Sleight Of Hand (8 page)

"Chance, you still there?"

"Yeah. Listen, thanks Steve." He flopped back
on the bed and stared at the wooden strip ceiling.

"Can you figure this guy? I thought he'd be
pissed that you took off."

"Catching me at the scene of another theft
would cheer him up."

"What do you mean?" Steve yelled.

"I imagine he's coming after me."

As the night greyed into dawn, Sarah kicked
the twisted sheets away and dragged herself out of bed. Chance
Spencer was a dead man if she didn't find any coffee in the
kitchen. She yanked open a dresser drawer and grabbed a long cotton
pullover from the neat stack of clothes she'd unpacked in the
middle of the night. A night, she thought, pulling her sweater over
her short nightgown, that was thankfully behind her.

She opened her door and peeked out. The main
room looked much as it had three hours ago when she'd picked up
various dirty dishes sprinkled throughout the room and washed them.
Chance's dirty dishes. He had a lot to answer for, including her
lack of sleep last night.

She mouthed a silent thank you when she spied
a tin of fresh coffee grounds in the refrigerator. After filling
the coffee machine, she settled on a stool, and slumped forward to
rest her head on her arms.

If Chance had come out of his room after his
phone call last night, she wouldn't have fussed about his ankle and
what to do with the Magic Bag Harvey left. After waiting for a half
hour, she knocked on his bedroom door. When he didn't answer, she
peeked inside to find him sound asleep.

Coffee cup in hand, she almost tumbled off
her stool as the heated memory singed her nerve endings. Wearing
nothing but a pair of wine colored boxer shorts, Chance had
sprawled across his bed in near naked splendor. His boxers had left
just enough to the imagination that she'd tossed and turned all
night.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee intruded
into her tumultuous thoughts. She slipped off the stool, poured a
large mugful and added cream from the carton in the refrigerator.
After several cautious sips, she gulped the hot liquid.

Like a flash bulb going off, her brain
snapped awake. She had a lot more important things to think about
than how muscular Chance's legs looked even relaxed in sleep. Or if
the dark hair that covered his upper chest felt as soft as it
looked.

She pulled her sweater down over her knees
and turned her thoughts to her father. Cautiously, she mentally
tiptoed through the minefield of emotions that arose whenever she
thought of her father.

Her father always blew into her life with
hurricane force, then with the same compelling urgency, whirled off
to whatever next claimed his attention. She loved him for the way
he filled up all the lonely gaps in her life, but it had always
been done on his time. He'd never been there when she needed
him.

She twisted sideways on the stool, noticed
Chance's leather jacket on the kitchen floor and reached down to
pick it up. She buried her nose in its soft folds. The jacket
smelled of old leather and an indescribable scent that she knew
instinctively was pure Chance. Her hand kneaded the soft leather as
she once again sunk into the tempting image of a half naked Chance
sprawled on his bed.

Damn it! She thrust the jacket away from her,
letting it fall back on to the floor. Chance possessed the same
charming intensity that her father did. Since meeting him in New
York, everything she did, everything she thought felt connected to
him. Heaven help her if she didn't sever that connection, because
by his own admission, Chance was as much a restless drifter as her
father. She knew better than to depend on men of their ilk. Some
people just didn't have it in them to be reliable. Which is
probably what got her father into this current mess.

If only her best friend, Linda, hadn't gotten
married close to the time her father disappeared. His long absences
from her life had never bothered her before. Sarah sighed as she
caught the automatic lie. When would she stop making excuses for
him?

For years Linda, had been her family. They'd
grown up together in one boarding school after another. A few
months ago, Linda had fallen in love, really in love, and Sarah had
realized it was time to step back and give her friend room to start
a new life. Brave thoughts. Lonely thoughts. Linda was married now,
surrounded by her husband's large family.

And Sarah was alone, with an emptiness in her
life only family could fill. Except her father was on the run from
the police, and the only other family she knew of wanted nothing to
do with her.

Everyone had someone, right? Family marked
your place in the world. She blinked back her tears as she stared
at her reflection in the mirror. She wanted to know her place in
the world. She wanted to belong, and her father was the only person
who could give her that.

If she found him and helped him, maybe he'd
help her, too. Maybe he'd help her find herself.

Line up your priorities, Sarah.
She
was going to make herself noticeably visible around town today. If
the men who had tried to run them over last night were holding her
father against his will, somehow, she needed to let him know she
was here and ready to help. That was number one on her list.

Feeling more in control, she slipped off the
stool and headed for the bathroom. Buying something reasonable to
wear on her feet would be nice. And, she closed the bathroom door,
she had to gain mastery over her escalating attraction to Chance.
That definitely ranked higher than shoes.

She rushed through her shower. Chance would
wake up soon, and she preferred avoiding him until she was dressed.
Wrapping a bath towel around her wet body, she pulled the door open
and rushed out of the steamy bathroom.

She skidded to a stop at the sight of Chance
leaning against the kitchen doorway. His big, solid body half
blocked the hallway to her room.

"You make a mean cup of coffee." He raised
his cup and toasted her.

Why did bare feet seem so...intimate? Sarah
studied his lean, bare feet. She dragged her gaze up the length of
his jean clad legs, up to his gray T-shirt. A shirt that should
have been an innocuous piece of clothing, but stretched across his
broad chest, became an enticement to explore what lay beneath.

She hitched her towel up further and rubbed
her damp foot up and down one leg. "I, uh, needed a heavy duty kick
start. I didn't sleep well." She started to edge past him.

He shifted to block her escape, then reached
out and traced the dark smudges under her eyes with his thumb. "I
can see that. Worried about your dad?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
She was worried all right. Worried if she didn't put some distance
between herself and Chance real quick, she'd do something
monumentally stupid. Like running her hand over his T-shirt to see
if his muscles felt as hard as they looked. Or lean those few
tempting inches toward him and rub her cheek against his day old
beard, then slide her fingers into his lush black hair to push back
that persistent lock that hung over his forehead. So much--too much
to worry about.

She inched her head away from his touch. "I
should, uh...." she swallowed and tried again. "I should get
dressed."

"Yeah." His voice dropped to a deep husky
buzz. "You might get cold." He brushed her wet hair back off her
shoulders, then traced her collar bone with one finger.

As if his finger wiped away part of her
carefully constructed reserve, she turned and pressed her cheek
into his wide, calloused palm.

Contact
. She felt frozen in place, yet
at the same time, knew she was a second away from a major meltdown.
Why did it have to be so intense, so breathtakingly real between
them?

"You'll tell me when you've had enough time,
right?" He looked at the goosebumps on her arm where he trailed his
other hand from her wrist up to her elbow.

"Enough time." Her voice sounded thin to her,
squeezed out. It was a wonder she got anything past the lump in her
throat.

Chance's eyes darkened into a turbulent blue.
He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pressed her hand harder
against his mouth. The tip of his tongue flicked against her
palm.

Startled by the electricity that jolted her,
she pulled her hand back, but his grasp held firm. He pressed his
lips where his tongue had touched her.

"Last night. On the couch." His breathe
seared her palm, sent flares of heat up her arm. "You said you
needed more time."

"Right." She felt herself falling in to the
intensity of Chance's stare and yanked her hand away. She may be
running hot and cold, but from the determined look in his eye,
Chance knew exactly what he wanted.

"No." Her back against the wall, she slid
past him. "I mean...you and me...." She backed up to the door of
her room. Why was it so hard to say the words? "It's not a good
idea. There's too much--"

"I get the idea. You should get dressed.
We'll go to the diner for breakfast."

"Good. I was just...." She felt a blush start
at her neck and slowly inch up her throat as she held her towel in
place with one hand and pointed awkwardly into her room with the
other. "I'll get dressed."

"That would be a good idea."

That was her cue to run to safety. If the way
he edged those words out through his teeth didn't scare her, the
heat that glinted through his narrowed eyes certainly did. She
hated for him to see how much he affected her.

"How's your foot?" She tried for casual, but
uncertainty resonated in her voice.

"Agitated." He folded his arms across his
chest. His shirt stretched and molded across his shoulders and
around his solid biceps. "Thanks for putting that ice bag on it
last night. And for the blanket."

She looked at his naked feet again and felt a
tug down low in her belly. No way was she going to start talking
about last night.

"I don't want to push it today." He leaned a
shoulder against the kitchen doorway. "I don't do agitation
well."

He wouldn't. Her eyes skimmed over the
strained muscles in his bare arms. Her guess would be if something
bothered him, he'd take direct action to remedy the situation.

"That's why it's a good idea for you to get
dressed. Right now," he added in a tight voice.

Okay. Cue number two. Take it and run. "Five
minutes." She backed into her bedroom, as if watching him kept him
in place. "Maybe ten."

Yeah, that went well. She slammed her door
shut, raced over to the dresser and pulled out her red bra and her
black panties. No, she stuffed her panties back in the drawer and
shoved everything around looking for the red ones.

Come on. Don't take too long.
She
raised her head and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the
mirror. What is wrong with you? She pressed her hands against both
sides of her head and scrunched her eyes shut.

She hated feeling if she said the wrong word
or moved an inch in the wrong direction, the damage would be
irreparable. She had to get things back into perspective.

Okay. She opened her eyes and calmly sorted
through her underwear until she found the matching red panties. Red
was good. The color gave her confidence, even if no one else saw
it.

She would get dressed and go with Chance to
the diner, and they would do something as ordinary and normal as
have breakfast. That's what she needed. Ordinary. She snorted as
she pulled a dark green turtle shirt over her head. As long as she
was with Chance, she didn't think that was possible.

"Sarah?"

She pulled her leggings up over her hips
before answering. "Give me a few more minutes, okay?"

"Where are your car keys? I thought I'd warm
up the Blazer."

Behind the closed door, she raised her
eyebrows. Chance assuming he would drive was probably typical
behavior for him. She considered arguing, then shrugged her
shoulders. Best to pick her battles.

"In my jacket pocket, I think." She waited
for his reply, but after a minute all she heard was the start of a
motor. Great, he was probably doing that male I-hate-to-wait thing.
She smiled suddenly. This, at least, was ordinary. Why did that
make her feel so good?

Chance ran the snow brush over the windshield
one last time, chucked it into the back seat and squinted at his
watch. Nine-oh-five, not that it mattered what time it was, but he
was hungry, and he had this damned restless energy running through
him that demanded he do something. If his ankle wasn't still
tender, he'd walk to the restaurant and let Sarah bring the Chev.
Except he couldn't leave her alone, because they'd learned last
night a lot could happen between here and the diner.

He studied the wet, grey day and the slush
piles left behind by the snow plow, then whistled through his teeth
as he climbed into the Blazer. What the devil was taking her so
long?

Of course, they'd be at the diner already if
he hadn't pulled that number in the hallway. When he'd gotten up
and heard the water running.... A reluctant smile drifted over his
face. To see what Sarah looked like fresh from a shower had proved
too tempting. He hadn't been disappointed.

He thought about reciting his
what-the-hell-do-you-think-you're-doing lecture, but knew it was
useless. The best he could hope for was that the attraction stayed
purely physical. Love-them-and-leave-them relationships were all he
had time and space for in his life. He scowled out the windshield.
It was all he could afford now, and with Sarah, he had a feeling it
wouldn't be enough.

Which left him pretty much where he'd
started. Keep his hands off the lady and his mind on the job.
Seemed like he'd been telling himself that from the minute he'd
seen her in New York.