Bad Boy of New Orleans (7 page)

Chance held back a laugh. "You know me better than that, Micah. I wouldn't give most
people the time of day if they came to me with the same question. Don't give me too
much credit—underneath it all, I'm still a street-tough kid. I'll get my money's worth
even if I do still have it bad for a sweet young girl." He was trying to tease her,
but he saw her draw back. Quickly he added, "Don't worry. No special treatment. Well
keep it strictly business."

He forced himself to rise before he sealed the lie with a kiss. He knew she would
trust him more if he ended the night now, and he wasn't going to test his luck. He
was pleased that she seemed to hesitate, disappointed that he was leaving so quickly.

He reached for her hand, helping her up then walking her to the door.

Chance skimmed his fingertips across the delicate ridge of her jaw until he touched
the emerald dangling at one of her lobes. He raised it up, ever so slightly, until
it glittered in the moonlight. Her breathing quickened, and the way she looked at
him... he suddenly ached with the familiar swelling of his groin, the tightening around
his heart.

"What I did at the opera, Micah. It was... unkind. I was jealous about seeing you
with Elliot, and... I'm sorry." He knew he'd hurt her, but she accepted his apology
easily, gracing him with a smile.

"You looked so beautiful tonight," he said in a thick, slumberous voice. "I saw you
weaving your way over to us, before you knew I was there. I could see these earrings
swaying as you walked, the way they matched your eyes. More than anything I wanted
to go to you, to kiss you right there, to touch these stones that were as close as
I wanted to be. Do you ever want me half as much, Micah? Do you ever remember our
kisses, our lovemaking, and relive it all over again? I do. I've replayed them in
my mind until they're as much a part of me as breathing. I only wish I knew that you
felt the same way. That's all I ask for now, nothing more. Tell me if you still want
me, and I promise to leave it at that."

She was yielding to his words. She turned her cheek until her lips were nestled in
his palm. She kissed his hand.

"I do. Chance," she said fervently. "I want you more than I've ever wanted any other
man. I've cried at night from wanting you so much."

He took the gamble and laid it on the line.

"Then want me more. If I so much as kiss you again, it'll be only when you ask for
it. Not before. You've cut your space and, heaven help me, I'm going to give it. When
you're ready, Micah, I'll be waiting."

Chance covered her hand with his own, shutting his eyes against the intensity of what
he was feeling.

He drew her into his embrace, and for the space of a few moments—moments that passed
too damnably fast—he trusted himself to hold her. She laid her head against his chest
and he cradled her there, stroking through her hair until he encountered the clasp
that burrowed at the nape of her neck. He touched the clasp, wanting fiercely to release
it, to plunge his hands into the silken strands which were as black as the night surrounding
them. But he didn't dare. He made himself take a step back, releasing her, letting
her go.

"Good night," he murmured. Quickly he turned and took two steps. For a moment he thought
he must have imagined her next words, but he paused and waited for her to speak again.

"Chance," she whispered, "kiss me?"

Chapter 5

Micah heard her own words echo between her ears. What was she thinking, giving into
the gathering tide of emotion, of physical awareness that was too acute, almost painful—asking
for pain of a different kind?

But she had said it, those words she had been fighting against all night, and now
even with her eyes closed, she could hear him retracing his steps, slowly coming closer.
Over the heavy rushing beat of her heart, she knew he was pacing himself, deliberately
slow, increasing her anticipation with the thud of his weight upon the groaning wood
of the porch.

And then he stopped. Chance didn't touch her, but she could hear the slight husk of
his breath, feel the heat emanate in waves off his body and lap at hers. Her nostrils
dilated at the familiar, masculine musk scent that brought the years crashing back.
Her palms were damp, her legs were trembling. She didn't dare to open her eyes and
meet his. Because even in the muted darkness enveloping them, she could feel the pull
and weight of their hold.

"Not like this, Micah." He touched her cheek so tenderly she felt the impulse to cry.

She opened her eyes and met his. They were the color of coal and just as indecipherable.

"Then, like what. Chance? Tell me." It was all she could do to force the words past
the constriction of desire too heavy in her throat. Silently she added,
anything, just tell me. Just kiss me.

"Like... this." His lips were open, parted, closing the distance to hers. But he didn't
join their mouths. Rather, he caught her hand, dangling limply by her side, and kissed
the center of her palm before draping it about his neck. She could feel the corded,
dark strength beneath her fingertips, the texture of thick hair, and the stiff white
collar of his shirt intruding over the skin she longed to touch.

"Your hands are shaking, Micah," he murmured. "And they're damp. Do you have any idea
how that makes me feel? Knowing I can still do that to you after all these years?"

She shook her head, and stroked her fingers tentatively through the ebony thickness,
then with a surer touch.

Chance's breath came out in a single, heavy stream as she continued to seek her fill
of his scent and texture and nearness.

"It makes me feel... incredible. Invincible. Like every minute I've waited was worth
it. Look, Micah—" he held his hand up close to her face. "See what you do to me? You're
the only woman who's ever made
me
tremble. And inside it's the same. I hate it. I love it. And nothing, not time, not
distance, nothing's been able to dull the memories. It's been the same for you. I
know it has. But I want to hear you say it. Tell me what it does to you when I touch
your hair like this—"

He reached around and suddenly she could feel the weight of her hair loosened, falling
around her shoulders, spilling between his fingers. "Or when I hold you to me like
this—" the same fingers speared through to the roots and tightened as his other arm
came around and soothed a trail over her spine before locking around her waist.
"Tell me."

She swallowed hard, trying to deal with the tumult of sensation, the difficulty of
putting it into words. She'd always felt this way with Chance, but she had never spoken
it aloud, never dared. What he wanted was difficult. And once said, she couldn't take
it back. Oh yes, he knew what he was doing, the words he demanded. Only she couldn't
seem to draw back, to cling to reason while he stood so close, withholding himself,
denying her what she craved.

"Chance, I..." His hands tightened in her hair, around her waist. His mouth lowered
until his breath mingled with hers. She instinctively pulled him closer.

"That's a start. You what, Micah? Need me?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"And what else?"

"I... I want you."

"Badly?"

She nodded.

"How bad, Micah? Enough to let go of what's holding you back from telling me what
I want to hear?"

She took a shuddering breath. "It's hard for me, Chance. I've never talked about these
things before."

"Then it's time you did. Just trust me for once, tell me what I make you feel... here,
I'll even help you—" He passed his hand from her hair to press his fingertips against
the vein pounding beside her neck. "Does your heart beat too fast?"

A tiny moan broke past her lips as he stroked his fingertips over the length of her
throat. Too familiar. Too wonderfully seductive.

"Yes, you know it does. Just as you know I can't think—good Lord, I can hardly breathe.
And it's torture. The kind I could die for.
There.
Are you happy? Is that what you want me to say, to admit?" Something held her back
from saying more, though, a sense of self-preservation, the possible cost of saying
too much.

"There," she said again, this time softly. "Is that enough for you, Chance? I hope
so, because tonight that's as much as I can give. And it's a lot more than I intended
at that."

"It's enough." His voice was gruff and deep with longing. "For now it's enough."

His mouth fell upon hers, swift and hot and wanting. Not the kiss of curiosity, of
lips touching for the first time. It was a kiss of reunion, of knowing the hidden
secrets that bound them, the parlay of tongues meeting in desire that had been kept
in check too long.

Micah felt no hesitancy, only elation, ecstasy that his mouth moved over hers with
such hungry abandon. The stroke of his tongue over hers before tracing the shape of
her teeth, her lips. The command he demanded and she gave.

His mouth was open, skimming from her lips to her neck, her ear. Micah pressed eagerly
against him and felt the wonderful proof of his maleness, the intoxicating rush of
knowing she did this to him, that the power was mutual and equally as strong.

She wrapped her arm more tightly about his neck, treading her fingers through the
resilient thickness of his hair, hungry for the feel of it. Her other arm she tightened
around his waist, pulling him closer still, heedless of what she might be doing to
him. Wanting to test the feeling. Delighting to those sounds again, harsh and guttural
sounds of unrestrained longing. To know that in spite of the years, in spite of her
self-doubts, she could still make his blood pound through his veins as he did hers.

The warm spring air hit the wetness on her neck, the delicious, smooth trail he forged
until mindlessly she moaned against his tiny bites, her head dropping back to invite
more. The feel of his teeth skimming her jaw while his hands tangled in her hair was
everything that she remembered, everything and more.

"Chance... please. More..." She moved until her lips found his again. They felt full
and a little raw. The ravaging was too delicious, too wonderful for words. And she
needed it yet again. Enough to make up for all the lonely nights she had dreamed of
this moment, this little portion of what she truly craved.

Chance's hands began to slide down her back, but stopped just short of her buttocks.
And the disappointment—oh the heaviness of it—of his not touching her more intimately,
the frustration of not being able to make herself say "Please, touch me there. Run
your hands down my back until they can go no farther. Then trail them over my skin,
beneath my dress. Touch me until I don't care anymore." Be brave, she told herself.
Be brave, be foolish. Give in to what you would never dare before....

No.

She didn't dare. This time the price was too high.

"I'm waiting, Micah. If you want more than kisses... you have to ask for that too.
Each... and every... thing."

She wanted him. She burned for his touch.

Quickly, before she lost what pitifully little control she'd gained, she loosened
her hold around his waist and laid her hand full against his chest, not pushing him
away, not wanting to, but keeping the slight distance. It was an inner battle not
to clench the fabric tight and gather him to her instead.

"No, Chance," she said huskily, shakily. "I don't think so. We'd better stop here."

He drew back and straightened. "Like I said, Micah. I won't push." He touched her
cheek gently, the gesture tender, familiar. His face softened in such a way she wanted
to kiss him even more than before, to hold that rare show of vulnerability to her
and never let go.

"I know what I am," he said, "and so do you. Maybe that tells you how much I care.
Because in spite of every instinct screaming inside me to take what I want, knowing
you wouldn't say no if I pressed just the right buttons, it would just be for now.
Now's not enough. It never has been. I'm going to have you, Micah, and your body's
just part of what I need. I'll do whatever it takes." He placed a soft, lingering
kiss on her forehead and stepped back. "Whatever it takes," he repeated.