Bad Boy of New Orleans

by Mallory Rush

  "I said, how much, damn you!"

  Get it done with... and tell her no lies.

  "Thirteen grand. Give or take a few hundred."

  "He owed you that much and you kept playing with him?" She looked stunned, her eyes wide and disbelieving. "You knew he'd never pay up. What were you going to do with your collection of IOUs, Chance? Paper your office with them?"

  "Buy your freedom."

  Her mouth gaped open. She shook her head once, twice, as though she were trying to wake up from a bad dream. What was he thinking in telling her this? He'd vowed the truth, but this was better left unsaid.

  "My what?"

  "Forget it, Micah. Ask me something else."

  "You were going to buy my freedom?" She seemed hung there, unable to get past the fatal revelation.

  "It was killing me, Micah," he said urgently, desperate to make her understand. "Seeing the way you were sinking deeper, the way he was pulling you down with him. Especially after you refused to leave, I had to think of some way, some plan to get you out of there.... I decided if Jonathon owed me enough money, he'd be willing to make a trade. My silence and forgiveness of his debts to me in exchange for him letting you go."

  "But that's blackmail!"

  "Hell, no, lady! That's desperation! For the love of heaven, Micah, I was doing it for you. Everything's been for you."

  "Well I don't want it." She shuddered, her face etched in distaste. "You've built your empire by stepping on people, being mean and dirty, and I want nothing of it. I've made excuses for you, Chance, always. But no more. It was bad enough that you were a cutthroat in your business dealings, but this takes the cake." She pressed her hand over her heart as though she were covering the hurt. Her voice came out choked. "You tried to buy me."

  "No!" He was losing her, losing everything he'd ever wanted. He had to get her back. The desperation was eating him alive, crawling through his insides, shooting streaks of black behind his eyes.

  "No," he repeated. His hands clenched by his sides as he forced himself not to grab her to him until he felt safe, sure that she was still his. "Listen to me, Micah. No one could ever buy you. Because no one owns you but yourself. I just wanted your freedom. Once he let you go, the rest was up to you. I had no guarantee that you'd come back to me. Only hopes and dreams that refused to die, that I kept clinging to when there was nothing else to keep me going. At least this way I had a chance. It was all I had."

  She seemed to slump with the heaviness of the confession.

  "That paper was meant to be your ticket out. But that was between me and Jonathon. What's on the floor has nothing to do with you."

  "Maybe not. But it has everything to do with us." She raised her head slowly. "One reason I could give myself to you was because I felt I had finally started to come into my own. That I had proven to myself, and to you, that I could stand on my own two feet."

  "What are you talking about? You have taken care of yourself."

  "Have I? You knew from the very beginning how important it was to me that I invested my money. Not yours. And that's exactly what our little 'partnership' is. Yours, all yours. Because even with my paltry investment, I still owe you."

  "Dammit, Micah," he growled. For once in his life he'd wanted to help someone, and all she could do was throw it in his face. "Sometimes I get just a little sick of your pride, you know that? You can't see beyond it. Money has nothing to do with us. If you'd rise above this constant need to keep proving whatever the hell it is you're trying to prove to yourself, you'd see what you've really accomplished."

  She took a step back. He matched it with a step forward, then relentlessly forged ahead, trying to make her see reason.

  "Do you realize that you've painted nearly a whole house? Wallpapered it? Fixed plumbing, and turned the yard from an eyesore into a selling point? You have real talent—an eye. By the time you finish—"

  "I'm not."

  The room went deathly quiet.

  "I beg your pardon?" He said it slowly, making sure she caught the edge of warning there.

  "I said... I'm not finishing. I'm going to have my lawyer turn over my share of the property to you. And I'm going to do it today."

  She turned as if to leave. His hands snaked out. Taking her by the shoulders, he snapped her around to face him.

  "Oh no, you're not," he said.

  "Oh yes. I am."

  His hands tightened and he fought the urge to shake some sense into her. "My patience is wearing thin, Micah, so get this straight. You are legally bound as my partner, like it or not. When I had my lawyer draw up our agreement, I made sure it was airtight, and there's no way you're getting out of it. You're going to finish that house, come hell or high water."

  "Like hell I will. It's yours, Chance. Just count my labor and down payment toward the outstanding balance. Send me a bill for the rest. I'll make sure you get your money before anyone else does."

  He had to make her stick it out; it was the only way to keep her close until they solved this.

  He measured each word carefully, spooning the acid to bite. "You disappoint me, Micah. I never had you pegged for a quitter. After all, quitters are cowards. The yellow streak sticks to their backs like neon. You can see it a mile away, every time they run. That's something I've never understood—how quitters must figure it's easier to walk than to confront the problem head-on."

  She flinched. He smiled mirthlessly, detesting the cruelty of what he had no choice but to do. Chance went on, forcing his voice to sound businesslike and impersonal.

  "See, Micah, what we've got is a problem with direction here. If you decided to stay and work things out instead of running, you should have the balance worked off by the time we sell the house. And have a profit to show." He shrugged with supreme indifference. "However, if you do decide to quit, you'll still have the entire balance to settle with me. You would have worked free of charge, and your down payment would be mine, too, of course. By default, Micah. Think about it. That's an awfully high price to pay for a load of false pride."

  Something was going on behind her eyes... it was hard to tell what. An assessment, some kind of mental gymnastics as she came to grips with reality. Common sense and incredulity and hurt pride warring within her.

  "All right," she said quietly, slowly.

  He gave a curt nod. "You'll make a shrewd businesswoman yet, Micah. The cardinal rule is... never let emotions interfere with a sound decision."

  "So I'm learning from the master. All the more reason to leave any kind of emotion out of our business... and that is all we're dealing with here. Business. I'll keep my end of the bargain, you just stay out of my way."

  "If that's the way you want it."

  His eyes searched hers, before she took a deep breath and looked away. He knew she still felt enough for him to hurt, the pain in her too obvious for him to miss.

  "That's the way I want it."

  His hands were still on her shoulders, no longer clenching in anger, but soft with regret, and the need to harbor what tenderness he could before she pulled away.

  Micah seemed to be savoring it, too, and then with a determined look she shrugged them away. Reaching behind her ears, she unlatched the emeralds that he knew had been her grandmother's—the ones that enticed him even now to press his lips against the sweetness of her neck.

  She reached for his hand, and drew it between them, palm up. He felt the emeralds fall lightly in the center.

  "Micah, please—"

  "No." She shook her head. "Those are worth at least the balance, Chance. Keep them until we sell... just consider it collateral."

  He reached for her. She shrugged his touch away. Stiffly she got herself together, and without another word, strode to the door.

  "Wait," he called out. "Let me drive you home."

  She paused there, her hand grasping the frame. "I need to be alone. Chance. I... want to walk awhile. When I get tired, I'll catch a cab. Don't worry about me."

  Even with the distance bet
ween them, he could see her unsteady hold, the way she trembled. She turned just enough that their gazes met.

  There were volumes spoken in that small silence. They shared a common pain, an unlikely affinity in this moment—the confusion of how things had gone so wrong.

  "How could you, Chance?" she whispered suddenly through the falling of her tears. "Can you even imagine what this does to me?"

  He nodded, knowing too well. Her gaze shied away from his, as though even looking at him was too incisive, the cut too fresh to endure it.

  "I know it's too soon," he said quietly, around the unbidden constriction of his throat. "But when you can start seeing past your own pain, just try to remember that I'm hurting too."

  He wasn't sure, but thought she gave a small, hesitant nod. As she walked away his feet moved compulsively to the door to watch her as long as he could. Then she was gone, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He wanted to curse, he wanted to go after her and force the earrings back where they belonged. Even more, he wanted to lay her down and take her to a place where none of this torment existed, where lips soothed, and bodies forgot.

  Chance opened his palm and looked down at the emeralds. He remembered the night on the porch when he had first touched them, the kisses, the hunger. Then he remembered the fleeting glance that had passed between them as she had taken them off moments ago.

  Despite her words, despite it all, it was a glance that he clung to now as he let that final parting mingle with his despair. He grasped the emeralds tight, and shut his eyes, taking his only comfort in the unspoken message:

  She might not like him, she might not trust him. But, thank Heaven, she couldn't stop loving him.

  Chapter 13

  Chance listened to the reverberation of the engine, trying to block out the pounding between his temples. Drumming his fingers on the dash released some of the pent-up energy that had been building over the past few weeks.

  He had known better than to even try the flowers routine again, sure that would only anger her more. And anger was mostly what was left now; the pain and shock had dulled to a bearable level. Only the anger hadn't died—if anything, it had just kept building in the face of her silence.

  He was learning to hate the silence, the solitude. He hated it almost as much as that brusque. impersonal voice she used with him now.

  He was emotionally drained, mentally exhausted, and frustrated. As if that wasn't enough to try his patience to the limit, the added pressure of the interested buyer had managed to tip the scales.

  Chance stopped drumming his fingers. He clenched his jaw. He knew she was in the house since her car was parked in the driveway.

  "Enough," he said to himself. "We're getting this straight, once and for all. I can't stand another minute of this."

  Just in case she decided to retreat again, he backed up and blocked her car as he had that day that seemed like months ago now. He felt better already. They could yell, they could scream, accuse and defend, in fact, he hoped they did, because at least that would be some kind of communication, and anything would be better than this never-ending stalemate. He'd take wrath over indifference any day.

  He got out of the car and slammed the door behind him, itching for a fight, anything that might lead to a reconciliation.

  Noticing what a beautiful job she'd done with the yard's landscaping, his grimace softened. He'd be the first to admit he was basically pretty selfish, and that extended to keeping Micah as a business partner. She had a good eye for color and design. This house might be gone soon, but they had a good thing going businesswise, and he wasn't about to give that up anymore than anything else he counted as his.

  Shutting the door behind him, he turned and latched it. Things were going to heat up around here before they cooled down, and he wasn't about to have anyone intrude at a bad time.

  The woven gray carpeting helped muffle his approach. Chance found her in one of the bedrooms. He stood quietly by the door frame and watched. She didn't realize he was there. Hopefully she was too absorbed with the curtains she was hanging to notice for a while longer.

  She cursed softly to herself as one of the hooks missed and two more came undone. He smiled and swallowed the urge to tease her about it—not much, just enough to ruffle her feathers and make the blood rush to her cheeks.

  Lord, did he love the woman. He'd tried to tell her that a dozen times since she'd found the chit, but she'd let him know it wasn't what she wanted to hear. Women. What did she want from him anyway? A promise never to gamble again? Well hell, that was no big deal, in fact he'd already promised her that. She'd met his promise with silence.

  Stubborn, that's what she was. Stubborn and beautiful, and even now he could feel the ache begin. He'd gone without for too long—without her affection, without her company. He was missing the hell out of her.

  "No more," he said in a low growl.

  Micah jerked around at the sound of his voice. The last hook caught and the drape fell neatly in place.

  She fought the urge to draw the drapes away from the window. Somehow with them closed, the room seemed too closed in, too intimate. She could see the way he was clenching and unclenching his fists, the darkened cast to his face.

  Chance wanted a fight. No question about it.

  Micah's jaw clenched to match his. If that's what he wanted, well, she just might be inclined to give him one.

  Micah got off the stepladder and put her hands on her hips, ready to face off.

  "No more what?"

  "No more shutting me out. That's what. I've tried to give you time to get over things, Micah. But my patience is gone. I screwed up, okay? I admit it. Be mad at me if you have to, stay mad at me. But the least you can do is talk about it."

  "About what? About the way I feel like slugging you for trying to run my life? I still can't believe you, Chance. Imagine, gambling to barter for my divorce."

  "I told you, Micah. I'm sorry. What's done is done and I can't reverse it. Now get off your high horse because I'm through apologizing. It's time we moved on."

  He pushed away from the door, and she had more than a premonition of what Chance had on his mind. He not only wanted a fight, he wanted her.

  "Go away, Chance. I'm not ready to 'move on'."

  His brows drew together ominously. The stool was touching her ankles and she took a side step back, putting it in front of her instead, as though it were a barrier he couldn't cross.

  Chance stopped in front of the stool. Without taking his eyes from hers, he kicked it aside. She couldn't help but cringe inwardly, feeling the gathering storm whip up around them. Even the air seemed to crackle with the volatile energy of opposing forces.

  "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I have feelings too? I'm tired of you rejecting all my attempts to mend the broken bridges. But most of all I'm tired of making the only effort around here to work things out. A relationship takes two, Micah, and you've got to meet me halfway. You've had plenty of time to lick your wounds. Now it's time to kiss and make up."

  The gall of him! Did he actually think he could just ask for an apology after what he'd done? Kiss and make up, indeed.

  "Do you know what infuriates me more than anything?" she said. "It's that I don't even think what you did bothers you, or that you even believe it was wrong. You're just sorry I found out." A muscle jumped tensely beside his jaw, and it made the coiling in the pit of her stomach even tighter.

  "Am I right, or not?" she challenged hotly.

  "When are you going to quit expecting the world to play by your rules, Micah? Of course I'm not sorry for what I did. But isn't it enough that I feel badly for the pain it caused you? Gambling means nothing to me. If I never see another card again, fine. But if you want me to put on an act and pretend I regret my actions, you're out of luck. That would be a lie. I've promised myself there won't be any lies to come between us. And as far as I'm concerned, that's a hell of a lot more important than mourning something that happened a long time ago. It's over.
Done with. Now let it go."

  She had known from the very beginning what kind of man he was. And what did she expect, that he was going to magically become Mr. Goody-two-shoes just because she'd slept with him?

  Admitted her love for him? He'd told her from the beginning not to expect miracles, but she had.

  Micah sighed heavily. "You know, Chance, sometimes I can't help but wish you could change just a little. Show some kind of remorse for running roughshod over people. If you did, maybe I wouldn't feel so intimidated by it all, or threatened that you'll try to dominate me too."

  "And sometimes I wish you could just loosen up and quit trying to fit life into such tidy little compartments. Everything's so black-and-white with you, Micah. The real world has lots of shades of gray. I find myself trying to live up to your expectations at times, and, lady, that's a mighty tall order to fill. In the end we just have to be able to live with ourselves, and the decisions we make, whether they turn out to be right or wrong. Now how about it? A truce? I'm not asking for the stars, I just want a second chance."

  Suddenly she felt so weary of it all. She was too tired to fight.

  "All right," she agreed slowly. "We'll try one more time. I think we both deserve that much. But we'll wait until we've sold the property."

  Chapter 14

  "Okay, Micah, here's your cut. Twenty grand. Not bad for a three-thousand dollar investment, ma cherie."

  Money! She had money that she had earned. Micah couldn't remember when she'd ever felt so proud or self-satisfied as when she reached out and took the check Chance handed her over his desk.

  She'd known in advance, of course, what kind of profit to expect after Chance had haggled with the buyer—who had immediately fallen in love with the property. It hadn't been a hard sale, and they hadn't used a realtor which saved them a good percentage of the profits. Surely things didn't always work out so easily, but she had watched closely, and she had learned.

  "Don't forget, Micah. Next time, you take a shot at the wheeling and dealing. We'll see if you do as well with that as you've done with fixing things up."