Читать книгу Cinderella and the Playboy / The Texan's Happily-Ever-After: Cinderella and the Playboy / The Texas Billionaire's Baby - Lois Dyer Faye, Karen Rose Smith - Страница 9

Chance took Jennifer’s hand and led her up the stairs, then down the hall to his bedroom.

The clatter of nails on the polished oak floors below was followed by a loud bark.

“That’s Butch,” Chance reassured her.

Jennifer’s eyes widened at the size of the dog racing down the hallway toward them. The black and tan rottweiler skidded to a stop and sat, panting up at Chance with what looked like an ear-to-ear grin.

“I think he’s glad you’re home,” she said, unconsciously inching behind Chance.

“I think you’re right.” He tugged her forward and into the bedroom. “I’m going to put him in the kitchen with food and water. I’ll be right back.” He bent, his mouth taking hers with heated possession. Then he disappeared into the hall, the big dog by his side, tail wagging.

Her legs unsteady, Jennifer sat on the edge of the bed, drawing a deep breath into oxygen-starved lungs. She’d barely gotten her bearings when Chance returned. He strode across the room and caught her hands, drawing her to her feet and into his arms. Her wrap slid to the floor in a pool of red silk at her feet, her small evening bag joining it.

Chance cupped her face in his hands, his gaze intent.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about you being here—in my room. And in my bed.”

He brushed kisses over her jawline, cheeks, temples. Jennifer’s eyes drifted closed and his lips moved softly over her lashes and against her sensitive skin. Just that quickly, she fell back into the haze of need and desire so abruptly interrupted moments before.

She threaded her fingers into the thick, silky dark hair at the nape of his neck and urged him closer until his lips met hers.

Heat built, quickly becoming a firestorm as the kiss turned urgent. Without taking his mouth from hers, Chance lowered the zipper at the skirt of her dress. The backless gown had a sewn-in bra and his fingers stroked over the bare skin of her back.

Jennifer reluctantly lowered her arms from around his neck, a quick shrug sending the loosened gown free to pool at her feet. She knew a moment of self-consciousness when Chance stepped back, his dark eyes searing as he swept her from head to toe with one swift glance. She wore only a tiny pair of red lace bikini panties, thigh-high sheer hose and the red stiletto heels.

“Damn, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, bending to brush a quick, hard kiss against her mouth before taking a step back again.

His gaze focused on hers, he stripped his tie loose and dropped it on the floor, shrugged out of his tux jacket and tossed it behind him.

He caught her waist in his hands and drew her nearer.

“Unbutton my shirt,” he instructed, his voice husky with arousal. His thumbs moved in slow circles, as if he was unable to stop caressing her.

Reassured, Jennifer took only seconds to slip the black studs free. When she finished, Chance took them from her cupped hand and dropped them on the nightstand before holding up his hand. Jennifer unfastened the cuff links, one by one, and dropped them on the pile of studs. Chance immediately shrugged out of the shirt, pulling her flush against him, his hands threading into her hair to tilt her face up to his. When his mouth settled over hers, Jennifer sank into the sensation of his soft lips, gentle and demanding all at once.

The hard muscles of his bare chest teased her sensitive breasts, the fabric of his tux slacks faintly rough against her thighs. And his lips on hers sent desire throbbing through her veins.

She murmured incoherently and Chance laid her back on the bed before he stood, toeing off his shoes, pulling off his socks, unzipping and shoving his pants and boxer shorts down his legs. He bent and pulled open the drawer in the bedside table, ripped open a packet and a second later, rolled on protection. Then he leaned over her, slipping his thumbs under the narrow bands of red lace on her hips to tug her panties down her legs. He dropped the bit of lace and silk on the floor behind him before bending to press a kiss against the faint outward curve of her belly.

Jennifer gasped at the heated brush of his mouth against her sensitive skin. He stroked his tongue over the indentation of her belly button and she moaned. Frantic to have him closer, she tugged at his arms, fingers clutching the hard muscles of his biceps to urge him nearer.

He surged on top of her, his mouth taking hers with urgency, one knee nudging hers apart to make space for him. Then he was inside her. Jennifer cried out, drowning in pleasure and need.

It had been too long for her and, all too soon, Chance drove her over the edge.

Sated and drowsy, she opened her eyes and found him gazing at her, a slow smile curved the sensual line of his mouth.

“I’m guessing it was good.” His words weren’t a question but she nodded, too satisfied and boneless to speak, nonetheless.

“Let’s try it again,” he murmured against her mouth.

And a moment later, despite being certain she couldn’t move a muscle, Jennifer was again burning with heat, twisting urgently beneath his mouth, hands and the steady thrust of his powerful body.

Just after midnight, hunger lured them out of bed and downstairs to raid the refrigerator. Dressed only in Chance’s white tux shirt, the long tails hitting her at mid-thigh and sleeves rolled to her elbows, Jennifer perched on a tall stool and propped her elbow on the island countertop, leaning her chin on her hand. The kitchen was beautifully appointed and everywhere she looked, something drew her eye. But after a quick glance around the room, her gaze returned with fascination to Chance. Grey boxer shorts hung low on his hips as he bent to peer into the refrigerator. His powerful shoulders and chest were bare as were his thighs and long legs. Despite the long hours they’d just spent in the bedroom upstairs and although she’d felt sated and content only moments earlier, heat stirred in her belly once again. She shivered as she contemplated running her palms over his back while his weight pinned her to the bed.

“How do you feel about spaghetti and cheesecake?”

Her eyes widened and she straightened. “Yum. What kind of cheesecake?”

He turned to look at her over his shoulder. “Regular, I guess, except it has chocolate on the top.”

“Even better,” she said promptly.

He grinned at her, eyes warming. “You like chocolate?”

“Of course, who doesn’t?” she responded.

“I definitely do. The local café has chocolate crepes so good they can make a grown man cry. We’ll get you some for brunch tomorrow.” He turned back to the refrigerator and moments later, nudged the door closed with his hip because his hands were full of food containers.

“Here, let me help.” She jumped down from the counter and hurried to take a plate of cheesecake from him. He’d balanced it on top of a deep blue casserole dish, where it tilted and wobbled precariously.

“Thanks.” Chance slid the casserole onto the tiled counter and removed the glass lid. He stirred the red sauce and spaghetti noodles and popped the dish into the microwave, set the timer and closed the door.

“I think we should seriously consider cutting a bite of cheesecake while we wait for the spaghetti,” Jennifer told him, eyeing the swirls of dark chocolate on top of the cake.

“Sure, why not.” He took a knife and a fork out of a drawer and joined her, bracketing her against the counter with his arms and body. “You cut.” He laid the utensils on the countertop on each side of the cheesecake and bent to nuzzle his face against her nape. His hands settled on her hipbones.

Jennifer closed her eyes, her body going boneless as she melted back against him. His hands slipped beneath the hem of the white shirt and stroked upward, over her belly and midriff to cup her breasts.

“Ohhhh, that’s not fair,” she moaned as her nipples pebbled against his fingers and her hips settled into the cove of his. She tilted her head back against his shoulder, the thick silk of his hair brushing her throat as he bent over her to press his mouth against the upper curve of her breast.

She twisted in his hold, slipping her arms around his neck, her body pressed flush against his as she tugged his mouth down to hers. His hands cupped her bottom, lifting her higher, and the kiss turned hotter, more carnal.

Behind them, the microwave alarm buzzed loudly as the timer went off.

Chance eased back from the kiss and lifted his head.

“Want to skip the spaghetti and cheesecake and make love on the countertop?” he asked, his voice rasping with need.

Jennifer was torn but before she could decide, her stomach growled. They both laughed.

“That’s it. Food wins,” he declared, pressing one last hard kiss against her mouth and stepping back. “First we’ll feed you, then we’ll get naked again. Let’s go back to bed.”

He reached behind her and picked up the cheesecake plate, handing it to her with the knife and fork. “You carry this, I’ll get the spaghetti.”

“What about plates? And don’t we need another fork?” she asked, still disoriented and flushed.

“Nope.” He used hot pads to remove the casserole of spaghetti and closed the door with his elbow. “We’ll share. But we might need napkins. Grab a couple out of the drawer by your hip, will you?”

Jennifer found snowy-white linen napkins and preceded him down the hall and up the stairs to his bedroom.

Chance tossed the sheet to the bottom of the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing with a thick blue towel. He spread it on the center of the bed and set the casserole on it.

“We’re having a picnic,” she said with delight. “I love picnics and I’ve never had one in bed before.”

“The mattress is more comfortable than the floor.” Chance crooked his finger at her. “And when we’re done eating, the bed’s more comfortable for making love.”

She laughed, balancing the cheesecake in one hand and utensils in the other as she climbed onto the bed, shuffling on her knees to the far side of the folded towel. “Plus,” she told him, setting down the cheesecake, “there are no ants. Always a good thing.”

Chance grabbed her free hand and tugged, tumbling her toward him. He threaded his fingers into her hair and kissed her, his mouth hot. “I love the way you find the good in everything. You’re easy to please.”

“You offered me cheesecake with chocolate.” She raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I be pleased?”

“Lots of women would be offended if they weren’t offered champagne and caviar.”

“Hmm.” She eyed him. “I think you’ve been dating the wrong women.”

His eyes laughed at her. “I think you’re right.”

He stabbed the fork into the spaghetti, twirled it, and lifted the pasta to her mouth. “Tell me if it’s hot enough.”

Obediently, she parted her lips and took the bite.

“How is it?” he asked.

“Excellent,” she told him. “Try it.”

They took turns, Chance insisting on feeding her.

When the bowl was empty, Jennifer rolled off the bed and carried the casserole dish to the long oak entertainment center across from the foot of the bed. A flat-screen TV was mounted on a wall bracket and on the polished oak surface below was a stack of books.

“You have a copy of the new Tom Clancy book,” she exclaimed. “I didn’t even know it was out.”

“It’s not. I have a friend at the publishing house and he sent me a copy before the release date.”

Jennifer tilted the stack of books, reading the titles. “You have mystery, suspense and a couple of nonfiction titles.” She picked up one of the books and read the back cover copy. “What other genres do you like? Do you read romantic suspense?”

He frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever read one. Unfortunately, I have to read a lot of medical journals so often my fiction reading has to take second place behind articles.”

“I know what you mean. Textbooks have to come first with me, too.”

“Come here.” Chance patted the bed beside him. “We still have cheesecake to eat.” Jennifer put down the stack of books and walked back to the bed, tucking the shirttails neatly beneath her as she sat.

“I bet you were a cute little girl,” he told her as he cut the cheesecake with the fork.

“What makes you think so?” she teased, opening her mouth to let him feed her.

“Because you sat down as if your mother trained you to tuck in your skirt and sit properly,” he told her with a grin.

“It was my grandmother,” she said without thinking, after she’d swallowed.

“I bet you were your grandmother’s favorite granddaughter,” he told her.

She fed him the bite, fascinated by the movement of strong throat muscles as he swallowed. “I was her only granddaughter,” she murmured absently, trailing her fingertips down his throat to his shoulder.

“You’re an only child, too?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes.” She forced a small smile, deciding to confirm what he probably already knew—that her background was light-years away from what had clearly been his privileged home life. “The only child of divorced parents. My mother declared she didn’t want any more children. She was far too busy meeting new men and having fun. I heard that my father remarried several times and had more children but I’ve never met any of my half-siblings.” She kept her gaze on the cheesecake, precisely cutting another bite. “I doubt my childhood was anything like yours.”

“Hey,” he murmured. His hand cupped her chin, tilting her face gently up until her gaze met his. His dark eyes searched hers. “Except for wishing you were happy, it doesn’t matter to me what your parents were like or where you spent your childhood, Jennifer. All I care about is that you’re here with me now.”

Emotion flooded her. She knew there couldn’t be a future for them. All her time over the next few years was already committed to work, school and Annie. But for this night, she could forget about tomorrow and responsibilities. And if she felt things with Chance she’d never felt with anyone before, she’d worry about that tomorrow, too.

“All we have is right now,” she whispered, lowering the fork to the plate so she could slip her arms around him. “Let’s not waste a moment.”

His dark eyes turned hot. Without releasing her, he shoved the towel, cheesecake and utensils onto the floor and bore her backward, his mouth taking hers as his weight settled over her.

Jennifer welcomed the instant rise of desire that swept over her, erasing all thought of tomorrow. There was only this moment and the heavy, powerfully muscled body on hers as Chance’s fierce passion carried her over the edge once again.

Jennifer was half-awake the following morning when Chance left the bed. He bent over, kissed her, chuckled and with a pat on her bottom covered by the sheet, left her to disappear into the bathroom. She smiled, half opening her eyes and noting the bright sunshine pouring through the open drapes. Then she yawned and rolled over.

It seemed like only a moment before Chance came back into the bedroom, several pieces of clothing tossed over his arm.

“Hey, sleepy woman, wake up! I promised you crepes for breakfast.” He tossed the clothes on the end of the bed. “My mother left some things in the guest room the last time she was here,” he told her, dropping onto the bed to stretch out beside her. “The slacks might be a little short but they’re bound to fit better than a pair of my jeans.”

The bed dipped under his weight, rolling Jennifer toward him. He grinned and caught her, tugging the sheet lower until she was bare from her tousled hair to her belly button.

Chance’s head bent and he trailed his lips over the upper curve of her breasts. “Mmm,” he muttered. “You taste as good as you look.”

Jennifer buried her fingers in the silky thickness of his hair, cradling his head to hold him close as her eyelids drifted closed.

“If we’re going out, I have to shower and get dressed,” she protested drowsily, smiling as he growled in protest. She closed her fingers into fists and tugged his hair, the strands sliding like rough black silk against her fingertips and palms.

Reluctantly, he obeyed her silent demand and lifted his head to look down at her. “We could skip going out and order in—eat Chinese food in bed,” he suggested.

“No.” She laughed softly. “I’m starving and those chocolate crepes sound wonderful.” And she wanted to see a bit more of the pieces of his day-to-day life. The need to know him better, to learn more about the man behind the handsome face and powerful male body, grew stronger with each moment she spent in his company.

“All right,” he grumbled good-naturedly, his hands trailing over her midriff as he rolled onto his side, releasing her so she could slide out of bed. “We’ll take Butch for a walk and get brunch at the café. Then we’ll come back and pick up where we’re leaving off. Deal?”

“Deal.” She flashed him a sassy grin, caught up the pile of clothing from the foot of the bed and slipped into the bathroom. For a moment, she leaned back against the door, eyes closed, a smile on her lips while she reveled in the sheer happiness bubbling through her veins.

A half hour later, Jennifer had showered, pulled her hair up into a high ponytail, smoothed on the lipstick and mascara she’d tucked into her evening bag the night before, and was dressed. She paused to run a quick, assessing glance over her reflection in the long mirrors bracketing the door.

The pale pink silk slacks fit well except for being a trifle short in the leg, the hem hitting her at her anklebone. Which is actually a good thing, she thought, since if the designer label slacks had been longer, she would have surely tripped over them while wearing the strappy red heels. The white silk tank top was snug and since she didn’t have a bra to wear, she’d pulled on a clean white shirt from Chance’s closet. It was much too big, of course, but after rolling the sleeves to her elbow, she decided it worked well enough to conceal her braless state.

In fact, she thought, turning to look over her shoulder at her back view, the outfit was rather chic. The slim-cut slacks hugged her thighs below the hem of the loose white shirt, and the red heels added a touch of Vogue-model fashion to the outfit.

Thanks to Chance’s mother leaving clothes in his guestroom, Jennifer reflected, she was reasonably covered. She’d had a few qualms about the clothing, suspecting it might have really belonged to one of Chance’s girlfriends. But the silk slacks and tank top had a small label with “A. Demetrios” beautifully embroidered in blue and gold thread. Chance had mentioned his parents, John and Anastasia, and Jennifer was confident the “A. Demetrios” was surely his mother.

She left the bathroom, a spring to her step, and went searching for Chance. She found him in the kitchen, reading a newspaper spread out over the island countertop.

“Hey.” He looked up when she entered, his eyes lighting up as he swept her from head to toe and back again.

“Hi.” Suddenly self-conscious under his intent stare, she glanced down. “I’m glad your mother left her slacks and top here. Are you sure she won’t mind my borrowing them?”

“I’m positive,” he told her, abandoning the paper on the counter. He reached her in two long strides and wrapped her close, pressing a quick, hard kiss against her mouth. When he lifted his lips from hers, his eyes were molten. “And if we don’t leave the house right now, I’m going to carry you back upstairs. Come on. Let’s feed you. You’re going to need energy when we get home.”

He released her, threaded her fingers through his, and tugged her after him toward the front door.

“Come on, Butch.”

The big dog obeyed Chance’s command with enthusiasm, pushing past them to race down the hall and wait just inside the front door.

Chance took a leash from a peg on the antique coatrack and clipped it onto Butch’s collar, then pulled open the heavy oak door.

Jennifer stepped outside, relishing the balmy air and the quick warmth of sunlight on her bare forearms.

Chance locked the door behind them, pocketing the keys before catching Jennifer’s hand in his, and with Butch leading the way at the end of the leash, they set off down the street.

“I love your neighborhood,” Jennifer told him, taking in the neat facades of town houses and bright flowers filling window boxes. She tilted her face up and spring sunshine warmed her cheeks, filtered through tree leaves.

“Good morning.”

The friendly greeting drew Jennifer’s attention and she smiled hello at the young couple passing by, pushing a stroller with a little boy that babbled excitedly, hands outstretched to Butch.

“Good morning.” Chance nodded at the couple, letting the little boy pat Butch on the nose, then pulling the big dog away before he could lick the toddler’s face.

“Who was that?” Jennifer asked, curious.

“The Carmichaels.” Chance expertly steered Butch around a trio of giggling schoolgirls in jeans and sandals walking toward them, three abreast on the sidewalk. “They moved into the house two doors down from me just before their little boy was born. I met them when I was out walking Butch.”

“Butch seems to be a great ice breaker,” Jennifer commented. “You must meet a lot of people when they stop to pet him.”

“Yeah, I do.” He grinned at her and tugged her nearer, releasing her hand to sling an arm over her shoulder and tuck her close. Their hips bumped companionably as they walked. “Nobody can resist a big, friendly dog.”

Jennifer privately thought it was probably the combination of Butch’s friendliness and Chance’s charm.

“Here we are.” Chance drew Jennifer to a halt outside a small restaurant. “Do you mind sitting outside? I can’t take Butch inside.”

He nodded at the area to their right. Several round wrought-iron tables with colorful red and white umbrellas shading their chairs were clustered along the front of the café, the uneven line two tables deep. Just then a patron exited, the café’s open door releasing a waft of aroma that was mouthwatering.

“Yes, let’s.” Jennifer drew in a deep breath. “It smells fabulous. I can’t believe anyone has the willpower to walk by and not stop to eat.”

Chance bent to brush his lips against her ear. “The food’s great but it doesn’t taste as good as you.”

Jennifer shivered with awareness and felt her skin warm.

His arm tightened in a brief hug before he released her and pulled out a chair at an empty table at one end of the row.

He knotted Butch’s leash around the arm of a chair. “Stay,” he told him as he dropped into the seat.

Butch obligingly lay down between Chance and Jennifer, technically outside the dining area. Ears perked, eyes alight with interest, he watched the diners at the neighboring tables.

The cute young waitress who took their order clearly adored Chance.

“You have another admirer,” Jennifer teased as the teenager disappeared into the restaurant.

“Carrie?” he asked. When Jennifer nodded, he grinned at her. “Nah, I’m helping her brother study for his SATs, that’s all. He’s a bright kid but the family doesn’t have the money to send him to a top-notch med school. If he scores high on the SAT, he’ll have a better shot at scholarships.”

“What a lovely thing for you to do,” she told him. “You’re a surprise, Dr. Demetrios.”

“Why?” he asked, resting his forearms on the tabletop and leaning forward, his gaze searching hers.

“Because you have a reputation as a playboy, which infers you’re shallow. But the more I get to know you, the more complicated you seem.”

He smiled, a slow upward curve of his lips. “I’m not complicated,” he murmured, his voice husky with need. “At the moment, I’ve got only a single interest.”

“And what would that be?” she asked, mesmerized by the heat in his eyes and the sensual curve of his mouth.

“You.” He closed the few inches between them and covered her mouth with his.

The kiss was sweet, slow and filled with heat. Jennifer felt her toes curl as desire moved like languid fire through he veins.

“Um, excuse me.” The hesitant female voice had Chance lifting his head.

“Ah, coffee.” He sat back to give the waitress room to empty her tray, setting steaming coffee cups in front of them and a carafe in the center of the table. “Thanks.”

The fresh-faced teenager smiled shyly in response and whisked away.

Jennifer was disoriented and slightly dizzy from the kiss, while Chance appeared to have gone from arousal to casual friendliness in a matter of seconds.

Determined to match his seemingly unflappable coolness, she sipped her coffee, eyeing him over the rim while she scrambled for casual conversation.

“Did you grow up here in Boston?” she asked, settling for a standard, getting-to-know-you topic.

“No.” He shook his head. “I spent my childhood in upstate New York. I moved here when I took the job at the Armstrong Institute. What about you—did you grow up in Boston?”

“No, I lived in a small town in Illinois until I moved here last year.”

“What made you choose Boston?”

“I had a friend from high school who moved here. She encouraged me to join her. She loved the city, especially all the American historical sites. We used to visit a national historical treasure nearly every weekend.”

“Used to? Why did you stop?”

Jennifer shrugged. “Renee met the man of her dreams and it was love at first sight. They married after dating for three weeks and have been traveling the world ever since. He’s an archeologist and they’re currently living in Central America while he helps excavate a Mayan temple.”

“No kidding?” Chance looked intrigued. “Now there’s a job that sounds interesting.”

Jennifer laughed. “Every guy who hears about Renee’s husband’s job says that. There must be a frustrated adventurer hidden in every male on the planet.”

“Maybe.” He grinned.

The waitress arrived with their food, interrupting their conversation. Jennifer indulged in crepes drizzled with chocolate sauce while Chance tucked into a Spanish omelet. By the time they’d finished eating and had poured a second round of coffee, they were deep in a discussion of movies they’d seen.

“You like chick flicks,” Chance told her. “Most of the movies on your best-of list are romantic comedies.”

“I liked the movie Hunt For Red October and that’s not a chick flick,” Jennifer protested.

“No kidding—you like that movie?” He lifted his brows in surprise. “I’ve seen it about a dozen times.”

“Me, too.” Jennifer sipped her coffee. “Of course,” she added, “the film’s stars are Sean Connery and a young Alec Baldwin. To be honest, I’d be tempted to watch it over again just to see them.”

“So the big attraction isn’t the incredible underwater sub maneuvers or the great suspense plot, it’s the handsome actors?”

She considered the question, eyes narrowed, before nodding firmly. “Pretty much.”

Chance’s face lit with amusement, his deep, rich laughter drawing the attention of nearby diners.

Jennifer suspected her smile was besotted but she couldn’t help it. The sunlight gleamed in his black hair, laugh lines fanning at the corners of his eyes.

His gaze met his and his laughter died.

“Let’s go home,” he said roughly, the curve of his mouth sensual.

“Yes,” she breathed, caught up in the heat that flared between them. “Let’s.”

Jennifer woke slowly, stretching and smiling contentedly at the warmth against her back. A weight lay over her waist, anchoring her to the hard male body she lay tucked against and she realized Chance was curled around her, his arm holding her close.

There was a great deal to like about waking up with a man, she thought with a smile.

She opened her eyes. Just beyond the edge of the white sheet-covered mattress was the oak nightstand with a brass clock, its numbers glowing in the dim bedroom.

Her eyes widened. It was almost four o’clock. And Linda had promised to return Annie to the apartment by 6:00 p.m.

Her weekend was over.

She wasn’t ready to let it go. She’d lost track of the number of times they’d made love and yet she wanted more. But reality intruded and she bit her lip, knowing she had no choice.

Carefully, she lifted Chance’s arm and slipped out from beneath his hold. He muttered, protesting, and she froze beside the bed, holding her breath and hoping he wouldn’t waken. Then he shifted, sprawling on his stomach over the place where she’d lain moments before. His eyes remained closed and the tension eased out of his big body as he relaxed, clearly asleep again.

Jennifer lingered a moment, her gaze tracing the beard-shadowed line of his jaw, the black lashes fanning against his olive skin and the sensual curve of his mouth. The white sheet was bunched at his waist, leaving the powerful muscles of his upper body and arms bare.

Reluctant to leave him, she forced herself to turn her back and pad silently into the bathroom where she’d left her borrowed clothes earlier. Dressing quickly, she slipped through the connecting door to the hall and let herself out the front door of Chance’s town house.

As she hurried down the street on her way to the bus stop on the next block, she was assailed by a barrage of memories of the hours spent with Chance.

He was a man she could easily fall in love with, she realized. She hoped fervently that she hadn’t already done so—because she knew there wasn’t, could never be, a future for them together. She reached the end of the block and a bus wheezed to a stop, the doors opening. She climbed the steps, determined to put Chance Demetrios out of her mind.

Whether she could put him out of her heart remained to be seen.

Chance knew the moment he woke that Jennifer was gone. He swept his hand over the sheet but felt no warmth left by her body. He sat up, scrubbing his hands over his face, then tilted his head, listening. The complete silence was broken only by the soft ticking of the bedside clock.

“Damn it,” he said into the stillness. He’d wanted to take her home. He hadn’t counted on being so relaxed and wrung out from making love this morning and last night that he’d sleep through Jennifer’s leaving.

Nails clattered on the oak flooring and Butch nosed the hall door open wider before bounding across the room, tail wagging. He laid his head on the bed, big brown eyes pleading with Chance.

“What?” Chance groaned. “I suppose you want to go out?”

The big rottweiler barked, one sharp, approving sound that made Chance wince.

“Not so loud, buddy,” he muttered. “I’m getting up.”

He tossed back the sheet and sat on the edge of the bed.

Butch barked again and nosed the sheet a few inches from Chance’s hip, burrowing beneath the sheet until his head was out of sight beneath white cotton.

“Hey, cut that out.” Chance tossed the sheet aside. Silver glittered and he pulled the sheet aside to find a necklace peeking out from under the pillow. He grabbed the chain and locket just before Butch could reach it. A low whine rumbled from the dog’s throat and his brown eyes were reproachful. “Oh, come on.” Chance ran his hand over Butch’s head and scratched him behind his ear. “You know this is Jennifer’s. And you know you’re not supposed to have it.”

Butch plopped down on his haunches and eyed the locket, dangling by its chain from Chance’s fingers.

The oval-shaped locket had a delicate latch. Chance felt as if his fingers were giant-size as he carefully maneuvered the tiny mechanism. The locket opened and he held it on his palm. One side held a photograph of a little girl, her impish face smiling up at him. The other half held a tiny curl of auburn hair, gleaming brightly against the silver metal.

Cute kid. I wonder who she is? He ran the pad of his index finger over the small, bright curl. And I wonder if this is her hair?

He had no answers, but he was going to ask Jennifer as soon as he saw her again. There were lots of things he wanted to know about her. Their one date— and the best sex he’d ever shared—had only led him to be more intrigued about her.

Butch whined and nudged his damp nose against Chance’s knee.

“Okay, big guy,” Chance told him. “I’ll let you out.”

He grabbed his jeans from the closet and pulled them on. Then he jogged barefoot down the stairs and through the kitchen to open the back door. Butch barreled happily past him and out into the small backyard.

“I’ve got to teach him better manners,” Chance muttered to himself. He turned back into the kitchen to make coffee—and wondered if Jennifer was thinking of him, as he was thinking of her.

Jennifer stepped out of the silk slacks and folded them atop the hamper. She knew by the label that the slacks had probably cost more than her monthly salary, the nubby raw silk pure tactile pleasure to touch.

I’ll drop them at the cleaners after work tomorrow, she thought. Along with the top. Then I’ll mail them back to Chance.

She pulled the tank off over her head, folding it neatly atop the slacks, before she turned on the sink taps. Cupping her hands, she splashed cool water on her face, reaching blindly for a hand towel. She blotted moisture from her skin before tugging the band from her ponytail. As it pulled free and let her hair tumble about her shoulders, she ran her fingertip over the base of her throat. The gesture was pure habit. She’d worn the locket with Annie’s picture and lock of hair since her daughter was born.

But this time…the chain wasn’t there.

Dismayed, Jennifer stared with consternation at her reflection in the mirror. She knew she’d been wearing it earlier in the day when she’d dressed to go out to brunch. Frowning, she mentally reviewed the afternoon and realized that the last time she’d noticed the locket was after they’d returned to the town house. Chance had rushed her upstairs and stripped off their clothes before tossing her on the bed. He’d joined her immediately and she remembered the slide of cool metal over her skin when Chance’s lips brushed the locket aside, replacing it with his mouth.

Maybe I lost it in his bed, she thought. She hoped the locket had ended up tangled in Chance’s sheets rather than broken and lost on the street or the bus.

She would have to call Chance and ask if he’d found her missing locket. Misgiving warred with delight at the thought. She wasn’t sure she had the fortitude to walk away from him a second time.

The night with Chance was a fairy tale—a few days stolen for herself, Jennifer thought later that evening.

With Annie tucked into bed after telling Jennifer about the fun things she did with Linda’s children, Jennifer walked back into the living room and dropped onto the sofa.

She switched on the television, browsing through channels with the remote control and finally settling on a news station. Dressed in pajama bottoms and a white cotton camisole, she tucked her legs under her and stared blindly at the TV screen. She couldn’t make herself care about the political news or the latest scandal caused by a local state representative.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Chance.

It wasn’t just the sex—which had been amazing. It was his sense of humor, the discovery that they both loved or disliked some of the same movies. They’d argued hotly in defense of book titles the other had merely shrugged over but, each time, the contention had ended with laughter and kisses.

She’d never met anyone like Chance before.

And now that her night with him was over, she had to admit that spending time with him meant more to her than a brief, spicy interlude to her nonexistent dating life.

She had feelings for him. She wasn’t sure exactly what those feelings were, or how deeply they ran, but the ache in her heart wasn’t simple. That nothing could ever grow between them only made her chest hurt more.

There was no possible future between a waitress at the Coach House Diner and a doctor at the Armstrong Fertility Institute. Their lives were too different; the disparity in their background and income too great. She wouldn’t see him anymore, outside the diner.

Jennifer knew it was for the best but somehow the thought of going back to pouring Chance his morning coffee while knowing she’d never be more than a one-time date made her pain grow.

It’s no good yearning for the moon, she told herself stoutly, wiping dampness from her cheeks. I knew when I agreed to go out with him that it was a one-shot deal. No future dates, no building dreams of a relationship.

She switched off the television and the living-room lights, entering her bedroom where the bedside lamp threw a pool of soft white over her solitary bed.

It’s time for Cinderella to go back to her real life, she told herself as she climbed into bed and switched off the lamp. The room was plunged into darkness except for the faint glimmers from the streetlights outside marking the edges of the window blinds.

Resolutely, she closed her eyes but when at last she slept, she dreamed of Chance.

Chance had barely shrugged into his lab coat on Monday when the phone on his desk rang. The caller was Paul Armstrong’s secretary, who relayed a message that he was needed in Paul’s office immediately.

Wondering what could possibly have happened to impact his research funding this time, he left his office and headed down the hall.

He tapped on the half-open door to Paul’s office and stepped inside. “Morning, Paul…Ramona.”

“Good morning, Chance.” Paul leaned against the front of his desk, hands tucked into his slacks pockets. Ramona Tate, the institute’s blonde, blue-eyed public relations expert—and Paul’s fiancée—smiled warmly.

Chance didn’t miss the worry on both their faces, however, and he mentally braced himself. “Is everything all right?”

“I’m afraid not,” Paul said grimly. “There’s no easy way to tell you this so I’ll just say it—a former patient has filed a paternity suit and named you as the father of her baby.”

Chance was stunned. Of all the possible subjects for bad news, this one had never occurred to him.

“That’s crazy,” he said when he could speak. “Totally insane. Who filed the suit?”

“Georgina Appleby.”

Chance bit off a curse.

“I know.” Paul grimaced, shifting to cross his arms across his chest. “The institute is behind you one hundred percent in this, Chance. Whatever we can do to help, we will. Just let us know.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ramona said with sympathy. “The timing of this lawsuit is just terrible. You’ve barely had time to relax after proving how false those outrageous allegations were about funding for your research with Ted.”

“I have no doubt you’ll win the day in this, too,” Paul told him resolutely.

“Thanks.” Chance frowned and raked one hand through his hair, thinking out loud. “I should call my attorney. Has the institute been officially served with copies of the documents?”

“Yes. I had my secretary run a copy for you.” Paul picked up a sheaf of papers and handed them to Chance. He turned back to his desk and picked up a copy of the Boston Herald, passing that over, as well. “The newspapers already have the details.”

Chance took the paper, folded open to the society page. Heavy black marker circled two paragraphs of the gossip column with quotes from Georgina Appleby. “She stops just short of slander,” he said grimly.

“No one who knows you will believe it,” Ramona stated firmly.

“Maybe,” Chance commented, rereading the last paragraph, coldly furious. “I’d like to take this to my attorney, as well.”

“Keep it,” Paul told him. “I read it on the way to work this morning.”

“I’d also like to take a short leave of absence to deal with this,” Chance suggested. “The smear against my reputation is probably unavoidable, at least temporarily, but I don’t want to damage the institute’s image with bad personal publicity.”

“Take as much time as you need,” Paul said.

“Thanks. My hope is that my attorney can expedite arrangements for an HLA paternity test. Once the results are back, I can prove the case has no merit and I can come back to work. Without being followed by reporters and bad press,” he added, shaking his head.

“Sounds good,” Paul replied.

“I didn’t get to see much of you at the Founder’s Ball,” Chance noted in a purposely abrupt change of subject.

“We saw you with a stunningly lovely blonde woman,” Ramona commented, following his lead. “But you left before we had a chance to learn who she was.”

“I’m keeping her identity a secret,” Chance told her with a faint grin.

“Oh, yeah?” Paul lifted an eyebrow, the look he gave Chance speculative.

“Yeah.” Chance didn’t respond further, guessing that Paul had picked up on the possessive note in his voice. “How’s your mother, Ramona?”

Ramona brightened, exchanging a quick glance with Paul. “My half sister, Victoria, has agreed to donate bone marrow so I’m very hopeful that her prognosis will improve.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Chance told her. “Very glad.”

“Dr. Armstrong?” Paul’s secretary tapped on the door panel, then peered into the room. “I’m so sorry to intrude, but Senator Johnson is on the line. He wants to talk to you about a potential donation from a constituent.”

“I’m sorry, Chance. I have to take this call.” Paul pushed away from the desk.

“Of course. I’ll let you know about any developments.” Chance headed for the door.

“Take care,” Ramona called after him. “Remember, we’re here if there’s anything we can do to help.”

“I appreciate that.” Chance lifted a hand in reply and left the office, striding down the hallway and back to his own office.

He shrugged out of his lab coat and pulled on his leather jacket. Within seconds, he left the office with the sheaf of lawsuit papers in his hand. His partner, Ted, was at his desk and apparently deeply immersed in a report when Chance paused in the doorway.

“Hey, Ted.” He waited until Ted looked up. “I’ll be out of the office for a few days but if anything comes up, you can reach me on my cell phone.”

Ted blinked in surprise, frowning. “What’s up? You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Chance lifted the lawsuit documents. Ted’s gaze flicked to the papers and he frowned as he looked back at Chance. Before he could ask, Chance interrupted him. “Long story. I’ll explain later.”

“All right.”

Chance nodded and turned to leave, stopping when Ted called after him. “Hey, if you need me, call.”

Chance glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “I will. A guy never knows when he might need help disposing of a body. I’ll keep you on speed dial.”

Ted snorted and Chance strode off down the hall.

It was good to know he had friends who would stand by him if he needed help.

Not that he’d need help with this, he thought with a dismissive frown. Georgina Appleby was a young woman with emotional problems. Even if he’d wanted to compromise his professional principles to sleep with her, her emotional vulnerability would have stopped him.

He’d been concerned about her stability when she’d originally come to him for help with fertility issues. His doubts had deepened when her actions became erratic. He’d referred her to a fellow physician who specialized in patients with her particular combination of conception problems and emotional issues.

Though he’d known she was emotionally unstable, it hadn’t occurred to him to consider whether she was mentally unbalanced.

Which is what she must be to file a paternity suit when a blood test will easily prove I’m not the father of her child, he thought grimly. He could only imagine the kind of lawyer who would agree to take such a frivolous case.

He dialed his attorney’s office while walking to his car and having confirmed a meeting within a half hour, drove away from the institute. The route to his attorney’s office took him down the street, past the Coach House Diner.

Damn it, he thought with frustration. He didn’t want to spend the day fighting another unfounded allegation against his good name. He’d been scheduled to run a test analysis in the research lab today. Then he’d planned to order a dozen roses and knock on Jennifer’s door to deliver them in person. The night she’d spent in his bed had rocked his world and he was uncharacteristically unsure of her. He felt driven to cement their connection as soon as possible.

He smacked the heel of his hand against the leather-covered steering wheel in frustration. He had to get rid of the paternity suit and return to his normal life—and Jennifer.

The meeting with his attorney went well. He advised Chance to go home and search through his patient files to identify all contact with Georgina Appleby. The attorney wanted details of each time she’d had an appointment with Chance.

He had also been adamant that Chance maintain a low profile—and specifically told him not to date anyone, warning him that he was likely to be followed by reporters in search of fuel for the gossip columns.

Their conversation convinced Chance that he needed to protect Jennifer from unwanted publicity—which meant that just as he would stay away from the Armstrong Fertility Institute offices, he also had to stay away from the diner.

Fortunately, an appointment for the HLA blood test was set within the week and once the results were back, Chance knew he’d be cleared—and free to see Jennifer again.

Still, putting his plans on hold, though necessary to protect her, didn’t sit well.

He dialed her home number from his cell phone but reached her answering machine. Finally, unwilling to explain the situation without speaking to her in person, he left a brief explanation telling her that something important had come up and he would be in touch in about a week.

Edgy and restless, frustrated that he hadn’t been able to talk to Jennifer in person, he drove home. His neighborhood was bursting with spring color—pale green leaves unfurling on trees and window boxes blooming with brilliant purple, blue, yellow and pink flowers. Although he’d chosen to buy his town house in part because of the charming neighborhood, today Chance barely noticed his surroundings. He was preoccupied with how much he’d wanted to talk to Jennifer in person. If he couldn’t see her, he needed to hear her voice.

He tossed his car keys on the kitchen’s tiled island countertop and switched on the coffeemaker. Within moments, the aroma of brewing coffee filled the air. Just as the timer beeped to announce the coffee was ready to pour, the door knocker sounded, its rapping echoing through the entryway and into the kitchen.

Chance strode down the hallway and pulled open the door. A distinguished, silver-haired man in a gray suit stood on the porch, a chauffeur-driven, long black town car parked at the curb behind him.

“Hi, Dad.” Chance stepped back, holding the door wide. “This is a surprise—I didn’t know you were in town.”

“I have a dinner meeting with a group of investors tonight.” Jonathon Demetrios walked past his son and into the oak-floored entryway. “Since I have a free hour, I thought I’d drop by to say hello.”

Not bloody likely, Chance thought, wondering what had really brought his father to Boston. Whatever it was, he knew from past experience that it was easier to let John Demetrios have his say, then usher him out the door as quickly as possible.

“Come into the kitchen,” he said aloud. “I just made a fresh pot of coffee.”

When his father was seated on one of the chrome and black suede stools, a mug of coffee on the counter in front of him, Chance picked up his own steaming mug.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here, Dad,” he said, leaning his hips against the cabinet counter behind him.

“All right.” John took a newspaper clipping from his inner jacket pocket and slid it across the counter toward Chance. “Your mother and I are concerned about this woman you’re dating.”

Chance picked up the clipping, his gaze narrowing over the black and white picture. The photographer for the Boston newspaper’s society page had captured him dancing with Jennifer. There was no use denying the expression on his face or hers—the photo highlighted the smoldering attraction between them.

“Nice snapshot,” he commented.

“That’s not the point,” John said impatiently, frowning.

“What is the point, Dad?”

“The point,” John urged with emphasis, “is that this young woman is a waitress at a local diner. Certainly not the kind of person my heir should be escorting to an important social event.”

Chance bit off a curse. He didn’t bother asking his father how he knew Jennifer was a waitress and where she worked. John Demetrios had a staff of attorneys at his beck and call. He’d probably had an investigator’s detailed report about Jennifer on his desk within twenty-four hours of seeing the photo. He scrubbed his hand down his face and eyed his father wearily. “Don’t tell me that you’re here to deliver the proper-behavior-for-the-Demetrios-heir lecture again, Dad. I thought you realized I won’t listen after the last time we did this.”

“The last time you dated inappropriate women was your senior year in college,” John snapped. “In the intervening years, your mother and I assumed you’d matured and now had better sense. You have obligations, Chance, whether you want to acknowledge them or not.”

Chance held up his hand, palm out. “Don’t, Dad. Just…don’t.” He drew a deep breath to keep from raising his voice. “Who I date is my business. And I will never choose a woman based on a set of antiquated rules created by you and Mom. Certainly not based on whether the woman is suitable for a Demetrios heir. And when I marry—if I ever marry,” he added when his father flushed with anger, his mouth opening to speak, “I’ll choose the woman. And it’s not likely she’ll be someone from the handful of families approved by you and Mom.”

“You have an obligation to the family name,” John spoke tightly. “For years, your mother and I have been tolerant of your rebelliousness, hoping you’d eventually take your proper place…”

“Father.” Chance held on to his temper with an effort. “My proper place is helping my patients. I’m a doctor. I’m never going to live the life of a trust fund baby. I told you and Mother when I entered med school—my first obligation will always be to my patients.”

“I suppose this waitress you’re dating thinks she’s struck gold,” John condemned scathingly. “Not only is she dating a doctor, but you’re a Demetrios.”

Chance considered the older man while he fought to hold on to his temper. “You know,” he said slowly, “I doubt she even knows who the Demetrios family is. Or that she would give a damn.”