily distracting her with the white-hot pressure of his mouth. It was all the diversion he needed to slide his hands up under her tank top, thumbs riding her rib cage all the way to the bottom of her bra.

  Kinzie sucked in a ragged breath, too terrified to exhale. It was so damn unfair. He had every advantage, finding all her buttons and pressing them like clockwork.

  “Baby, you are so damn beautiful,” he rasped, pushing the cotton cups over her full, straining mounds. “I’m taking it all this time, everything you’ve got to give.”

  As if he ever took less.

  Kinzie couldn’t hold back the soft, needful moans as he worked her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. He was right—she had been dreaming of him almost constantly, tossing and turning in the hot African night. Sometimes it got so bad that she had to bite down on her pillow to fight back the tears.

  Every morning she arose exhausted, sweat soaked, wrung out and more and more resentful. What kind of man awoke such passions in a female and went away, leaving her to suffer?

  If only she could be tougher, the way she was in the beginning. Back then she had been cynical and breezy, hardboiled—just like him. It was a game they played, the roles easily assumed and shed as the moment demanded. Now it was messy and confusing.

  Oh god, he was going to suck her nipple. The tiny bud puckered in anticipation. She could almost feel the shape of his lips, the way they would seize and possess, leaving her no choice but to respond. It was as if her body had been made just for him.

  “Chance, for pity’s sake, stop it.”

  Something in her voice got to him. He backed off. “Kin, baby, what’s wrong?”

  She so hadn’t intended to cry. This talk was supposed to be about standing strong, not wilting like some stereotypical bimbo. “I just…I just can’t take this…anymore.”

  The words came in short bursts. Next thing she knew he was holding her close, soothing and enveloping her with his sheer masculine presence. “It will be all right,” he said, stroking her scruffy blonde head.

  All those curls, gone in an instant, she thought, a single act of fury and frustration. Could she blame it all on him, or was the whole experience getting to her, the endless stream of sickness and disease, the wounds, the lingering tragedy of a country that seemed to take two steps back for every step forward.

  The latest blow had been Pierre.

  She couldn’t go there though, not now.

  “I used a scalpel.” For some reason she found humor in the recounting, causing her tears to mix with laughter. “M’Benga had to even it up with the shears.”

  “The man missed his calling,” Chance quipped. “Then again, look at what he had to work with. You could be bald and you would still be the prettiest sight on this or any other continent.”

  She pushed him away. Rejecting his affection took a monumental effort of will but it had to be done. “You’re full of it, just like always, telling me whatever you think I want to hear so you can get in my panties.”

  “I do want in them,” he acknowledged. “More than you’ll ever know. But I’m a hell of a lot more concerned with what’s really bothering you. Is there something you’re not telling me? Is somebody hassling you out here, because I swear to god, if they are—”

  “Don’t go all primal on me, Chance.” She had to admit it was sexy though, that look that came over his face, pure male lion ready to protect his own. “No one has disturbed us. Although a group of refugees came through last week, some of them wounded. They said the army is fighting a new rebel group in the north.”

  He nodded, his face giving away nothing. As usual, he knew more than he was saying. “There’s been some trouble, shouldn’t last long.”

  Kinzie moved to pull her shirt back down.

  “No,” he said, his voice so plaintive it felt as if a tongue were licking seductively between her already steamy thighs. “Don’t deny us.”

  Us. As if she was supposed to want this too.

  Kinzie’s hands fell to her sides. She felt awkward, lost. “It’s just not a good idea.”

  Say it. Tell him we’re done, she thought.

  Chance came at her again, this time so tenderly it turned her knees to rubber. Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her, his lips barely making contact but managing to convey everything.

  At least there was one thing right about them. The sex picked up right where it left off each and every time and it only seemed to get better.

  “Let me make love to you, Kin. Let me work all these kinks out. We don’t need any props, just you and me. It’ll make sense again, this whole messed-up world, I promise.”

  She wanted to believe him almost as much as she wanted him inside her, over her, thrusting, taking her with so much pleasure that she would have absolutely no choice but to accept her own raw, yielding nature.

  With Chance she felt safe and free, no responsibilities, no need to maintain the constant front of invincibility. She was his, plain and simple.

  It was probably just the environment they were in that made it so good—the implied danger, death always in the air. This sort of relationship wouldn’t work back home in the States. Would it?

  “That’s it, sweetheart,” he urged.

  Without realizing it, she responded to him, arching her back, softening her lips.

  She let him take her hand and place it on his crotch.

  Kinzie swooned at the feel of his cock. Even through his clothes it throbbed, so big and thick. She wanted it out of his pants. She wanted it between her legs, in her mouth, any place she could get it.

  “Oh yeah,” he said throatily as she ran her fingers over his erection. “Now I’m home.”

  She wanted to argue. It couldn’t be true. Despite all the things they had shared, she still knew so little about him. He evaded all her questions about his occupation, all the while waltzing in with antibiotics and roses and any other damn thing they wanted. Things like that couldn’t be gotten legally. She knew because she had tried and tried. He had to be some kind of smuggler. It wasn’t a stretch to think he could get any kind of sex he wanted in the bargain. Beautiful women from the capital, women good enough even for General Matubu, the dictator of Luzumbia.

  “Too many clothes,” he growled, turning her.

  She lifted her arms, letting him pull the tank top over her head and then unhook her bra, baring her lush breasts.

  Pulling her against him from behind, he let his hands cup them, enveloping, massaging. She shuddered, pushing back her ass, offering it.

  He went after her shorts next, unclasping them and making quick work of her zipper in order to give himself access to the front panel of her panties. Sliding his hands over th
e damp material, he felt the ridges of her pulsing sex.

  “Kin,” he said her name, bidding her to crane her neck. Accepting the gift of her lips, he gave her a real kiss this time, tongue penetrating, sampling, testing.

  All the while he rested his fingertips on her barely covered sex, driving her mad with the need for more.

  No one did it like Chance, intoxicating her with the reality of how much he wanted and needed her but never pushing or forcing. What woman could refuse such attentions? No man had ever come close to giving her so many orgasms. And in his way, he was the most romantic man in the world.

  Who else would show up with roses in the middle of the bush?

  Oh yeah, Chance was one of a kind.

  But so was she and she deserved better than a series of glorified one-night stands, honest to god.

  “I just can’t,” she breathed, marshaling her strength before it was too late. “I can’t let you use my body as your personal playground anymore.”

  “Uh-huh.” Chance found the waistband of her panties. Simultaneously nibbling at her shoulder, he let his fingertips slip under the material, down past her light-golden fleece to the ridge of her puckering lips.

  Teasing ever-so gently, he entered her. She could not help but respond, dripping outrageously over his hand and down her inner thighs. “Are you fucking listening? I won’t be your whore. Scratch that, at least whores get paid.”

  “How can you say that, Kinzie? You’re my princess. I burn for you all the time I’m not with you. I’m not here to steal anything. This body is yours.” He pressed his torso hard, molding his massive chest to her bare back.

  “I-I don’t want it.”

  What a fucking lie.

  He called her on it. “So turn me away, spurn me if that’s what you want.”

  “You mean like you do to me whenever you’ve satisfied your needs?”

  Chance stopped pleasuring her. “Where is this coming from?”

  “Sorry if the truth hurts.” What hurt was losing his caressing hand and his tingling lips on her shoulder.