Bad Boy of New Orleans

by Mallory Rush

  Micah sighed heavily, reluctant to leave the memory. How she wished she had waited, that Chance had given her some sign throughout the years. For nearly two years she had tried to be patient, and it had been sheer hell, not knowing, wondering if she had imagined his devotion. Or worse, that he had lied to her.

  Time had a way of doing that, diluting a person's resolve, transforming memories and promises until they seemed no more than once-upon-a-time dreams. College came and still no word from Chance. Sometime in her freshman year she convinced herself it had all been an adolescent crush.

  About that time she met Jonathon. He was handsome and charming, and she thought she might be in love.

  She married right out of college. It seemed the practical thing to do. After all, her parents liked him, her friends liked him, and she liked him. It seemed natural, the easy course.

  Chance had come back from Lord only knew where a year after her wedding. He wasn't wealthy, but he had done well for himself. When he found her, his lips had formed the word, "Congratulations." But his eyes were accusing.

  She thought he would leave, but he didn't. Instead, he seemed determined to make his mark. This time in her own city so she'd be sure to notice. He insinuated himself into the moneyed elite that she had grown up with, flaunting yet another beauty by his side at Mardi Gras balls, social extravaganzas, or in the society pages. Whenever they saw each other, there was always an uneasy tension between them. But their secret remained just that.

  And so here she was, wanting him more than ever. And more than ever he was past her reach.

  Dear Lord, how she wanted him. Even knowing his reputation for cruelty, she ached to have him hold her again.

  For so long that was all she ever wanted. But it just wasn't enough anymore. Something else called to her, demanding to be satisfied. It came from deep inside—this growing need to prove she could be strong, that she could survive all on her own. And what was so strange was that of all the people she knew, the one person who would truly understand was Chance.

  So the cards were at long last on the table. For a terrifying moment she felt the old weakness threaten. She wobbled like a newborn colt, then found her footing still good.

  Micah smiled as she claimed the small victory. She was going to make a new life for herself, starting today. But above all else, she swore two things:

  She would fight.

  She would win.

  Chapter 3

  The phone rang and Micah reached down to pick it up. She stopped just before touching it, in a moment of debate. Tentatively she touched the receiver on the fourth ring.

  "Hello?" Her voice was as breathy as if she had been running.

  "Micah? Hi. It's Elliot."

  "Elliot?" she echoed, hoping her voice didn't reveal her disappointment.

  "What do you mean, 'Elliot?' If I didn't know better, I'd think you were disappointed to hear from me." He laughed at his joke.

  Micah forced a faint laugh. "Of course not, Elliot. That's nonsense. How've you been?"

  "I'm not sure. A lot depends on what kind of reaction I get from you."

  That was Elliot Sebastian for you, Micah mused. Good for a laugh, and good with a line. But overall he was a pretty decent kind of guy as long as you didn't expect much depth.

  "What kind of reaction were you looking for?"

  Micah could feel herself blush, embarrassed by the almost flirtatious comeback.

  "Sounds like you're doing just fine, Micah. I was afraid to call sooner. I mean, I didn't want to—"

  "That's okay, Elliot, I know what you mean. And I appreciate your concern."

  "Would that extend to going out with me this Sunday? I don't want to rush you or anything, but I thought... Well, the way things were, I figured you might be ready to get out by now."

  So, Micah thought, Elliot knew too. It seemed everyone knew she had little to regret.

  "Micah?" Elliot said into the silence. "I'd like to take you to the opera. That is if you're up to it."

  She should say something, do something. Anything but stand there dumbly with the receiver in her hand. This was so unexpected.

  "Yes," she said quickly before she could change her mind. "I'd like to get out, Elliot... Sunday night at seven o'clock?... Of course... Yes, I'll look forward to it too."

  Micah hung up after the date was made, wondering what in the world had gotten into her. She wasn't any more interested in Elliot than a rerun of a bad dream.

  Why had she agreed then... why? The answer was too obvious. She was lashing out at Chance for not pursuing her further, disappointment propelling her to make a date she couldn't even look forward to. So what did that make her? She was using Elliot to get back at Chance. It was a cheap shot and totally unworthy of her. Micah reached for the telephone, ready to call him back and cancel.

  A vision of her spare cupboard and the few cartons of yogurt in the refrigerator caused her stomach to growl. And how long had it been since she'd been out? The women she had mistook for friends in the old social arena had turned out to be about as genuine as fool's gold.

  Micah hesitated, then moved away from the phone, trying to feel better about her decision. Her motives weren't right, but she'd make it up to him. She would make sure Elliot enjoyed the date whether she did or not.

  * * *

  "Micah? Aren't you enjoying this?" Elliot whispered to her behind his program, and Micah realized she was staring off, away from the stage.

  "Yes, fine," she whispered back, and made herself smile.

  Elliot nodded, seemingly satisfied, and went back to watching the opera. Micah kept her eyes on the action even though her mind continued to wander.

  At intermission she was relieved to have the excuse to escape to the ladies' room. Elliot seemed in need of constant conversation, and it was just a little more than she was up to right now.

  Serves you right, her conscience taunted. Yogurt might not be Chateaubriand, but at least she could keep her self-esteem while she ate it in the hot, muggy house. Just thinking about the heat waiting at home made her feel a surge of appreciation for the cool jets of air flowing around the rest room.

  Micah touched up her makeup, then glanced at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Her dress was elegantly simple—a strapless white silk. It plunged so that her throat was left bare to reveal the necklace of a single emerald nestled in the hollow there, setting off the brilliant luster of matching stones which dropped in gold filigree from her ears.

  The set was her grandmother's. She realty should have sold it along with the rest of her jewelry, but when the jeweler started to reach for the set, she had instinctively covered them with her hand, and told him they were no longer for sale.

  Although she was tempted to stay rooted in the ladies' room for the duration of the evening, good manners dictated that she go find Elliot at their appointed meeting place—beside the champagne table. She shut the clasp to her gold-beaded bag, gritted her teeth, and left.

  Micah decided he must have been watching for her, and tried, to ignore the twinge of irritation when he gestured from the distance, champagne glass in hand. The smile she wore was vague, and she was glad she didn't have to meet his eyes as she wove her way through the mass of people. When he was only a few feet away, she realized her mistake.

  "Look who's here, Micah. We were waiting for you."

  The limp feeling she had been fighting throughout the evening surged into an explosion of anticipation, of apprehension. Something like a light went on inside her head, and she felt simultaneously giddy and bereft.

  It was the gorgeous blonde draped on Chance's arm that caused her heart to drop flat. Micah had thought she looked alluring, but she felt dull in this woman's radiant shadow.

  "I'm glad to see you're out of mourning, Micah. White suits you a lot better than black." Chance smiled politely, then reached for her hand and pressed a light kiss to it. With a shock she felt his tongue flick over her skin. He did it so discreetly, so skillfully, no one else seemed
to notice what he'd done.

  He let go and turned back to his date, and made the polite introductions. Micah realized with a start she was standing there with her mouth dropped open and quickly closed it.

  Elliot said something, and she nodded, without even hearing a word he'd said. How could Chance have done it so easily—scaled her protective wall before she could erect a single defense? She felt stunned, rendered helpless to her need for him, the need that had been growing since she had come to realize it was only her keeping them apart now.

  Elliot cleared his throat. "The curtain must be about to open. They're flicking the lights. Shall we go, Micah?"

  Mutely she nodded as Elliot nudged her toward the door. With an unprecedented surge of jealousy Micah watched as the other woman clung to Chance's arm. He slipped Micah a satisfied smile, and she knew he was pleased by her own artless reaction. Then he fit his arm snugly about the woman's waist and pulled her closer. The coup de grace left Micah feeling wounded. She couldn't have hurt more if someone had driven a knife between her ribs.

  He raised a single dark brow in her direction, and the silent message he sent was clear. Come to me, Micah. Come to me soon. If you don't, someone else gladly will.

  Micah could feel herself flush with the stinging heat suffusing her cheeks. How adept he was at the game. How ingenuous she must appear in comparison.

  And wasn't she?

  The whole episode was a biting reminder of just how out of her league he was. That woman he was with suited him. She was probably a model, or a professional of some sort. And what was she? A twenty-eight-year-old woman who couldn't get a job, had managed to screw up her life despite all her childhood advantages, and was just now starting to 'find herself'. The comparison was disgusting.

  By the time she took her seat again in the theater, Micah was miserable. But somewhere from the far reaches a tiny voice emerged, refusing to be shut down. It insisted that she would learn, that she was a good person who deserved a good life. She must not give up.

  The voice was faint, but it sufficed. She squared her shoulders and mustered a slight smile, determined to salvage the evening with as much grace as she could.

  The smile didn't reach her eyes. But Elliot smiled back and she knew it was enough.

  * * *

  "Well, good night, Elliot. Thank you for a lovely evening."

  Micah extended her hand and Elliot hesitated, then took it and squeezed. He bent forward and kissed her lightly on the lips.

  It felt strange to have another man touch her. She didn't find it unpleasant, but it wasn't overly exciting either. It was just... strange, unfamiliar.

  She was glad he didn't try to linger or deepen the kiss as she pulled away. Micah smiled and said "Good night" once more, then turned to unlock her front door. As she twisted the key she felt Elliot's hand come over hers.

  "Wait, Micah. I want to talk with you about something." Elliot kept his voice low, almost intimate.

  It was all she could do not to groan aloud.

  "Elliot," she said firmly, "I'm not interested in continuing the evening."

  Elliot coughed and looked slightly embarrassed as he glanced away.

  "It's not exactly that." He paused then went on, looking at her uneasily. "I have an IOU, Micah. Jonathon's signature is on it. If you can, I need you to make good on his debt." He hesitated, then added, "It's for five thousand dollars."

  Micah was stunned. He wasn't interested in her, he just wanted his money!

  "Money?" she asked on a short, incredulous laugh. "I'm sorry, Elliot, you didn't beat the crowd. People had to take a number to get their cut. I didn't realize half the population of New Orleans played poker with my late husband until the day after he died."

  Elliot looked down to the ground, then up again, his eyes skittering uneasily away from hers.

  "When can you pay it then?"

  Micah could feel the gathering rise of her temper. She couldn't seem to get away from the ever-present worry about money no matter what. Her instincts took over, and she struck back in self-defense.

  "When I have it and not before," she said through clenched teeth. "Now leave, Elliot. And don't call me again. We might not have had much to talk about before, but we have nothing to discuss after tonight."

  She stared him down, and it was with a delicious sense of triumph that Micah watched him walk away until he got into his car and drove off.

  Her face felt unnaturally tight, and her raw nerves seemed dangerously close to snapping now that she was alone and could lower her guard.

  Pressing her forehead against the dark wood, she fought the urge to slump into a heap on the porch and sob her misery aloud. Micah drew a deep, shaky breath as she bent to twist the key in the bronzed lock, and it was then she heard the footsteps. They were heavy and deliberate as they came closer. She looked up and her heart stopped in mid beat.

  Chapter 4

  Chance had been waiting for a good twenty minutes before he heard the car pull up in Micah's driveway. He was leaning against the side of the veranda, away from their sight, but positioned so that he could see a thin strip of the couple walking hand in hand up the steps to the front door.

  His own hands curled tight around the wood supporting him, so tight he could feel a splinter digging its way beneath the skin of a finger. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't stop himself from listening and watching.

  Chance tried to decipher just what it was he was feeling as he watched their brief kiss. Hard as he wanted to believe he had evolved beyond jealousy or making his point with a fist, in that moment he knew it was a lie.

  All the old emotions roiled inside of him, the baseness of rage and possessiveness. He might have done a good job of polishing his image, but the man on the inside hadn't changed much.

  Micah was his one weakness. Despite his wealth and power, he still felt something lacking. She was the one thing he'd wanted and never had. Watching Micah with Elliot now only steeled his resolve to win her back, never to let another man touch her again. She belonged to him body and soul, and he was going to make damn sure she realized it.

  Their kiss ended quickly and Chance loosened his grip upon the railing. His mouth settled into a satisfied smile as he saw her turn back to the door, obviously putting an early end to the night.

  Then he saw Elliot restraining her hand, and his slight smile faded while he fought the impulse to bound out of the shadows and thrust him away. When Elliot began speaking to her again, Chance leaned forward, straining to hear.

  What he heard brought a mixed reaction. He wasn't surprised, of course. Jonathon had owed a lot of money to a lot of people.

  But now it seemed Elliot was hassling her. Chance almost gave himself away, by stepping in to tell the guy to shove off when Micah turned on him. Chance was proud of the way she stood up for herself, seeing a building strength.

  Elliot turned away, leaving quickly. And then he was gone. Even from the distance Chance could see the strain in her features, the hollowness of her cheekbones accentuated by the shadows of dark chasing across her face.

  Micah. How many years had that name haunted him? Asleep, awake, even when he tried to blot it out of his mind in a thousand different ways, with a host of different women. He had a secret, a very private one. Each woman in the dark had become Micah in that fleeting moment of release. The act may have started with someone else, but in his mind it always ended with her.

  And there she was, so close he could speak and she would hear him in the near silence of night sounds. She twisted the key, and his legs moved of their own volition, taking several steps away from the darkness and into the shadow of half-light.

  "I've been waiting."

  Micah jerked as though startled by the sound of his voice. She turned quickly to face him, and Chance could feel his heart tighten, his loins quicken. Damn her that she should have that kind of hold over him.

  "Chance," she whispered and stepped back as he came closer.

  He hated seeing the wariness
creep across her face.

  "Why are you here?" she rushed on suddenly as he walked deliberately toward her.

  "Why?" he asked, still walking until he stopped less than an arm's length away. "What do you think? Go ahead, Micah, go ahead and say it. Tell me why I'm here."

  Chance could see the changes click in one by one. The way she began to breathe faster, the wariness in her eyes changing to a darker shade of emerald, as though she were responding already against her will.

  "We both know why you're here," she finally said. "And it's impossible." She took a protective step back toward the door.

  "Stop it," he commanded. "Just stop what you're doing right now." His voice came out harsher than he meant it to as he gripped her wrist and pulled her toward him.

  Micah did stop. She went very still. Only her face was animated, and it was the fear in it that goaded Chance to smash the defenses she was throwing up faster than he could hurdle them.

  He let her wrist go only to lay his hands over the soft ripple of muscle beneath her upper arms.

  "Quit running from me, Micah. Quit running from yourself. That's the coward's way out, ma cher. You said you wanted to stand on your own two feet. Well, go ahead. Do it. Prove to us both that you're tough, brave. Face the truth for once, the truth about us. Cards on the table, Micah. The stakes are high, so take your best shot."

  Micah flinched at the analogy, and Chance cursed softly under his breath for not choosing better.

  She seemed to steady herself then, something coming into her eyes he hadn't seen before—the same something he had heard in her voice when she'd told Elliot where he could take it. A certain self-possession and determination.

  "All right," she said, her voice coming out stronger than before.

  "You scare me. Chance," she blurted out suddenly. "The way you're touching me scares me. I don't like where I've been. I'm not sure where I'm going. All I know is, you're dangerous and you have cause to resent me. You want the truth? All right you've got it. You've hurt me before, Chance, and maybe I've even done the same to you. Only I'm not willing to take the risk of it happening again. So let me be. If you care for me, you'll do that."