Fortune (37 page)

T
erri and Raye left early the following Saturday morning. Skye went to say a final goodbye and to help Terri with any last-minute packing. Only, her friend had taken care of everything already; there was nothing left to do but face the goodbye.

Skye felt as if her heart was breaking. “I hate this,” she said softly, swiping a tear from her cheek. “It's not fair.”

“I know.” Terri hugged her. “You be careful, okay?”

“Don't worry about me.” Skye held her friend tightly, not wanting to let her go, but knowing she had to. “You and Raye be safe.”

Terri took a step back, sniffling. “We will.”

“You'll call me?”

“You bet. And I'll e-mail you at the office. I want to hear everything that happens with City Lights.”

“It's your series, too. And don't you forget it.”

Raye tugged on her sweater. “Why you crying, Aunt Skye?”

“Because I'm going to miss you so much.” Skye squatted and hugged the little girl.

Raye touched Skye's wet cheeks. “You can come, too. Mommy will let you.”

“I can't, sweetie. I wish I could.”

Raye frowned. “You going to come see me in 'Zona?”

Skye smiled at her abbreviation of Arizona, and brushed her soft, dark curls away from her face. “Can I bring Moo?”

“Sure.” She nodded for emphasis. “Moo's my friend.”

“Come on, Raye,” Terri said quietly, “we need to go.”

Choked with tears, Skye watched as Terri got her daughter situated in the car, then made sure she had everything for the long drive, putting off the inevitable, Skye knew. Finally, there was nothing else to do but climb into the car and go.

After a last, tearful hug, Terri did just that.

Skye watched them drive away, waving goodbye, not dropping her hand until they were completely out of sight.

Alone again. Left behind again.

Chance.

His image popped into her head, with it the need to see him. To talk to him. Even as she told herself the need was nothing but an emotional knee-jerk reaction to Terri leaving, she crossed the street to the corner grocery store to see if they had a phone book. They did. Chance was listed.

She jotted down his address, then without planning what she would say, without considering the early hour or the consequences of her actions, she climbed in her car and drove to Chance's building. She parked and went inside, located his apartment and knocked on the door. When he didn't answer, she knocked again, then pounded.

“Okay…okay. I'm coming.”

He swung the door open. He had been sleeping, she realized, and was still barely awake. He wore a pair of loose-fitting, gray sweats and a wrinkled T-shirt. His feet were bare, his hair tousled, his cheeks rough with his morning beard. He looked masculine and sexy and more than a little surprised to find her standing at his front door.

“Terri left this morning,” she said, voice quaking. “For good.”

Wordlessly, he swung the door wider. She stepped inside, glancing around. It looked like a guy's place, nothing quite matched, furnishings had obviously been picked for durability and comfort rather than style; a pizza box and a couple of beer cans decorated the coffee table.

“Sorry, I'm not much of a housekeeper.” He yawned and motioned for her to follow him to the living room. He led the way, picking up articles of clothing as he did—a tie off the back of a chair, a dress shirt in a heap on the floor, sweat socks and athletic shoes from in front of the couch.

“Have a seat. I'll get us some coffee.”

He dumped his armload on an empty chair and went to the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with two steaming mugs. “I didn't know how you take your coffee.”

“Black's fine.”

“Good thing. The milk has lumps.” He handed her a mug, then took a seat in the overstuffed chair across from her. “Okay, kid, what's up?”

His use of her old nickname brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them back and told him about Terri and her daughter and how close the three of them had become. She told him about the threatening calls, the dead rat and that last, frightening threat to Raye.

“Damn.” Chance ran a hand over his stubble-rough face. “That's some sick bastard.”

“The police weren't any help. So she…left. She has a sister in Arizona who offered them a place to stay.”

“Do you blame her for wanting to leave?” Chance asked, taking a sip of his coffee. “This guy might really have hurt one of them.”

Skye shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. “I know. And I do understand. It's just that it…” She dug in her purse for a tissue, found a crumpled one at the bottom and immediately began shredding it. “They'd gotten to be like family, you know? Terri was my friend, and little Raye was so sweet. We spent a lot of time together, and—”

She sucked in a deep breath. “I thought I didn't need anybody. I told myself I didn't. It was easier that way. Safer.” She met his eyes, then looked away. “Then I let them in, and I liked having a friend. I liked having them in my life. I started to really care about them.”

“And now they're gone.” He took another swallow of coffee.

“Yes.” She swiped angrily at her tears. “You know, Chance, I'm getting pretty sick of this shit.”

He arched his eyebrows, his gaze intent. “Exactly what shit is that, Skye?”

“Getting left behind.”

“That's life, babe. Get over it.”

She jumped to her feet, hurt. Angry. “Thanks a lot! I suppose that's what I get for thinking
you'd
understand. Mr. Loyalty himself. The last of the all-time deserters.”

“Why exactly did you come here, Skye? Because you thought I'd understand about Terri or did you want something else?”

“I hate you.”

She started past him; he reached up, grabbed her and tumbled her into his lap. “It's okay, baby.”

She struggled against his grasp, furious. “Let me go, you son of a bitch! Let me go or I'll scream!”

“Shh.” He put his arms tightly around her, pinning her against his chest, much as he had all those years ago when she had awakened and found her mother had left her.

He pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “I do understand, Skye. I was there, I know how much it hurt when your mom left. I know how much my leaving must have hurt. If you want to cry, I'm here, love. I'm here.”

The fight went out of her, and she dissolved into tears. For long minutes she sobbed, clinging to him like a baby, lost in her feelings of emptiness and loss. Her loneliness.

Finally, her sobs abated, becoming small mews of despair. “You broke my heart,” she managed to say, her voice choked. She balled her hands into fists on his chest. “How could you do that to me? I loved you. I needed you. You were my everything, Chance.”

“I'm sorry, baby. I am.” He pushed the hair away from her face, though tendrils stuck to her wet cheeks. “I loved you, too. I didn't want to hurt you. But I didn't know how not to.”

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “You did hurt me. I almost died, I almost curled into a ball and died.”

“But you didn't, Skye. You're here.” He kissed her then, softly, rubbing his mouth against hers. “You're strong, a survivor. I knew that about you.”

“How did you know?” She shuddered and brought her hands to his face, kissing him back, opening her mouth, her heart. “I didn't. I still don't.”

“Forgive me, love,” he whispered, bringing his hands under her sweater and stroking her back. “Forgive me.”

She did forgive him, she realized. In a way she had been unable to before. In a way that felt good, freeing and right. She turned more fully to him, straddling his lap. His erection pressed against her, and she rocked her pelvis, rubbing herself against him, growing aroused herself.

“Make love to me, Chance,” she murmured against his mouth. “I want you so much, make love to me.”

Without a word, he did as she asked. Caressing and kissing her, touching her in ways and places she had never been touched before. He brought her along slowly, exquisitely, until her entire world consisted of his hands and mouth, his voice in her ears as he murmured words of encouragement and arousal, the taste of him, his texture, his sounds.

He stripped off her clothes, and she his. Being naked with him felt good. Right. She fit against him in a way she had never fit with any man. She ran her hands across his chest, stopping on the long, thin scar that ran diagonally across its center. She lifted her gaze to his. “Kevin?” she whispered, her heart hurting.

He nodded and she brought her lips to the scar and pressed tiny kisses along its length, remembering, aching.

“Come here, baby,” he murmured, bringing her face to his. “Let me make you happy.”

And he did. He seemed to know all her secret spots, seemed to know just how and when to touch her that pleasured her most. She arched up, whimpering, needing more, wanting everything. He gave it to her, moving his hands, then mouth, until her body exploded in a shower of color and light.

While she still throbbed with her release, he fitted her on top of him. She gasped as he entered her, at the way it felt to have him inside her. She hugged him, using her muscles in a way she hadn't known she could, holding him as tightly as she could. She never wanted to let go. He was hers. This was as it should be.

He was hot and hard and painfully ready for her, she could tell by the way he trembled at their joining. For one moment he allowed her to hold and milk him, then with a groan he began to move, slowly at first, then with increased passion. Skye exploded with orgasm again, almost violently, crying out his name. He caught his name with his mouth, shuddering with his own climax, his mouth open, wet; he was completely vulnerable to her. As she was to him.

In that moment, for once, there were no barriers between them.

She had never known the joining of two people could be like this, intense yet tender, shocking yet sweet. She hadn't known that together a man and a woman could come this dizzyingly, exquisitely close to heaven.

She'd had sex before, but she had never made love. She saw that now. She saw, too, that she would never be the same.

Afterward, she snuggled up to him in the big chair, moving her body against him, cooing her contentment. She trailed her mouth across his shoulder, kissing, nibbling. “Delicious,” she murmured, all but purring. “I feel absolutely…delicious.”

She did purr then, playfully, deep in her throat. He didn't respond, and she suddenly realized that he hadn't said a thing, that he had hardly moved since their mutual climax. She had been so lost in her own euphoria, she hadn't noticed the way he had cooled.

“Chance?”

He opened his eyes and looked at her.

“You're so quiet.”

He gazed at her a moment, the expression in his eyes sending her hopes plummeting, her euphoria out the window. What had happened in the space of minutes that caused him to look at her that way?

“What would you like me to say?” he asked, his voice thick. “Or are compliments what you're fishing for?”

She caught her breath, hurt. “I'm not fishing for anything. Forget it.”

“No, really, I'd be happy to help you out. You're an incredible lay, Skye. One of the best I ever had.”

“You bastard.” She slapped him as hard as she could, then scrambled off his lap. She grabbed her sweater and pulled it over her head, suddenly feeling naked and too vulnerable. She swallowed hard, past the hurt, the disillusionment. A minute ago she had felt wonderful, like a million bucks, now she felt like less than nothing. She felt like a cheap lay, one of what had no doubt been dozens of others.

Chance wants to be me. He's competed for my women. And once he had them, he didn't want them anymore. He throws them away, like so much garbage.

She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could deny the words, their truth. Wishing she didn't hurt almost more than she could bear.

Griffen had tried to tell her, had tried to warn her.

She was as disloyal as she was foolish.

She had no shame when it came to Chance McCord. In all the years that had passed, nothing had changed. She was still throwing herself at him, and he was still rejecting her.

She jerked her chin up, and swept her gaze over him. His right cheek bore a rosy imprint of her hand. “You want to tell me what just happened here, Chance? Want to clue me in?”

“You showed up crying at my door, Skye. Not the other way around.”

“Oh, I see,” she said, voice quivering. “This was a mercy fuck. Is that what you're trying to tell me?”

“Don't be so sanctimonious, Skye. You know what this was.”