Bad Boy of New Orleans (4 page)

The car was hot inside after being locked up in the late May afternoon, but at least
it was a haven: A place where she was alone.

After leaving the parking lot Micah turned on the air conditioner and rolled up her
window, letting the cool air wash over the sticky wetness of her skin. She wouldn't
let herself think about Ian, or money, or how she could gracefully get out of the
rental property deal she wanted to buy. And she sure as hell wouldn't think about
Chance.

When she reached home, she felt better. In the shadowed solitude surrounding her,
she stripped off her damp clothes and threw them onto the big antique tester bed.
There were memories there, ones she didn't care to dwell upon. Her guilt lay like
a twisted serpent upon the empty mattress. She remembered her aching want of Chance
as she had lain in her husband's arms, the fantasies she indulged in even now. It
was wrong when she was married, and Jonathon's being dead didn't magically make things
right; she still had to live with the memory of her heart's infidelity, the consequences
of it.

Micah couldn't stand it, the self-doubt, the whole jumbled mess her life had become.
A tepid bath would help, it always did. If nothing else, she could at least escape
the salt of sweat still clinging to her body. And if she was lucky, maybe the taint
she still felt from Ian's proposition would wash away too.

Usually she wore a robe, even alone. But being as hot as she was, instead walked naked
to the adjoining bath. She bent over and adjusted the knobs, making the water cooler
than usual, letting the crystal clear wetness wash over her left hand.

The ring was no longer there, and she was glad. If Jonathon hadn't died, it would
have been gone by now anyway. She had decided, finally, to leave him just before he
had. Somewhere along the line even her pity had run dry, and guilt wasn't a good enough
reason to stay.

Staring into the running cascade, Micah let her thoughts wander.

She turned off the faucet, realizing suddenly she needed to conserve on the water
bill too. Stepping into the deep, clawfoot tub, Micah shivered from the tepid onslaught
against the heat of her skin. She sank down into the liquid tranquility, letting the
soothing water wash over her.

Micah tried to look at herself, but as always felt a little self-conscious about her
own body. Deliberately she reached for the French-milled soap and lathered her shoulders
and breasts. She closed her eyes, and as she swirled the slick lavender bar over her
body, eased into the comfort the self-massage rendered.

Just as she thought she'd escaped the worries dogging her every thought, a vision
of Chance superimposed itself behind her lids. A heavy sigh escaped. She had treated
him badly at the bank, lashing out because he was the first available target. Her
predicament wasn't his fault, there was no one to blame but herself. But knowing that
didn't diminish her confusion, or the frightening amount of desire she felt for him.

Why,
she asked herself,
why
are you so afraid of him?
Because he's too strong for you, because he can control your emotions, your body?
Because you can't bring yourself to trust him, knowing the type of man he's become?

Yes, yes,
and
yes.
All that and more. He'd left her when she was too young to hang on to vague promises
about the future.

Micah could feel the constriction of her throat. Back then loosing Chance had seemed
like the most terrible thing in the world that could have happened to her.

He'd grown up poor, but was determined not to stay that way. At twenty he took a job
in the Gulf working on an oil rig. When he'd left, he told her she didn't understand
about things like wanting to do more than survive, to make better than she was born
with. He accused her of not being able to imagine eating out of a tin can when she'd
been born with a silver spoon in her mouth.

His anger had always been so close to the surface. She remembered that about him,
even as a child. She sat upright in the water now, her hair streaming wet down her
back. Working in the fragrant shampoo, she pretended she could still feel Chance's
hands stroking through the waves as he pressed her against the wall, the way he had
tried to soften the blow of reality, of his words.

"You were never meant to know about such things, Micah. It's why I have to leave...
to get ahead. When I come back here, even your parents will have to accept me."

Her scalp tingled as she washed the suds from her hair, remembering his fingers sliding
against her scalp, flexing, pulling her hair into a greedy fist as he rubbed the strands
together. She could almost feel the heat of his body against hers, pressing his hips
closer until she gasped in genuine shock, in the jolt of her body's answering response.

"Wait for me." His voice so urgent. "I have dreams and they're always of you. Say
you'll wait. Swear it."

"I do. I swear it. Chance."

"No matter how long I'm gone, no matter who else you see, you'll save yourself for
me."

"Yes."
She pulled his head down to hers, sealing the vow.

"I'll hold you to that."

And he had held her. His mouth taught her the meaning of pleasure while his hand came
up in a smooth motion to cup one of her breasts in his palm, making her shiver beneath
him. He was touching her through her clothes, but still she burned. Their bodies strained
against each other, undulating in a rhythm that even a virgin understood through the
haze of awakening passion, until she cried out with desire, with the fear of it....

"I'm taking you home, Micah. Right now. Before I do something real selfish that we'll
both regret."

In the end he had succumbed. But it had been her, not him, who had pushed them past
the limit, making the decision that time and fate could never erase. Even now she
remembered each minute detail....

The way he had undressed her. The shocking revelation of his nakedness. The supple
beauty of restraint as he touched her with such a tender hunger. Even at twenty he
had been a skilled lover, gentling her so that there was little pain, and much pleasure.
Enough that she could remember the ecstasy of release, the tears he kissed away as
he moved within her and murmured endearments she still kept locked tight in her heart.

Micah sighed heavily, reluctant to leave the memory. How she wished she had waited,
that Chance had given her some sign throughout the years. For nearly two years she
had tried to be patient, and it had been sheer hell, not knowing, wondering if she
had imagined his devotion. Or worse, that he had lied to her.

Time had a way of doing that, diluting a person's resolve, transforming memories and
promises until they seemed no more than once-upon-a-time dreams. College came and
still no word from Chance. Sometime in her freshman year she convinced herself it
had all been an adolescent crush.

About that time she met Jonathon. He was handsome and charming, and she thought she
might be in love.

She married right out of college. It seemed the practical thing to do. After all,
her parents liked him, her friends liked him, and she liked him. It seemed natural,
the easy course.

Chance had come back from Lord only knew where a year after her wedding. He wasn't
wealthy, but he had done well for himself. When he found her, his lips had formed
the word, "Congratulations." But his eyes were accusing.

She thought he would leave, but he didn't. Instead, he seemed determined to make his
mark. This time in her own city so she'd be sure to notice. He insinuated himself
into the moneyed elite that she had grown up with, flaunting yet another beauty by
his side at Mardi Gras balls, social extravaganzas, or in the society pages. Whenever
they saw each other, there was always an uneasy tension between them. But their secret
remained just that.

And so here she was, wanting him more than ever. And more than ever he was past her
reach.

Dear Lord, how she wanted him. Even knowing his reputation for cruelty, she ached
to have him hold her again.

For so long that was all she ever wanted. But it just wasn't enough anymore. Something
else called to her, demanding to be satisfied. It came from deep inside—this growing
need to prove she could be strong, that she could survive all on her own. And what
was so strange was that of all the people she knew, the one person who would truly
understand was Chance.

So the cards were at long last on the table. For a terrifying moment she felt the
old weakness threaten. She wobbled like a newborn colt, then found her footing still
good.

Micah smiled as she claimed the small victory. She was going to make a new life for
herself, starting today. But above all else, she swore two things:

She would fight.

She would win.

Chapter 3

The phone rang and Micah reached down to pick it up. She stopped just before touching
it, in a moment of debate. Tentatively she touched the receiver on the fourth ring.

"Hello?" Her voice was as breathy as if she had been running.

"Micah? Hi. It's Elliot."

"Elliot?" she echoed, hoping her voice didn't reveal her disappointment.

"What do you mean,
'Elliot?'
If I didn't know better, I'd think you were disappointed to hear from me." He laughed
at his joke.

Micah forced a faint laugh. "Of course not, Elliot. That's nonsense. How've you been?"

"I'm not sure. A lot depends on what kind of reaction I get from you."

That was Elliot Sebastian for you, Micah mused. Good for a laugh, and good with a
line. But overall he was a pretty decent kind of guy as long as you didn't expect
much depth.

"What kind of reaction were you looking for?"

Micah could feel herself blush, embarrassed by the almost flirtatious comeback.

"Sounds like you're doing just fine, Micah. I was afraid to call sooner. I mean, I
didn't want to—"

"That's okay, Elliot, I know what you mean. And I appreciate your concern."

"Would that extend to going out with me this Sunday? I don't want to rush you or anything,
but I thought... Well, the way things were, I figured you might be ready to get out
by now."

So, Micah thought, Elliot knew too. It seemed everyone knew she had little to regret.

"Micah?" Elliot said into the silence. "I'd like to take you to the opera. That is
if you're up to it."

She should say something, do something. Anything but stand there dumbly with the receiver
in her hand. This was so unexpected.

"Yes," she said quickly before she could change her mind. "I'd like to get out, Elliot...
Sunday night at seven o'clock?... Of course... Yes, I'll look forward to it too."

Micah hung up after the date was made, wondering what in the world had gotten into
her. She wasn't any more interested in Elliot than a rerun of a bad dream.

Why had she agreed then... why? The answer was too obvious. She was lashing out at
Chance for not pursuing her further, disappointment propelling her to make a date
she couldn't even look forward to. So what did that make her? She was using Elliot
to get back at Chance. It was a cheap shot and totally unworthy of her. Micah reached
for the telephone, ready to call him back and cancel.

A vision of her spare cupboard and the few cartons of yogurt in the refrigerator caused
her stomach to growl. And how long had it been since she'd been out? The women she
had mistook for friends in the old social arena had turned out to be about as genuine
as fool's gold.

Micah hesitated, then moved away from the phone, trying to feel better about her decision.
Her motives weren't right, but she'd make it up to him. She would make sure Elliot
enjoyed the date whether she did or not.

* * *

"Micah? Aren't you enjoying this?" Elliot whispered to her behind his program, and
Micah realized she was staring off, away from the stage.

"Yes, fine," she whispered back, and made herself smile.

Elliot nodded, seemingly satisfied, and went back to watching the opera. Micah kept
her eyes on the action even though her mind continued to wander.