by Mallory Rush
"I can't wait to find out myself. In fact, I've already started to scout around for our next project."
"But we just closed this one today. And don't forget, there's my second chance. Now that this is settled, you can plan our wedding. I hope you don't have plans to drag me all over town looking at do-overs for our honeymoon."
She giggled. She did want to marry him. More than anything. "Only if we check out the bedrooms first." She leaned forward to reveal a bit of cleavage, then gave him a lewd once-over. "I call the top."
"Oh, Lord," he groaned. "I've created a monster."
She raised a brow daintily, but angled her gaze just below where he sat at the desk. "You could've fooled me."
Chance got up, obviously ready to give credence to her observation, but Micah stopped him. "Wait, Chance. I have something for you."
Reaching down for her purse, she quickly took out the check she'd written the night before, then passed it across the desk. A surge of pride came with the small, but definitely self-sufficient, act.
He didn't take it at first, his brows drawing together in that expression she knew always meant trouble. "Go ahead," she urged. "It's yours. Thirteen thousand dollars. Now we're settled."
He shook his head. "I can't take that. It's your money. You earned it fair and square, Micah. Keep it."
She stood a little taller then, and her own jaw assumed a stubborn expression to match his. How dare he take the joy out of her accomplishment? Chance was going to take this money if she had to cram it down his throat.
Micah deliberately placed the check in front of him on the desk.
"You take this, Chance Renault."
"Damn it, Micah. You're going to be my wife. I'm not about to take your money."
"No? Well, then listen to this. As far as I'm concerned, Jonathon's debt would always be hanging over my head. I know that this money means nothing to you, but it means a lot to me. The last thing I want is something like this lurking in the back of my mind. It's no way to start our marriage."
"Maybe not, but I still don't like it. The debt was between him and me. Not you."
"I don't care. It's the principle of the matter." The smile she flashed was deliberately seductive and meant to throw him off guard. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some errands to run. There's a dress I saw in a window that was begging to be worn for a wedding. It's beautiful, Chance. Pale mauve and tea-length, with dainty pearls and iridescent beads..."
She let her voice trail off as she watched the brooding scowl turn to grudging acceptance, and then to a crooked smile.
"Okay, Micah, you win this round. Part of being a good businessman is knowing when to cut your losses and move on. I'll take the money, but I never want this subject brought up again. No sense in beating a dead horse. From here we just go on." He reached down and opened the center drawer of his desk to pull out a small velvet pouch. "C'mere, you."
How could she have forgotten? The earrings! Eagerly she made her way behind the desk, watching Chance as he unsnapped the pouch and tumbled the earrings into his palm.
"I think it's time these were put back where they belong, don't you?" He looked down at her with the simmering expression of a man emotionally captive, one who reveled in the pleasure of his prison.
A small shiver ran through her at the sensation of his fingers stroking the lobe of her ear. Ever so carefully he worked the loops through, first one ear and then the other. She closed her eyes, memorizing this moment, knowing she would always remember this small, gentle act that for some reason was poignant, something to hold dear to her heart.
She could feel him raise the emerald drop with his fingertip, holding the stone lightly, as he had on her porch that night.
"Much better," he said in a gruff whisper.
No flowery speeches from Chance. Which suited him. Did he know how chivalrous he really was, how he melted her with his directness of emotion, his maverick sense of honor?
She opened her eyes. "You move me," she said. "With your goodness, you move me."
"Then you see things I don't, that no one else ever has. But you make me feel..." Chance shook his head. "I don't know what it is, Micah. But somehow you've always managed to bring out the best in me."
"Maybe I do. But you're forgetting something very important."
"What's that?"
"If it wasn't in you to begin with, I couldn't bring it out."
She lay her head against the broadness of his chest then, and his arms came around to hold her tightly against him. One hand slid up her back only to feather a soothing caress against her cheek before stroking the emerald which dangled beside her ear.
* * *
Micah's gaze swung upward, encompassing the expanse of the bank. Had life ever been so glorious? Could it have possibly turned out more right?
The sun reflected brilliant sparks of fire off the diamond-and-emerald engagement ring on her finger. The dress she'd told Chance about was her next stop as soon as she made this deposit and tidied up some untidy business.
She tried not to take too much pleasure in what she felt compelled to do.
The emeralds at her ears swung gaily to and fro as she paced her steps to the bank's entrance. Her stomach was starting to give her fits as she silently ran through her lines to be delivered to the esteemed Mr. Fields. Now that she was coming in on her own terms, she was going to make sure he was squirming before she was through. If she could intimidate him enough with the threat of sullying his reputation, maybe he'd leave some other woman alone.
Micah took several deep, steadying breaths to prepare herself, trying to ignore the sweating of her palms, and the small quiver in her legs as she strode closer to Ian Fields' office.
Thelma looked up from her secretarial desk when Micah cleared her throat. "Micah, hello! It's been so long since I've seen you. At least four months."
"That's about right. I just stopped by to make a deposit and thought I'd say hello to Ian. Is he in?"
The gray-haired lady suddenly darted her eyes in either direction, as though looking for spies. She peered up over the rims of her glasses, and gestured Micah closer.
"You haven't heard?" Thelma whispered.
"Heard what?"
"Mr. Fields is no longer with us."
"You're kidding," Micah blurted out. "Ian's been with the bank for over twenty years. And he's not due to retire until—"
Thelma immediately made a hushing motion as Micah's voice carried in the surrounding area.
"Let's just say he took a cut in his pension and opted for early retirement."
Micah could only open her mouth in disbelief. Nothing came out but a small exclamation of denial. Something was wrong here. And in the back of her mind a niggling suspicion kept trying to surface while she frantically tried to drown it out. There had to be some explanation, some reason for Thelma to be acting so secretive. Some other reason than the one that was twisting her stomach into tight knots of anxiety.
"When did he leave?" she managed to get out, past the constriction in her throat.
"About a month after your last visit. It was very unexpected. A lot of talking was going on behind closed doors. Mr. Fields delivered his resignation to the board of directors and left almost immediately. That's all I know. There's a lot of speculation, but the staff wasn't really informed about anything, not even me. They kept it pretty vague." She motioned Micah a little closer and whispered conspiratorially, "Word has it he was ousted for unprofessional conduct during office hours."
Micah shut her eyes, trying to ignore the way her hair was prickling at the nape of her neck, and the dizzy sensation wrapping itself around her brain. Fuzzy, keep it fuzzy. She shouldn't start Imagining things. Try not to put two and two together—that he just happened to leave soon after the incident... that Chance just happened to be there right after it happened... that Chance was on the bank's board of directors... that she had caught him in the middle of a heated call that morning.
"Micah, are you all right?" Thelma got u
p, her face showing maternal concern as Micah opened her eyes again. She struggled to steady the awkward tilt of the room.
"Oh, fine, Thelma. Just fine... I... I have to go now. It was nice seeing you again... Goodbye."
She turned as quickly as she dared with the buzzing in her ears making everything seem not quite real. A few people greeted her, and the best she could muster was a vague nod as she headed for... where? Her car, right? But then... where?
She got in the car and just drove. Not sure where she was going, not even able to think past Thelma's words which kept repeating themselves in her head.
A horn blared and instinctively she slammed on her brakes. Somebody whizzed past, and yelled out the window, "Learn to drive, you idiot!"
The near collision left her shaking. She had to get off the road. Driving was no place to take her confusion, her numbness, her rising anger that her suspicions were possibly true.
She had to talk to him, she told herself. Maybe she'd understood wrong. It couldn't be the way she thought, it just couldn't....
Very carefully she drove to Chance's office. Getting out of her car, she could feel the reluctance in her to confront him, afraid of what she might learn.
"Hi, Micah! Mr. Renault just stepped out, but he should be back in a minute. Would you like to wait out here?"
She wasn't up to chatting with the vivacious Mrs. Allen. "Thanks, but I think I'll just wait in his office."
The secretary nodded and looked at her a little strangely. Micah wondered if her distress was showing. It should be—she was strung up so tight she couldn't even sit.
She let herself into Chance's office. Looking around, it seemed to reflect the man—the heavy, masculine furniture, the piles of neatly stacked papers, the expensive cigars he kept on hand for associates. Everything in order, and seeming to scream of power and control.
She couldn't stop pacing, running off the nervous energy that was begging her to trench a rut through the carpet. What if he'd done it, then what? Could she still marry him, somehow live with whatever excuses he had this time for his behavior? Could she leave Chance?
The questions were demanding answers when the door opened and shut quietly behind her. She swung around anxiously, crossing her arms protectively over her chest.
"Micah! I thought you were—"
"What do you know about Ian Fields' resignation?"
Chance had been coming toward her but now he stopped. Dead in his tracks. The hands he had outstretched in greeting dropped automatically to his sides.
"I had him fired."
Boom. He dropped the bomb. Quietly, efficiently, as though ruining someone's life had no more importance than signing a memo and filing it under 'Flies I have Swatted.' His face was impassive.
She opened her mouth. She closed it. There weren't any words she could find to express her anger and disappointment. And then Micah knew how desperately she'd been hoping the signs were wrong, that he hadn't done it after all. But he had.
"Aren't you going to say something, Micah? Berate me for being so callous, so coldhearted? Tell me what a mean thing it was to get rid of such a sweet old man?" She stared at him wide-eyed, clenching her fist and jaw in unison. He gestured to the paperweight close beside her on the desk. "Go ahead. Pick it up and throw it at me. I know you're mad. You have a right to be... to a point."
"You... you—" she sputtered, then grasped on to the core of it. She flung the words at him in sheer exasperation, gritted them out with mounting fury. "Why, Chance? Everything was good between us, and now this. Is this what I can expect from our marriage with you? Never knowing what kind of terrible secrets I'll discover next? Always having to be afraid of opening the wrong drawer or hearing something you've done that I'm ashamed of?"
"Ashamed?" He strode toward her briskly, his fist clenching and jaw working to match hers. They stood toe-to-toe, each glaring at the other. "If anyone should feel ashamed, it's Fields. Not me. Or you."
"No? Who gave you the right to play God? Since when were you so almighty pure yourself that you were in a position to pass that kind of judgment?"
"Go ahead and say whatever it is you're itching to get out, Micah. Say it straight." He kept his voice low, dangerously low.
"I'm talking about ethics, Chance. Morals."
His eyes slitted, and Micah knew she'd hit hard. Some kind of defense went up, hardening his features and deflecting her words like a bulletproof vest.
"Ethics and morals, huh? Something I wouldn't know about, right? Well, I've got news for you. Believe it or not, those two things had a lot to do with my decision to ax Fields. Think about it, Micah. What he did... was it ethical? Moral? And did it possibly occur to you that something like this might have happened before, or could again with someone else? Possibly someone not as strong as yourself? In my book what he did was wrong."
She swallowed hard. Why did he have to be so sure of himself, so overbearing about it? And why, came the distressing thought, did it bother her so much that he was possibly right? Chance was too near, he had too much of a hold on her to think straight, that was it, wasn't it? Micah took a self-protective step back, the desk hitting the backs of her thighs and closing off any possible exit. His gaze was as unwavering as his apparent belief in his own rightness. He crossed his arms obstinately over his chest.
She wanted to feel angry still, but even now she could feel the splinters of her hostility diminishing, her own conviction of rightness begin to question itself.
"Are you really so sure that you made the right choice? Don't you ever have self-doubts about the things you do?"
"Sure, I have self-doubts. Not often, though. And I don't go around screwing with other people's lives the way you seem to think I do. When I do make those kinds of decisions, I make damn sure they're warranted. I looked into Fields' background after he fessed up about what he'd done... it wasn't the first time, Micah."
"You mean... he confessed?"
"Of course. After I led him to believe you'd already told me, he tried to get his side of the story told. He made it sound as if you'd practically begged him to accept your favors in exchange for a personal loan. And once he got going, I couldn't get the man to stop talking about the other women who he found his way clear to make loans for. For certain considerations."
Chance walked slowly now, closing the distance. He stood close, so close she had to tilt her head to meet his searching gaze. "You have no idea how I would have loved to punch him. Unfortunately I just referred him to the board and let them handle him."
Her anger at him was gone. In his own renegade way he'd protected her. And other women too. No doubt in another time Chance would have sheathed his lance into Ian or thrown down the gauntlet for a duel at dawn. Yet, she wanted to stand up for herself sometimes.
"Your protectiveness can go too far, Chance."
"Perhaps. But you'll have to tell me when it does. We've got a lot of years ahead of us—years I have no intention to waste by arguing over the small things."
He looked at her again. "How did you happen to find out about this today? Could it be that you had your own plans for vengeance now that you had some money in hand?"
Micah blushed, shamed.
He was right. She had burned for vengeance. Just as he had. But it was easier to blame him for going too far than facing up to her own hostilities.
"We're at the end of the line, ma cherie. With us it's all or nothing. You've put me through hell and back, and I can't do that number anymore. Tell me, tell me now. Just where do your loyalties lie? With me? They have to be for this to work. That is what marriage is all about. Acceptance. Love. Compassion. Respect. Understanding."
Understanding.
"I try to understand you, Chance. You don't make it easy."
"What don't you understand?" He came closer, leaning his arms on either side of the desk to trap her there. She could feel her love for him bridging the confusion, far overriding the safeness, the emptiness of life without him.
"Why you go to
such extremes... why you have to hold so tight to what you love."
He closed his eyes for a moment, and in that moment there was a hesitance in him, something she'd never witnessed before. And then he did open his eyes, revealing so much, telling all in the naked starkness of fear and pain she never would have thought to see in him, letting her see straight through, down to his very soul.
"Why?" he said. "Because I'm afraid. Afraid of losing you. Just like I lost my mother." He shook his head at the past, his shoulders stooped by the burden of it. "I loved her so much, and she died so young. I blamed myself for that. If only I'd been able to provide for her, if only I could have taken care of her... she might still be alive."
His pain was her pain, and compassion for what Chance must have gone through melted the last fragile barrier. She laid the palm of her hand against the lightly whiskered darkness of his cheek, and stroked.
"You can't blame yourself for that, Chance. You were young. There was nothing you could have done to make a difference."
"I suppose not, but it didn't seem that way then. All I could feel was the impotence, my inability to take care of her."
He caught her to him then, holding her so urgently, she thought he might crush her very bones. But she didn't care. Let him hold her until she was wholly his, a part of him, until they were one. She returned his embrace, hearing the words he whispered husky with need and more need against her hair.
"Don't leave me, Micah. Don't ever leave me. It would kill me inside to lose you... just thinking about it is more than I can stand. Losing you... it would be even worse than losing my mother. I know I grasp you too close, but sometimes, I swear, I can't help myself. Be patient. Give me some time to mellow... just enough to be sure I won't ever lose you again."
She ran her hands hungrily over his face, through his hair, clinging tight, tighter still. "Chance," she whispered fervently, "I won't leave you. I promise, I'll never leave again."
"Swear it, Micah."
"I swear it, Chance. I do swear it to you."
He rubbed his lips against her tears, then lapped at them until the salt upon his tongue sealed the vow within her mouth. Tempered by fire, they fell into the heat. Christening this haven, now home.