Chance (The One More Night Series) (6 page)

“Probably because my parents were hippies.  As for money?  Money is just money, Abby.  It’s a thing, not a person.  It’s not important.  It has no depth.  In fact, it often just fucks everything up.  Maybe we’re here tonight because this was meant to be.  Maybe it’s as simple as that.  Why complicate things?  Why can’t we just be two people who have come together for reasons neither of us will ever know?”

“I didn’t mean to complicate anything.  It’s just that you intimidate me.”

“Because of your perception of what I’m worth?”

“Yes—and because I’m attracted to you.”

His voice was gentle when he spoke.  “Do you think that you’re the only one who’s intimidated right now?”

“Why would I intimidate you?”

“Because I can’t take my eyes off you.  Because you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met.  You’re bright.  You’re unaffected.  And yet somehow, you’ve also remained innocent.  I can’t believe that you’re here with me right now.”

That caught me off guard.  Looking the way he did, I naturally assumed that he could have whomever he wanted.  But what did I know?  It occurred to me that I was casting my own poor self-esteem and insecurities onto him, which wasn’t fair.  He deserved better than that.  He didn’t deserve to be caught up in my own baggage, so why was I subjecting him to it?

“Where did you grow up?” he asked.

“There’s a change in subject.”

“I think we need one.”

I lifted my drink to him in agreement and took a sip.  “I grew up in Vermont.  On a farm just outside of Burlington.  You?”

“Idaho,” he said.  “Not far from Boise, but in a town no one has ever heard of—that’s how small it is.  Postage Stamp City.  Something like that.”

“Former farm boy?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“At least we have that in common.”

“That we do.  Do you miss it?”

“The farm?  Parts of it.  Especially my cat, Blanche.  I miss her a lot.  You?”

“Depends.  When I’m away from it for a while, there are plenty of things I miss about it—the clean air, the open spaces, watching the livestock graze.  That sort of thing.  And yet, when I’m there, there are plenty of things I can’t wait to get away from.  You know—like grabbing a pitchfork and slinging shit, for instance.  Nobody misses that.”

I laughed at that.  “They certainly don’t.”

“Which school are you attending?”

“Columbia.  I’m going for my MA.”

“You didn’t get into that school without being smart, which begs the question—why do you keep putting yourself down?”

I didn’t answer because the question was too personal.  There were plenty of reasons why I didn’t have the world’s greatest self-esteem, but that didn’t mean that we needed to discuss those reasons tonight.  Or ever, for that matter.  “Let’s just say that I was lucky to get into Columbia.”

“Let’s just say that you’re being modest.  And don’t worry—I won’t press you on the question I really asked.”

“I appreciate that.”

“How are you spending your summer?”

“Working my ass off.  With school out, I’m trying to make as much money as I can and sock it away so that the fall, winter, and spring will be easier than they were last year, which was hell.”

“How many jobs are you working?”

“Two.”

“That’s a lot of work.”

“It’s OK.  I’m not afraid of work.  I want a better life.”

“Most do.”

“What do you do, Chance?”

He sipped his drink.

“It’s not as if I can’t Google it.”

“Touché.  I own businesses.  Corporations.  Patents.  That sort of thing.”

“But you’re so young.”

“How young do you think I am?”

“That’s a loaded question.”

“I can take it.”

“Early thirties?”

“Good guess.  I’m thirty-one.”

“My God—how have you accomplished everything you’ve accomplished so far?”

“Hard work—and a lot of luck.  It’s a long story.  A boring story.”

“Otherwise known as none of my business?”

“Otherwise known as things that aren’t important to me and hopefully aren’t important to you.”

“I was just curious,” I said.  “And for a good reason—I came to this city to prove my parents wrong.  Especially my mother, who feels that the city will corrupt me somehow.  They’ve only ever seen me as this ‘simple girl from the country,’ and not someone who could possibly make it ‘in the big city’.  They thought I’d fail and come running back to Vermont.  But I haven’t yet, have I?  I only asked because I’m trying to make it myself.  There was no other motive.”

His face softened.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “That was pretty knee-jerk of me.  I have no reason to lump you in with the rest of them.”

“The rest of whom?”

“Let’s just say that they don’t matter.  Honestly.  And I’m not putting you off right now—they really don’t matter.”

Who doesn’t matter?
 

“All right.  I get that.” 

Otherwise known as ‘I don’t get that at all.’

“You know, I remember that feeling of wanting to make it.  There are even times when I wish that I were just starting out again.  It was fun when I was on the cusp of breaking through to the other side because I was creating things.  Useful things.  Things that would make people’s lives better and easier.  But when I achieved that, life took a different turn.  I don’t create things anymore—I just sustain things.  Buy things.  Keep the ship afloat.” 

He paused, and then he seemed to reconsider what he was saying.  “I don’t mean to complain because I have no right to complain.  I’m very fortunate.  Just be careful when you do make it, Abby.  Everyone is going to want a piece of you, but not for the right reasons.  It’s tough to find people whom you can trust.  I mean
really
trust.  I think that’s the worst part.  And the loneliest.  Disappointments that come from family and friends are the toughest to face, and to swallow.  But you move on from them.  You have to.”  He stopped short of going any further and then held out his free hand to me.  “And there you have it—my sorry story of woe.  As if I have any reason to have one.”

“Just because you’re successful doesn’t mean that you’re necessarily happy, Chance.”

“No, it doesn’t.  But it also doesn’t mean that I should run my mouth and bitch about it either.”

He finished his drink, and what I saw in his eyes was a wealth of confliction.  This man was more complicated than I’d thought he was.  I don’t think he was expecting to share so much with me, but sometimes talking with a stranger is like talking to a priest—you never know what you might say.  Still, it was clear from his expression that he regretted revealing as much as he had.

“It’s weird sitting over here,” he said.  “I’d rather sit next to you.”

And that was that—our conversation was over.  But at least we’d talked.  At least whatever happened between us now wouldn’t feel so cheap—or so rushed.  At least I had an idea of the person I was about to sleep with.  That counted for something.  At least it did to me.

“Then why don’t you?” I asked. 

When he stood, I was struck again by how tall he was.  And how fit.  His dark hair shined in the dim light, as did his light blue eyes.  I thought the stubble on his face and the cleft in his chin would do me in.  And then I saw the arousal in his pants, which set me on fire.  It had been so long since I’d been with a man, I was at once frightened and turned on. 

But mostly turned on.

As he came around the coffee table and sat next to me, I adjusted my black dress and pulled my hair away from my face.  He took my drink out of my hand, placed it on the coffee table, and then traced his index finger along the curve of my jawline stopping just beneath my chin, which he gently lifted so he could kiss me on the lips with such passion, it almost took my breath away.

Instinctively, I met his kiss with a force of my own.  He tasted of Scotch, and despite the ice that had been in his glass, his tongue felt warm and sexy in my mouth.  When his left hand found the nape of my neck, he began to massage it in a slow, subtle way that made my nipples stiffen.  I placed my hand on his inner thigh, and when I did, he covered it with his own and brushed it over his hardness.

And that’s all it took. 

“Here or in the bedroom?” he asked.

“Here.”

“You can’t wait?”

“I don’t want to wait.”

“What do you want me to do to you, Abby?”

As I held his gaze with my own, my heart started to pound.  “Why don’t you decide?”

“That’s too easy?  What do you want me to do?”

“Maybe it’s more a question of what I want to do to you.”

That surprised him.

“And what’s that?”

“I want to remove your shirt.”

“That’s it?”

“No,” I said.  “That’s just the start.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

My hands shook as I started to unbutton his shirt. 

The fabric was thick and had been starched, but the buttons gave easily, and with each button I unfastened, I saw more of the deep concave in the center of his muscular chest.  When his nipples came into view, they were small, light brown, erect.  I continued down his torso until his thick, corded abs revealed themselves to me. 

He was naturally hairless, and his skin was so smooth, it rivaled my own.  I tugged on the fabric to release the shirttails from his pants, and when the last button slipped free between my fingertips, I started to pull the shirt over his shoulders.

But he stopped me.

“The cuffs,” he said.  “My hands are too large to fit through them without undoing the buttons.  You’ll need to unbutton the cuffs, or this shirt isn’t coming off.  Do you want it off me, Abby?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you.”

“Why are you shaking?”

“Because I just don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Go home with strangers.”

“Are we still strangers?”

“Pretty much.”

“Even after our conversation?”

“Maybe not as much.”

“Your voice is unsteady.”

“Nothing about me is steady.”

“You’re rare, Abby.”

I didn’t know what he meant by that, or how to respond to it, so I said nothing.

“It’ll be fine,” he said close to my ear.  “It’ll be wonderful.  You’ll see.  I can already sense it.  Can’t you?”

I could, but I didn’t answer him.  Instead, I reached for one of his hands to release him from his shirt, and was surprised when he closed his free hand over mine.  In that moment, I swore that I could feel his heart thrumming in his palm.  He was as excited as I was, but was he as nervous?  It was difficult to tell.  He seemed so calm to me.  So confident and in control of the situation.  He was the one who was driving this—I was just his willing passenger, still stunned that I’d been asked to go along for the ride. 

Right now, I knew there was nothing I wouldn’t do for him.

“That’s right,” he said.  “One button down.  Now the other.  Good.  Now take hold of one of the cuffs.  Perfect.  So, here’s how I get out of this—I need you to pull on that cuff.”

I pulled, and he twisted his body so the fabric rolled off of him and the shirt came free—exposing the body of a god. 

I tossed the shirt on the floor, and then his lips were on mine again, probing deep while I pressed my hands against his chest and started to explore what had been hidden from me just moments before.  His skin felt like warm silk to me.  He cupped my face in his hands, leaned into me, and kissed me harder.  His lips moved down to my neck, and then to just above my breasts, which were heavy with anticipation.

“Would you like me to take off your dress?” he asked.

“Please.”

“I didn’t hear you….”

“Please take off my dress.”

“If you stood, it would be easier.”

I stood in front of him.  “There’s no zipper,” I said.  “It just slips over—”

“I know how to take off a dress, Abby.”

Of course you do.  I’m sure you’ve taken off plenty.  But why am I letting you take the lead here?  Whatever happens should be even between us.  It should be fun—isn’t that the point of a one-night stand?  There should be a give and take, which will only make things more interesting.  I need to get into the moment and enjoy this—not be frightened by it.

“Lift your arms,” he said.

It should be fun.

“Lift them for me, Abby.”

There should be a give and take.

“Come on.”

I looked down at him, causing my hair to spill over my shoulder.  He glanced at it when it fell, and I saw the passion in his eyes. 

“Say ‘please’,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows at me.  “Please?”

“It’s an easy enough word.”

“It is.”

“So, use it.”

I watched him unsuccessfully try to suppress a grin.  “This is new.  And you’re no longer trembling.”

“Should I be?”

“I want you to be comfortable.”

“I’m getting there.”

“Apparently.”

“If you want to see my body and have your way with it, you’ll be saying ‘please’ to me all night.”

His eyes flashed at that.  “Is that so?”

Never in my life had I been so brazen with a man, but since this was it for us, I felt that somehow there were no rules so long as we respected each other’s limits.  A little role-play for each of us would lift our time together, and I had to admit that it felt liberating to be so bold with him, which wasn’t like me at all.  Better yet, he seemed not only open to it, but into it, which only fueled my desire.  “It is.”

“All right.  Please lift your arms.”

“Say it like you mean it.”

“Would you please lift your arms for me, Abby?”

I did, and in an instant, my dress was a dark shadow tossed across the room.  I stood in front of him in only my bra and panties.  Each was pretty, feminine, and hemmed with lace—as if I had somehow planned for this to happen.  As if somehow, I knew before I left my apartment that this was going to take place tonight, which was far from the case.

I was standing between his open legs when he spoke to me in a voice that was deeper than usual.  “Remove your bra,” he said.