Bad Boy of New Orleans Read online

He wasn't hurting her, but the subdued force of his hand was intimidating, and strangely exciting. So were his words. She didn't hear the accusation in them she'd expected, but the underlying command was just short of domination. The force of his touch, his nearness, his penetrating gaze boring into hers suddenly threatened to swallow her whole.

  In a surge of self-protection Micah jerked her chin away, refusing to meet his eyes a moment longer.

  "Please leave."

  "Look at me and say that, then maybe I'll believe you."

  Micah forced her eyes to meet his once more for a brief, agonizing moment. "The answer is no," she said, her voice sounding like a plea in her own ears.

  "You say no. Why do I get the feeling you're lying to me? To yourself? Don't ever try to take deception up for a living, Micah. You're lousy at it."

  "Too bad you're not."

  Micah regretted the words as soon as they were out. For so brief an instant she wondered if she had imagined it, she could have sworn she saw him grimace.

  "He really did a number on you, didn't he?" Chance laughed then, a little unpleasantly, and she decided the moment of vulnerability had been in her imagination after all.

  Before she could reply, Chance reached down and opened the door, stepping back to swing it out. She got in quickly, needing to get away as fast as she could before doing something totally insane—like giving into the urgent voice, the one without reason, that cried out for her to take the risk.

  Chance bent down so his head was level with hers. "A little more time, Micah? I've waited years, what's a few more weeks?"

  He studied her face then, and Micah did her best to shut him out, not to acknowledge the exhilaration that came with his nearness, or the acute, unwanted things he was doing to her inside and out. She felt confined by her own emotions, and the tension between them was stretched so taut, she expected to hear something snap.

  Then for a frozen, heart-stopping moment he bent close as though he meant to kiss her.

  Micah heard her own breath hiss through her teeth as Chance fastened her seat belt.

  "You can run, Micah," he whispered, his face scant inches from hers. "You can run as fast and as hard as those sweet, long legs can take you, but in the end you'll still run to me. Because I'll be there every which way you turn. And Micah," he touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers, and she felt the jolt of that touch down to the pit of her stomach. "Remember. When you've got no one else to go to, you know where to find me."

  Micah couldn't bear to look into his searching gaze a moment longer. She shut her eyes against him and turned the key hard in the ignition, revving the engine.

  She heard the heavy thud of his own door over the throbbing pulse pounding against her temples. His engine purred, and she opened her eyes against her will, stealing a last, furtive glance in the rearview mirror. His darkened window slid down in a smooth, gliding motion. Too quick for her to look away, he tilted his head and raised a brow. Then with a casual wave he took off in his sleek black car.

  A Lamborghini, she reflected wryly. It suited the man—fast and used to owning the road, nudging out anything that got in its way.

  Like Chance.

  He had been known to be cruel, ruthless. A man, Micah thought, who some believed had no capacity for tenderness, for love. She could almost believe that, although she knew otherwise. She needed to believe that, and she could. As long as she didn't remember...

  Chapter 2

  Ian Fields peered at her over the rim of his bifocals, his pot belly hidden behind the mammoth banker's desk. Micah sat in silence while his voice droned on from what seemed a very great distance. She was relieved that his shocking news had at least stunned the tears right out of her.

  "I'm sorry, Ian. Did you ask me something?"

  "I asked if you had a job yet?"

  She shook her head and laughed with a cynicism that wasn't in her nature. "I've been looking. There seems to be a shortage of jobs for sociology majors without any experience. Or 'purveyors of line antiques' whose century-old family business went belly up five years after she inherited it. Other than that, social position and volunteer work don't seem to count for much in the employment line."

  Ian wrinkled his forehead in concentration. "Do you type? Take dictation? Any secretarial experience?"

  She blew the air between her lips in a sound of disgust. "If I could have a dollar for every time I've been asked that question in the last month, I wouldn't be asking you for a loan. And I wouldn't be trying to start my own business."

  "Collateral?"

  "Just what's on the loan application—my car. I didn't want to list the house." Micah almost wished he'd ordered her out the door several minutes ago. At least then she wouldn't have to endure this conversation.

  "That's good. After all, it did belong to your grandparents, and the bank could take it away if you didn't make your payments."

  "Which apparently makes no difference either way. You won't lend me the money."

  Slowly, firmly, Ian shook his head. "As hard as it is for me to be telling you this, it's just the facts. A bank is a business, not a charity."

  Micah cleared her throat, the word trying to crawl its way back up. Charity. She, who hadn't dreamed of asking for anything once in her whole life, who had been raised to wear her pride like a mantle of honor—she did not take charity.

  Abruptly she stood up, grabbing her purse off the floor. Very stiffly, Micah offered her hand. Ian rose to his feet and accepted the brief handshake, visibly relieved she was leaving.

  "Thank you, Mr. Fields. I believe you've made your position quite clear, so I won't take up any more of your time. Good day."

  She swung around, her back as rigid as a military cadet's, and started for the door.

  "Micah, wait! Don't leave like this." Ian came around the desk as quickly as his girth allowed. He caught up with her and placed a restraining hand over her arm. "Maybe we could work something out. A personal loan... some kind of understanding between us."

  She must have misunderstood him, misinterpreted the inflection in his voice that sent instinctive chills of revulsion up her spine. Then she looked down at his pudgy hand stroking her arm and removed it from his touch with a feeling of utter disgust. She risked a glance into his face, hoping to see the jovial, benign old man she had known for so long, wanting to find that she had imagined the whole episode.

  Something glittered behind the glasses he wore. It was a look that even in her limited experience Micah recognized.

  "Keep the loan," she said coldly, though she couldn't keep her voice from shaking. "I don't take charity. And I'm not collateral."

  Quickly then, Micah strode out the door and closed it firmly behind her.

  "I can handle this," she said aloud to herself. What had just happened, didn't happen. It couldn't have.

  Although she knew it had.

  She hurried on, wanting to get away as quickly as possible.

  Several people greeted her, but the best she could do was nod her head while she kept walking fast, then faster, trying not to think any further than reaching her car.

  "Micah."

  Chance.

  She quickened her pace, unable to look at him, much less return his greeting.

  He grabbed her arm and brought her up short.

  "Let go, Chance." The anger, the anguish was too close to the surface, and right now she didn't even care if he heard it.

  "Did you hear me?" she said through clenched teeth. "I said, 'Let... Go.' "

  An immediate, uncanny understanding registered in his eyes. "What happened?" he demanded gruffly.

  "What happened? Oh, nothing. Just that I found out Jonathon withdrew the last of my inheritance the week before he died. Just that he had credit and I didn't because I was too naive, too damned ignorant to realize I had to sign some stupid papers to—"

  "Micah, don't." His voice was firm but quiet, a commanding contrast to her rising rage.

  "Don't what?" she flung out, managing t
o keep her voice lowered in spite of the urge to yell. "Don't get upset because it makes no difference I've had an account here for years, or that my parents, even my grandparents, did business with these... these jerks before I was even born? Oh, and let's not forget that above all, this is a business. Not a charity."

  Chance at least had the decency to appear stunned. And then she noticed he hadn't let go yet. In fact, he was tightening his hold and starting to escort her out of the bank as he spoke with a concern that even in her agitated state was unmistakable.

  "For the love of... Micah, what in the world happened in there? I've never seen you so upset. So help me, if anyone's been mistreating you, I'll—"

  "You'll what? Punch their lights out? Withdraw your money and give up your seat on the board of directors? Save yourself the trouble, Chance. It won't make a damned bit of difference. The only thing that's going to change is me."

  They were outside and she whirled around, palm flush against her chest. Her eyes snapped emerald fire, and without the restraint of an audience, she gave in to the impulse to raise her voice.

  "Look at me, Chance. Twenty-eight years old, and with nothing to show for it. I've got less now than I had ten years ago. Well, I'm tired of going through life like a helpless, simpering fool without the ability to stand on my own two feet—needing my family, or a man to keep me financially secure. And obviously there's plenty out there happy to do just that as long as I'm willing to pay with interest. Not money, of course. Just sexual favors."

  Chance's features changed before her eyes. Something very hard and mean and dark was carved into his face, as though he was suddenly cast in granite.

  "Has some man tried to come on to you like that?" he demanded harshly.

  "I—" Her voice dropped to a whisper.

  Caution sounded in her head. Chance was ready to make an ugly situation into a field of carnage. He wouldn't just tell Ian to back off, he'd draw blood then drown him in it. As much as she'd like to see Ian brought to task, she would not be responsible for his ruin.

  "Answer me, Micah." Chance caught her arms in a steely grip and brought his face close to hers. His brows were drawn together and his teeth were clenched.

  "No," she said. "No one. I was just upset, that's all."

  "I don't believe you. If someone's been hitting on you, you'd better tell me. Now."

  "I don't have to tell you anything, Chance Renault. Now take your hands off me, because if anyone's been hitting on me, it's you."

  This time he flinched, Micah was sure of it. She had wronged him, and she knew it. She felt herself cringe inside for hurting this man she had loved above all others. This man she must now avoid above all others.

  "I'll see you to your car," he said in a tight voice. "Where are you parked?"

  Micah looked away, unable to meet his gaze a moment longer. She saw her BMW a few cars down, and Chance followed her train of vision.

  He loosened his hold and led her over to her car in silence.

  Micah let herself in, still not risking another glance at Chance.

  "When you're through being mad at the world in general," he said, leaning down, "and me in particular, call me. Or come see me. Morning, evening, middle of the night. I don't care when, because I'll be waiting. For you, Micah. It's always been you and no matter how many times you turn me away, I'll never forget the way your mouth tastes, or how it felt when you took me inside and wrapped your legs around me and told me you loved me."

  She gasped, suddenly speechless.

  "I thought that would get your attention." She looked away quickly, and his face hardened with resolution.

  "Oh, you can try to forget it, Micah. You can pretend it never happened. But it did. It was the best thing that had ever happened to me then, and nothing's come close since. Only don't take too much longer, Micah. Twelve years is a long time, and even I have my limits."

  He touched her hair then, grazed his fingertips over her flushed cheek, letting them linger. He could feel her muscles tighten beneath his touch, and suddenly he jerked away, fighting the urge to haul her out of the car and kiss her as he longed to do. Without a backward glance, he strode toward the bank.

  * * *

  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.