by Finch, Carol
Chance thought the preppy doctor spent entirely too much time giving Alexa a visual examination before he extended his hand to her in greeting.
“Good looks obviously run in the family,” Kurt observed.
“Mind if we join you?” Deb didn’t await a reply. She parked herself at the table.
Chance scowled to himself. He had been perfectly satisfied having Alexa all to himself. He didn’t need the good doctor and Miss Cheerful crowding his space and cramping his style.
He did note, however, that Alexa relaxed. She and Deb chitchatted while Chance was left to gab with the physician. As it turned out, Kurt Stevenson made interesting company. He was intensely curious about Chance’s profession and offered to examine his knee during an office visit, if Chance was so inclined.
Throughout the meal, which didn’t begin to compare to Alexa’s exceptional cuisine, Chance made small talk and sat there, amazed, as Alexa came to life. Her dry, quick wit prevailed as she bantered playfully with her sister.
“So, where’s your next stop?” Deb asked curiously. “Movie or dancing?”
“A movie, I guess,” Alexa replied. “No need to put undue stress on Chance’s knee.”
“The knee is fine,” Chance lied. He would have run a marathon if Alexa wanted to. Tonight was all hers, he promised himself.
“Good, then we can hit the honky-tonk,” Deb insisted. “I promised to teach Kurt some country-western dancing.”
Alexa glanced questioningly at Chance, leaving him with the choice of accepting or rejecting the invitation. “Sounds good, Deb. We’ll meet you at the dance hall ”
When Kurt and Deb exited, Alexa dug into her purse to pay half the ticket for dinner. Chance raised his hand to forestall her. “Dinner is on me,” he insisted.
“Interesting concept,” she countered, grining. “But you’ve spent entirely too much on me this evening. The least I can do—”
“The least you can do,” he interrupted, “is salvage my male pride here. This was never intended to be a Dutch date.”
“Well, if you’re sure.”
“Very sure,” he insisted.
Chance levered off his chair, then drew Alexa to her feet. Male gazes lingered on Alexa as Chance escorted her to the door. Impulsively, he took her arm, as if to stake his claim on a woman who was drawing more attention than hundred-dollar bills cast from an upstairs window.
He hadn’t realized how possessive he’d become of her, wasn’t comfortable with the feeling that sneaked up on his blind side. This nonsense had to stop, Chance lectured himself during the drive through town. He wasn’t a complete fool, after all. He knew the complications of Alexa’s situation. She was entrenched at Rocking T, determined to make a go of the B-and-B and focus her life on raising her son. She was guarded by a father-in-law who was obsessed with keeping his departed son’s memory alive.
Chance would forever be the outsider. As it was, he was pushing his luck by taking Alexa out on the town, living for the moment. Even if he wanted to accept the responsibility of providing a permanent distraction for Alexa and allowing himself to become a father image for Zack, he couldn’t. Alexa had no faith in rambling cowboys. Her long-term relationship with Dan had evolved into life-altering cynicism. Furthermore, Howard had posted No Trespassing signs all over his daughter-in-law. Chance knew better than to expect more than just one night.
This was a place out of time, he reminded himself. This was Cinderella’s chance to paint the town red. Come Sunday evening, her life would return to normal, and Chance would be plodding through ranch chores, same as he’d done for more than two weeks.
Be satisfied with one evening, Butler, he told himself as he drove to the honky-tonk on the outskirts of town.
Alexa was thoroughly enjoying herself, despite the smoke that made her eyes water in the dance hall. Chance had been charming company. Deb’s arrival had made Alexa’s first date in a decade less awkward. Alexa had tried out a few sassy remarks, flirted occasionally and tossed around dozens of smiles. All that disturbed her was the fact that men kept staring at her, both in the restaurant and at the dance hall. It made her self-conscious, wondering if she had a giant runner in her panty hose. She was probably making a conspicuous fool of herself and Chance was too polite to tell her.
Finally, she leaned over to ask him, speaking loudly to be heard over the music of the band. “Do I have something pinned to the back of my dress, a sign maybe? One that says Kick Me?”
Chance frowned. “No. Why do you ask?”
Alexa glanced toward the bar where several urban cowboys were waggling their eyebrows and staring at her. “Then why the silly grins that I keep intercepting?”
Chance eased his arm around her and chuckled. “Stunning women always draw that reaction from men. Watching the rear view of a sexy walk has drawn male attention since time immemorial.”
Genuinely surprised, Alexa stared at him. “Me? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Nope. You’ve got a to-die-for walk, darlin’. Believe me,” he assured her with a wink. “I shamefully admit that I’ve had an ulterior motive for walking behind you tonight.”
Alexa grinned at his infectious smile. “You’re doing wonders for my self-confidence.”
“Always glad to help a lady, ma’am,” he drawled. “Care to dance?”
Alexa stared longingly at the dance floor where Deb was quietly counting the rhythm in Kurt’s ear so he could match the beat of the two-step. “Are you sure your leg can stand it?”
He flashed her a devilish smile. “It’s not the leg that’s going to suffer from being so close to you, it’s the male equipment. If I don’t keep a respectable distance from you, just elbow me.”
Chance came to his feet, then held out his hand gallantly. “Shall we?”
Alexa found herself guided expertly across the dance floor, moving to the tempo of one of Garth Brooks’s popular songs. Despite his gimpy leg Chance moved gracefully as he spun her away, then drew her back into his arms. Alexa responded instinctively to him, matching him step for step, though she knew she was out of practice.
She caught herself wondering how many woman had danced in these brawny arms, then told herself it didn’t matter. She had no claim on Chance, had no right to feel possessive. To him, she was just another of the many dates he’d had.
When the band struck up a slow ballad, Alexa hesitated, but Chance drew her close. She maintained a respectable distance between them for a few moments, then eased closer. She felt Chance’s arms tighten around her, then relax, as if he, too, were fighting the arousing feelings of sharing the same electrically charged space.
With each frayed breath, each gliding motion, Alexa felt the tug of emotion pulling her ever nearer the powerful contours of Chance’s body. When her arm curled over his shoulder, his hand folded tightly around hers, pressing it against his chest. She stared up at him, seeing the flicker in his silver-blue eyes. His head was so temptingly close as they moved as one to the music.
Alexa licked her dried-out lips, and Chance moaned softly in her ear. “What you do to me, woman, should be a criminal offense.”
She hesitated, then gave way to the need to lay her head against his shoulder—and felt tingling pleasure for the first time in years. Although Alexa could see Deb grinning at her in the distance, nodding in approval, Alexa was a captive of her own secret longings. She wanted this man the way she’d never wanted anyone else, ached to enjoy the tenderness that she knew awaited her.
Alexa sensed this cowboy, despite his rough-and-tumble profession, would be a gentle, patient lover, unlike the one whose name Alexa vowed not to speak in comparison.
For the space of that slow dance, and the one that followed, Alexa let herself revel in the undercurrent of sensations swirling through her. She savored the feel of Chance’s masculine body pressed familiarly to hers. This was her bright, glittering, selfish moment, before stepping back into her no-nonsense world.
“I’m aching,” Chance murmured against her ne
ck.
“The leg?”
“Not even close,” he whispered, then skimmed his lips over her sensitized skin. “Guess again, darlin’....”
Alexa felt as if she had stuck her finger in an electrical outlet. Chance’s warm breath sent paralyzing tingles through every fiber of her being, then left her to burn in unfulfilled desire.
“I can’t take much more of this, Alexa,” Chance groaned. “Your call, princess. Either we sit down so I can cool off or we go somewhere private. Hanging onto a bucking bronc is easier than what I’m doing now. A rodeo ride only lasts eight seconds, but there seems no end to the torture I’m enduring now.”
Alexa lifted her head to see the grimace that bracketed Chance’s mouth. He was giving her a choice? A choice? Someone cared what she thought, what she wanted? How utterly novel.
“I’ll get my purse.”
Chance stopped dancing and stared intently at her. “You’re sure? You know what’s going to happen, don’t you? If you view this as a possible mistake, tell me here and now. I want no misunderstanding, no belated regret. I don’t want to kiss you good-night at the door and wake up alone in the morning. You understand what I’m asking, don’t you?”
Suddenly, the world shrank to a space no larger than the area this ruggedly handsome cowboy occupied. Alexa met his intense, probing gaze. The tension between them vibrated as he held his breath, awaiting her reply.
Tell him no. You’ll only get hurt. You’ll probably discover what it’s like to be loved properly and then spend years wishing you didn’t know what you’ve been missing. You’ll never be the most important priority in this man’s life. He’ll leave you and you’ll be picking up the pieces of a forbidden dream. Just say no!
“I don’t want to wake up alone, either.” Alexa heard the words trip off her tongue, as if someone else—with considerably less sense—were speaking.
Chapter Eight
Chance pressed on the brake and stopped in front of the two-story ranch house. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said before climbing down from the clunker truck.
In purposeful strides, he entered the house to retrieve the roses. He wanted candlelight and flowers, and he wanted them in the bunkhouse—away from the shrine of memories that loomed in this house.
Alexa cocked a quizzical brow when he handed the roses to her. “I want them with me in the bunkhouse to remind me of tonight,” he explained as he drove downhill.
Chance winced as he stepped down with more haste than caution on his bad leg. Trying to conceal his limp, he circled to Alexa’s side of the truck. He wanted to scoop her up and carry her across the threshold in a spectacularly romantic gesture, but he wasn’t sure his knee would hold up. Lacing her fingers in his, he led the way into the bunkhouse.
When Alexa stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, Chance smiled to himself. She didn’t know what to do, how to begin. In some ways she seemed so sweetly innocent that it touched his heart, made him feel as if he had taken on the colossal responsibility of initiating a virgin. In some ways, he supposed she was. She didn’t seem familiar with the preliminaries of passion, only the end result.
Well, she would discover how it felt to be cherished and enjoyed, Chance promised himself. If it took all night, he would assure Alexa that she had been loved and loved well.
As a symbol of this night together, Chance strode over to light the candle that sat on the table, bathing the room in tones of muted gold and drifting shadows. When he turned around, Alexa reached for the back zipper of her dress. She hesitated, then looked at him uncertainly.
Chance grinned devilishly. “I’d like to do that, if you don’t mind. I realize you’re accustomed to doing everything by yourself, but...”
His voice trailed off as his hand glided around her waist and she flinched. “Easy, honey. I won’t hurt you or rush you. I thought I’d made that clear already.”
She looked trustingly at him, then nodded. Chance felt as if he’d been crowned king for the night. Gaining Alexa’s trust was a monumental milestone. She was silently assuring him that he wasn’t just another irresponsible cowboy, that she had placed faith in him. That meaningful glance was like an arrow through his heart—and his conscience. He didn’t want to complicate Alexa’s life—or his—but he ached to forget everything that was remotely close to reality for this one night. He wanted to let each moment converge into the next, to discover, explore and enjoy.
The hiss of the zipper was all that broke the sizzling silence. As Chance eased the dress from her shoulders, exposing the bra that called attention to the rounded swells of her breasts, he dipped his head to brush his lips over her satiny flesh. He felt her heartbeat racing, heard her breath catch. While he devoted attention to tasting her scented skin, he drew the dress to her hips, then let the garment drift into a pool around her feet.
She was still holding the roses in a death grip, and Chance smiled to himself. He pulled one rose free, then let the velvet petals glide over her breasts in the same lingering fashion as his kiss. Fascinated, he watched her eyes drift shut, her head tilt back. He traced the scented rose down her belly, across the apex of her nylon-clad thighs. Alexa trembled, wobbled and moaned aloud.
Chance led her toward his narrow bed, wishing for a king-size mattress he didn’t have at his disposal. As he feathered a kiss over her shoulder, he hooked his thumbs in the band of her panty hose and eased them out of his way. With the practiced efficiency of a man who handled a lariat, he tossed the garment over the back of the sofa, then focused absolute attention on her luscious feminine curves.
She was as perfect as he had imagined, and he wanted to dedicate the night to memorizing the feel of her silky skin, to pleasuring her—and himself.
After Chance eased her onto the bed and stretched out beside her, he brushed the thornless rose over her lips, her throat, her breasts, her belly. She arched like a stroked kitten, then reached for him, but Chance was in no particular hurry. He was fascinated, intrigued that he could arouse her without laying a hand on her. The rose was his caress, their shared secret of intimacy.
He trailed lazy patterns over the skimpy fabric of her panties, then followed the curve of her inner thighs to her knees. He heard her gasp, her muffled sigh, watched her melt and surrender to the sensations he’d aroused. He longed to let his lips follow the path of the rose, his hands join in the gentle explorations, but Alexa writhed sideways and tugged at his shirt, making pearl snaps pop like popcorn.
He grabbed her wandering hand and smiled at her. “You’ll get your turn later if that’s what you want. I’m being purely selfish right now.”
“You’re being purely tormenting,” Alexa wheezed. “You like driving me crazy, don’t you?”
“Love it,” he said as he flicked his tongue at her nipple. “Love the taste. Love the touch and feel of you....”
Chance stopped talking when he became engrossed in the need to pleasure her to the extreme, to satisfy her to the living end. He stripped her down to her bare skin and made a banquet of her. His name became a litany on her lips as she gave herself up to his intimate touch.
When he glided his lips over her nipple, and plucked gently at the other, she breathed a ragged sigh. When he suckled each rigid bud, her hand clenched around his forearms, as if to steady herself against the tide of sensations flooding through her.
With tender care he coasted his hand over her belly to skim the satiny flesh of her inner thighs. Chance bit back a groan when he felt her feminine heat so close to his fingertips. He cupped her in his hand, delicately tracing her secret heat, feeling the honeyed fire of her desire summoning him closer.
When he glided his finger inside her Alexa gasped for breath. Her nails dug a little deeper into his arm as he caressed her, excited her until she was pleading for him to end the sweet torment. But this odd sense of power he held over her was heady stuff. Chance was mesmerized by her potent reaction to his lovemaking. He brought her to the brink of oblivion, marveling at the pleasure he derived whe
n she shimmered around his fingertips, burning him with the heat of her passion.
Gasping for breath, Alexa arched toward him. She fumbled with his belt buckle. Her fingers seemed to have turned to thumbs, and Chance chuckled inwardly as she tried to draw him closer. She was wild with need—and he was still fully dressed.
His smile evaporated when he remembered he’d had one hell of a time pulling his jeans over that bulky brace. But damned if he would make love to Alexa with his clothes on. He wanted to be chest to bare chest, hip to bare hip with Alexa—nothing between them but this blazing passion that threatened to bring down the night.
When Chance rolled away, he heard Alexa curse. He was cursing, too, when he pulled his jeans down to his knees—and could get them to go no further.
“Damn, cowboy,” she muttered as she slid to the floor to tug impatiently at his boots. “You ought to be horsewhipped for starting something you can’t finish.”
“Hey,” he said in mock offense. “I can finish what I start—Ouch! Go easy on that leg, darlin’. The denim is tangled up with my brace.”
After several impatient moments Alexa wriggled his jeans down his legs, then glanced at his brace. “Off or on?”
“Oh, I’m most definitely turned on,” he assured her huskily, eyes twinkling.
She pulled a face at his corny joke. “I meant the brace.”
“Off, baby. I want to be wearing nothing but you,” he said in a low, seductive drawl.
Her playful smile vanished as she unfastened the brace and noticed the scar on the inside of his calf. “What happened?”
“My dad accidentally burned down the house during one of his drunken binges, but I managed to get him, and myself, out, with only a few narrow brushes with the flames.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered as she pressed her lips to the scar.
“Don’t be,” he wheezed, touched by her loving gesture. “It was a lifetime ago, and I try to avoid those long trips down bad-memory lane. Makes me too travel weary. At the moment, the only pain I’m suffering is from aching with the want of you....”