Bad Boy of New Orleans (19 page)

He had known better than to even try the flowers routine again, sure that would only
anger her more. And anger was mostly what was left now; the pain and shock had dulled
to a bearable level. Only the anger hadn't died—if anything, it had just kept building
in the face of her silence.

He was learning to hate the silence, the solitude. He hated it almost as much as that
brusque. impersonal voice she used with him now.

He was emotionally drained, mentally exhausted, and frustrated. As if that wasn't
enough to try his patience to the limit, the added pressure of the interested buyer
had managed to tip the scales.

Chance stopped drumming his fingers. He clenched his jaw. He knew she was in the house
since her car was parked in the driveway.

"Enough," he said to himself. "We're getting this straight, once and for all. I can't
stand another minute of this."

Just in case she decided to retreat again, he backed up and blocked her car as he
had that day that seemed like months ago now. He felt better already. They could yell,
they could scream, accuse and defend, in fact, he hoped they did, because at least
that would be some kind of communication, and anything would be better than this never-ending
stalemate. He'd take wrath over indifference any day.

He got out of the car and slammed the door behind him, itching for a fight, anything
that might lead to a reconciliation.

Noticing what a beautiful job she'd done with the yard's landscaping, his grimace
softened. He'd be the first to admit he was basically pretty selfish, and that extended
to keeping Micah as a business partner. She had a good eye for color and design. This
house might be gone soon, but they had a good thing going businesswise, and he wasn't
about to give that up anymore than anything else he counted as his.

Shutting the door behind him, he turned and latched it. Things were going to heat
up around here before they cooled down, and he wasn't about to have anyone intrude
at a bad time.

The woven gray carpeting helped muffle his approach. Chance found her in one of the
bedrooms. He stood quietly by the door frame and watched. She didn't realize he was
there. Hopefully she was too absorbed with the curtains she was hanging to notice
for a while longer.

She cursed softly to herself as one of the hooks missed and two more came undone.
He smiled and swallowed the urge to tease her about it—not much, just enough to ruffle
her feathers and make the blood rush to her cheeks.

Lord, did he love the woman. He'd tried to tell her that a dozen times since she'd
found the chit, but she'd let him know it wasn't what she wanted to hear.
Women.
What did she want from him anyway? A promise never to gamble again? Well hell, that
was no big deal, in fact he'd already promised her that. She'd met his promise with
silence.

Stubborn, that's what she was. Stubborn and beautiful, and even now he could feel
the ache begin. He'd gone without for too long—without her affection, without her
company. He was missing the hell out of her.

"No more," he said in a low growl.

Micah jerked around at the sound of his voice. The last hook caught and the drape
fell neatly in place.

She fought the urge to draw the drapes away from the window. Somehow with them closed,
the room seemed too closed in, too intimate. She could see the way he was clenching
and unclenching his fists, the darkened cast to his face.

Chance wanted a fight. No question about it.

Micah's jaw clenched to match his. If that's what he wanted, well, she just might
be inclined to give him one.

Micah got off the stepladder and put her hands on her hips, ready to face off.

"No more what?"

"No more shutting me out. That's what. I've tried to give you time to get over things,
Micah. But my patience is gone. I screwed up, okay? I admit it. Be mad at me if you
have to, stay mad at me. But the least you can do is talk about it."

"About what? About the way I feel like slugging you for trying to run my life? I still
can't believe you, Chance. Imagine, gambling to barter for
my
divorce."

"I
told
you, Micah.
I'm sorry.
What's done is done and I can't reverse it. Now get off your high horse because I'm
through apologizing. It's time we moved on."

He pushed away from the door, and she had more than a premonition of what Chance had
on his mind. He not only wanted a fight, he wanted
her.

"Go away, Chance. I'm not ready to 'move on'."

His brows drew together ominously. The stool was touching her ankles and she took
a side step back, putting it in front of her instead, as though it were a barrier
he couldn't cross.

Chance stopped in front of the stool. Without taking his eyes from hers, he kicked
it aside. She couldn't help but cringe inwardly, feeling the gathering storm whip
up around them. Even the air seemed to crackle with the volatile energy of opposing
forces.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I have feelings too? I'm tired of you rejecting
all my attempts to mend the broken bridges. But most of all I'm tired of making the
only effort around here to work things out. A relationship takes two, Micah, and you've
got to meet me halfway. You've had plenty of time to lick your wounds. Now it's time
to kiss and make up."

The gall of him! Did he actually think he could just ask for an apology after what
he'd done? Kiss and make up, indeed.

"Do you know what infuriates me more than anything?" she said. "It's that I don't
even think what you did bothers you, or that you even believe it was wrong. You're
just sorry I found out." A muscle jumped tensely beside his jaw, and it made the coiling
in the pit of her stomach even tighter.

"Am I right, or not?" she challenged hotly.

"When are you going to quit expecting the world to play by your rules, Micah? Of course
I'm not sorry for what I did. But isn't it enough that I feel badly for the pain it
caused you? Gambling means nothing to me. If I never see another card again, fine.
But if you want me to put on an act and pretend I regret my actions, you're out of
luck. That would be a lie. I've promised myself there won't be any lies to come between
us. And as far as I'm concerned, that's a hell of a lot more important than mourning
something that happened a long time ago. It's over. Done with. Now let it go."

She had known from the very beginning what kind of man he was. And what did she expect,
that he was going to magically become Mr. Goody-two-shoes just because she'd slept
with him?

Admitted her love for him? He'd told her from the beginning not to expect miracles,
but she had.

Micah sighed heavily. "You know, Chance, sometimes I can't help but wish you could
change just a little. Show some kind of remorse for running roughshod over people.
If you did, maybe I wouldn't feel so intimidated by it all, or threatened that you'll
try to dominate me too."

"And sometimes I wish you could just loosen up and quit trying to fit life into such
tidy little compartments. Everything's so black-and-white with you, Micah. The real
world has lots of shades of gray. I find myself trying to live up to your expectations
at times, and, lady, that's a mighty tall order to fill. In the end we just have to
be able to live with ourselves, and the decisions we make, whether they turn out to
be right or wrong. Now how about it? A truce? I'm not asking for the stars, I just
want a second chance."

Suddenly she felt so weary of it all. She was too tired to fight.

"All right," she agreed slowly. "We'll try one more time. I think we both deserve
that much. But we'll wait until we've sold the property."

Chapter 14

"Okay, Micah, here's your cut. Twenty grand. Not bad for a three-thousand dollar investment,
ma cherie."

Money!
She had money that
she
had earned. Micah couldn't remember when she'd ever felt so proud or self-satisfied
as when she reached out and took the check Chance handed her over his desk.

She'd known in advance, of course, what kind of profit to expect after Chance had
haggled with the buyer—who had immediately fallen in love with the property. It hadn't
been a hard sale, and they hadn't used a realtor which saved them a good percentage
of the profits. Surely things didn't always work out so easily, but she had watched
closely, and she had learned.

"Don't forget, Micah. Next time,
you
take a shot at the wheeling and dealing. We'll see if you do as well with that as
you've done with fixing things up."

"I can't wait to find out myself. In fact, I've already started to scout around for
our next project."

"But we just closed this one today. And don't forget, there's my second chance. Now
that this is settled, you can plan our wedding. I hope you don't have plans to drag
me all over town looking at do-overs for our honeymoon."

She giggled. She did want to marry him. More than anything. "Only if we check out
the bedrooms first." She leaned forward to reveal a bit of cleavage, then gave him
a lewd once-over. "I call the top."

"Oh, Lord," he groaned. "I've created a monster."

She raised a brow daintily, but angled her gaze just below where he sat at the desk.
"You could've fooled me."

Chance got up, obviously ready to give credence to her observation, but Micah stopped
him. "Wait, Chance. I have something for you."

Reaching down for her purse, she quickly took out the check she'd written the night
before, then passed it across the desk. A surge of pride came with the small, but
definitely self-sufficient, act.

He didn't take it at first, his brows drawing together in that expression she knew
always meant trouble. "Go ahead," she urged. "It's yours. Thirteen thousand dollars.
Now we're settled."

He shook his head. "I can't take that. It's
your
money. You earned it fair and square, Micah. Keep it."

She stood a little taller then, and her own jaw assumed a stubborn expression to match
his. How dare he take the joy out of her accomplishment? Chance was going to take
this money if she had to cram it down his throat.

Micah deliberately placed the check in front of him on the desk.

"You take this, Chance Renault."

"Damn it, Micah. You're going to be my wife. I'm not about to take your money."

"No? Well, then listen to this. As far as I'm concerned, Jonathon's debt would always
be hanging over my head. I know that this money means nothing to you, but it means
a lot to me. The last thing I want is something like this lurking in the back of my
mind. It's no way to start our marriage."

"Maybe not, but I
still
don't like it. The debt was between him and me. Not you."

"I don't care. It's the principle of the matter." The smile she flashed was deliberately
seductive and meant to throw him off guard. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some
errands to run. There's a dress I saw in a window that was begging to be worn for
a wedding. It's beautiful, Chance. Pale mauve and tea-length, with dainty pearls and
iridescent beads..."

She let her voice trail off as she watched the brooding scowl turn to grudging acceptance,
and then to a crooked smile.

"Okay, Micah, you win this round. Part of being a good businessman is knowing when
to cut your losses and move on. I'll take the money, but I
never
want this subject brought up again. No sense in beating a dead horse. From here we
just go on." He reached down and opened the center drawer of his desk to pull out
a small velvet pouch. "C'mere, you."

How could she have forgotten? The earrings! Eagerly she made her way behind the desk,
watching Chance as he unsnapped the pouch and tumbled the earrings into his palm.

"I think it's time these were put back where they belong, don't you?" He looked down
at her with the simmering expression of a man emotionally captive, one who reveled
in the pleasure of his prison.

A small shiver ran through her at the sensation of his fingers stroking the lobe of
her ear. Ever so carefully he worked the loops through, first one ear and then the
other. She closed her eyes, memorizing this moment, knowing she would always remember
this small, gentle act that for some reason was poignant, something to hold dear to
her heart.