Bad Boy of New Orleans (6 page)

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

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

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

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

Chance hesitated, wanting her, needing her. He couldn't back off, especially not now.

"I care for you," he murmured in an even tone. "Enough that I want to help. Give me
a chance to prove it, Micah. Don't I deserve that much?" He waited for an answer,
but she stayed quiet. "Or am I so vile you're not even willing to give me that? Still
the bad boy of New Orleans trying to corrupt the most innocent little rich girl in
the parish?"

"No," she said quickly.

"No?" he repeated with obvious disbelief.

"It was always you, Chance. You made sure I didn't forget the differences between
us when we were growing up. And maybe the differences are even greater now that you've
established yourself. I'm still unfashionably 'wholesome' as you once put it. But
I've
never
treated you as though you weren't good enough. So don't try to push that off on me."

"You're right," he said reluctantly. "I admit that wasn't fair."

"Then can you admit you still resent me? I still feel it sometimes, Chance. Not as
much as when you first came back, but I sense it's still there."

He nodded. "Let's talk about it, Micah. About us. Where we went wrong, what's keeping
us apart. Talk to me. Don't be afraid of me anymore... Please."

He must have gotten through to her somehow, because Micah swayed toward him and he
drew her closer, almost against his chest, but not quite. She didn't try to move away
and he gave a silent shout of joy. It had been too long in coming. He wanted to see
her face, to feel her breasts barely touching him through the open dinner jacket.
The lightness of the contact was more exciting than crushing her body to his. He moved
so that there was a slight friction, and he could feel her response, the tightening
of her nipples as they thrust against his tailored white shirt.

With all the will he possessed he made himself stop. He wasn't a randy kid anymore.
He wasn't about to blow what little ground they had gained by acting like one.

"Do I matter to you, Chance?" she asked quietly. "Sometimes I could almost believe
that. Lord knows I've wanted to often enough. But it's not that easy with us. We have
a past. One that's laced with resentment from you."

"You have none?"

"No. I've escaped that, but not the guilt."

Slowly he nodded. Wordlessly he led her to the porch steps, and wordlessly she followed.
They sat down in the dark in silence while a distant car sped in the background, overridden
by the concert of crickets.

Chance reached for her hand.

"Ill try not to resent you," he said quietly. She shifted, and he could feel her looking
at him now. Into the gathering darkness he stared, struggling to pry open the wall
of indifference he'd kept firmly in place too long to easily put aside.

"I know it wasn't your fault," he went on. "You were too young. I asked too much.
I
know
all that, and I've told myself those very words in silence, and just as often aloud.
But it doesn't seem to make any difference. I find that I do resent you every now
and then. But Micah," he turned to look at her, his gaze intense, "It's not that you
didn't wait for me, I didn't blame you for that. Maybe at first, but that soon faded.
It's not even that you had all the advantages I didn't growing up. I admit there's
anger there. But it's never been aimed at you."

"Then what is it, Chance? What
do
you hold against me if not that?"

He shook his head, amazed that she could overlook something so obvious. He loosened
her hand in a gesture of contrasting gentleness and held it palm up, tracing the crevices,
the soft inner pads beneath his fingertips. He thrilled to the way she shivered against
him in spite of the warm air surrounding them.

"Don't you know? It's that you kept the distance when you had no right to. I left
you alone as long as you were happy. I figured the fault was mine for not coming back
sooner, not keeping some kind of contact over the years. But when I could see your
marriage crumbling, the misery you were living in, while I was just as miserable—in
another way—" He stopped and for a moment remembered... the empty nights, the ever-present
longing she had created only to leave him with it alone, with no hope, no surcease.

"Chance," she said, breaking into his thoughts, "That was the point. I was married."

"You called
that
a marriage?"

Micah winced, and her eyes appeared unnaturally bright.

"I'm doing it again. Dammit, I don't mean to, Micah. I was never a gentle man, it's
just not in me. But when I see you, when I touch you—" He laid his fingertips lightly
against her cheek and was amazed to see that she shook. Chance exhaled a long stream
of breath. "I'm a hard man if ever there was one... but lady, you turn me inside out.
And when you get right down to it, that's why I resent you. I resent you for not leaving
him when I asked you to, but more than that, I resent the hell out of you for jerking
my emotions around like a puppet on a string."

Her heart was racing. "I never meant to," she whispered. "You know I never did."

"Yeah, I do. And that's the point. You do it without even meaning to. You think I'm
dangerous, Micah? Think again, because it works both ways."

Chance could see her swallow hard, the tapered length of her neck straining so that
he wanted to trail his lips against the purity of her skin until he felt her murmurs
of arousal vibrate beneath his mouth. He forced his eyes back to hers and knew she
believed him. He was ceding power by betraying his emotions. But he was gambling that
she would feel safer with that knowledge, safe enough to take a step closer, to begin
bridging the gap.

"It wouldn't have been right," she said, her voice low. "He was a sick man, Chance.
When you brought him home that night two years ago, I wanted to. More than anything
I wanted to leave with you and never..." Her voice caught for a moment. "It took everything
I had in me to stay, to do what was right."

"Turning your back on us wasn't right. Staying because of a sense of duty wasn't right.
You didn't love him, Micah. Admit it."

"No." There, she'd said it, but she knew it wouldn't satisfy him. "Chance, I have
to look at this face in the mirror every morning. If I had left him for you, I couldn't
have lived with it. My self-respect, everything I'd ever been taught about loyalty,
marriage—"

Chance placed a finger over her lips, halting the flow of words. The physical contact
sent a rush through him and he forgot about everything except the smooth, full texture
of her lips, the feel of her ripe plum-colored lipstick rubbing against his thumb.

"I kissed you that night. Do you remember?" he whispered.

Micah nodded, her eyes deep, unfathomable pools of remembrance. As she spoke he traced
the movement of her lips.

"I remember. While he slept, passed out, you came to me. You held me. Kissed me."

"You kissed me back as hard and deep as that night when we were just kids. I wanted
you, Micah. Right then, in the same room with him. Nothing would have made me happier
than for that sorry bastard to have woken up and found you in my arms. He would have
let you go then. As a matter of honor, if nothing else. He had that much gumption—little
more, but that much."

"I was married," she whispered again. "Leaving like that... Chance, it wouldn't have
been right."

"No," he agreed. "Not for you. Not for my Micah. You made me leave, and even then
you clung to your guilt, didn't you? You pushed me further away than ever."

"I had to. I
still
have to." She suddenly buried her face in her hands and drew a shuddering breath.
"Oh, Chance. So much has happened, so much I wish I could undo. I'm a different person
now and I have to live with that fact. We can't pick up where we left off. That isn't
how life works."

Chance's brow furrowed.
"Why?"
he said between gritted teeth. "You keep harboring your secrets like they're sacred
sins. Why, Micah? Do you think it's some kind of saintly accomplishment that you can
cling to, or is it some kind of ridiculous loyalty to a dead man who didn't even deserve
it while he was alive?"

"No," she said fiercely. "This time it's for
me.
Can't you understand, Chance? You're too strong, too overpowering. For the first time
I have the chance to have a life of my own. I have to prove to myself I can
be
somebody,
all on my own.
You said as much to me so long ago. Well, maybe I didn't understand then. But I understand
now. Can't you do the same?"

She suddenly leaned forward and dug her fingers into his shoulders, her face set in
fervent lines, as though the truth were even now just emerging for her.

"Please, Chance. You say you care. If you do, then let me go. Then maybe I'll find
what I'm looking for. Can't you just be my friend?"

It was the last question that truly touched him. Micah was right. He couldn't force
her, but maybe there was a way to win the new Micah. There had to be a way.

"Okay, Micah," he said. "Unfortunately, I understand. Only tell me one thing. What's
your plan?"

"My plan?"

"Of course. How do you propose to go about this 'evolvement' of yours?"

Micah seemed puzzled, as though she had been trying to find the path and was stumbling
blindly in search of it. Then her brow smoothed and her eyes lit up.

"You said you were always there if I needed you. I need your advice, Chance. You're
the only one I can turn to for this. Will you help me?"

"What d'you mean asking me a question like that? Of course I'll help you. Anything,
Micah. Is it money? I heard Elliot, and I can take care of him. Anyone else who's
giving you a hard time?"

"Absolutely not!"

He was stunned by the vehemence in her voice. "I don't want your money, Chance. I
only want what I can earn for myself. As for Elliot, and anyone like him, they can
wait until I've got it to give. Whatever you do, don't offer me money again.
Ever."

Chance shrugged. He didn't understand; nothing would make him happier than lightening
her financial load. But if that's the way she wanted it... well, he'd let her call
the shots. For now.

"Okay, well leave the money out of it. So tell me what you need."

Micah smiled then, realty smiled for the first time since he could remember. She was
always beautiful, but when she smiled she was something else.

"Oh, you have it, all right. I've got a little over three thousand dollars to my name,
Chance. It's my money, some I tucked away. I can't get a job so I thought I might
start a business. Something of my own that I can take pride in, make enough at to
support myself. You had to start somewhere, learn all the ropes. I can't afford to
make many mistakes. You can help me steer clear of the more fatal ones. You could
tell me where to invest what I've got." He started to comment, but she rushed on to
finish.

"Now, don't suggest the antique business—I might have the knowledge, but after going
bankrupt, my reputation is shot. Even if it wasn't my fault. Besides, my family was
interested in hunting down old pieces and selling them. I'm not."

Chance thought about it for a few minutes. It wasn't a question of helping her, that
didn't even enter his mind. The real question was, how to help her and implicate her
into his life at the same time?

"A little over three thousand dollars, huh?"

Micah leaned forward, anxious. "I know it's not much, but—"

"No," he said quickly. "It's enough. I already have a working idea. I want to sleep
on it, though." He looked at Micah's eager face. There was a youthful zest there he
hadn't seen in a very, very long while. "Can you meet me at my office tomorrow? Say
ten o'clock?"

Micah nodded with barely leashed excitement, and Chance could feel his own delight.
Although he made all the usual charitable donations, he hadn't really helped many
people before. The rush of pleasure he received from helping her felt good. But then
again, he wasn't doing this totally out of the goodness of his hard heart. It was
all part of his plan to make her his. All his.

"I'll be there," she promised. "Ten o'clock sharp. But you have to promise me. Chance,
no dirty dealings, and no preferential treatment. I want you to treat me like you
would any other person looking for advice about an investment."