Bad Boy of New Orleans (15 page)

She could feel the gentle sway as he rocked her, and the silence seemed to beg her
to go on. The words came now, more easily, spilling freely from their prison.

"When he came staggering into the bedroom that night, I had his clothes packed. I
told him he had to leave, that I wanted out. I wanted a divorce. He came at me, yelling
that it was all your fault, and my fault, that we were both trash that deserved each
other. I hated him then. I hit him... the first person I'd ever slapped in my life.
He slapped me back. He threw me on the bed—"

The sobs came then, heedless, a torrent as she buried her face against his chest.
Chance shushed her, loving her as she cried it out. She was safe, safe at last.

"He tried to rape me, Chance. If I'd had a gun, I would have shot him dead. I fought
him, it was all I could do. I scratched his face, I bit him until I drew blood. And,
oh, Lord, he wouldn't stop. I thought I was in hell, that I would stay there forever
with this madman. He had me down ready to... to... and then I drew my knee up. Sharp.
Hard. And I kicked and kicked until he fell over. Then finally it was over. He was
crawling to me and I was backing away, just looking for something to hit him with
if he came at me again. He didn't. He just reached into his pocket and threw his money
into my face, and told me I could whore for you the next time. That he was checking
out. That I could save myself the divorce fees because... because he'd be dead before
I could file them."

She cried bitterly against his chest now, and he held her so tightly, she could hardly
breathe. So wonderfully tight against the nightmares.

"He was. Chance. He was dead the next day... he killed himself, I know he did. And
I was glad. I was so happy he was dead. My only fear was that the insurance company
would find out, that they would take the money away. Little did I know there wasn't
any."

She laughed and cried in a muted hysterical sob against his shoulder. "And then you
came back. Only I needed my space, I needed to heal alone. But no matter what, I still
felt dirtied. I'm glad you've kept your distance, Chance. I've needed that... so that
I could start to feel clean again."

"Oh, Lord," he groaned. "Why didn't you tell me... why didn't—" he broke off and clenched
her to him. "You're pure, baby. To me you're pure as driven snow. And you're not guilty."

Safe in the warm cocoon of his arms, she did feel pure once more. And the burden was
lifted. Guilt, gone. At last she didn't have to carry the weight of secrets or shameful
sorrows alone. Chance had given her that. She could tell him anything, everything,
and no matter what, he would still be there. She was safe. And nothing, not even that
last horrible night with Jonathon, could touch her. Not ever again.

"Driver," Chance suddenly called out above the heavy thud of the horse's hooves. "Turn
us around."

And then next to her ear he whispered, "We're going home,
ma cherie...
home to bury the past."

Chapter 11

The Lamborghini raced along the now quiet streets of the Garden District. The lush,
tropical foliage blended with the stately mansions. The manicured lawns of Saint Augustine
grass were deep green and thick from the frequent drizzles of rain or intemperate
storms. A breeze was blowing up with the smell of midnight showers on it.

"Micah?"

She turned her face from the fleeting flashes of light through the car window, and
let her gaze meet his. Her eyes still felt swollen, red-rimmed. She doubted she made
a very pretty sight, her nose was stopped up and was probably red and puffy too.

"I'm okay now. Chance."

He held his hand out between them, wanting to bridge the small distance she had tried
to make. She hesitated, took his hand.

"You mean,
we're
okay. Anything that affects you, affects me. Don't pull away from me now, Micah.
I... I need you. All of you. I can't stand it when you get that distant look on your
face."

"I can't help it. Chance. I feel... too exposed. You've seen me at my worst. And I
hate to cry. Especially in front of people."

A scowl darkened his features. "But I'm not 'people,' Micah. I'm... No, you tell me.
Just what
am
I to you?"

She sighed in the darkened interior of the car, the closed space magnifying the sound.
Her throat felt scratchy, raw. Her emotions felt the same way.

"I'm not sure, Chance. I get confused about my feelings toward you. You're not an
easy man to understand. I never feel that I quite
know
you. I mean, I do know parts of you. But I never know what to expect. One side of
you is wonderful, tender, honest, a part I can never get enough of. But just when
I think that's who you really are, I catch a glimpse of another side. Something darker,
something frightening. You're a very dangerous man inside. And it's dangerous to—"
She broke off, unwilling to say more. She knew if she told him she loved him there
would be no going back. She could love him in silence. But she wouldn't say the word.

Chance nodded. "I know. But you know me better than anyone else ever has, Micah. And
I try, I really do try to be open with you. Only it's not easy to change."

"And will you ever change, Chance? Do you want to?"

"In ways. I've done a lot of things I'm not exactly proud of. But when you're poor...
well, sometimes a man doesn't have much choice. He either plows his way there, stepping
on people in the process, or he ends up staying just where he's at—on the bottom.
Now that I'm where I want to be, I have the room to be a little more careful about
where I step. I don't want you to have any false illusions about me though, Micah.
I'd do it all over again if I had to. I want you to love me. But you need...
I
need for you to accept me as I am. I'm flawed, with scars that will never go away.
But maybe..." he spread his fingers out over the steering wheel, tapping an uneasy
tattoo. "Maybe you can find it in your heart to want me anyway."

"I do want you, Chance. You know I do."

Chance glanced at her, gave her a piercing look before turning back to the road.

"You
want
me," he said. "Physically, yes. And you thought you loved me when you were a girl.
But we're grown-ups now, Micah. With pasts, and traits that are too entrenched to
make monumental changes. What I want from you at this stage of life is a lot more
than soothing each other's sexual urges. I want your love. Unconditionally. And I
want it forever."

Micah could feel the internal quiver. If he only knew he'd had it all along. If he
only knew of her fleeting images of their progression in life from now until... always.
Having children together, building a life, a family, loving each other in old age.
She could tell him this now. She could cross the bridge to a permanent commitment.
Chance wanted one, he was telling her that in no uncertain terms.

Too much, too soon.

She smiled at him and squeezed his hand.

"Not yet, Chance. But be patient with me. I have no desire for anyone but you."

"Desire," he said quietly. "Well, it's a start. I can build on that." The car came
to a sudden stop, and Micah realized they were in front of his house, the engine idling
restlessly beneath them. Chance put it in park and turned to her: There was hunger—and
more—that she read there. The thrill of the forbidden was suddenly as strong now as
it had been when she was a teenager.

In the spare light of the car's illumined dash, she saw the darkening shift of his
features, the way they went from the softness of yearning to the purposeful set of
stalking, sexual prowess.

Very deliberately, with no pretense of tender embraces melting into some kind of accidental
joining, he caught her around the back of the neck and began to rub up and down over
the muscles that were stiffening in anticipation. In apprehension.

"Where do we take our 'desires', Micah?" he said silkily. "Here? The backseat's a
little small."

Was there such a thing as getting cold feet and almost shivering with anticipation
all at the same time? She wanted to escape this descending cloak of longing; she wanted
to cling to it.

She swallowed hard, feeling the difference between them—his comfort of command, her
own awkwardness.

"I... uh... Chance, I'm not very good at this."

He chuckled low in his throat. "Good, I like it that way." He was treading his fingers
up into her hair now, playing with it.
"You
are a very sexy woman,
ma cherie.
Your only problem is, you don't know it."

Was she sexy? She'd never thought of herself that way, certainly not in recent years
when she'd felt more like a nursemaid, than a sensual feminine being. She wasn't at
all sure she was comfortable with this. Her lips twitched uncertainly, nervousness
translating itself into humor.

"Do you find that amusing?"

"No, not really. It's just that... I mean," she chuckled softly and met his bemused
gaze, "I never exactly thought of myself as a sex kitten before."

"A sex kitten?" Now he chuckled too. "No, I'd never call you that. You're finer, more
sophisticated in the sensuality you exude.

"Don't look so surprised, Micah. You think you don't really know me. Sometimes I think
there's still a lot of things you don't know about yourself. As a woman, anyway. Would
it shock you to know every time you walk into a room I'm affected? It's not something
I can control. Believe me, it's happened at the most inopportune times. Like standing
in the lobby at the opera."

Micah could feel the heat flush her face—and elsewhere. It was a wonderful boost to
know she could do such things to Chance, so effortlessly. And what if she did try
to deliberately tempt him? He was looking at her now, watching for a reaction. A shiver
went through her.

"I... I never noticed." Don't get flustered, she told herself. Stay calm. She should
act as if she talked this way every day.

"No? You never look?"

"Of course not!"

"And I suppose you never fantasize when you're alone... about us. About what it would
feel like if I touched you here"—he glazed his fingertips over her breast—"or
here."
Then trailing lower, he drew a slow, intricate pattern over her dress covering the
vee of her thighs. "You never think about me making love to you and get hot?"

Micah drew in her breath sharply at the boldness of the action, his directness. It
was exciting. Intimidating.

"Why are you talking to me like this?" Her voice was breathy.

"Why?" He lowered his hand to stroke an upward path over the silk of her hose. "Because
those are things I've wanted to know for a long time but could never ask. Until now.
And besides, I'm giving you your first real lesson in—" his hand stopped, and she
could feel the fine tremble between her thighs, and knew that he felt it too. "Why,
what have we here? A garter belt? Micah, I'm surprised at you. Pleasantly surprised.
Garters can be exciting... maybe we'll leave it on tonight." He flipped the catch
easily, and she could feel the silk slither downward as her eyes grew wide in the
dark. "But then again, maybe we won't."

What in heaven's name was she doing here? All hot and cold and scared to death all
of a sudden. He was too worldly. She was too... unprepared for this kind of finesse.

"Chance, you're—"

"I'm what? Naughty? You mean you didn't know? Bad boys only get worse with age. Or
maybe they just have a natural aptitude for developing their baser instincts. I know
how I like it. Don't you want to find out? Aren't you just aching to know?"

"Please, don't," she said, barely managing to get the words out.

"Please, don't what? Talk about it? Be honest with you? If you want pretty words and
a pretense of sweetness to lure you into bed, that's not me. I want you, Micah. And
I love you. But don't expect me to be a gentleman. In' public, yes. In bed? Forget
it. You're nearly thirty, and I doubt you know any more about sex than you did when
we were kids. Now it's time you learned what grown-ups do in the dark... or the light.
If you're not ready for this, tell me now. But I thought you wanted it as much as
I did. If I thought wrong, I'll take you home this minute. This has to be right for
both of us, or it won't be right at all."