Perfect Chance
Perfect Chance
Amanda Carpenter
Take a chance on love… Mary Newman - her life was safe, predictable and reasonably happy. Until the day he walked in! Chance Armstrong - he had no respect for rules and regulations and cozy life-styles.But he was offering Mary the perfect chance for a lot of excitement, and she was tempted - oh, so tempted… . Until Chance offered the most tempting challenge of all… . He asked Mary to marry him!
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#uf7b1aec1-4381-5625-9436-1074d702db11)
Excerpt (#u48260e29-27f5-57b4-9be7-eacdee9cda0a)
About the Author (#u991e70fd-e492-5ea2-ba55-1223aa6460be)
Title Page (#u41436c47-9a4a-543a-a525-77b64d543a7e)
Chapter One (#ud569a32b-ca54-529d-ada0-2f08849fe41b)
Chapter Two (#uacc6ab69-cdf1-57f9-b461-c9374eb1d926)
Chapter Three (#u4d5b9253-b3a9-5e43-90eb-2eec23b6253b)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“G-goodbye!”
Another pause, as Chance scrutinized her face. Then he straightened and demanded, “Why?” He seemed so angry.
Mary’s eyes rounded and then she looked down at her tangled fingers. “Oooh…I’m…sooo…busy.” This was too hard. It was a fine, brave attempt, but she just couldn’t come out and say that she’d heard he was a womanizer and a cheat.
“You’re not that busy,” he said in a low, clipped voice. “Why are you running away from me? You were just fine when I left you last night.”
Another, more poised woman might have said, So I’ve changed my mind. You’re not my type. Get lost, soldier. Mary’s head ducked farther down and she muttered at her fingers, “I don’t want to be one of your conquests!”
AMANDA CARPENTER was raised in South Bend, Indiana, but lived for many years in England. She started writing because she felt a need to communicate with people from other walks of life. She wrote her first romance novel when she was nineteen and has been translated into many languages. Although she has many interests, including music and art, writing is her greatest love.
Perfect Chance
Amanda Carpenter
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_3493c15f-7203-5fcb-927c-0747dd0f55fe)
MARY paused to lean against the counter of the nurses’ station as she surveyed the emergency room in the Newman wing at Memorial Hospital.
It was July 4th, the busiest day of the year.
It was midafternoon and she was already tired, having been on shift since eleven the night before. She rubbed at the back of her neck and thought longingly of the shower she would have when she got home.
Then a fresh influx of people rushed in. Urgent words swirled around and she snatched at a few of them: a boating accident, seven injured, two badly. She darted around a small group of young men who were soaking wet, caught a powerful whiff of beer from them, and rushed toward one of the more serious cases.
A dark-haired girl, maybe six or seven, was being cradled in the arms of an adult. Mary checked her over quickly. The girl had a compound fracture, there was an expertly applied tourniquet above the knee, and she was unconscious. The poor little thing. Her pulse was fluttering and too rapid, her skin ashen under her tan, and she was covered in a cold sweat.
“She’s in shock.” The deep, gravelly voice sounded overhead.
“I see that. Bring her this way.” Mary ran with him over to a cubicle. A sobbing woman tried to follow but was diverted from the front desk by Sandy, who needed her to fill out forms. With relief, Mary heard Sandy’s soothing voice assuring the woman that her daughter was going to be fine.
The man laid the little girl carefully on the gurney, and whipped around to the nearby cabinet. He and Mary collided as they both reached for a blanket at the same time. She whoofed at the impact; it was like running into a brick wall. He snapped, “Why don’t you go find a doctor?”
Oh, not again! The top of her head seemed to ignite like a torch. “I am a doctor!”
Some people laughed; some people apologized. This one gave her a hard, narrow-eyed stare and muttered grimly, “You’d better be.”
She yanked the blanket out of his hands and shook it over the child. “Get out of my way.”
He backed up rapidly. As she prepared an IV, Mary called out sharply, “Julie, I need you.”
The nurse came at a run, and together they got the girl stabilized, bandaged and ready for X rays. Mary glanced around for the father. There he was, leaning against the wall, watching everything with hawklike intensity. Overlong blond hair fell into sharp hazel eyes, and his tanned, chiseled face was thoughtful. He’s awfully calm, she thought, and she glared at him. No parent should be that calm when his daughter’s facing surgery. I’m a doctor and I’m not that calm. What’s the matter with him?
She tried to gentle her voice. “What’s your daughter’s name?”
His attention shifted to her and his eyebrows rose slowly. “Erin Morley. But she’s not my daughter. Her mother’s out in the lobby.”
“Oh.” Mary paused. Well, he’s still to calm. She asked, “Would you go get her mother? I need to know if Erin is allergic to anything.”
“I asked on the way to the hospital. She’s not allergic to any medications.”
At that moment the mother walked into the cubicle and went to lean against the man, her face streaked and traumatized. The man patted her back soothingly as she confirmed what he’d told Mary, and with the little girl admitted to the hospital, Julie wheeled her gurney to X ray while Mary moved to another patient.
Victor, the other doctor on duty, was still with the other seriously injured patient, a man with a head wound. She passed the cubicle where he was working, sleek dark head bent and handsome features absorbed in his task. He glanced up and nodded to her. She waved back and attended to others from the boating accident, all minor injuries now, listening sympathetically to compulsive telling and retelling of the story.
Mary was a small woman, with a slight, coltish build and delicate, irregular features that made her look far younger than her twenty-six years, but she was capable of a mighty big fury when she was roused to it. Her large blue eyes flashed as she heard of the crash. Four young students had been drinking and driving a speedboat that had collided with a large yacht filled with passengers. She recognized a few faces from the faculty of the local university. They were all very lucky; apparently, due to the quick action of someone on the yacht, there had been no drownings.
Drinking and driving was hardly regulated enough on land to suit Mary. People could have died, and did die in such accidents, and there wasn’t even any law to prohibit drunken speedboating. She had been born and raised in Cherry Bay, and had heard many stories similar to the one she heard now. It never failed to outrage her.
The last patient needing attention was one of the drunken young men, waiting sullenly in one of the cubicles. He needed stitches in his arm, and she attended to him in thin-lipped silence.
One of his friends was standing beside him, glowering. Except for their size, they looked like petulant, unrepentant boys.
They were arguing in a heated undertone about the accident. “Didn’t I tell you? You should have let me drive,” said the one Mary was stitching.
The other one sneered, “Let you drive? For God’s sake, Peter, you can’t even sit up straight.”
“God, my dad is gonna kill me. And you, Trevor— he’s gonna kill you, too. Do you know how much that boat cost him? Thirty thousand dollars! How’m I gonna tell him his precious boat is sitting at the bottom of the lake right now?”
The image of the ashen-faced child with the broken leg flashed through Mary’s mind, and she controlled the urge to bash both of them over the head with an instrument tray. She finished the job and reached for bandages.
Trevor ran his hands through his damp hair, jerked up his chin and said belligerently, “It wasn’t my fault, I tell you. Hell, they swerved in front of me—and anyway, his insurance’ll cover it. No problem.”
That did it. She slapped down her handful of bandages, rounded on him and said tightly, “Get out.”
He ogled her, mouth slack. Then his face flushed, and he said insolently, “Sure thing, sweetie. Soon’s you’re done patching up my friend here.”
She said icily, “My name is not ‘sweetie’. My name is Dr. Newman, and I have a job to finish here. The police must be here by now, so why don’t you go tell your story to them—or haven’t you got it straight yet?”
Alarm registered in Trevor’s face and he started to back away. “Maybe I better take off, Pete—”
Fury darkened the other man’s cheeks. “And leave me to clean up your mess? No way, dammit—”
He lunged off the gurney toward Trevor, knocking against Mary, who stumbled back, lost her footing, and sat down on the floor so hard her teeth jarred together. Shock held her frozen for a moment, then with a thrill of fear she scrambled to her feet and opened her mouth to shout for help as the two men surged back and forth like prizefighters.
What came next happened so fast all Mary saw was a blur of movement. One moment the two men were grappling each other and cursing, then the next moment Trevor was subdued on the floor, and Peter was back on the gurney where he belonged, with a large, powerful hand locked around his throat. Mary’s huge gaze followed the hand back to its owner.
It belonged to a long, lean, hard-muscled body dressed in faded cutoff jeans and a skintight black sleeveless shirt. He stood casually, weight on one slim hip, blond hair in his eyes. He was even smiling a little. She recognized the man who had carried in Erin. Big, he’s very big, she thought numbly. I didn’t notice that before. And he’s still calm, but—oh, I don’t like the looks of that smile.
“I’m getting a little tired of you two,” he remarked quietly. His sparkling hazel eyes sliced to her, sharp as a blade. “Are you through with this one, Doctor?”
“I…” She twisted and untwisted her hands, staring. Somehow the man’s presence had such an aura of settled maturity that he relegated the other two back to the status of spoiled boys. She worked her aching jaw, then tried a nervous smile. “Yes. No. I mean—” Darn it! “He needs a bandage and a prescription for antibiotics.”
He looked down at the one on the floor, eyes hard and deadly. “You’re the driver of the boat, aren’t you? I’ve already given my statement to the police. They’re waiting out front to hear from you. Get.” After a resentful pause, Trevor stood and scurried away. Then the blond man turned to her. “Why don’t you go write the prescription? I’ll stay with this one while a nurse finishes his bandage.”
Mary sucked in a breath and bristled. Don’t tell me what to do! The man cocked his head at her, waiting. His hand was still locked around Peter’s throat. Her courage wavered when she looked at the drunken young man, and suddenly she deflated and mumbled, “Be right back.”
Safely back at the nurses’ desk, Mary scribbled out a prescription, pressing down hard with the pen and slapping it down afterward. Who did that man think he was? Ordering her about! And those other two— what criminal stupidity! Worried about a thirty-thousand-dollar boat, when people could have died! She wanted to find out how Erin was, she wanted to sit down and have a cup of coffee and eat that lunch she hadn’t managed to get to, and she wanted a nap. She looked around. Everything had gone quiet for now. She took a deep breath, rubbed her face hard with both hands and shuddered.
A hand descended onto her slight shoulder, and she jumped. “What? Oh—hi, it’s you.”
Dr. Victor Prentiss stood looking quizzically down at her. Just under six feet tall, he was a slender, elegant man in his early thirties. Mary had started dating him a few years ago when she was still an intern. A quiet, rather shy, bookish individual, she had been thrilled when Victor had shown an interest in her. Between the pressures of her internship and Victor’s career demands, their courtship to date had been sporadic. Now that Mary had started her residency and was working closely with him, she felt it was even uncomfortable at times—she was inexperienced and didn’t know how to date a man and also keep a professional distance at work—but she greeted him right now with relief.
“Are you all right?” Victor asked her gently. “I heard some of the ruckus.”
“Yes, I’m fine. Just tired. I missed lunch,” she said miserably. On top of a double shift. Were those black spots in front of her eyes? Squinting, she tried to chase them down.
“The Fourth of July is always like this. Look, darling—it’s almost six. Why don’t you get some dinner and go home?” He rubbed her back softly.
“Almost six?” She looked around in surprise. Where did the time go? Working in the E.R. was always like that. Whenever she came in, it felt like she was entering a twilight zone of crisis after crisis. This was a small community normally, but as a celebrated resort area, the population more than quadrupled in the summer. She had just started working at the E.R. in May but it felt like she had been working there forever, and she could never shake the sneaking suspicion that she was inadequate for the job. Now guilt and gratitude warred for supremacy. “Are you sure?”
“It’s quiet now,” Victor assured her. “And Kelly is due any minute. Don’t drive hungry and tired, though. Go on, get something to eat before you go home. And if you want to call tonight off, I’ll understand.”
Victor was supposed to be taking her and her younger brother, Tim, to see the fireworks over Lake Michigan that evening. She had been looking forward to it once, but now, with every bone in her feet and legs aching, it didn’t sound nearly as fun as it had. “I’ll think about it. I did promise Tim, though…” Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of Peter being marched toward the nurses’ station by the bossy blond man, who still wore an unpleasant smile as he kept a firm grip on Peter’s newly bandaged arm.
Mary felt herself compact into the smallest possible package. It didn’t make her invisible, however. The two men stopped in front of her, and there was an uncomfortable pause. Then the blond man said lazily, “You got something to say, Pete?”
The younger fellow studied his shoes and muttered, “I’m sorry.”
Mary glanced around. Victor watched the tableau with detached interest. In contrast, the blond man’s hard features were distinctly wicked. One of the nurses audibly suppressed a chuckle. Hazel eyes flickered in that direction, a thoroughly male glance, and grew very bright. He said, “You’re sorry, what?”
“I’m sorry, Doctor,” Peter amended quickly.
Why is my face hot? she wondered. She scrambled for something intelligent and dignified to say, snatched up the prescription and thrust it at him. “Go away.”
Victor took up the slack smoothly, moving around the nurses’ desk and taking Peter’s other arm with a smile. “Dr. Newman has been under a lot of stress.” He led the young man away, talking quietly, his tone commiserating.
Mary blinked down at her hands, face growing even warmer. Ah. She shouldn’t be rude to the patients, no matter how she felt about them. No matter what they’d done. Maybe the ground would open up right then and there, swallow her up, and she could have a nap in the hole.
That man was still standing there.
Don’t look up, she told herself.
Maybe he’ll go away, too.
Maybe I can pretend I dropped something here, behind the nurses’ desk. She frowned professionally at the floor and bent down suddenly. There was a long silence. No footsteps sounded, leading away. He’s still up there and now I’m down here. What next? She opened a cabinet and started rummaging through it. Inventory, maybe. Residents always do inventory after their shifts. Sure they do.
Silence. Her white coat was terribly hot and scratchy. She pulled at her collar.
Don’t look up.
“Dr. Newman?” That man. He sounded amused.
She felt herself cringe, and her gaze crept up slowly. He leaned against the counter, tanned biceps bulging. Big, he was, and—and so male. Calmly male. That long, sexy mouth held in a crooked smile. Her glance bounced off it, up to his gaze, and skittered away. “Y-yes?” She straightened reluctantly. “Hi, you’re still there.”
The skin around his eyes crinkled. He wasn’t a terribly young man, maybe in his mid- to late-thirties. That was a knowledgeable, worldly, terrifying face. “And so are you,” he observed.
She was hot, sticky, scratchy, her teeth and legs hurt, and her stomach was howling for food. One hand crept up self-consciously to her tangled, waist-length mane of hair that was pulled back in a ponytail. It was crooked. She had absolutely no idea what to say to him. “Er—is there something I can do for you?”
“Yes, I heard you were going to get some dinner. Would you mind showing me where the cafeteria is?”
“Oh! That’s easy—you just go down the hall, then take a right to the elevators, and—”
His slow, deep voice, smooth as melted chocolate, cut her off. “I’m terrible with directions.”
Her hand, which had been busy gesturing, fluttered back to hide balled in her pocket. “A-are you? I see. Well.” She didn’t have time for this. If she didn’t get something to eat soon, she was going to faint. As if on cue, her stomach rumbled loudly. She gave the man a weak smile and gave in. He knew she was going that way anyway. How churlish could she get? “Of course I’ll show you.”
His smile deepened subtly at the corners. “Thank you.”
He waited while she retrieved her purse from the doctors’ lounge, and then fell into step beside her. Mary looked down at the floor and watched their legs, his legs, those long, bare, gold-dusted legs with the smooth, rolling stride. Lord, he had to be well over six feet tall. And she was only five foot two. She took three steps for every one of his, like a chihuahua trotting beside a Great Dane.
She pulled up short, and he stopped, too. “I—are you sure you wouldn’t like to go on ahead? I’d like to find out how the little girl you brought in is doing.”
“Erin’s doing fine,” he said. “She’s out of surgery, and the surgeon that worked on her says she’ll be good as new in a couple of months.”
“Oh,” she said, and her tired face broke into a smile. “That’s good news.”
“Yes, she was lucky.” He hesitated, looking down at her, something odd in his expression. Then he said, “I stayed with her mother until Erin’s father could get here.”
Mary had turned to start walking again. It was a few moments before what he said sank in, then her head swiveled toward him suspiciously. Is he doing what I think he’s doing? “I see?” No! That wasn’t supposed to be a question.
“They’re married, you know,” he said. “Erin’s parents, I mean.”
Her eyes grew round. Yes, she thought, I think he is. “Ah?”
He twinkled. “Happily.”
He’s flirting! Or—maybe teasing. She scrabbled madly for a change of subject. “By the way, did you tell me your name?”
He chuckled outright and ran a long-fingered hand through his hair. “Nope. It’s Chance. What’s yours?”
“Mary,” she replied automatically.
There’s something wrong with this scene, she thought distractedly. Chance. What a name. He should have a leather jacket and a motorcycle, maybe a tattoo or two, and I—well, I don’t fit at all. A vision occurred to her, one of a big, busty blonde in a skintight minidress cooing on his arm. Yes, that would be more like it. She scowled with relief as they reached the large, well-appointed cafeteria. There now, we can each buy our food and go our separate ways.
“Well, here we are!” she said cheerfully, and she mentally dismissed him as they got into line. The smell of hot food hit her hard, and she piled things greedily onto her tray. Breakfast had been a year ago. She took lasagna, salad, a banana, chocolate cake, milk and coffee, paid for her meal and wandered away to find a place to sit.
As she settled in her seat, a shadow fell across her plates and she looked up. Chance stood there, laden tray in one hand, the other resting on the chair beside her. He said brightly, “Mind if I join you?”
Well, what could she say? “No, of course not,” she mumbled, and she watched him put his dishes on the table beside her. Lasagna, salad, a banana, chocolate cake, milk and coffee. Oh…She sucked in a breath. Was that weird? That looked a little weird to her. She wondered if she knew anybody here that was bigger than he was.
She looked around, pale under her warm summer tan, dark shadows smudged under her eyes, seeming so wan and forlorn that the man who sat beside her took pity on her and said gently, “I thought, since you worked here, you’d know what was good to eat. Cafeteria food can be—chancy, if you don’t mind a bad pun.”
That sounded so reasonable, she threw a smile blindly in his general direction, ducked her head and ate. Gradually the world, which had started to spin slowly around on her, stabilized and became real again. Colors, and sounds, and the fake plants in the section dividers came into focus.
Chance had seemed content enough with the companionable silence. When she had sucked down the last of her milk and was cradling her coffee cup in both hands, Mary dared to pick up the conversation again. “So,” she said, “how did you get involved with the boating accident?”
“I was on the yacht, the Gypsy Dancer.” With neat, economical movements, he polished off the last of his cake.
“I know that boat. The dean owns it.” She’d been on the yacht once, at a graduation party. Harold Schubert, dean of the university, was known among certain circles for his annual Fourth of July yacht party. She felt a twinge of regret for the boat’s smooth, clean lines. “Was it badly damaged?”
Chance shrugged and grimaced. “Well, we got to shore, but she was taking on water. She’s in better shape than that speedboat, though.”
“I heard that went under.”
“Yeah, what was left of it.” Remnants of anger smoldered briefly in his eyes.
Mary shuddered. “Erin wasn’t the only one who was lucky. All of you were.”
He glanced at her. “I know it. Those idiots. We couldn’t have gotten out of their way. The Dancer had some real pretty moves on the water, but no thirty-foot yacht can turn that fast.”
Mary settled back in her chair, eyelids drooping as she considered him. Her stomach felt stretched too full and she was getting sleepy. She’d heard something else about the crash. What was it? Thanks to someone’s quick thinking, no one had drowned. Well, this man was quick. She could certainly attest to that after witnessing him defuse the situation back in the E.R. She wondered if he had been the one people had talked about. “Oh, I meant to thank you for stopping that fight.”
He angled his head toward her, elbows on the table. “I figured you were busy enough without having to sew those two back together. Otherwise, I might have just let them kill each other. Damned selfish fools.”
However she might agree with that sentiment, she felt uncomfortable about voicing it, especially after Victor had interceded for her when she lost control earlier. She shifted in her seat. She asked with diffident curiosity, “So are you friends with Harold?” She tried to imagine it, but couldn’t quite. Harold was so urbane, a natural politician who dealt dexterously with not only the university set of Cherry Bay, but the native population, both the country-club set and the working class, and the summer tourists, as well. On the other hand, Chance apparently wasn’t a man to mince words.
His eyebrows rose. “Harold? You’re on a first-name basis with old Shoe-Licking Schubert?”
Mary tried hard not to spit coffee. Grabbing quickly for her napkin, she covered her mouth and coughed, eyes watering. Chance pounded her on the back, until she waved her hands at him to stop. “Well,” she wheezed emphatically, “that’s a—refreshing point of view.”
“It’s the truth.”
He was still eyeing her inquiringly, so she cleared her throat and told him, “Harold—” Licks my grandfather’s shoes, she nearly said, but caught herself quickly and changed a chortle into another cough. “Ahem! Harold and my grandfather are acquaintances. He and his wife have been for dinner.”
The realization registered very quickly with him. His gaze flickered and then went opaque. Did the bit of news pique his interest, or kill it? It was hard to tell. Neither option was good. And was she disappointed? Though she worked hard, she couldn’t come up with an answer to that, and her transparent face, as always, registered everything that went on inside her. His eyes narrowed. “Ah, so you’re one of those Newmans, are you?”
One shoulder lifted and rotated in a fine show of indifference. “So what if I am?” Of course I don’t care. Why would I care, for heaven’s sake? And besides, Victor’s going to find out I ate dinner with this man and be—be what, jealous? She tried hard to get there, to picture Victor jealous, then just sagged in her seat. No, he’d be surprised.
Her fork was out of line with her knife. She straightened it carefully. Out of her vision, Chance’s face broke into a predatory grin. He forced it away and said evenly, “I don’t know that Schubert and I are friends, but as a member of the faculty, I get invited to his parties now and then.”
Her little face tilted up and brightened as she snatched at that conversational tidbit. “You’re a member of the faculty? What do you teach?” It couldn’t be anything to do with medicine, or Mary would have heard of him or seen him by now.
“Journalism.”
“Oh.” That was clever repartee, Mary. She shut her mouth firmly and stole sideways glances at him. She felt as if she was looking at a different, rather dangerous, species in fascination. He didn’t strike her as the academic type. She couldn’t see him as a career professor and wondered what kind of journalist he would make. No doubt a very good one; she had firsthand experience of his tenacity.
Something danced in his eyes. “You don’t have to be worried. I won’t bite.” His voice dropped to a seductive purr. “At least, not without permission.”
This time she felt not only her eyes round, but her mouth, too. He was back to flirting, or teasing, and either one was frightening. He was a creature so very far out of her sphere of existence, she felt instinctively that the wisest course of action would be to throw her coat over her head and run for cover. He lounged back in his chair, a sleek, honed machine, and his heavy-lidded gaze traveled slumberously over her. She felt as if she had been physically touched by psychic tendrils that curled around her body and crooned of male intent.
Like a spider wrapping up its dinner in a cocoon.
She gulped. Now was the time to say something witty. “I have to go home,” she whispered. “It was nice visiting with you.”
Nice?
He unfolded from the chair and stood. She watched him go up—and up—and found her gaze at a level with the skintight shirt that rippled over an accordion stomach. She lunged to her feet and grabbed her purse.
“Do you have a ride home?” Chance asked her. “Because if you’ll pardon me for saying so, Dr. Mary, you don’t seem to be in any condition to drive.”
“I’m all right.”
“But it’s been a long shift for you, hasn’t it?” he asked shrewdly. “And the traffic is worse on land than it is on the lake.”
“Well…” she said reluctantly, fiddling with the strap of her purse. He did have a point. Even standing made her body groan, and the floor didn’t seem any too certain underneath her feet. “Maybe I can get a ride from someone else going off duty.”
“I’d be happy to drive you.”
I don’t know you, she almost said, but she bit it back. No doubt he was just making a generous offer, but every sultry movement and suggestive smile screamed danger. “Thanks, but I’m sure I’ll manage.”
“Let me make sure you’ve got a ride at least.”
“If there isn’t anyone who can take me, I can always get a cab.”
He smiled. “On the Fourth of July? You might as well hope for a ride on the space shuttle. Come on, Dr. Mary, your caution is praiseworthy, but I really am just a pussycat. Look—there’s old Shoe-Licking Schubert right now. He’ll tell you I’m okay.”
A pussycat, my belly button, she thought. More like a great prowling hunting cat, preening its whiskers with a Cheshire grin. But she followed his gesture toward the dinner line anyway.
The dean of the university, a slim, balding man in his late fifties, dressed smartly in deck shorts and a blue shirt, stood in line with a few other members of the faculty. They all looked sunburned, tired, and one of them had a bandaged wrist. Mary shifted from foot to foot. “I should go to say hello anyway,” she decided out loud.
Chance promptly took her hand, tucked it into the crook of his arm, and led her over to the dean and the others. Mary felt the heat from his bare skin burn into her fingers the entire way.
Harold looked up as they neared and immediately smiled. “Armstrong, good to see you. Why, hello, Mary.”
As she returned his greeting, Mary felt more than relief at finding out that Chance was as legitimate as he had promised—was there perhaps some excitement? She scowled. No! He’d just offered her a ride home, for heaven’s sake!
Pleasantries were exchanged, but when Harold and the others thanked Chance, apparently again, for all that he’d done after the accident, he suddenly developed an urgent need to leave the scene. Before Mary knew it, they had said their goodbyes and she was being hustled down the corridor away from the cafeteria.
I knew it, she thought, looking up at his face as she trotted to keep up with him. I knew it would take a lot to knock you off your feet. And you don’t feel comfortable with the praise, do you? She said in all sincerity, “You’re quite the hero today, aren’t you?”
He threw her a frowning glance. “I’m no hero. Just some things needed to be done, that’s all.” Then, before she had time to even consider that as a rebuff, his mood changed entirely. “And I can drive and everything,” he added with a wink. “See what a nice pussycat I am? Let me take you home, Doc. That’ll be my last good deed for the day, I promise.”
Her soft laugh bubbled out. “All right,” she said, feeling mighty reckless. Bad though he might be, he was good medicine for her weary psyche. “Thank you.”
He had left his car in the parking lot just outside the E.R. entrance, so they walked back the way they had come. Kelly, Mary’s replacement, had indeed arrived and things still didn’t look too busy. Maybe the worst of it was over. There would be another rush tonight after the bars closed, but thankfully, several other doctors had volunteered their time for that shift.
She was going home on the arm of a rakish, unpredictable stranger. While it probably shouldn’t be giving her the thrill that it was and afterward her life would return to its normal placidity, she was still just happy to be going home.
As they passed the doctors’ lounge, Victor, who was relaxing on a couch with a cup of coffee, looked up. He caught sight of Mary, still arm in arm with Chance, and his eyebrows shot up before his fine-boned face went carefully blank.
Yes, she thought resignedly, he was surprised.
She suspected she might have some explaining to do.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_e9e94c15-03c0-53ba-b2a7-7d3ac1089eea)
MARY stepped outside, and Chance followed her. The early evening was beautiful, the wide sky clear and the distant, rolling trees hazed in sunlight.
Going from the hospital’s air-conditioned coolness into eighty-degree weather was an abrupt shock, though. It was making her heart pound, she decided, pausing to swipe tawny bangs off her forehead. The ponytail had slipped farther, and she dragged out the rubber band, shook out her thick, wavy mane of hair and swiftly put it up again. It wasn’t so much blond as tricolored, darker underneath but streaked so light by the sun it was almost platinum in places.
Chance watched, eyes gleaming, the fine lines at his eyes deepening as he squinted in the sun.
She frowned, trying to ignore her self-consciousness from being so closely observed, and asked, “So—how long have you been teaching?”
He indicated which way they were to walk, and they started across the parking lot. Foraging gulls scattered. Even though it was miles from the lake, the hospital nearly always had gulls around. “Ever since I came back to the States and decided to stay in one place for a while.”
“How long have you been back in the States?” she asked curiously.
“Just under a year.” He smiled at her crookedly, eyes twinkling. “And I’ve been meeting the most intriguing people.”
They reached a black Jeep Cherokee and Chance moved to the passenger door to unlock it. Mary watched the way his hair curled under at the nape of his neck, the balletic fluidity of the muscles in his wide, strong back and shoulders. His legs went on forever. Next to him, she felt very small and inexperienced. Maybe he wasn’t so much flirting, but teasing her, as she thought he might be. It was a horrible supposition.
She had no illusions about what she was. Bookish, gawky, she always felt like a duck out of water at any of the social gatherings her family was invited to because of their standing in the local community and their money. Maybe Chance’s offer to take her home was how he would treat a baby sister.
By the time Chance had swung around to face her again, she was frowning up at the sky, apparently watching a gull with fierce intensity.
He peered up at the sky, as well, then back down at her. Something curious was going on inside her; it showed in her transparent features. “Hey,” he said. “What’s up, Doc?”
Her attention came back to him, and she blinked. He was watching her with that crooked, sexy smile. She didn’t know why the corners of her mouth drooped.
“Are you teasing me, or flirting?” she burst out, and was immediately mortified. Her cheeks flamed, and she glanced down at her hands. She was holding her purse in front of her like a barrier, shoulders hunched.
Chance regarded her for a moment in fascination. Such a defensive, artless little thing she was. This bundle of awkward nerves was a world apart from the self-assured young doctor who earlier had told him so authoritatively to get out of her way. He had an innately cynical way of viewing the world, but she was outside his definitions. He doubted she could lie to save her own life.
She had removed her white coat, and what she wore underneath were simple buttercup yellow dungarees and a white T-shirt with a scooped neckline. The outfit was bright, cheerful and unsophisticated. The scooped neckline showed collarbones as fragile and as gracefully formed as butterfly wings.
He took a step forward and slid long, hard fingers lightly under her chin, tilting up her face. The shock of the touch was unmistakably intimate. “Oh, I’m definitely flirting,” he murmured, unable to resist rubbing the ball of his callused thumb across those velvet-soft, astonished lips.
She gaped at him, sensual alarm bells in her body clanging wildly. His thumb stroked her mouth unhurriedly, hazel eyes gleaming with pleasure. Every sensible notion inside her flapped away on the breeze, and she stood shivering, open to any possibility.
He was going to kiss her. He was going to devour her. How incredibly, frightfully delicious…He dropped his hand and stepped back, opening the car door for her. She blinked, breathing hard and still trembling. It was time to get in the car. The car, Mary. Going home, Mary. Remember? With a crash of air castles and expectations, she got into the seat. The Jeep sat high off the ground, and it was an unexpected stretch up. She practically had to climb to get in.
As Chance prowled around the back of the Jeep to the driver’s side, she numbly fumbled for her seat belt. Her fingers seemed made of putty, while a sense of anticlimax leadened her mind.
She didn’t know the rules of this game. She’d never played it before. Why hadn’t he kissed her? Because he was just flirting? But she had wanted him to flirt earlier, flirting being far better than teasing. What the hell was the matter with her?
Chance slid smoothly into the driver’s seat, and started the engine. Mary watched him and wondered what it would feel like, to have his mouth on hers.
His head angled toward her, eyes gone dark. All hint of amused lightness was gone, and he was shuttered, withdrawn. He took a pair of sunglasses from the visor and slipped them on. “Where do you live?”
Her brows twitched together. What was this? Absently, she gave him directions, and he backed the Jeep out of the parking space.
The Newman estate was located about twelve miles out of town, in a quiet, wooded stretch of land that Mary’s great-grandfather had bought at the turn of the century. Hugh Newman had determined early in his life to establish a dynasty and had made his fortune in the shipping business. He had passed the business on to his son, Wallis, and had died a contented man, secure in the knowledge that he had fulfilled his dream and that his descendants were going to continue being a major power in the country indefinitely.
Four generations later, it was an entirely different story. Mary’s entire family consisted of her fourteen-year-old brother, Tim, and her grandfather, Wallis, who was in his mid-eighties and in delicate health. Wallis sold the shipping business when his son and daughter-in-law died, and has spent the latter years of his life devoted to his two grandchildren.
Chance navigated smoothly through the crowded downtown streets, swung past the university complex, and they quickly reached the highway that skirted the bay. Half of the trip home was conducted in silence. Mary stared out the window at the familiar scenery, the sparkling blue water to her right and the rolling hills on the left, unable to shake a sense of letdown.
I’m tired, she thought. That’s all it is. No sleep the night before, and now I have to decide if I have the energy to go to the fireworks like I promised Tim. The thought of spending several hours in the company of Victor and her younger brother was vaguely depressing.
Chance glanced at her broodingly. The sound of his low voice in the confines of the Jeep was startling. “You awake?”
“Hunh?” She shook herself out of her reverie. “Oh, yes. Sorry—I was drifting.”
“That’s all right. You had a long day.”
“I went on shift last night at eleven.” She knuckled dry, scratchy eyes. “It’s hard to believe sometimes that I’ve only been a resident for a couple of months. That on top of my internship makes it seem like I’ve been doing double shifts my whole life, and I still have so far to go.”
“Well, I’ve heard residency’s pretty tough. Kind of like boot camp for doctors. You like it?”
She smiled but it was fleeting. Did she like it? “Does anybody like boot camp?”
He chuckled. “Good point. There must be a sense of satisfaction when you’re doing your best, but it’s not the same as liking it, is it?”
She sighed, and was rather disturbed at how heavy and dispirited it sounded. “No, it isn’t.”
He reached out and covered her hands briefly, and she stared down at the large, square back of his hand, the tanned skin sprinkled with golden hairs and webbed gracefully with veins. Sinewed, strong, the tapered fingers sensitive; she liked his hands. “You sound awfully unhappy, Dr. Mary. Why are you doing it?”
From nowhere a pressure welled up inside her, and suddenly the urge to confide in someone, a stranger who had no expectations of her and no demands, became irresistible. She sighed again. “I had good reasons once. I think I still do. I love taking care of people, especially children. I love seeing them get better and knowing I’m one of the reasons why. It’s just that sometimes I wonder if I’ve gone about doing it the right way.”
Everybody was so supportive of her. Her grandfather had encouraged her every step of the way. Victor had offered her lots of guidance in her career choices. Even Tim had brought her coffee and rubbed her shoulders during late-night study sessions when she had been in medical school. She couldn’t let them down, not after all that they’d done for her.
It’s just that she wondered sometimes when she was going to find time for her own life. Sure, she wanted to take care of people, but when was she going to get the chance to take care of her own children? After two frenetic years of residency would come a busy career.
The times when she and Victor had talked cautiously about a possible future together, he had always evinced satisfaction with how things were going. He liked the idea of having a wife who was as career oriented as he was. He liked the respect and prestige, and the life-style. Lots of people managed two demanding professions in their relationships. Was that too much to ask?
Chance said quietly, “It’s easy to get bogged down in a career and forget you’re a human being.”
Mary turned to look at him. He looked so remote, attention trained on the road, half of his expression covered by the dark glasses. Was he talking about her, or himself? A career in journalism, traveling all over the world—how many opportunities could he have had for a normal life, wife, kids.
Good Lord—could he be married? With an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach, she sneaked a look at his left hand. No ring, and no tan line, either. But some men didn’t wear rings.
If he was in his late thirties, he could have three or four marriages by now, and any number of kids. Mary could just picture them, blond hair dripping into their sad eyes, wanting their daddy to stop flirting with her and come home to them. She gritted her teeth, revolted by the image.
Now, wait a minute. Find a nice roundabout way to ask him. “Have you—found time for a career and maybe marriage, too?”
His lips twitched. “Plenty of career, but no marriage. Not yet. I’m one of those men that got bogged down. One day I got home, walked into my apartment in New York, and everything was covered in dust. No food in the fridge. Hell, I couldn’t even keep a cat. Everybody I knew was a work contact. I’d lost touch with most of my friends years ago. That was when I decided to slow down. Nobody ought to work that hard.”
Her depression stopped riding her shoulders and blew out the window, and she gave him a sunny smile. “I thought about becoming a pediatrician, but that would be four more years of training on top of what I’m doing now. And then I’d spend all my time taking care of other people’s children.”
“And when would you find time to have any fun?” he asked dryly. “Let alone have any children of your own.”
“Well,” she said self-consciously, “yes.” So what. She could admit that she wanted children. That was a perfectly reasonable desire. A lot of people wanted children; it wasn’t as if she was hinting at anything.
And fun. What a pretty, simple, three-letter word that was, but what a concept. When was the last time she could say to herself, gee, I had fun?
Then the realization shook through her: she didn’t have any idea whether Victor wanted children or not. That was such an elemental knowledge of another person, but in the two years they had gone out together, the subject had never come up. And Mary couldn’t even make a good guess based on what she knew of his personality.
Victor and she were practically engaged. He was certainly by far the most serious relationship she’d ever had. In college she’d dated a few times, but she was mostly preoccupied with her schoolwork and her brother, who had needed her to be a surrogate mother. He didn’t even remember their parents, who had died in a car crash when she was seventeen and Tim was only five. She hadn’t had time for more than casual relationships, but Victor, who was also a doctor, and understood the stresses of her life, had pursued her with patience. She’d not only been flattered by his attention, but comforted by the companionship.
They reached the turnoff and began the long drive through the wooded twenty-acre estate to the large house. The clock on the Jeep’s dashboard read almost eight o’clock. The sun had set behind the tree line, and it was growing dark. Chance removed his sunglasses, pulled the Jeep to a stop, and regarded the sprawling manor house with raised eyebrows. Some of the windows were well lit, but the shadows outside were spiky and dark.
“You live in that?”
Mary started to chuckle. “Yes,” she said, “I know. It’s a monstrosity, isn’t it? But my great-grandfather was so proud of it.”
“There’re about three or four different plans going on. What’s it look like from the back?”
“Worse. There’re a couple of pavilions, an over-grown topiary garden, an arched bridge that doesn’t span anything, an unsuccessful artificial pond that turned to swamp around World War II and a rotting boathouse. It must have been something in the roaring twenties, but now it’s a little sad, like an abandoned carnival. Every two years or so, my grandfather swears he’s going to tear it down and build something more sensible.”
“I saw something like it in a horror movie once. All these college kids were being chased around by a maniac with a meat cleaver.” He cocked his head. “I don’t think I could sleep in that place.”
She covered her mouth and giggled at the image of such a tough, self-reliant man huddled wide awake in bed with the night sweats. “It’s not so bad when you’ve been raised in it. Then you don’t know anything different, you see. I always hoped to find a secret passage, but I never did. The attic is a wonderful place to play on a rainy day. It’s huge and filled with all kinds of junk.”
He shook his head, smiling, and opened his door. The song of crickets and the fresh smell of the woods filled the night air. Mary opened her door, as well, then realized that he was coming around to her side of the Jeep.
She looked up at him, her heart starting another idiotic tap dance. The creases on either side of his mouth were deepened by his smile, and he reached out for her with both hands. “Such a fancy manor house,” he drawled, twin devils laughing in his eyes. “It must be bringing out the genteel in me.”
Eyes riveted to his reckless face, she held out her hands, but instead of taking hold of them, he took her by the waist and lifted her lightly out of the Jeep. At some point her feet touched the ground. She wasn’t sure when; all of her attention had plummeted to the warm, firm grasp of his hands that nearly spanned her middle.
They stood very close together. Somehow her hands had found their way to grip his upper arms. The heat from his lean torso and legs radiated through her light cotton dungarees, and she caught the merest hint of his scent, clean and redolent of fresh air and very male.
Mary was fixated, electrified. At no time during her sheltered life had she experienced anything like the sensations that rioted through her. The shape of his down-bent head against the sky was a hieroglyph with archetypical meaning, and the shadowed, intent expression on his face made her stare in wonder.
Chance murmured, “Walk you to the door, Mary?”
It was so old-fashioned. Genteel. She was enchanted. “Thank you,” she breathed. “Oh, and thank you for bringing me home, too.”
“My pleasure.” After holding her a pulsing moment too long, he turned and slid one hand to the small of her back as they strolled to the porch. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you.”
“Me, too.” She stared at the steps hard, willing herself to negotiate them properly and not do something stupid like trip and fall flat on her face. That was hard to do when her knees seemed to have a mind of their own. They paused at the door.
“Are you planning to go watch the fireworks on the beach tonight, or are you calling it a day?”
“I—haven’t made up my mind yet.” She wasn’t that tired after all. The celebration didn’t start until ten. She could have some more coffee, a shower, maybe a quick nap, and she got to sleep in as late as she liked tomorrow. Just an hour or two, for Tim’s sake. “Are you going?”
“I thought I might.” His low voice was somewhere between gravel and velvet, a fascinating combination: dangerous and smooth. “Perhaps I’ll see you there, then.”
“That’d-that’d be nice.”
Nice?
He had never removed the hand from her back. Now he brought up the other one and stroked her cheek lightly with the back of his fingers. The sensation was so liquid, so gentle, she nearly melted into a puddle at his feet. Then, slowly, his head came down and his mouth covered hers.
Her eyelids drifted closed, and the world went somewhere else, as the shape and the pressure of his mouth eclipsed everything. After a long, timeless moment, gripped by some mysterious suspense, she parted her lips and touched her tongue to him, and tasted him. He tasted like fresh air and something else, something that was entirely, uniquely himself.
Then his hand shifted to cradle the back of her head, and he kissed her deeply. His tongue thrust into her mouth and stroked at hers, delving in hard, and she moaned in surprise, in delight.
This is what it all means, this explosion of flavor and intensity of feeling; she kissed him back, eagerly, shakily, falling into this new eroticism and drowning in it.
Chance sucked in a hissing breath, pulling back just long enough to stare at her with eyes that glittered hot like a raptor’s, and then he plunged down again and ravished her mouth.
She clung to his shoulders mindlessly. He had turned her inside out, and all her nerve endings were raw, exposed to the warm summer breeze. When he ran his hand up her back to press her closer against his body, it was like being jolted with a strong electric current.
“…why haven’t you come in yet—hey! Mary? Who the hell are you kissing?”
The young, imperious voice penetrated her heated mind slowly. It.apparently did the same for Chance, who lifted his head. She made the oddest, most shocking sound when his mouth left hers. It sounded so needy, so like a whimper. Through blurred eyes, she saw his nostrils flare, and his hand, at the nape of her neck, spasmed tight in an instinctively possessive grip.
Two observations, then: Tim was at the front door, now sounding offended. And she was clinging to Chance like a limpet. She dropped hold of him fast, they fell away from each other, and she turned to Tim defensively.
“Why—why—are you spying on me, Tim?” She was having trouble getting her breath back. God, she was having trouble getting any kind of presence of mind back.
She turned to look at Chance, who had whipped away, putting his back to the two of them. As she watched, he ran both hands through his hair, pivoted back toward the scene again, and regarded Tim’s lanky frame with narrowed eyes. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.
She watched shock go over Tim’s bony face. Then the boy drew himself up very tall—and he was, too, much taller than she was—and he shot back snottily, “I’m her brother, you moron.”
“Tim!” Mary exclaimed in a shocked voice. He stalked over to wrap a skinny, protective arm around her, glaring at the intruder.
“And Victor’s on the phone for you,” Tim added pointedly to her.
Chance put his hands on his hips. He looked composed again, almost remote, except that his eyes were dilated black as sin, and his expression was tight. “Who the hell is Victor?”
“Her fiancé,” snapped Tim defiantly.
Mary sputtered as she ogled her brother. “What has gotten into you?” she demanded. Then she said emphatically to Chance, “He’s just a friend!”
Chance frowned sharply. “I thought you said you were her brother.”
“I am!”
“No, I mean Victor!” she exclaimed.
His eyebrows shot up. Was that an evil gleam in his eye? “Victor is your brother?”
“No, he’s her fiancé!”
“He is not!” She punched Tim in the side. “Timothy, stop it! Victor is just a friend. This little demon is my brother.”
“Your very protective brother, I see.” Chance stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m Chance Armstrong. I gave your sister a ride home from the hospital.”
“Chance?” muttered Tim, his leery gaze sliding sideways to hers. Something undefinable seemed to pass between the man and the boy. Mary couldn’t decipher it. Whatever it was, it was decidedly a male thing, something in Chance’s unwavering, cool gaze that made Tim’s bristling slowly die down. He reached out uncertainly and received a firm, no-nonsense handshake from the older man. “I, er, how d’you do?”
Oh, now he remembers his manners, she thought distractedly. But she noticed Tim still hadn’t let go of her.
Chance looked at Mary and gave her a nod. “I’d better be going,” he said quietly. “See you later?”
“I—yes, see you later.” She held out her hand. He gave her fingers a brief, hard squeeze, and then he strolled down the steps and to his Jeep.
Tim led Mary inside. She watched over her shoulder as the Jeep’s headlights came on and Chance drove away.
“Mary? What are you looking at? You were really kissing that guy. I’ve never seen you do that. Did you forget what I said? Victor’s on the phone—unless he’s hung up by now.”
“Hunh?” Mary murmured dreamily. “Oh, of course.”
Tim was right. She’d never been kissed like that before. What kind of a kiss was that anyway? It was the kind that sucked your soul out of your body.
Hey, she wanted to call out to the man who’d just left. You forgot to give my soul back.
Instead she went in to answer the phone.
Some time later…
“Mary?” Tim’s voice. “I brought you coffee like you asked. Mary, are you awake?”
She fought her way out of a black hole, toward wakefulness and the sound of her brother’s voice. “Mmm, ’s the coffee. Oh, thank you, baby.” She lifted her head off the pillow, eyes still glued shut, and he kissed her face several times.
One thing she cherished about Tim was that they had always shared an uncommonly close bond, and he was unusual for a prickly fourteen-year-old boy, because he’d never become self-conscious about physical displays of affection. If anything, Tim hovered too much.
Look at how he’d barged out onto the porch earlier that evening, for example. The memory boiled out of the mud in her head, and she groaned.
She tried her mouth again, and this time it worked a little better. “I’ve got to shower. I’ll never wake up, Timmy, if I don’t get a shower.”
“I’ll get the shower going, so the water’s nice and hot for you,” he crooned, and her bed bounced as he leaped up to lope away.
He was so excited. Mary sat up, stretched, and yawned so hard it felt like her jaw cracked. Last year Tim had gone to the fireworks celebration with his best friend’s family, but this year the Thompsons were on vacation in Florida, and he had nobody else to go with but her. And he was too young to go by himself.
Tim bounced back into her bedroom. “It’s ready! And Victor’s going to be here in half an hour.”
She winced at his too-loud voice. “Okay, Tim. Thank you. Go on now, let me get ready—and remember, we’re only going to stay until midnight. Victor’s only had a nap, and mine wasn’t long enough—”
“I know, I know,” he interrupted. “A couple of hours’ll be great. Just get moving, or we’ll miss the beginning.”
He left, and Mary shuffled around her large, comfortable bedroom, feeling like an old woman. Rescue workers could go weeks on five-minute naps every three or four hours—she could surely make it through the evening after her hour nap. After several minutes in a refreshing cool shower, she was feeling more like herself again. It wouldn’t be for long, and it was going to be—fun.
As a graduation present from her grandfather, Mary’d had her bathroom and bedroom redecorated. She stepped out of the shower into a pretty collection of greens and peaches. She quickly made up her face, applying blusher, eye shadow and mascara lightly, and then she dithered over which perfume she wanted to use.
Why are you going to so much trouble? she asked herself suddenly. She stared hard at her bright-eyed reflection. Victor’s seen you at your worst many times.
You know why, Mary, and it’s not for Victor.
It was because of that kiss, because of a “maybe see you later” kind of arrangement with a man you hardly know, a man who’s way out of your league, you’ve admitted that much. A man probably just playing around—what if he kisses everybody like that? A man who is just—flirting.
And what’s more, if you’d had your wits about you earlier when you had Victor on the phone, you would have called off the evening with him and gone ahead to the fireworks with Tim. Alone.
Have you gone insane?
The lecture wasn’t working. No matter how sternly she talked to herself, the excited young woman in the mirror didn’t calm down. She selected at random a perfume bottle from her collection on a nearby shelf, and sprayed some on her neck and wrists. Then she waltzed into her bedroom, humming—what to wear? Oh, a soft, flowered linen skirt with a matching rose sleeveless top, delicate sandals and a plain gold necklace. And the hair, oh, leave it loose and fluff it out, all nice and pretty, there.
You should be wearing shorts, fool.
I don’t care, I don’t care.
What if he’s not there? She stopped in midwaltz and her shoulders drooped. Two long hours, and Victor’s going to think you dressed up for him. Oh my. Both hands crept up to her face. And what if he wants to kiss you?
Tim. Tim will be there. Victor wouldn’t want to embarrass him. That’ll be all right.
What if he does show up? She started to dance again, then stopped dead in her tracks.
How are you going to explain Chance to Victor, Mary? How are you going to explain Victor to Chance?
She caught sight of another reflection from the full-length closet mirror, and she scowled. How, in God’s name, did a shy, gawky thing like you find herself in the middle of such a soap opera?
Off in the distance, she heard the front doorbell ring. Victor had arrived.
What are you going to do now, Mary?
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_c8cedccd-1ccd-520d-85ee-0c13381da7f6)
CHERRY Bay’s annual Fourth of July celebration was held at the old lighthouse, which was on a promontory of land that had been established as a local park some years ago. Volunteer firemen were in charge of the fireworks display that was set off from the point. The nearby beach was crowded with both natives and tourists alike, and food and drink vendors dotted the area with striped canvas canopies. Music from a local band blared from the loudspeakers near the whitewashed stone lighthouse, and the smell of hot dogs and the pastry called fried elephant ears filled the air.
Tim appeared not to notice the taut atmosphere that filled the interior of Victor’s Volvo on the trip to the lighthouse, but Mary did. Back at the house, she had met Victor at the door; he was dressed in crisp linen slacks and a white shirt. She’d looked up into his cold eyes and tight features and felt her stomach sink to her shoes.
When Tim had come to the porch to interrupt Chance and Mary, he had left the phone off the hook in the front hall. How much of what had gone on outside had Victor overheard? Could he have heard anything at all? Could his tight expression just possibly be related to seeing her walk out of the hospital earlier that day with a strange man? What did she dare hope for?
With the strong instinct that she was making a mistake, Mary had gone to say goodbye to her grandfather Wallis, who was comfortably ensconced in the library with an old friend of his, drinking brandy and playing a game of chess.
“Good night, Grampa,” she whispered as she kissed him.
A tall, thin man in his eighties with a leonine head of thick, white, wavy hair, Wallis Newman was a gruff man who had a reputation for being terrifying with local politicians and dignitaries. Mary never understood that. Wallis reached up to pat her cheek, his fierce gaze softening into tenderness.
“Have a good time, kiddo. I won’t wait up.”
I want to stay home with you, Grampa, she thought. She glanced toward the hallway and sighed. Victor and Tim were waiting. She threw her arms around her grandfather’s neck, hugged him swiftly, and left.
Now Victor pulled the car into a parking space, and Mary scrambled out thankfully. The parking-lot lamps washed the scene in harsh white illumination and sharp shadows. In the distance, she could see the warmer glow from flickering beach fires and the tiny pinpoints of colored lights strung in the trees and bushes that clustered around the lighthouse.
Tim bounced out happily. Victor locked the car and straightened, his movements slow and deliberate. Mary felt the skin around her eyes tighten as he glanced at her briefly. Then Tim loped around the car, planted a smacking kiss on her forehead so hard he almost knocked her over, and said, “I’m going to get in line for some food. Meet you on the beach?”
“All right,” she sighed, and she forlornly watched him dash away. There goes my chaperon and bodyguard.
Victor curled a hand around her upper arm, and she looked up with a start, then tried to smile. The effort was not returned. “I want to talk to you,” he said tersely.
As if on cue, the first round of fireworks exploded overhead with a rolling boom like thunder, and Victor’s marble-carved features were washed in red and blue.
This was worse than a mistake, she thought, as she glanced again at the crowd on the beach. This was more like disastrous stupidity. There was no way they were going to run into Chance, and Victor was obviously upset, and she didn’t have the energy to explain anything to him. Even if she’d known how to explain it.
Then a small seed of resentment bloomed. She shouldn’t have to explain anything. They may have dated for a few years, but they hadn’t even come to any kind of formal agreement. She never asked Victor what he did when she wasn’t with him. Why was he suddenly treating her like his property?
“Now is not the time, Victor,” she said firmly, and she gave him a no-nonsense nod meant to put him in his place.
Apparently he didn’t get the point. His fingers pressed into her flesh as he said, “When will be the time to talk about it? Tim’s gone for now—we have a few minuets. Who was that man I saw you with earlier? I heard you had dinner with him.”
Mary blinked in surprise. Who’d told him that— Harold Schubert? Another member of the hospital staff? “So I had dinner with him,” she said in an offhand manner. “I was eating—he was eating—we sat at the same table. It happens, Victor.”
“But then you went out the door with him, and your car was still in the parking lot when I left. Did he take you home?”
Boom went another bout of fireworks. The crowd cheered. Mary fumbled for something reasonable and conciliatory to say, but what could that be? He’d taken her home and kissed her, and walked away with her soul in his pocket.
She scowled and said, “So what if he did? Is that a crime? He offered and I was too tired to drive, and anyway—why are you checking up on me like this?”
Suddenly his demeanor changed, became soothing. His grip on her arm loosened, and he rubbed her shoulders. “I’m sorry. That sounded bad, didn’t it? I was just worried about you, darling, that’s all. I didn’t know him and thought you didn’t, either, and if you’d wanted a ride home, all you had to do was ask me. I would have been happy to take you.”
Mary’s bristling smoothed over, and she turned contrite. Poor Victor. He’d had a long, hard day, too. “I knew your shift wasn’t over until eight, and anyway, he was perfectly fine.”
“So who was he anyway?” Victor asked casually, starting to lead her toward the beach.
“He teaches at the university. He was on Harold Schubert’s yacht when the boating accident happened.” And I can still feel his kiss on my mouth. The scorching memory engulfed her; with a shock, she felt the private area between her legs throb gently.
She looked around in confusion, cheeks flaming. She was too tired; the barrier between thought and action was too ephemeral, untrustworthy. She was afraid of what she might inadvertently blurt out if Victor continued his interrogation much longer.
Over the staccato explosions overhead and the noise of the crowd, she could hear the roar of an approaching motorcycle, and absentmindedly glanced in that direction.
The roar subsided into a low engine growl as a Harley-Davidson pulled into an empty parking space. There were two riders, a man driving and a woman riding pillion. They both wore black helmets and protective leather jackets. The man was wearing straight-legged, faded jeans and a white T-shirt, and the woman’s lush, curved legs were bared by a black minidress. She wore, Mary saw with amazement, high-heeled stiletto pumps.
There was something familiar about the man’s large, powerful body. She watched as he lowered the kick-stand with the toe of his boot and they dismounted, removing their helmets.
The man’s overlong blond hair lifted in the breeze. The woman’s hair tumbled out, a long, curling, glorious mass of coppery red. They locked their helmets in the bike’s carrier, chatting together companionably, and turned to the beach.
Mary’s heart emitted one hard, dismayed kick. Chance, his tanned, chiseled features relaxed, the wide breadth of his shoulders a tough, aggressive angle in contrast to slim hips and lithe, muscular legs. The woman, the hourglass shape of her body extravagantly feminine, her leather jacket unzipped to reveal a deep neckline that showcased a lovely, generous cleavage, her long green eyes gleaming like a cat’s.
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Amanda Carpenter
Take a chance on love… Mary Newman - her life was safe, predictable and reasonably happy. Until the day he walked in! Chance Armstrong - he had no respect for rules and regulations and cozy life-styles.But he was offering Mary the perfect chance for a lot of excitement, and she was tempted - oh, so tempted… . Until Chance offered the most tempting challenge of all… . He asked Mary to marry him!
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#uf7b1aec1-4381-5625-9436-1074d702db11)
Excerpt (#u48260e29-27f5-57b4-9be7-eacdee9cda0a)
About the Author (#u991e70fd-e492-5ea2-ba55-1223aa6460be)
Title Page (#u41436c47-9a4a-543a-a525-77b64d543a7e)
Chapter One (#ud569a32b-ca54-529d-ada0-2f08849fe41b)
Chapter Two (#uacc6ab69-cdf1-57f9-b461-c9374eb1d926)
Chapter Three (#u4d5b9253-b3a9-5e43-90eb-2eec23b6253b)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“G-goodbye!”
Another pause, as Chance scrutinized her face. Then he straightened and demanded, “Why?” He seemed so angry.
Mary’s eyes rounded and then she looked down at her tangled fingers. “Oooh…I’m…sooo…busy.” This was too hard. It was a fine, brave attempt, but she just couldn’t come out and say that she’d heard he was a womanizer and a cheat.
“You’re not that busy,” he said in a low, clipped voice. “Why are you running away from me? You were just fine when I left you last night.”
Another, more poised woman might have said, So I’ve changed my mind. You’re not my type. Get lost, soldier. Mary’s head ducked farther down and she muttered at her fingers, “I don’t want to be one of your conquests!”
AMANDA CARPENTER was raised in South Bend, Indiana, but lived for many years in England. She started writing because she felt a need to communicate with people from other walks of life. She wrote her first romance novel when she was nineteen and has been translated into many languages. Although she has many interests, including music and art, writing is her greatest love.
Perfect Chance
Amanda Carpenter
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_3493c15f-7203-5fcb-927c-0747dd0f55fe)
MARY paused to lean against the counter of the nurses’ station as she surveyed the emergency room in the Newman wing at Memorial Hospital.
It was July 4th, the busiest day of the year.
It was midafternoon and she was already tired, having been on shift since eleven the night before. She rubbed at the back of her neck and thought longingly of the shower she would have when she got home.
Then a fresh influx of people rushed in. Urgent words swirled around and she snatched at a few of them: a boating accident, seven injured, two badly. She darted around a small group of young men who were soaking wet, caught a powerful whiff of beer from them, and rushed toward one of the more serious cases.
A dark-haired girl, maybe six or seven, was being cradled in the arms of an adult. Mary checked her over quickly. The girl had a compound fracture, there was an expertly applied tourniquet above the knee, and she was unconscious. The poor little thing. Her pulse was fluttering and too rapid, her skin ashen under her tan, and she was covered in a cold sweat.
“She’s in shock.” The deep, gravelly voice sounded overhead.
“I see that. Bring her this way.” Mary ran with him over to a cubicle. A sobbing woman tried to follow but was diverted from the front desk by Sandy, who needed her to fill out forms. With relief, Mary heard Sandy’s soothing voice assuring the woman that her daughter was going to be fine.
The man laid the little girl carefully on the gurney, and whipped around to the nearby cabinet. He and Mary collided as they both reached for a blanket at the same time. She whoofed at the impact; it was like running into a brick wall. He snapped, “Why don’t you go find a doctor?”
Oh, not again! The top of her head seemed to ignite like a torch. “I am a doctor!”
Some people laughed; some people apologized. This one gave her a hard, narrow-eyed stare and muttered grimly, “You’d better be.”
She yanked the blanket out of his hands and shook it over the child. “Get out of my way.”
He backed up rapidly. As she prepared an IV, Mary called out sharply, “Julie, I need you.”
The nurse came at a run, and together they got the girl stabilized, bandaged and ready for X rays. Mary glanced around for the father. There he was, leaning against the wall, watching everything with hawklike intensity. Overlong blond hair fell into sharp hazel eyes, and his tanned, chiseled face was thoughtful. He’s awfully calm, she thought, and she glared at him. No parent should be that calm when his daughter’s facing surgery. I’m a doctor and I’m not that calm. What’s the matter with him?
She tried to gentle her voice. “What’s your daughter’s name?”
His attention shifted to her and his eyebrows rose slowly. “Erin Morley. But she’s not my daughter. Her mother’s out in the lobby.”
“Oh.” Mary paused. Well, he’s still to calm. She asked, “Would you go get her mother? I need to know if Erin is allergic to anything.”
“I asked on the way to the hospital. She’s not allergic to any medications.”
At that moment the mother walked into the cubicle and went to lean against the man, her face streaked and traumatized. The man patted her back soothingly as she confirmed what he’d told Mary, and with the little girl admitted to the hospital, Julie wheeled her gurney to X ray while Mary moved to another patient.
Victor, the other doctor on duty, was still with the other seriously injured patient, a man with a head wound. She passed the cubicle where he was working, sleek dark head bent and handsome features absorbed in his task. He glanced up and nodded to her. She waved back and attended to others from the boating accident, all minor injuries now, listening sympathetically to compulsive telling and retelling of the story.
Mary was a small woman, with a slight, coltish build and delicate, irregular features that made her look far younger than her twenty-six years, but she was capable of a mighty big fury when she was roused to it. Her large blue eyes flashed as she heard of the crash. Four young students had been drinking and driving a speedboat that had collided with a large yacht filled with passengers. She recognized a few faces from the faculty of the local university. They were all very lucky; apparently, due to the quick action of someone on the yacht, there had been no drownings.
Drinking and driving was hardly regulated enough on land to suit Mary. People could have died, and did die in such accidents, and there wasn’t even any law to prohibit drunken speedboating. She had been born and raised in Cherry Bay, and had heard many stories similar to the one she heard now. It never failed to outrage her.
The last patient needing attention was one of the drunken young men, waiting sullenly in one of the cubicles. He needed stitches in his arm, and she attended to him in thin-lipped silence.
One of his friends was standing beside him, glowering. Except for their size, they looked like petulant, unrepentant boys.
They were arguing in a heated undertone about the accident. “Didn’t I tell you? You should have let me drive,” said the one Mary was stitching.
The other one sneered, “Let you drive? For God’s sake, Peter, you can’t even sit up straight.”
“God, my dad is gonna kill me. And you, Trevor— he’s gonna kill you, too. Do you know how much that boat cost him? Thirty thousand dollars! How’m I gonna tell him his precious boat is sitting at the bottom of the lake right now?”
The image of the ashen-faced child with the broken leg flashed through Mary’s mind, and she controlled the urge to bash both of them over the head with an instrument tray. She finished the job and reached for bandages.
Trevor ran his hands through his damp hair, jerked up his chin and said belligerently, “It wasn’t my fault, I tell you. Hell, they swerved in front of me—and anyway, his insurance’ll cover it. No problem.”
That did it. She slapped down her handful of bandages, rounded on him and said tightly, “Get out.”
He ogled her, mouth slack. Then his face flushed, and he said insolently, “Sure thing, sweetie. Soon’s you’re done patching up my friend here.”
She said icily, “My name is not ‘sweetie’. My name is Dr. Newman, and I have a job to finish here. The police must be here by now, so why don’t you go tell your story to them—or haven’t you got it straight yet?”
Alarm registered in Trevor’s face and he started to back away. “Maybe I better take off, Pete—”
Fury darkened the other man’s cheeks. “And leave me to clean up your mess? No way, dammit—”
He lunged off the gurney toward Trevor, knocking against Mary, who stumbled back, lost her footing, and sat down on the floor so hard her teeth jarred together. Shock held her frozen for a moment, then with a thrill of fear she scrambled to her feet and opened her mouth to shout for help as the two men surged back and forth like prizefighters.
What came next happened so fast all Mary saw was a blur of movement. One moment the two men were grappling each other and cursing, then the next moment Trevor was subdued on the floor, and Peter was back on the gurney where he belonged, with a large, powerful hand locked around his throat. Mary’s huge gaze followed the hand back to its owner.
It belonged to a long, lean, hard-muscled body dressed in faded cutoff jeans and a skintight black sleeveless shirt. He stood casually, weight on one slim hip, blond hair in his eyes. He was even smiling a little. She recognized the man who had carried in Erin. Big, he’s very big, she thought numbly. I didn’t notice that before. And he’s still calm, but—oh, I don’t like the looks of that smile.
“I’m getting a little tired of you two,” he remarked quietly. His sparkling hazel eyes sliced to her, sharp as a blade. “Are you through with this one, Doctor?”
“I…” She twisted and untwisted her hands, staring. Somehow the man’s presence had such an aura of settled maturity that he relegated the other two back to the status of spoiled boys. She worked her aching jaw, then tried a nervous smile. “Yes. No. I mean—” Darn it! “He needs a bandage and a prescription for antibiotics.”
He looked down at the one on the floor, eyes hard and deadly. “You’re the driver of the boat, aren’t you? I’ve already given my statement to the police. They’re waiting out front to hear from you. Get.” After a resentful pause, Trevor stood and scurried away. Then the blond man turned to her. “Why don’t you go write the prescription? I’ll stay with this one while a nurse finishes his bandage.”
Mary sucked in a breath and bristled. Don’t tell me what to do! The man cocked his head at her, waiting. His hand was still locked around Peter’s throat. Her courage wavered when she looked at the drunken young man, and suddenly she deflated and mumbled, “Be right back.”
Safely back at the nurses’ desk, Mary scribbled out a prescription, pressing down hard with the pen and slapping it down afterward. Who did that man think he was? Ordering her about! And those other two— what criminal stupidity! Worried about a thirty-thousand-dollar boat, when people could have died! She wanted to find out how Erin was, she wanted to sit down and have a cup of coffee and eat that lunch she hadn’t managed to get to, and she wanted a nap. She looked around. Everything had gone quiet for now. She took a deep breath, rubbed her face hard with both hands and shuddered.
A hand descended onto her slight shoulder, and she jumped. “What? Oh—hi, it’s you.”
Dr. Victor Prentiss stood looking quizzically down at her. Just under six feet tall, he was a slender, elegant man in his early thirties. Mary had started dating him a few years ago when she was still an intern. A quiet, rather shy, bookish individual, she had been thrilled when Victor had shown an interest in her. Between the pressures of her internship and Victor’s career demands, their courtship to date had been sporadic. Now that Mary had started her residency and was working closely with him, she felt it was even uncomfortable at times—she was inexperienced and didn’t know how to date a man and also keep a professional distance at work—but she greeted him right now with relief.
“Are you all right?” Victor asked her gently. “I heard some of the ruckus.”
“Yes, I’m fine. Just tired. I missed lunch,” she said miserably. On top of a double shift. Were those black spots in front of her eyes? Squinting, she tried to chase them down.
“The Fourth of July is always like this. Look, darling—it’s almost six. Why don’t you get some dinner and go home?” He rubbed her back softly.
“Almost six?” She looked around in surprise. Where did the time go? Working in the E.R. was always like that. Whenever she came in, it felt like she was entering a twilight zone of crisis after crisis. This was a small community normally, but as a celebrated resort area, the population more than quadrupled in the summer. She had just started working at the E.R. in May but it felt like she had been working there forever, and she could never shake the sneaking suspicion that she was inadequate for the job. Now guilt and gratitude warred for supremacy. “Are you sure?”
“It’s quiet now,” Victor assured her. “And Kelly is due any minute. Don’t drive hungry and tired, though. Go on, get something to eat before you go home. And if you want to call tonight off, I’ll understand.”
Victor was supposed to be taking her and her younger brother, Tim, to see the fireworks over Lake Michigan that evening. She had been looking forward to it once, but now, with every bone in her feet and legs aching, it didn’t sound nearly as fun as it had. “I’ll think about it. I did promise Tim, though…” Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of Peter being marched toward the nurses’ station by the bossy blond man, who still wore an unpleasant smile as he kept a firm grip on Peter’s newly bandaged arm.
Mary felt herself compact into the smallest possible package. It didn’t make her invisible, however. The two men stopped in front of her, and there was an uncomfortable pause. Then the blond man said lazily, “You got something to say, Pete?”
The younger fellow studied his shoes and muttered, “I’m sorry.”
Mary glanced around. Victor watched the tableau with detached interest. In contrast, the blond man’s hard features were distinctly wicked. One of the nurses audibly suppressed a chuckle. Hazel eyes flickered in that direction, a thoroughly male glance, and grew very bright. He said, “You’re sorry, what?”
“I’m sorry, Doctor,” Peter amended quickly.
Why is my face hot? she wondered. She scrambled for something intelligent and dignified to say, snatched up the prescription and thrust it at him. “Go away.”
Victor took up the slack smoothly, moving around the nurses’ desk and taking Peter’s other arm with a smile. “Dr. Newman has been under a lot of stress.” He led the young man away, talking quietly, his tone commiserating.
Mary blinked down at her hands, face growing even warmer. Ah. She shouldn’t be rude to the patients, no matter how she felt about them. No matter what they’d done. Maybe the ground would open up right then and there, swallow her up, and she could have a nap in the hole.
That man was still standing there.
Don’t look up, she told herself.
Maybe he’ll go away, too.
Maybe I can pretend I dropped something here, behind the nurses’ desk. She frowned professionally at the floor and bent down suddenly. There was a long silence. No footsteps sounded, leading away. He’s still up there and now I’m down here. What next? She opened a cabinet and started rummaging through it. Inventory, maybe. Residents always do inventory after their shifts. Sure they do.
Silence. Her white coat was terribly hot and scratchy. She pulled at her collar.
Don’t look up.
“Dr. Newman?” That man. He sounded amused.
She felt herself cringe, and her gaze crept up slowly. He leaned against the counter, tanned biceps bulging. Big, he was, and—and so male. Calmly male. That long, sexy mouth held in a crooked smile. Her glance bounced off it, up to his gaze, and skittered away. “Y-yes?” She straightened reluctantly. “Hi, you’re still there.”
The skin around his eyes crinkled. He wasn’t a terribly young man, maybe in his mid- to late-thirties. That was a knowledgeable, worldly, terrifying face. “And so are you,” he observed.
She was hot, sticky, scratchy, her teeth and legs hurt, and her stomach was howling for food. One hand crept up self-consciously to her tangled, waist-length mane of hair that was pulled back in a ponytail. It was crooked. She had absolutely no idea what to say to him. “Er—is there something I can do for you?”
“Yes, I heard you were going to get some dinner. Would you mind showing me where the cafeteria is?”
“Oh! That’s easy—you just go down the hall, then take a right to the elevators, and—”
His slow, deep voice, smooth as melted chocolate, cut her off. “I’m terrible with directions.”
Her hand, which had been busy gesturing, fluttered back to hide balled in her pocket. “A-are you? I see. Well.” She didn’t have time for this. If she didn’t get something to eat soon, she was going to faint. As if on cue, her stomach rumbled loudly. She gave the man a weak smile and gave in. He knew she was going that way anyway. How churlish could she get? “Of course I’ll show you.”
His smile deepened subtly at the corners. “Thank you.”
He waited while she retrieved her purse from the doctors’ lounge, and then fell into step beside her. Mary looked down at the floor and watched their legs, his legs, those long, bare, gold-dusted legs with the smooth, rolling stride. Lord, he had to be well over six feet tall. And she was only five foot two. She took three steps for every one of his, like a chihuahua trotting beside a Great Dane.
She pulled up short, and he stopped, too. “I—are you sure you wouldn’t like to go on ahead? I’d like to find out how the little girl you brought in is doing.”
“Erin’s doing fine,” he said. “She’s out of surgery, and the surgeon that worked on her says she’ll be good as new in a couple of months.”
“Oh,” she said, and her tired face broke into a smile. “That’s good news.”
“Yes, she was lucky.” He hesitated, looking down at her, something odd in his expression. Then he said, “I stayed with her mother until Erin’s father could get here.”
Mary had turned to start walking again. It was a few moments before what he said sank in, then her head swiveled toward him suspiciously. Is he doing what I think he’s doing? “I see?” No! That wasn’t supposed to be a question.
“They’re married, you know,” he said. “Erin’s parents, I mean.”
Her eyes grew round. Yes, she thought, I think he is. “Ah?”
He twinkled. “Happily.”
He’s flirting! Or—maybe teasing. She scrabbled madly for a change of subject. “By the way, did you tell me your name?”
He chuckled outright and ran a long-fingered hand through his hair. “Nope. It’s Chance. What’s yours?”
“Mary,” she replied automatically.
There’s something wrong with this scene, she thought distractedly. Chance. What a name. He should have a leather jacket and a motorcycle, maybe a tattoo or two, and I—well, I don’t fit at all. A vision occurred to her, one of a big, busty blonde in a skintight minidress cooing on his arm. Yes, that would be more like it. She scowled with relief as they reached the large, well-appointed cafeteria. There now, we can each buy our food and go our separate ways.
“Well, here we are!” she said cheerfully, and she mentally dismissed him as they got into line. The smell of hot food hit her hard, and she piled things greedily onto her tray. Breakfast had been a year ago. She took lasagna, salad, a banana, chocolate cake, milk and coffee, paid for her meal and wandered away to find a place to sit.
As she settled in her seat, a shadow fell across her plates and she looked up. Chance stood there, laden tray in one hand, the other resting on the chair beside her. He said brightly, “Mind if I join you?”
Well, what could she say? “No, of course not,” she mumbled, and she watched him put his dishes on the table beside her. Lasagna, salad, a banana, chocolate cake, milk and coffee. Oh…She sucked in a breath. Was that weird? That looked a little weird to her. She wondered if she knew anybody here that was bigger than he was.
She looked around, pale under her warm summer tan, dark shadows smudged under her eyes, seeming so wan and forlorn that the man who sat beside her took pity on her and said gently, “I thought, since you worked here, you’d know what was good to eat. Cafeteria food can be—chancy, if you don’t mind a bad pun.”
That sounded so reasonable, she threw a smile blindly in his general direction, ducked her head and ate. Gradually the world, which had started to spin slowly around on her, stabilized and became real again. Colors, and sounds, and the fake plants in the section dividers came into focus.
Chance had seemed content enough with the companionable silence. When she had sucked down the last of her milk and was cradling her coffee cup in both hands, Mary dared to pick up the conversation again. “So,” she said, “how did you get involved with the boating accident?”
“I was on the yacht, the Gypsy Dancer.” With neat, economical movements, he polished off the last of his cake.
“I know that boat. The dean owns it.” She’d been on the yacht once, at a graduation party. Harold Schubert, dean of the university, was known among certain circles for his annual Fourth of July yacht party. She felt a twinge of regret for the boat’s smooth, clean lines. “Was it badly damaged?”
Chance shrugged and grimaced. “Well, we got to shore, but she was taking on water. She’s in better shape than that speedboat, though.”
“I heard that went under.”
“Yeah, what was left of it.” Remnants of anger smoldered briefly in his eyes.
Mary shuddered. “Erin wasn’t the only one who was lucky. All of you were.”
He glanced at her. “I know it. Those idiots. We couldn’t have gotten out of their way. The Dancer had some real pretty moves on the water, but no thirty-foot yacht can turn that fast.”
Mary settled back in her chair, eyelids drooping as she considered him. Her stomach felt stretched too full and she was getting sleepy. She’d heard something else about the crash. What was it? Thanks to someone’s quick thinking, no one had drowned. Well, this man was quick. She could certainly attest to that after witnessing him defuse the situation back in the E.R. She wondered if he had been the one people had talked about. “Oh, I meant to thank you for stopping that fight.”
He angled his head toward her, elbows on the table. “I figured you were busy enough without having to sew those two back together. Otherwise, I might have just let them kill each other. Damned selfish fools.”
However she might agree with that sentiment, she felt uncomfortable about voicing it, especially after Victor had interceded for her when she lost control earlier. She shifted in her seat. She asked with diffident curiosity, “So are you friends with Harold?” She tried to imagine it, but couldn’t quite. Harold was so urbane, a natural politician who dealt dexterously with not only the university set of Cherry Bay, but the native population, both the country-club set and the working class, and the summer tourists, as well. On the other hand, Chance apparently wasn’t a man to mince words.
His eyebrows rose. “Harold? You’re on a first-name basis with old Shoe-Licking Schubert?”
Mary tried hard not to spit coffee. Grabbing quickly for her napkin, she covered her mouth and coughed, eyes watering. Chance pounded her on the back, until she waved her hands at him to stop. “Well,” she wheezed emphatically, “that’s a—refreshing point of view.”
“It’s the truth.”
He was still eyeing her inquiringly, so she cleared her throat and told him, “Harold—” Licks my grandfather’s shoes, she nearly said, but caught herself quickly and changed a chortle into another cough. “Ahem! Harold and my grandfather are acquaintances. He and his wife have been for dinner.”
The realization registered very quickly with him. His gaze flickered and then went opaque. Did the bit of news pique his interest, or kill it? It was hard to tell. Neither option was good. And was she disappointed? Though she worked hard, she couldn’t come up with an answer to that, and her transparent face, as always, registered everything that went on inside her. His eyes narrowed. “Ah, so you’re one of those Newmans, are you?”
One shoulder lifted and rotated in a fine show of indifference. “So what if I am?” Of course I don’t care. Why would I care, for heaven’s sake? And besides, Victor’s going to find out I ate dinner with this man and be—be what, jealous? She tried hard to get there, to picture Victor jealous, then just sagged in her seat. No, he’d be surprised.
Her fork was out of line with her knife. She straightened it carefully. Out of her vision, Chance’s face broke into a predatory grin. He forced it away and said evenly, “I don’t know that Schubert and I are friends, but as a member of the faculty, I get invited to his parties now and then.”
Her little face tilted up and brightened as she snatched at that conversational tidbit. “You’re a member of the faculty? What do you teach?” It couldn’t be anything to do with medicine, or Mary would have heard of him or seen him by now.
“Journalism.”
“Oh.” That was clever repartee, Mary. She shut her mouth firmly and stole sideways glances at him. She felt as if she was looking at a different, rather dangerous, species in fascination. He didn’t strike her as the academic type. She couldn’t see him as a career professor and wondered what kind of journalist he would make. No doubt a very good one; she had firsthand experience of his tenacity.
Something danced in his eyes. “You don’t have to be worried. I won’t bite.” His voice dropped to a seductive purr. “At least, not without permission.”
This time she felt not only her eyes round, but her mouth, too. He was back to flirting, or teasing, and either one was frightening. He was a creature so very far out of her sphere of existence, she felt instinctively that the wisest course of action would be to throw her coat over her head and run for cover. He lounged back in his chair, a sleek, honed machine, and his heavy-lidded gaze traveled slumberously over her. She felt as if she had been physically touched by psychic tendrils that curled around her body and crooned of male intent.
Like a spider wrapping up its dinner in a cocoon.
She gulped. Now was the time to say something witty. “I have to go home,” she whispered. “It was nice visiting with you.”
Nice?
He unfolded from the chair and stood. She watched him go up—and up—and found her gaze at a level with the skintight shirt that rippled over an accordion stomach. She lunged to her feet and grabbed her purse.
“Do you have a ride home?” Chance asked her. “Because if you’ll pardon me for saying so, Dr. Mary, you don’t seem to be in any condition to drive.”
“I’m all right.”
“But it’s been a long shift for you, hasn’t it?” he asked shrewdly. “And the traffic is worse on land than it is on the lake.”
“Well…” she said reluctantly, fiddling with the strap of her purse. He did have a point. Even standing made her body groan, and the floor didn’t seem any too certain underneath her feet. “Maybe I can get a ride from someone else going off duty.”
“I’d be happy to drive you.”
I don’t know you, she almost said, but she bit it back. No doubt he was just making a generous offer, but every sultry movement and suggestive smile screamed danger. “Thanks, but I’m sure I’ll manage.”
“Let me make sure you’ve got a ride at least.”
“If there isn’t anyone who can take me, I can always get a cab.”
He smiled. “On the Fourth of July? You might as well hope for a ride on the space shuttle. Come on, Dr. Mary, your caution is praiseworthy, but I really am just a pussycat. Look—there’s old Shoe-Licking Schubert right now. He’ll tell you I’m okay.”
A pussycat, my belly button, she thought. More like a great prowling hunting cat, preening its whiskers with a Cheshire grin. But she followed his gesture toward the dinner line anyway.
The dean of the university, a slim, balding man in his late fifties, dressed smartly in deck shorts and a blue shirt, stood in line with a few other members of the faculty. They all looked sunburned, tired, and one of them had a bandaged wrist. Mary shifted from foot to foot. “I should go to say hello anyway,” she decided out loud.
Chance promptly took her hand, tucked it into the crook of his arm, and led her over to the dean and the others. Mary felt the heat from his bare skin burn into her fingers the entire way.
Harold looked up as they neared and immediately smiled. “Armstrong, good to see you. Why, hello, Mary.”
As she returned his greeting, Mary felt more than relief at finding out that Chance was as legitimate as he had promised—was there perhaps some excitement? She scowled. No! He’d just offered her a ride home, for heaven’s sake!
Pleasantries were exchanged, but when Harold and the others thanked Chance, apparently again, for all that he’d done after the accident, he suddenly developed an urgent need to leave the scene. Before Mary knew it, they had said their goodbyes and she was being hustled down the corridor away from the cafeteria.
I knew it, she thought, looking up at his face as she trotted to keep up with him. I knew it would take a lot to knock you off your feet. And you don’t feel comfortable with the praise, do you? She said in all sincerity, “You’re quite the hero today, aren’t you?”
He threw her a frowning glance. “I’m no hero. Just some things needed to be done, that’s all.” Then, before she had time to even consider that as a rebuff, his mood changed entirely. “And I can drive and everything,” he added with a wink. “See what a nice pussycat I am? Let me take you home, Doc. That’ll be my last good deed for the day, I promise.”
Her soft laugh bubbled out. “All right,” she said, feeling mighty reckless. Bad though he might be, he was good medicine for her weary psyche. “Thank you.”
He had left his car in the parking lot just outside the E.R. entrance, so they walked back the way they had come. Kelly, Mary’s replacement, had indeed arrived and things still didn’t look too busy. Maybe the worst of it was over. There would be another rush tonight after the bars closed, but thankfully, several other doctors had volunteered their time for that shift.
She was going home on the arm of a rakish, unpredictable stranger. While it probably shouldn’t be giving her the thrill that it was and afterward her life would return to its normal placidity, she was still just happy to be going home.
As they passed the doctors’ lounge, Victor, who was relaxing on a couch with a cup of coffee, looked up. He caught sight of Mary, still arm in arm with Chance, and his eyebrows shot up before his fine-boned face went carefully blank.
Yes, she thought resignedly, he was surprised.
She suspected she might have some explaining to do.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_e9e94c15-03c0-53ba-b2a7-7d3ac1089eea)
MARY stepped outside, and Chance followed her. The early evening was beautiful, the wide sky clear and the distant, rolling trees hazed in sunlight.
Going from the hospital’s air-conditioned coolness into eighty-degree weather was an abrupt shock, though. It was making her heart pound, she decided, pausing to swipe tawny bangs off her forehead. The ponytail had slipped farther, and she dragged out the rubber band, shook out her thick, wavy mane of hair and swiftly put it up again. It wasn’t so much blond as tricolored, darker underneath but streaked so light by the sun it was almost platinum in places.
Chance watched, eyes gleaming, the fine lines at his eyes deepening as he squinted in the sun.
She frowned, trying to ignore her self-consciousness from being so closely observed, and asked, “So—how long have you been teaching?”
He indicated which way they were to walk, and they started across the parking lot. Foraging gulls scattered. Even though it was miles from the lake, the hospital nearly always had gulls around. “Ever since I came back to the States and decided to stay in one place for a while.”
“How long have you been back in the States?” she asked curiously.
“Just under a year.” He smiled at her crookedly, eyes twinkling. “And I’ve been meeting the most intriguing people.”
They reached a black Jeep Cherokee and Chance moved to the passenger door to unlock it. Mary watched the way his hair curled under at the nape of his neck, the balletic fluidity of the muscles in his wide, strong back and shoulders. His legs went on forever. Next to him, she felt very small and inexperienced. Maybe he wasn’t so much flirting, but teasing her, as she thought he might be. It was a horrible supposition.
She had no illusions about what she was. Bookish, gawky, she always felt like a duck out of water at any of the social gatherings her family was invited to because of their standing in the local community and their money. Maybe Chance’s offer to take her home was how he would treat a baby sister.
By the time Chance had swung around to face her again, she was frowning up at the sky, apparently watching a gull with fierce intensity.
He peered up at the sky, as well, then back down at her. Something curious was going on inside her; it showed in her transparent features. “Hey,” he said. “What’s up, Doc?”
Her attention came back to him, and she blinked. He was watching her with that crooked, sexy smile. She didn’t know why the corners of her mouth drooped.
“Are you teasing me, or flirting?” she burst out, and was immediately mortified. Her cheeks flamed, and she glanced down at her hands. She was holding her purse in front of her like a barrier, shoulders hunched.
Chance regarded her for a moment in fascination. Such a defensive, artless little thing she was. This bundle of awkward nerves was a world apart from the self-assured young doctor who earlier had told him so authoritatively to get out of her way. He had an innately cynical way of viewing the world, but she was outside his definitions. He doubted she could lie to save her own life.
She had removed her white coat, and what she wore underneath were simple buttercup yellow dungarees and a white T-shirt with a scooped neckline. The outfit was bright, cheerful and unsophisticated. The scooped neckline showed collarbones as fragile and as gracefully formed as butterfly wings.
He took a step forward and slid long, hard fingers lightly under her chin, tilting up her face. The shock of the touch was unmistakably intimate. “Oh, I’m definitely flirting,” he murmured, unable to resist rubbing the ball of his callused thumb across those velvet-soft, astonished lips.
She gaped at him, sensual alarm bells in her body clanging wildly. His thumb stroked her mouth unhurriedly, hazel eyes gleaming with pleasure. Every sensible notion inside her flapped away on the breeze, and she stood shivering, open to any possibility.
He was going to kiss her. He was going to devour her. How incredibly, frightfully delicious…He dropped his hand and stepped back, opening the car door for her. She blinked, breathing hard and still trembling. It was time to get in the car. The car, Mary. Going home, Mary. Remember? With a crash of air castles and expectations, she got into the seat. The Jeep sat high off the ground, and it was an unexpected stretch up. She practically had to climb to get in.
As Chance prowled around the back of the Jeep to the driver’s side, she numbly fumbled for her seat belt. Her fingers seemed made of putty, while a sense of anticlimax leadened her mind.
She didn’t know the rules of this game. She’d never played it before. Why hadn’t he kissed her? Because he was just flirting? But she had wanted him to flirt earlier, flirting being far better than teasing. What the hell was the matter with her?
Chance slid smoothly into the driver’s seat, and started the engine. Mary watched him and wondered what it would feel like, to have his mouth on hers.
His head angled toward her, eyes gone dark. All hint of amused lightness was gone, and he was shuttered, withdrawn. He took a pair of sunglasses from the visor and slipped them on. “Where do you live?”
Her brows twitched together. What was this? Absently, she gave him directions, and he backed the Jeep out of the parking space.
The Newman estate was located about twelve miles out of town, in a quiet, wooded stretch of land that Mary’s great-grandfather had bought at the turn of the century. Hugh Newman had determined early in his life to establish a dynasty and had made his fortune in the shipping business. He had passed the business on to his son, Wallis, and had died a contented man, secure in the knowledge that he had fulfilled his dream and that his descendants were going to continue being a major power in the country indefinitely.
Four generations later, it was an entirely different story. Mary’s entire family consisted of her fourteen-year-old brother, Tim, and her grandfather, Wallis, who was in his mid-eighties and in delicate health. Wallis sold the shipping business when his son and daughter-in-law died, and has spent the latter years of his life devoted to his two grandchildren.
Chance navigated smoothly through the crowded downtown streets, swung past the university complex, and they quickly reached the highway that skirted the bay. Half of the trip home was conducted in silence. Mary stared out the window at the familiar scenery, the sparkling blue water to her right and the rolling hills on the left, unable to shake a sense of letdown.
I’m tired, she thought. That’s all it is. No sleep the night before, and now I have to decide if I have the energy to go to the fireworks like I promised Tim. The thought of spending several hours in the company of Victor and her younger brother was vaguely depressing.
Chance glanced at her broodingly. The sound of his low voice in the confines of the Jeep was startling. “You awake?”
“Hunh?” She shook herself out of her reverie. “Oh, yes. Sorry—I was drifting.”
“That’s all right. You had a long day.”
“I went on shift last night at eleven.” She knuckled dry, scratchy eyes. “It’s hard to believe sometimes that I’ve only been a resident for a couple of months. That on top of my internship makes it seem like I’ve been doing double shifts my whole life, and I still have so far to go.”
“Well, I’ve heard residency’s pretty tough. Kind of like boot camp for doctors. You like it?”
She smiled but it was fleeting. Did she like it? “Does anybody like boot camp?”
He chuckled. “Good point. There must be a sense of satisfaction when you’re doing your best, but it’s not the same as liking it, is it?”
She sighed, and was rather disturbed at how heavy and dispirited it sounded. “No, it isn’t.”
He reached out and covered her hands briefly, and she stared down at the large, square back of his hand, the tanned skin sprinkled with golden hairs and webbed gracefully with veins. Sinewed, strong, the tapered fingers sensitive; she liked his hands. “You sound awfully unhappy, Dr. Mary. Why are you doing it?”
From nowhere a pressure welled up inside her, and suddenly the urge to confide in someone, a stranger who had no expectations of her and no demands, became irresistible. She sighed again. “I had good reasons once. I think I still do. I love taking care of people, especially children. I love seeing them get better and knowing I’m one of the reasons why. It’s just that sometimes I wonder if I’ve gone about doing it the right way.”
Everybody was so supportive of her. Her grandfather had encouraged her every step of the way. Victor had offered her lots of guidance in her career choices. Even Tim had brought her coffee and rubbed her shoulders during late-night study sessions when she had been in medical school. She couldn’t let them down, not after all that they’d done for her.
It’s just that she wondered sometimes when she was going to find time for her own life. Sure, she wanted to take care of people, but when was she going to get the chance to take care of her own children? After two frenetic years of residency would come a busy career.
The times when she and Victor had talked cautiously about a possible future together, he had always evinced satisfaction with how things were going. He liked the idea of having a wife who was as career oriented as he was. He liked the respect and prestige, and the life-style. Lots of people managed two demanding professions in their relationships. Was that too much to ask?
Chance said quietly, “It’s easy to get bogged down in a career and forget you’re a human being.”
Mary turned to look at him. He looked so remote, attention trained on the road, half of his expression covered by the dark glasses. Was he talking about her, or himself? A career in journalism, traveling all over the world—how many opportunities could he have had for a normal life, wife, kids.
Good Lord—could he be married? With an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach, she sneaked a look at his left hand. No ring, and no tan line, either. But some men didn’t wear rings.
If he was in his late thirties, he could have three or four marriages by now, and any number of kids. Mary could just picture them, blond hair dripping into their sad eyes, wanting their daddy to stop flirting with her and come home to them. She gritted her teeth, revolted by the image.
Now, wait a minute. Find a nice roundabout way to ask him. “Have you—found time for a career and maybe marriage, too?”
His lips twitched. “Plenty of career, but no marriage. Not yet. I’m one of those men that got bogged down. One day I got home, walked into my apartment in New York, and everything was covered in dust. No food in the fridge. Hell, I couldn’t even keep a cat. Everybody I knew was a work contact. I’d lost touch with most of my friends years ago. That was when I decided to slow down. Nobody ought to work that hard.”
Her depression stopped riding her shoulders and blew out the window, and she gave him a sunny smile. “I thought about becoming a pediatrician, but that would be four more years of training on top of what I’m doing now. And then I’d spend all my time taking care of other people’s children.”
“And when would you find time to have any fun?” he asked dryly. “Let alone have any children of your own.”
“Well,” she said self-consciously, “yes.” So what. She could admit that she wanted children. That was a perfectly reasonable desire. A lot of people wanted children; it wasn’t as if she was hinting at anything.
And fun. What a pretty, simple, three-letter word that was, but what a concept. When was the last time she could say to herself, gee, I had fun?
Then the realization shook through her: she didn’t have any idea whether Victor wanted children or not. That was such an elemental knowledge of another person, but in the two years they had gone out together, the subject had never come up. And Mary couldn’t even make a good guess based on what she knew of his personality.
Victor and she were practically engaged. He was certainly by far the most serious relationship she’d ever had. In college she’d dated a few times, but she was mostly preoccupied with her schoolwork and her brother, who had needed her to be a surrogate mother. He didn’t even remember their parents, who had died in a car crash when she was seventeen and Tim was only five. She hadn’t had time for more than casual relationships, but Victor, who was also a doctor, and understood the stresses of her life, had pursued her with patience. She’d not only been flattered by his attention, but comforted by the companionship.
They reached the turnoff and began the long drive through the wooded twenty-acre estate to the large house. The clock on the Jeep’s dashboard read almost eight o’clock. The sun had set behind the tree line, and it was growing dark. Chance removed his sunglasses, pulled the Jeep to a stop, and regarded the sprawling manor house with raised eyebrows. Some of the windows were well lit, but the shadows outside were spiky and dark.
“You live in that?”
Mary started to chuckle. “Yes,” she said, “I know. It’s a monstrosity, isn’t it? But my great-grandfather was so proud of it.”
“There’re about three or four different plans going on. What’s it look like from the back?”
“Worse. There’re a couple of pavilions, an over-grown topiary garden, an arched bridge that doesn’t span anything, an unsuccessful artificial pond that turned to swamp around World War II and a rotting boathouse. It must have been something in the roaring twenties, but now it’s a little sad, like an abandoned carnival. Every two years or so, my grandfather swears he’s going to tear it down and build something more sensible.”
“I saw something like it in a horror movie once. All these college kids were being chased around by a maniac with a meat cleaver.” He cocked his head. “I don’t think I could sleep in that place.”
She covered her mouth and giggled at the image of such a tough, self-reliant man huddled wide awake in bed with the night sweats. “It’s not so bad when you’ve been raised in it. Then you don’t know anything different, you see. I always hoped to find a secret passage, but I never did. The attic is a wonderful place to play on a rainy day. It’s huge and filled with all kinds of junk.”
He shook his head, smiling, and opened his door. The song of crickets and the fresh smell of the woods filled the night air. Mary opened her door, as well, then realized that he was coming around to her side of the Jeep.
She looked up at him, her heart starting another idiotic tap dance. The creases on either side of his mouth were deepened by his smile, and he reached out for her with both hands. “Such a fancy manor house,” he drawled, twin devils laughing in his eyes. “It must be bringing out the genteel in me.”
Eyes riveted to his reckless face, she held out her hands, but instead of taking hold of them, he took her by the waist and lifted her lightly out of the Jeep. At some point her feet touched the ground. She wasn’t sure when; all of her attention had plummeted to the warm, firm grasp of his hands that nearly spanned her middle.
They stood very close together. Somehow her hands had found their way to grip his upper arms. The heat from his lean torso and legs radiated through her light cotton dungarees, and she caught the merest hint of his scent, clean and redolent of fresh air and very male.
Mary was fixated, electrified. At no time during her sheltered life had she experienced anything like the sensations that rioted through her. The shape of his down-bent head against the sky was a hieroglyph with archetypical meaning, and the shadowed, intent expression on his face made her stare in wonder.
Chance murmured, “Walk you to the door, Mary?”
It was so old-fashioned. Genteel. She was enchanted. “Thank you,” she breathed. “Oh, and thank you for bringing me home, too.”
“My pleasure.” After holding her a pulsing moment too long, he turned and slid one hand to the small of her back as they strolled to the porch. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you.”
“Me, too.” She stared at the steps hard, willing herself to negotiate them properly and not do something stupid like trip and fall flat on her face. That was hard to do when her knees seemed to have a mind of their own. They paused at the door.
“Are you planning to go watch the fireworks on the beach tonight, or are you calling it a day?”
“I—haven’t made up my mind yet.” She wasn’t that tired after all. The celebration didn’t start until ten. She could have some more coffee, a shower, maybe a quick nap, and she got to sleep in as late as she liked tomorrow. Just an hour or two, for Tim’s sake. “Are you going?”
“I thought I might.” His low voice was somewhere between gravel and velvet, a fascinating combination: dangerous and smooth. “Perhaps I’ll see you there, then.”
“That’d-that’d be nice.”
Nice?
He had never removed the hand from her back. Now he brought up the other one and stroked her cheek lightly with the back of his fingers. The sensation was so liquid, so gentle, she nearly melted into a puddle at his feet. Then, slowly, his head came down and his mouth covered hers.
Her eyelids drifted closed, and the world went somewhere else, as the shape and the pressure of his mouth eclipsed everything. After a long, timeless moment, gripped by some mysterious suspense, she parted her lips and touched her tongue to him, and tasted him. He tasted like fresh air and something else, something that was entirely, uniquely himself.
Then his hand shifted to cradle the back of her head, and he kissed her deeply. His tongue thrust into her mouth and stroked at hers, delving in hard, and she moaned in surprise, in delight.
This is what it all means, this explosion of flavor and intensity of feeling; she kissed him back, eagerly, shakily, falling into this new eroticism and drowning in it.
Chance sucked in a hissing breath, pulling back just long enough to stare at her with eyes that glittered hot like a raptor’s, and then he plunged down again and ravished her mouth.
She clung to his shoulders mindlessly. He had turned her inside out, and all her nerve endings were raw, exposed to the warm summer breeze. When he ran his hand up her back to press her closer against his body, it was like being jolted with a strong electric current.
“…why haven’t you come in yet—hey! Mary? Who the hell are you kissing?”
The young, imperious voice penetrated her heated mind slowly. It.apparently did the same for Chance, who lifted his head. She made the oddest, most shocking sound when his mouth left hers. It sounded so needy, so like a whimper. Through blurred eyes, she saw his nostrils flare, and his hand, at the nape of her neck, spasmed tight in an instinctively possessive grip.
Two observations, then: Tim was at the front door, now sounding offended. And she was clinging to Chance like a limpet. She dropped hold of him fast, they fell away from each other, and she turned to Tim defensively.
“Why—why—are you spying on me, Tim?” She was having trouble getting her breath back. God, she was having trouble getting any kind of presence of mind back.
She turned to look at Chance, who had whipped away, putting his back to the two of them. As she watched, he ran both hands through his hair, pivoted back toward the scene again, and regarded Tim’s lanky frame with narrowed eyes. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.
She watched shock go over Tim’s bony face. Then the boy drew himself up very tall—and he was, too, much taller than she was—and he shot back snottily, “I’m her brother, you moron.”
“Tim!” Mary exclaimed in a shocked voice. He stalked over to wrap a skinny, protective arm around her, glaring at the intruder.
“And Victor’s on the phone for you,” Tim added pointedly to her.
Chance put his hands on his hips. He looked composed again, almost remote, except that his eyes were dilated black as sin, and his expression was tight. “Who the hell is Victor?”
“Her fiancé,” snapped Tim defiantly.
Mary sputtered as she ogled her brother. “What has gotten into you?” she demanded. Then she said emphatically to Chance, “He’s just a friend!”
Chance frowned sharply. “I thought you said you were her brother.”
“I am!”
“No, I mean Victor!” she exclaimed.
His eyebrows shot up. Was that an evil gleam in his eye? “Victor is your brother?”
“No, he’s her fiancé!”
“He is not!” She punched Tim in the side. “Timothy, stop it! Victor is just a friend. This little demon is my brother.”
“Your very protective brother, I see.” Chance stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m Chance Armstrong. I gave your sister a ride home from the hospital.”
“Chance?” muttered Tim, his leery gaze sliding sideways to hers. Something undefinable seemed to pass between the man and the boy. Mary couldn’t decipher it. Whatever it was, it was decidedly a male thing, something in Chance’s unwavering, cool gaze that made Tim’s bristling slowly die down. He reached out uncertainly and received a firm, no-nonsense handshake from the older man. “I, er, how d’you do?”
Oh, now he remembers his manners, she thought distractedly. But she noticed Tim still hadn’t let go of her.
Chance looked at Mary and gave her a nod. “I’d better be going,” he said quietly. “See you later?”
“I—yes, see you later.” She held out her hand. He gave her fingers a brief, hard squeeze, and then he strolled down the steps and to his Jeep.
Tim led Mary inside. She watched over her shoulder as the Jeep’s headlights came on and Chance drove away.
“Mary? What are you looking at? You were really kissing that guy. I’ve never seen you do that. Did you forget what I said? Victor’s on the phone—unless he’s hung up by now.”
“Hunh?” Mary murmured dreamily. “Oh, of course.”
Tim was right. She’d never been kissed like that before. What kind of a kiss was that anyway? It was the kind that sucked your soul out of your body.
Hey, she wanted to call out to the man who’d just left. You forgot to give my soul back.
Instead she went in to answer the phone.
Some time later…
“Mary?” Tim’s voice. “I brought you coffee like you asked. Mary, are you awake?”
She fought her way out of a black hole, toward wakefulness and the sound of her brother’s voice. “Mmm, ’s the coffee. Oh, thank you, baby.” She lifted her head off the pillow, eyes still glued shut, and he kissed her face several times.
One thing she cherished about Tim was that they had always shared an uncommonly close bond, and he was unusual for a prickly fourteen-year-old boy, because he’d never become self-conscious about physical displays of affection. If anything, Tim hovered too much.
Look at how he’d barged out onto the porch earlier that evening, for example. The memory boiled out of the mud in her head, and she groaned.
She tried her mouth again, and this time it worked a little better. “I’ve got to shower. I’ll never wake up, Timmy, if I don’t get a shower.”
“I’ll get the shower going, so the water’s nice and hot for you,” he crooned, and her bed bounced as he leaped up to lope away.
He was so excited. Mary sat up, stretched, and yawned so hard it felt like her jaw cracked. Last year Tim had gone to the fireworks celebration with his best friend’s family, but this year the Thompsons were on vacation in Florida, and he had nobody else to go with but her. And he was too young to go by himself.
Tim bounced back into her bedroom. “It’s ready! And Victor’s going to be here in half an hour.”
She winced at his too-loud voice. “Okay, Tim. Thank you. Go on now, let me get ready—and remember, we’re only going to stay until midnight. Victor’s only had a nap, and mine wasn’t long enough—”
“I know, I know,” he interrupted. “A couple of hours’ll be great. Just get moving, or we’ll miss the beginning.”
He left, and Mary shuffled around her large, comfortable bedroom, feeling like an old woman. Rescue workers could go weeks on five-minute naps every three or four hours—she could surely make it through the evening after her hour nap. After several minutes in a refreshing cool shower, she was feeling more like herself again. It wouldn’t be for long, and it was going to be—fun.
As a graduation present from her grandfather, Mary’d had her bathroom and bedroom redecorated. She stepped out of the shower into a pretty collection of greens and peaches. She quickly made up her face, applying blusher, eye shadow and mascara lightly, and then she dithered over which perfume she wanted to use.
Why are you going to so much trouble? she asked herself suddenly. She stared hard at her bright-eyed reflection. Victor’s seen you at your worst many times.
You know why, Mary, and it’s not for Victor.
It was because of that kiss, because of a “maybe see you later” kind of arrangement with a man you hardly know, a man who’s way out of your league, you’ve admitted that much. A man probably just playing around—what if he kisses everybody like that? A man who is just—flirting.
And what’s more, if you’d had your wits about you earlier when you had Victor on the phone, you would have called off the evening with him and gone ahead to the fireworks with Tim. Alone.
Have you gone insane?
The lecture wasn’t working. No matter how sternly she talked to herself, the excited young woman in the mirror didn’t calm down. She selected at random a perfume bottle from her collection on a nearby shelf, and sprayed some on her neck and wrists. Then she waltzed into her bedroom, humming—what to wear? Oh, a soft, flowered linen skirt with a matching rose sleeveless top, delicate sandals and a plain gold necklace. And the hair, oh, leave it loose and fluff it out, all nice and pretty, there.
You should be wearing shorts, fool.
I don’t care, I don’t care.
What if he’s not there? She stopped in midwaltz and her shoulders drooped. Two long hours, and Victor’s going to think you dressed up for him. Oh my. Both hands crept up to her face. And what if he wants to kiss you?
Tim. Tim will be there. Victor wouldn’t want to embarrass him. That’ll be all right.
What if he does show up? She started to dance again, then stopped dead in her tracks.
How are you going to explain Chance to Victor, Mary? How are you going to explain Victor to Chance?
She caught sight of another reflection from the full-length closet mirror, and she scowled. How, in God’s name, did a shy, gawky thing like you find herself in the middle of such a soap opera?
Off in the distance, she heard the front doorbell ring. Victor had arrived.
What are you going to do now, Mary?
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_c8cedccd-1ccd-520d-85ee-0c13381da7f6)
CHERRY Bay’s annual Fourth of July celebration was held at the old lighthouse, which was on a promontory of land that had been established as a local park some years ago. Volunteer firemen were in charge of the fireworks display that was set off from the point. The nearby beach was crowded with both natives and tourists alike, and food and drink vendors dotted the area with striped canvas canopies. Music from a local band blared from the loudspeakers near the whitewashed stone lighthouse, and the smell of hot dogs and the pastry called fried elephant ears filled the air.
Tim appeared not to notice the taut atmosphere that filled the interior of Victor’s Volvo on the trip to the lighthouse, but Mary did. Back at the house, she had met Victor at the door; he was dressed in crisp linen slacks and a white shirt. She’d looked up into his cold eyes and tight features and felt her stomach sink to her shoes.
When Tim had come to the porch to interrupt Chance and Mary, he had left the phone off the hook in the front hall. How much of what had gone on outside had Victor overheard? Could he have heard anything at all? Could his tight expression just possibly be related to seeing her walk out of the hospital earlier that day with a strange man? What did she dare hope for?
With the strong instinct that she was making a mistake, Mary had gone to say goodbye to her grandfather Wallis, who was comfortably ensconced in the library with an old friend of his, drinking brandy and playing a game of chess.
“Good night, Grampa,” she whispered as she kissed him.
A tall, thin man in his eighties with a leonine head of thick, white, wavy hair, Wallis Newman was a gruff man who had a reputation for being terrifying with local politicians and dignitaries. Mary never understood that. Wallis reached up to pat her cheek, his fierce gaze softening into tenderness.
“Have a good time, kiddo. I won’t wait up.”
I want to stay home with you, Grampa, she thought. She glanced toward the hallway and sighed. Victor and Tim were waiting. She threw her arms around her grandfather’s neck, hugged him swiftly, and left.
Now Victor pulled the car into a parking space, and Mary scrambled out thankfully. The parking-lot lamps washed the scene in harsh white illumination and sharp shadows. In the distance, she could see the warmer glow from flickering beach fires and the tiny pinpoints of colored lights strung in the trees and bushes that clustered around the lighthouse.
Tim bounced out happily. Victor locked the car and straightened, his movements slow and deliberate. Mary felt the skin around her eyes tighten as he glanced at her briefly. Then Tim loped around the car, planted a smacking kiss on her forehead so hard he almost knocked her over, and said, “I’m going to get in line for some food. Meet you on the beach?”
“All right,” she sighed, and she forlornly watched him dash away. There goes my chaperon and bodyguard.
Victor curled a hand around her upper arm, and she looked up with a start, then tried to smile. The effort was not returned. “I want to talk to you,” he said tersely.
As if on cue, the first round of fireworks exploded overhead with a rolling boom like thunder, and Victor’s marble-carved features were washed in red and blue.
This was worse than a mistake, she thought, as she glanced again at the crowd on the beach. This was more like disastrous stupidity. There was no way they were going to run into Chance, and Victor was obviously upset, and she didn’t have the energy to explain anything to him. Even if she’d known how to explain it.
Then a small seed of resentment bloomed. She shouldn’t have to explain anything. They may have dated for a few years, but they hadn’t even come to any kind of formal agreement. She never asked Victor what he did when she wasn’t with him. Why was he suddenly treating her like his property?
“Now is not the time, Victor,” she said firmly, and she gave him a no-nonsense nod meant to put him in his place.
Apparently he didn’t get the point. His fingers pressed into her flesh as he said, “When will be the time to talk about it? Tim’s gone for now—we have a few minuets. Who was that man I saw you with earlier? I heard you had dinner with him.”
Mary blinked in surprise. Who’d told him that— Harold Schubert? Another member of the hospital staff? “So I had dinner with him,” she said in an offhand manner. “I was eating—he was eating—we sat at the same table. It happens, Victor.”
“But then you went out the door with him, and your car was still in the parking lot when I left. Did he take you home?”
Boom went another bout of fireworks. The crowd cheered. Mary fumbled for something reasonable and conciliatory to say, but what could that be? He’d taken her home and kissed her, and walked away with her soul in his pocket.
She scowled and said, “So what if he did? Is that a crime? He offered and I was too tired to drive, and anyway—why are you checking up on me like this?”
Suddenly his demeanor changed, became soothing. His grip on her arm loosened, and he rubbed her shoulders. “I’m sorry. That sounded bad, didn’t it? I was just worried about you, darling, that’s all. I didn’t know him and thought you didn’t, either, and if you’d wanted a ride home, all you had to do was ask me. I would have been happy to take you.”
Mary’s bristling smoothed over, and she turned contrite. Poor Victor. He’d had a long, hard day, too. “I knew your shift wasn’t over until eight, and anyway, he was perfectly fine.”
“So who was he anyway?” Victor asked casually, starting to lead her toward the beach.
“He teaches at the university. He was on Harold Schubert’s yacht when the boating accident happened.” And I can still feel his kiss on my mouth. The scorching memory engulfed her; with a shock, she felt the private area between her legs throb gently.
She looked around in confusion, cheeks flaming. She was too tired; the barrier between thought and action was too ephemeral, untrustworthy. She was afraid of what she might inadvertently blurt out if Victor continued his interrogation much longer.
Over the staccato explosions overhead and the noise of the crowd, she could hear the roar of an approaching motorcycle, and absentmindedly glanced in that direction.
The roar subsided into a low engine growl as a Harley-Davidson pulled into an empty parking space. There were two riders, a man driving and a woman riding pillion. They both wore black helmets and protective leather jackets. The man was wearing straight-legged, faded jeans and a white T-shirt, and the woman’s lush, curved legs were bared by a black minidress. She wore, Mary saw with amazement, high-heeled stiletto pumps.
There was something familiar about the man’s large, powerful body. She watched as he lowered the kick-stand with the toe of his boot and they dismounted, removing their helmets.
The man’s overlong blond hair lifted in the breeze. The woman’s hair tumbled out, a long, curling, glorious mass of coppery red. They locked their helmets in the bike’s carrier, chatting together companionably, and turned to the beach.
Mary’s heart emitted one hard, dismayed kick. Chance, his tanned, chiseled features relaxed, the wide breadth of his shoulders a tough, aggressive angle in contrast to slim hips and lithe, muscular legs. The woman, the hourglass shape of her body extravagantly feminine, her leather jacket unzipped to reveal a deep neckline that showcased a lovely, generous cleavage, her long green eyes gleaming like a cat’s.
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Amanda Carpenter
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Take a chance on love… Mary Newman – her life was safe, predictable and reasonably happy. Until the day he walked in! Chance Armstrong – he had no respect for rules and regulations and cozy life-styles.But he was offering Mary the perfect chance for a lot of excitement, and she was tempted – oh, so tempted… . Until Chance offered the most tempting challenge of all… . He asked Mary to marry him!