Holdin' On for a Hero (9 page)

He moved closer and his hand slid down her body, disappearing into her underwear. She gasped lightly as his fingers found her entrance. He paused. “You can say no, Chance. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“No, I want it—you—this. Wyatt, please.”

He took her face in both his hands and looked into her eyes for a long time. Chance couldn’t remember ever seeing such tenderness on his face. His lips met hers, tongue tracing her lips then dipping inside her mouth to explore gently. Chance wound her arms around his neck and pressed as tightly as she could get against him. Wyatt made a sound like a moan in his throat which strangely excited her. For several long minutes they remained locked in place, lips and tongues touching, caressing and experimenting. He slid her panties down and gently pushed her back on the bed.

She almost backed out when he knelt down beside the bed and pulled her to him, spreading her legs. His tongue touched her clit and it was like fire. She had never felt anything like it. It made her skin burn and her muscles tense.

A feeling like something swelling simultaneously in her mind and abdomen began to consume her. Moments later the dam burst and she was overwhelmed by sensation. Wyatt rose and unfastened his trousers.

Chance’s eyes grew wide as she looked at his naked body. He was beautiful. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Positive.”

He lowered himself on her and gently guided his erection between her legs into the wetness. She cried out as he pushed through the thin membrane and he paused, looking at her with a question on his face.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered.

He kissed her gently and she could taste herself on his lips. Her tongue licked at his lips and they parted. Wyatt moved against her and after a few moments she began to feel another buildup of sensation.

She moaned as the feeling claimed her, and clung to him. He slowed and moved his mouth to her breasts, exciting her with his tongue. Then he thrust harder against her. She met his thrusts, arching up against him.

She forgot about the soreness and about the embarrassment and the time slipped away. When some time later Wyatt tensed and groaned slightly she cried out once more. A few moments later he withdrew and rolled over on the damp sheets beside her.

Chance didn’t know what to do or say. She had no idea how one was supposed to act after making love. After a few minutes she turned to look at him. He was staring at the ceiling and she could have sworn there were tears glistening in his eyes.

“Wyatt?”

“Christ, Chance!” He swiped his hands over his face and turned toward her. “What the fuck am I doing?”

“What?” She was confused. “Did I do something wrong? I can try—”

“No.” He got up and went into the bathroom. She heard water running and a few minutes later he came back into the room with a wet towel.

She took the towel as he handed it to her and looked at him questioningly. “You should clean up,” he said as he reached for his pants.

Chance looked down and saw the blood that smeared the inside of her thighs and stained the bedspread. She grabbed her shirt and went into the bathroom. After cleaning up and dressing she returned to the bedroom to find Wyatt stripping the bed.

“Wyatt?”

He turned to her and his face looked like it was carved from stone. “What’s wrong?” She went to him.

He pulled away from her touch. “What’s wrong?” she asked again. “Did I do something wrong? Are you mad?”

“Not at you,” he finally replied as he stuffed the stained bedclothes into the laundry chute. “Chance, you’ve turned into a beautiful young woman and there’re gonna be lots of men who’ll give anything to be with you. But I’m not one of them.”

“What did I do?” She felt tears spill onto her face. “Wyatt, I love you. I always have. I don’t want any other men. I just want—”

“Chance, listen to me!” He grabbed her arms roughly. “You don’t love me. You can’t. You might be eighteen but you’re still a kid. You don’t know anything about living yet. More importantly, we’re from two different worlds. You belong to this world—the one of mansions and fancy cars and country clubs. I don’t and I don’t want to. Don’t you get it? I don’t like this…this white man’s world. I don’t like any part of it. But you—you belong here.”

“You don’t like any part of it?” She looked up at him. “You mean, me included.”

“Chance—” He suddenly released her and turned away. “Find someone who fits in your world. Someone who’ll give you the life you want.”

Chance suddenly felt angry that Wyatt was lumping her into the same class as Patricia and Maurice and their snobby friends. “How do you know what I want, Wyatt? You’re so busy being mad at the world that you can’t see what’s in front of your nose! You don’t want me to be part of your world? Fine! Then you go off and marry that bleached blonde you brought here. See if she fits into your world.”

She ran for the door and jerked it open but stopped and looked back at him. “You look everywhere, Wyatt, as hard as you can. But you can take this to the bank. You won’t find anyone else who cares about you the way I do. Not ever!”

She closed the door behind her and ran to her room.

Chance swiped at her eyes and pushed back the feelings the memory brought with it. Even now, after so many years, it still hurt. She tried to make herself think of other things, but there was something else about that time that demanded her attention. It was something she had never considered until now.

Later that day, after she had cried herself out, she had gone downstairs to the kitchen. Beda Johns, the Jamaican cook, had been sitting at the table reading the paper.

Chance had looked over her shoulder at the paper. There was a picture of Mark Woods on the front page and a caption reading, “Family Mourns Death of Son”.

Chance felt a sickness take hold in her stomach. According to the news story Mark had been found dead in his car around half-past three in the morning. His eyes had been gouged out, his throat slit and his fingers cut off. There was mention of other mutilation but no details.

She’d run from the kitchen back upstairs to her room and thrown herself across the bed. She hadn’t liked Mark all that much but she certainly wouldn’t have wished that on him.

Now, in hindsight, she wondered what had happened to him that night. The police came to her house and questioned her and for some reason she lied. She told them the story that Wyatt had told her. That she and Mark had both had too much to drink and pulled over off the road and passed out. She said Wyatt had come and taken her home and when they left Mark was asleep in the car. The police then questioned Wyatt and he told them that when he got to the car, Chance and Mark were both passed-out drunk so he locked the car doors, left Mark asleep and took Chance home. Apparently the police believed them because nothing else was ever said. But no one had ever found out who had killed Mark.

“Come on, Chance,” she chastised herself. “You don’t really think Wyatt had anything to do with Mark’s death!”

She told herself she was just letting her imagination run away with her. That was a long time ago and it had nothing to do with what was happening today. She should concentrate on how to find out what was going on with Wyatt now. She closed her eyes and tried to come with an idea. Without meaning to, she fell asleep.

* * * * *

Wyatt made it to his Jeep, but just barely. He had drunk way too much and knew there was no way he was going to make it home so he pulled around behind Ralph’s, he grabbed an old blanket from the backseat of the Jeep and wrapped up in it. He would grab a couple of hours’ sleep then  head on home. He had no more closed his eyes than he was out cold.

When he woke up, the sky was beginning to lighten, making him realize that he had slept much longer than he had intended. There was a horrible taste in his mouth and his head felt like there was a marching band inside it. With a grimace, he threw off the blanket and started the Jeep.

His head was just starting to clear when he turned onto his drive. What he saw made it start to pound again. Chance’s black Wrangler was parked in front of the house. He parked. he got out and walked to the front door. It was not locked when he turned the knob. He entered and looked around. The fire had burned down to coals, making the room cold. He started over toward the fireplace. It was then he saw Chance curled up asleep on the couch.

He stopped and looked at her. She had thrown the quilt back from her chest and he could see the steady rise and fall of her full breasts. Her knit top did little to hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing anything beneath it. Tearing his eyes away from her breasts, he looked at her face. Even asleep she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He wished the beauty outside was matched inside, but it was not. She was no different now than she had been then and he was not about to let her use him again. Once was more than enough.

“What are you doing here?” he spoke loud enough to wake her.

She blinked and looked up at him. “Wyatt.” Her voice was soft and mellow from sleep. She sounded like a woman waking to find her lover standing before her.

“What are you doing here?” he repeated, this time harsher to cover the effect her presence had on him.

Chance heard the anger in his voice but tried not to let it affect her. She was tired of the arguing and fighting. All she wanted was to have one conversation with him—to find out what was going on. “I wanted to talk to you,” she said as she sat up. “I came over from Ralph’s and when you weren’t here I waited for you.”

“We don’t have anything to talk about,” he said shortly and knelt down to replenish the wood in the fireplace.

“How about these?”

He turned and looked at the sketchpad in her hand. “We’ve covered that.” He reached over and grabbed it away from her.

“Have we?”

He didn’t answer, but stared at her stoically.

“Wyatt, why did you draw those?”

“Like I said, it’s none of your business!”

“I think it is.” She tried to keep her voice calm and soft in an attempt to keep from angering him further.

Unfortunately her attempt seemed to be ineffective. He jumped to his feet and slung the pad aside. “And because you think so, that makes it so, right? When a Davenport speaks, everyone jumps. Isn’t that the drill? Well, here’s a newsflash for you, sweetheart. I don’t give a shit what you or any other Davenport thinks or wants. You’re all a bunch of arrogant, overbearing—”

Chance’s anger erupted and she dived at him. “Dammit, Wyatt, stop being such a shit!”

He pushed her off him and started to turn away but she jumped in front of him and shoved him. “What’s wrong with you? I don’t get it! You call me sounding like you’re scared to death and I run all over hell and high water trying to find you and when I do you act like I’ve got the plague or something. Then I find a whole book of pictures you’ve drawn of me which would seem to indicate that we were at least friends and yet you treat me like I’m some kind of leper. What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“Get out of my way,” he growled, giving her a slight nudge.

“Or what?” She faced him stubbornly.

He made a move toward her. She dodged, punched him in the stomach and jumped to one side. He grunted and scowled at her. “Come on, like the old days,” she taunted, letting the anger and frustration rob her of her better judgment. “Like when we were kids. Remember all those karate lessons with Akira when you beat the shit outta me? Try it now. I don’t go down so easy these days.”

His eyes were like those of a great beast staring back at her and she wondered if she might not be pushing him too far. But the damage was already done. Before she had time to react, he grabbed her by the throat with one hand and lifted her up. Chance gagged and brought both her fists down as hard as she could on his wrist. The blow loosened his grip and she broke free, but before she could get away he grabbed her by the arm and slung her around. She crashed over the coffee table and landed awkwardly on the couch but bounded up as he moved toward her.

Wyatt evaded her hands, blocking her punches easily. As if tiring of the game he grabbed her by both arms. Both of them were breathing hard as he jerked her up close to his face.

Chance’s anger turned to fear. Something in his eyes scared her. His breath was warm in her face as they stared at one another. The fear started to transform into another emotion, just as primitive and strong and she felt as if she were locked in a cage—one she had never been able to escape and one she was not at all sure she wanted to.

“Wyatt…” His name was a soft breath from her lips.

His fingers tightened on her arms and his jaw clenched. Chance didn’t know what to expect. Suddenly he pushed her from him and turned away. “Not this time.” His voice sounded tight and constricted. “Not again.”

She fell back on the couch and looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Don’t play dumb! You did this to me once already, remember?”

She looked at him in bewilderment. “What? What did I do?”

His eyes narrowed as he sat down across from her. “What did you do? Come off it, Chance! Surely you remember graduation?”

She felt a flush rise on her face but would not look away. She had spent the better part of the night remembering what had happened between them. “Yes, you’re right, I do remember. I remember something I thought was the most beautiful moment of my life suddenly turning into the most humiliating and painful. I remember you telling me that I didn’t have a place in your life. I knew what you meant, Wyatt. I’m not a complete idiot. I know you didn’t feel the same way I did and I’ve done my damnedest to honor your feelings. You were the one who turned away, so where do you get off acting like I did something to you?”