“How could it be different? We’re the same people. We’re feeling the same attraction, and we’re starting out the same way as before. With everything else the same, you want me to gamble that the outcome will be different?”
“Would that be so hard?”
Her laugh was edgy. “Oh, no. Of course not. It would just mean trusting you. Unfortunately…I have no reason to trust you.”
“So take a chance. Trust me anyway.”
“Give me a reason—one reason. Tell me the truth about why you broke my heart the last time.”
Tension tightened the muscles in Chance’s jaw, his neck, his hands. “I told you. I had no choice. I was in trouble. I had to leave.”
“What kind of trouble? With whom? Had you done something wrong? Were the cops after you? Were there bad guys out looking for you? Where did you go? What did you do? And why didn’t you take five minutes—five minutes, Chance—to call me and tell me you were leaving?”
He couldn’t answer even one of her questions—couldn’t tell her that he’d been working undercover to break up an interstate auto-theft ring that was distributing hundreds of thousands of dollars in stolen cars and parts throughout the entire South from the Oxford garage. He couldn’t tell her that the case agent had had reason to believe that his cover had been blown, that, yes, they’d thought the bad guys were on to him, that they’d snatched him out before the suspicion around him could extend to Jake—and before it could get Chance killed. Take five minutes to call her and say goodbye? They’d rousted him from his bed, and within five minutes he’d been on his way out of the state. The best he’d been able to manage was a few words to Jake. Tell her I meant what I said. Tell her I love her and…I’m sorry.
She waited expectantly, but he said nothing. The expectation disappeared from her expression, to be replaced by resignation. “Do you know there’s nothing in my life I couldn’t tell you? But it appears there’s an awful lot that you can’t tell me. Simple things. Honest things. Things that two people in a relationship should be able to share.”
“What about trust?” he challenged. “Isn’t that something two people in a relationship should share? And yet you don’t trust me.”
“I did, eight years ago, and you betrayed my trust. Once you’ve done that, you can’t expect it to come as easily the next time. Maybe not even at all.” There was a sadness in her eyes that made him want to hold her tight and protect her, but what good would that do when she felt he was the one she needed protecting from?
Then she took a breath, and the sadness disappeared. “As long as we’re on the subject of trust, I’m not the only one holding back.”
“I’d trust you with my life,” he said flatly, but it wasn’t exactly true. He did trust her. He just didn’t trust her to lie well enough to protect them both.
“But not with the answers to the questions I just asked you.” She sat, put her shoes on, then gracefully stood again. “Avoiding each other isn’t easy. Believe me, I know. But for my sake, as well as your own, we need to do it.”
“I don’t want to,” he said, feeling and sounding like a spoiled little kid. “I want to be with you.”
“And I want you to be honest with me.” She shrugged. “We can’t always get what we want, can we?”
She’d taken a few steps away before he spoke again. “Mary Katherine? I’m not going to make this easy for you.”
The look that stole across her face was exquisite in its hopelessness and said too clearly what she didn’t—I don’t expect you to. With a soft sigh, she said, “You do what you have to do, Chance. And I’ll do what I have to.”
This time she made it as far as the stairs before he spoke her name again. “Mary Katherine?”
And this time she didn’t stop, didn’t turn, didn’t reply. She just kept walking away from him.
“Aw, hell,” he muttered, turning to face the river again. Maybe she was right. Maybe, until this case was over, staying away was the best thing he could do for her. Maybe, until he could tell her the truth, it was the only thing he could do.
And when the case was over? What if it was too late? What if she’d found someone else? What if the truth no longer mattered?
Thinking about what-ifs would make him crazy. All he could do was concentrate on the here and now. He would do his work, avoid Mary Katherine and pretend it wasn’t killing him inside. He was strong. He’d walked away from her once before and survived. He could do it again—at least, in the short term. He would be all right. And when all of this was over, he would tell her everything. Even if it was too late, if she’d found someone else, even if the truth no longer mattered, he would tell her.
He owed her that much.
Chapter 5
Forty-five minutes after the Queen pulled into her berth Saturday morning, Mary Katherine wearily headed for the locker room below. She’d been more than ready to leave with everyone else at three o’clock, but several of her regular customers had been engaged in the millionth hand, or so it seemed, of a never-ending poker game, and she’d been told to stick around until the end. Five minutes ago, the end had come—with a five-hundred-dollar tip to her—and she fully intended to be home, in bed and asleep in another five minutes. Well, maybe ten.
The past week had been a good one as far as work went, she thought as she let herself into the empty locker room. She’d made a lot of money, had a minimum of overly friendly customers and had spent a good deal of time watching the games and talking discreetly with other waitresses and the bartenders who regularly worked in the Memphis Saloon. What little she’d learned was making Granddad’s excuse that he’d been snookered look like just that. Granted, she was no gambler, but everything seemed legitimate to her. She wasn’t quite sure how a dealer could cheat, or why. After all, Chance had said the games were taped; it kept everyone honest. The dealers were aware of the cameras and knew they would surely get caught if they tried anything underhanded.
Unless the Queen’s games weren’t as clean as Chance insisted. Unless they were cheating on behalf of the house, with Mr. Ianucci’s knowledge. Unless Chance was lying to her.
He was the only dark spot on her week. She’d missed him. Despite his promise Wednesday night that he wouldn’t make things easy for her, he had. She hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of him since then. When the security staff made its usual between-cruises rounds, he was nowhere in sight. Each time she hesitantly made her way to the Texas Deck for a break, she found it empty. She knew he was working—the Cuda was in the parking lot each evening when she arrived and each morning when she left—but he was doing a good job of staying out of sight.
Unfortunately, whoever had coined the phrase “out of sight, out of mind” hadn’t been referring to Chance. He was in her mind, in her dreams—everywhere except in her life—and she missed him. Wanted him. Sometimes thought about going to him and asking, pleading, for his attention again.
Thankfully she came to her senses first.
Or was it a pity?
Though she normally changed clothes in one of the curtained dressing rooms that lined one wall, tonight she undressed where she was. After all, unless the games were also running late on the California Deck, she was the only waitress on board at the moment. Most of the girls didn’t think twice about stripping down naked right in front of everyone. Of course, most of the girls didn’t have her years or her hips, she thought ruefully as she hung her outfit over the open locker door.
Quickly she dressed in her own clothes, then shoved the costume into the locker, grabbed her purse and left again. The Queen was unnaturally quiet, virtually abandoned, with the customers and most of the staff long gone. She assumed there were security guards on board all night, but she saw no sign of them as she approached the gangway, and the guard shack where Jimbo always flirted with her was locked up for the night. But there were cars in the parking lot—she counted six besides her own, one of them a cherry-red Cuda—so someone was still around.
Chance was still around.
>
She didn’t find much comfort in that, though, when all those people were somewhere inside and she was alone in the dimly lit parking lot. Inside, with the windows and doors closed, the air conditioner running and the conversation that was surely flowing, if anything went wrong outside, they’d never know.
Feeling just the slightest bit cowardly, she hurried to her car, unlocked the door and slid inside. She tossed her purse onto the passenger seat, locked the door again and started the engine—or, at least, tried. It choked. It coughed. It sputtered. It did everything except start. “Come on, baby,” she pleaded. “You can’t do this. It’s practically four o’clock in the morning, and I’m tired, and I want to get home, and you just had a tune-up two weeks ago, and everything was fine! Please start!”
The sound of a motor more finely tuned than hers was even capable of interrupted her begging. She felt the deep rumble of the engine as it pulled alongside, like a dangerous, hungry cat ready to pounce, and knew without looking that it was Chance.
His window was down, and he was watching her impassively. He must have been waiting in his car—to make sure she made it safely to her car?—because there was no way he could have walked past without her seeing him. He’d removed his coat and tie, and the gold brocade vest hung open underneath the shoulder holster he wore. He looked dangerous and hungry, too, and ready to pounce on her.
Her throat went dry and her palms got damp. She felt about thirteen years old, face-to-face with a high-school crush who was going to teach the little girl a lesson. The smart, sensible adult in her told her to run away and hide. The sensual, once-mad-about-him woman wanted to learn the lesson.
Again and again.
With trembling hands, she turned the key, then pressed the button that rolled down her window.
“Want a ride?”
Yes. No. “Please.” She rolled up the window, grabbed her keys and purse and climbed out. The muggy air enveloped her, making her too aware of her clothes sticking to her, of her hair curling damply away from her face. As she opened the Cuda’s passenger door, he picked up his jacket from the seat and hung it over the back. The mixed fragrances of cigar smoke, aftershave and pure sexy Mississippi male drifted around her as she settled in.
Once they started moving, the wind coming through the windows ruffled her hair and lowered her body heat a degree or so, though she was all too aware that it would take only one look from him to make her hot again. Maybe he wouldn’t give her that look. Maybe he would drop her off at her apartment without ever glancing her way, and she would get out of the car and go inside without begging for it. For him.
Her house came into view ahead. Chance pulled into the empty space in front of it and, for a moment, simply sat there, the engine idling.
Mary Katherine swallowed hard and wrapped her fingers around the door handle. “I—I— Thanks for the ride.” When he offered no response, she opened the door and slid her feet to the ground.
Then he shut off the engine.
Though she heard noises—a car horn, a dog barking, the hum of a window air conditioner next door—it seemed the silence surrounded them. Thick, breath-stealing, ominous…or was that auspicious? Without looking at him, she stood, closed the door and started up the sidewalk to the porch. By the time she reached the top step, he was mere inches behind her.
Barely able to breathe, she unlocked the front door, then locked it again behind them. When she missed the lock on her own door twice, he steadied her hand with his bigger, darker, stronger grip. He inserted the key and turned it, pulled it out and twined his fingers around hers. Such promise in that small touch. Such need.
By the time they moved through the door, he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back, greedily, crazily. The smart, sensible adult disappeared, leaving only the still-mad-about-him woman. She pulled frantically at his clothes, at her own, touching him intimately, burning alive with the shameless need to have him inside her. When he thrust his tongue into her mouth, she welcomed it. When he shoved his hands beneath her top and rubbed his palms hard over her swollen breasts, she reveled in the sensations.
Still feeding on her mouth, he opened his trousers. She pulled up her skirt, helped him remove her panties, then wrapped her legs around his hips as he lifted her, bringing her down hard on his arousal. Turning so that she was braced against the door, he stretched her, filled her, took her hard and deep and so thoroughly that she felt consumed. She couldn’t tell where she stopped and he began, couldn’t separate his harsh breathing from her own ragged moans. He was touching her everywhere, claiming her, ravishing her, ravaging her.
When she came, it was sudden, intense, killing. With her eyes squeezed shut, everything went dark. Her body shook, clenching hard on his, and she clung to him desperately, gasping, pleading, whimpering. And when he came an instant later, all she could do was hold on for the ride.
As quickly as it had begun, it ended. Her skin was damp. His was slick. Her breathing was strangled, his raspy and loud. For long, shuddering moments, he simply held her against the door, then slowly he began to unbutton her shirt. Forcing her numbed fingers back to life, she did the same for him, working each pearl button free.
When he reached the last button, he pushed the sides of her shirt away and gazed at her as if…as if she were beautiful. “Look,” she murmured, feeling as dazed as he looked. “No bra.” Deep inside she felt him swell again, and as he ducked his head to kiss her breast, she felt herself growing needy again.
Somehow she got her feet on the floor, shrugged out of her shirt and dropped her skirt, too. While Chance struggled with his boots, she removed his shoulder holster, vest and shirt, then slid her hands over his rib cage to his waist, following caresses with kisses, making him groan when she dragged her tongue across his nipple, making him curse when she reached inside his trousers to stroke him.
One boot hit the wood floor with a resounding echo. “Oh, angel, don’t…” The second boot thudded, too, and the next thing she knew she was on her back on the Oriental rug and he was leaning over her, his weight braced on his hands and his knees, his thick arousal sliding home. “Do you know how many times I’ve dreamed of being inside you like this?” he demanded, his voice low, intense.
Probably nowhere near as many times as she’d dreamed it.
“Damn, Mary Katherine…” He kissed her tenderly, greedily, as he began moving inside her, filling her so snugly, withdrawing, filling her again. She matched his easy rhythm perfectly, met him stroke for stroke and felt those incredible sensations building again, curling her toes, heating her breath beyond bearable, twisting and curling in her belly. They peaked with a low, ragged sob, exploding through her body into his, tightening her muscles and shuddering through her with an intensity just slightly less than brutal.
Slowly the tremors eased, the shivering faded and awareness returned. Chance was still on top of her, still inside her, nuzzling her jaw, murmuring soft comforting words in her ear. She felt…fabulous. Sated. And, somehow, still greedy. She wanted to curl up beside him and go to sleep, to sit astride him and find the pleasure again, to take him deep and snug and give him the pleasure again. Instead, she opened her eyes and found him watching her so seriously.
“A million,” he said as if their conversation hadn’t been interrupted for fantastic sex. “A million times I’ve dreamed of being with you like this.”
She knew better than to believe him. His lies had broken her heart once before, and even his own mama said he could sweet-talk a gator into a frying pan. But they were such sweet lies. As long as she reminded herself of the truth tomorrow, where was the harm in believing them tonight?
“I know,” she whispered, gently touching his cheek. “It’s been a million times for me, too. So let’s go to the bedroom and make this one dream come true.”
Chance lay on his back, one arm flung over his forehead to shade his eyes from the morning sun. The ceiling fan and the slow, steady sound of breathing were the only noises in the room. Noticeable by th
eir absence were the creaking of the bedsprings and the sounds of incredible passion, now spent. At least, temporarily.
Mary Katherine lay asleep beside him, a corner of sheet tucked modestly over her body, her arms and long legs uncovered. Her hair tumbled across the pillow and his shoulder, tickling as it fluttered in the breeze from the fan. He thought about stretching out behind her and decided he didn’t have the energy to move. They’d made love four times last night—or was it five?—working their way from the door to the floor and finally the bed. He had aches in parts of his body that he hadn’t known could ache.
But the big one was gone. The one that had been driving him crazy from the moment Mary Katherine had set foot on the Queen—hell, since she’d set foot in the garage all those years ago. The one that had tormented his waking hours and haunted his sleep. He’d never wanted anything so much—had never enjoyed the having of it so much. He just might never let her go.
And she just might not give him a say in the matter.
Unwilling to consider that possibility, he turned onto his side, folded the pillow under his head in two and watched her. Considering that she’d had no more sleep than him, she looked amazingly well rested. There weren’t any shadows under her eyes or lines around her mouth. No, those would come when she was awake, when the shadows would be in her eyes once she realized what she’d done and with whom.
He thought about being gone when she woke up, so he could at least be spared that, but it seemed the coward’s way out. Besides, running away wasn’t likely to go far toward making him seem more trustworthy. It sure as hell hadn’t done him any good eight years ago.
If he could go back in time, he would do it differently. He would insist on seeing her, on telling her the truth. He wouldn’t let anyone hustle him out of town without telling her goodbye, without asking her to go with him, without making definite plans to meet again. Hell, maybe he would have refused to leave, quit his job, taken his chances—whatever it took to keep the two of them together.
Who Do You Love? Page 18