Читать книгу The Millionaire's Christmas Wish - Shawna Delacorte - Страница 8

Two

Marcie’s eyes widened with shock. His devilish good looks, teasing grin, and tantalizing closeness momentarily drove every intelligent thought right out of her head. She quickly regained her composure. Just because he was the infamous Chance Fowler, it did not mean that he could get away with whatever he wanted. He had thrown her for a loop once with his aggressive and totally inappropriate behavior. She did not intend to allow him to do it again.

“You!” she snapped angrily, her words clipped. “What are you doing here? It’s bad enough that you accosted me on the street and were responsible for my losing one of my packages. Was it also necessary for you to track me down and grab me like that...again ? I don’t care if your name is Chance Fowler, that doesn’t give you the right to—”

He feigned a hurt expression. “You helped me out of a tight spot. I was just trying to return the favor by helping you with the heavy planter.”

She glared at him, then placed her hands on her hips and leaned forward. She hoped her aggressive stance covered the out-of-control excitement that raced around inside her. Chance Fowler touched her and she seemed to lose all reason and logic—twice now.

“That doesn’t explain your totally unacceptable behavior.” She was determined to stand her ground no matter how tempting she found his touch or how much his presence made her heart pound.

He cocked his head and looked at her quizzically. “It also doesn’t explain how you knew who I was.”

“Humph!” she snorted. The image of the bikini-clad woman hanging on his arm flashed in her mind. She was obviously typical of the type of woman he preferred—footloose and fancy free. “Your picture was in today’s newspaper in connection with the hobbies of the pampered and privileged.” She had not intended to reveal her disgust and disapproval of the idle rich in general, and specifically the life-style he had chosen for himself, but somehow her feelings had slipped past her words.

“Ah, yes, the regatta.” He stared at her for a moment. Her eyes sparkled with the fire of emotion and her stance declared a very appealing independence. She was certainly different from the type of women he usually encountered. They were either insipid clinging vines or manipulative cloyers, and the result was always the same. He felt suffocated and trapped. Yes, indeed. Marcie Roper was quite different—a breath of fresh air. He recalled the way she had felt in his arms, the taste of her delicious mouth. He fought the almost overwhelming desire to pull her into his arms and kiss her again.

“Speaking of newspapers, I’d like to explain about last Friday. There was this tabloid photographer who spotted me and—”

“I really don’t care why it happened, Mr. Fowler. The fact is that it should not have happened at all. You had no right to grab me like that... no right at all. Maybe that kind of intrusion is normal behavior for your friends, but it certainly isn’t for me.”

Marcie caught a glimpse of Don out of the corner of her eye and turned her attention toward him. “Don, could you move the rest of these things inside?” She shot a quick glance in Chance’s direction, then continued her instructions. She carefully and deliberately chose her words. “Since we don’t have any customers, we might as well go ahead and close up.”

She threw Chance one last disagreeable look, turned her back to him and went inside the nursery. A moment later she began the closing procedures for the day.

Chance watched her walk away from him—for the second time since he’d first encountered her. She had turned out to be a very intriguing woman. He already knew about the golden flecks in her hazel eyes, her soft, pliable lips, her addictive taste, and how good she felt in his arms. And now he could add strong-willed, independent, outspoken, and deliciously tempting to that list.

As with most people who did not know him, she had categorized him according to tabloid misinformation and exaggeration. He seldom allowed such misconceptions to bother him. He knew who he was, as did the small group of people he counted as his true friends and work associates. He rarely felt the need to explain himself to strangers. Only with Marcie did he find himself in a bit of a quandary.

He had never been one to back down from a challenge, and Marcie Roper certainly fit in that category. He could still see the intense glare she had leveled at him before turning away. No one had ever told him to go to hell so emphatically without uttering a word. She was unlike any other woman he had ever met. He followed her inside the building, determined to learn more about this fascinating and desirable woman.

Marcie grabbed up a stack of receipts and credit card slips. She could not believe the audacity of Chance Fowler—the man’s arrogance was beyond anything she had ever encountered. It was obvious that he was accustomed to getting whatever he wanted. Well, he was not going to get away with that sort of high-handed behavior around her. She paused for a moment as she once again touched her fingertips to her lips. His kiss was also beyond anything she had ever experienced.

“About that little incident the other day... I’d like to make it up to you.”

His smooth voice broke into her moment of reflection. She looked up, surprised that he had followed her inside. She quickly pulled her composure together, meeting his captivating gaze with a cool one of her own. “Are you still here?”

He refused to allow her the upper hand. Besides, he had not yet played his trump card. He made an exaggerated show of glancing around, as if attempting to seek out something, then returned his attention to her. “Yep... as near as I can tell, I’m still here.”

His response seemed to fluster her. Her gaze darted around the room. He stood his ground and waited, refusing to say anything to relieve her obvious discomfort. He had to admit, if only to himself, that he was enjoying the moment.

“Well, uh, unless you plan to buy something, I’ll have to ask you to leave. We’re closing for the day.” She returned her attention to the receipts on the counter.

“In that case, I guess I’ll have to buy something.” He flashed her a teasing grin and gave her a quick wink before turning away from the counter. He surveyed the room for a moment, then inspected the items available for sale. He did not look back at her, even though the temptation was almost too much to resist. He fought the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he picked up a bird feeder and examined it.

“I’ll take this.” He placed the feeder on the counter in front of her. He looked up, capturing her gaze and intimately holding it for a moment. He felt the warmth suffuse his body. He felt something else, too—a stirring that told him this was more than just a game. This woman had an effect on him far greater than he wanted to admit.

Relationships, commitment...he cynically reminded himself that it was all a sham. He had seen too many bad marriages to believe otherwise, not the least of which had been his father’s four subsequent wives after divorcing his mother. No man should be married five times. And with his father’s track record there was no reason to believe that the fifth ex-Mrs. Douglas Fowler—a woman who had been relegated to the position after only one year of marriage—would be the last one.

Not liking the path his thoughts seemed to be taking, Chance forced the distasteful topic from his mind.

“What kind of birds will I get with this feeder?”

Marcie made every effort to keep the conversation all-business. She also made no effort to be civil about it. “None, unless you buy some bird feed to go with it.”

“What would you recommend?” He was determined to prolong their meeting, as determined as she seemed to be to end it.

She brushed a loose tendril of hair away from her face. Her voice revealed her impatience with him. “Really, Mr. Fowler, is this conversation necessary? Don’t you have something important you should be doing someplace else?”

“I find this to be something important.” The words, soft and sincere, had slipped out without him meaning for them to. He quickly recovered his breezy facade. “As you said, the bird feeder is no good without something to go inside it. So—” he reached for a ten-pound sack of wild bird feed “—is this what I need?”

“Yes.” Her reply was curt. She did not intend to waste any more time on him by discussing the merits of one type of feed over another. She just wanted him to leave. “Will that be cash or charge?”

“Cash.”

He pulled his wallet from his pocket while she rang up the sale. She took his money, gave him his change, then placed the items in a box and shoved them across the counter toward him.

She tried to sound as cool and confident as she could even though her stomach churned and her nerve endings tingled with a surge of excitement when she caught a whiff of his aftershave. “Goodbye, Mr. Fowler.”

“Goodbye?” He leaned forward, pressing the palms of his hands against the counter. He lowered his voice to a soft, intimate level. “I thought maybe we could have a drink when you finished here. It would allow me to apologize... and give us an opportunity to get to know each other better.”

It took all the fortitude she could muster to fix him with a stern look. “I believe we know each other as well as we need to. Goodbye, Mr. Fowler.”

He refused to be put off. It was definitely time for that trump card. He picked up the box containing his purchases and flashed a devastating smile. “I’ll see you later, Marcie Roper.”

She stared at his retreating form, her mouth hanging open in stunned silence. Even though she had accused him of tracking her down, she had been so startled by his sudden appearance that it had not occurred to her to ask him how he knew her name or where to find her. She started to call after him, but quickly closed her mouth. Nothing would be gained by making him think she had any interest in his detective skills.

She watched as he left the nursery and crossed the parking lot to his car, every step and gesture indicative of a man who knew exactly who he was, where he was going, and what he wanted out of life. She hurried to lock the front door and put out the Closed sign. She paused for a moment and took a deep breath in an attempt to restore some semblance of order to the shambles his presence had made of her routine.

She returned to the cash register and began ringing up the totals for the day’s business. The sound of someone tapping against the front window drew her attention away from her work. She looked up to see Chance Fowler motioning for her to let him in. She shook her head and mouthed the words, “We’re closed,” while pointing to the sign.

He tapped on the window again and triumphantly displayed his hidden prize. He held up the sack so she could see it.

Marcie squinted as she stared at the object, at first not understanding the significance it held. Then the words came into focus—the sack was from the bookstore where she had picked up her order the day Chance Fowler had turned her life upside down. Could it possibly be the bag she had lost? She furrowed her brow in confusion as she made her way toward the door.

Again he motioned for her to unlock the door and let him in. She hesitated for a moment, then complied with his wishes... to a certain extent. She unlocked and opened the door, but did not stand aside to allow him entry. She stared at the sack without reaching for it, then shifted her gaze to him as her curiosity outweighed her impatience. “I’m really very busy right now, Mr. Fowler. Just what is it you want?”

“I believe I have something here that belongs to you. May I come in?”

She hesitated, then stepped aside.

Chance walked across the room and placed the bag on the counter. “You dropped this the other day. I tried to follow you to return it, but by the time I got to the corner you had disappeared.” He reached into the sack, withdrew the sales slip and placed it on the counter. “Fortunately, this had your name on it.”

She picked up the sales receipt and looked at it, then took the books from the bag. Her voice grew soft, conveying just a hint of embarrassment as she inspected the contents. “I—I thought they were lost for good. This one—” she held up the large volume about the Civil War “—is a birthday present for my father.” She ran her fingertips across the cover of the book, then looked up at the very handsome man standing on the other side of the counter.

Her manner softened considerably. “Thank you for returning my books.” Her words were unquestionably sincere.

“I’m just glad that I was able to track you down. I thought it was the least I could do in light of the fact that it was probably my fault that you dropped them.” Her shy smile captured and held him as tightly as if she had physically put her arms around him. A little twinge of longing told him it was an idea that he found very appealing—and definitely an idea worth pursuing. The memory of her taste and how she had felt in his arms told him there was no way he was going to let this just drift away like so many other things in his life.

“Well...” She glanced down, then looked up at him again. “Anyway, it was nice of you to go to all of this trouble. I really appreciate the gesture.”

“Enough to have dinner with me tonight?” He saw the way she stiffened in response to his invitation. The shy softness that had covered her features just a second earlier had changed into wariness.

“That’s impossible.” Her words were clipped, indicating her displeasure. “I have an employee out sick, so I need to be at the San Diego wholesale flower mart at five o’clock in the morning. That doesn’t allow me the luxury of socializing tonight.” She hurried toward the front door and held it open for him. “Thank you, again, for returning my books. Good night.”

Chance hesitated a moment. There did not seem to be anything to say that would change the situation, so he acquiesced to her wishes. “Good night, Marcie Roper.” He flashed a devilish smile that said she would definitely be seeing him again. “Pleasant dreams.”

Marcie watched as he crossed the parking lot to his car. The audacity of the man. Her disgust sounded loud and clear in her thoughts. He was obviously accustomed to thinking everyone would simply drop whatever they were doing to cater to his whims. Well, he had another think coming where she was concerned. Unlike other people, she was not impressed with whom he was.

Her fingertips lightly touched her lips. No matter what she tried to tell herself, she could not shake the very real sensuality of his kiss. He personified everything she found unacceptable, yet she was unable to dismiss him from her mind.

Pleasant dreams, indeed! She returned to her close-out chores as she made yet another unsuccessful attempt at shoving Chance Fowler from her thoughts.

The gray streaks of predawn light had not yet penetrated the black sky when Marcie pulled the nursery van out of the parking lot and headed south toward San Diego. She stifled a yawn, then reached for her travel mug of coffee. The night had been far too short, the alarm jarring her awake way too early. She had gone to bed in plenty of time to get enough sleep... if she had been able to sleep. As much as she tried to ignore it, however, thoughts and images of Chance Fowler kept circulating through her mind.

Regardless of how attractive she found him and how much he heated her desires, she knew nothing would be gained from speculating about where things might have led if she had accepted his initial invitation to join him for a drink, or his later offer to have dinner with him. He was an irresponsible, headline-grabbing playboy who did not know the first thing about hard work and commitment. That was everything she knew about him and it was everything she needed to know.

She drained the last swallow from her coffee mug just as she pulled into the flower mart. She parked the van, locked the door, then hurried inside to make her purchases. She stifled another yawn. It was going to be a very long day.

Chance glanced at his watch. Five forty-five in the morning was a wretched time to be up, but some things were worth a little extra sacrifice. He spotted the nursery van as soon as he pulled into the parking lot and he quickly secured a parking space for himself. After spending a restless night in an unsuccessful attempt to shove the memory of Marcie Roper’s taste and feel from his mind he had come to the conclusion that she was definitely one of those exceptions among women—at least the ones he knew—and it was definitely worth a great deal of effort on his part to get to know her better.

There was something special about her that reached out to him, something that made a direct connection to the place inside him that yearned for more than his relationships of the past had brought him. The kiss they had shared told him there was a very sensual woman beneath that practical exterior. He did not intend to let her slip away.

He wandered around for a bit, surprised at all the activity taking place at that hour of the morning. He finally spotted Marcie. He paused for a moment as he watched her signing something and handing it back to a sales clerk. He studied the way she moved, the way her clothes fit her body, the delicate features surrounded by the softly feathered auburn curls. He took a deep breath in an effort to break the tightness that banded his chest. No other woman had ever affected him in quite this manner and he found it very perplexing—and far too disturbingly real.

He saw her struggle with a large flatbed cart stacked with boxes and he hurried to assist her.

“Let me help you with that.” He immediately took control of maneuvering the unwieldy cart as if there were nothing unusual about him being there. He purposely ignored her shocked expression as he pushed the cart in the direction she had been heading.

He kept the conversation light and upbeat. “I’m experiencing a strange sensation of having helped you move something heavy once before...almost as if it were only yesterday.” He turned toward her and flashed a teasing grin. “How about you? Have you ever had similar feelings of déjà vu?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I thought it was obvious. I’m helping you with your cart.” He reached down and opened one of the boxes, pausing a moment as he inspected the contents. He looked at her questioningly. “Fresh-cut flowers?”

“Hardly unusual since this is the wholesale flower mart and I do own a flower shop.”

“Yes, but you also have a nursery.” He replaced the lid on the box and steered the cart slowly along the aisle.

She walked with him, still not clear as to why he was there or what he wanted. “One has nothing to do with the other. Cut flowers and floral arrangements are a different business from plants and landscaping.”

He extended a warm smile. “That’s gratifying.”

She wrinkled her brow in confusion. “What’s gratifying?”

“Learning something new is gratifying, even at this horrible hour of the morning.”

“Isn’t this a little too early for someone like you to be up?” She detected the sarcasm that surrounded her words, but seemed to be unable to stop it. “Or are you still up from last night?”

He stopped the cart and leaned against the handle, cocking his head and raising an eyebrow as he leveled a steady gaze in her direction. He hid behind a neutral mask, his expression revealing almost no hint of what was going through his mind. Only the slightest indication of discomfort darted through his eyes, almost as if he had flinched in reaction to a physical attack.

She immediately regretted her words. It had been uncalled for and unnecessary. His eyes were clear and alert, rather than bloodshot, and he appeared rested. He certainly did not look as if he had been up partying all night.

She glanced down at the floor, then regained eye contact with him. A tickle of embarrassment immediately caught hold. “I—I’m sorry. It was unfair of me to have said that.”

“Yes, it was unfair.” There was no anger in his voice nor was there any hostility attached to his words. There was, however, a hint of puzzlement. “What made you do it?”

“Well...” Anxiety churned in the pit of her stomach. He had every right to be angry with her, but he seemed more hurt than anything else. “You do have to admit that you have a certain reputation.” She felt the heat of her embarrassment flush across her cheeks as she continued to speak. “Heir to the family fortune, member of the privileged elite...well-known playboy.”

“You make it sound as if being born to wealthy parents is some sort of sin, or worse yet, a terrible disease.”

“I didn’t mean for it to sound that way. It’s just that your exploits have been pretty thoroughly documented by the press—”

“Oh?” He started walking again, pushing the heavy cart in front of him. “You’re a fan of the tabloids?”

“No. I mean, well...I sometimes glance at the headlines while standing in the checkout line at the grocery store, but so does everyone else.”

“You believe everything you read in the newspapers?”

“Well, no...but—”

“I see.” A hint of annoyance crept into his voice. “Normally you wouldn’t believe everything you read, but you decided to make an exception in my case.”

Marcie knew his words were true and justified, but they did not alter her opinion. “We’re obviously different types of people, that’s all. You have your life-style and I have mine.”

“You make ‘life-style’ sound like some sort of affliction.” An amused twinkle danced through his eyes and a mischievous grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I can see that I need to do some serious damage control here.”

He paused a moment as his attention moved to more immediate matters. “Where are we going with this?”

“Where are we going with what?” Was he talking about their conversation? Their situation? He had moved from annoyed to amused to...she did not know what, in less than sixty seconds. She was not sure exactly what he was talking about.

“Where are we going with this cart? We’re almost to the door. Are you through or do you have more to do here?”

“rm finished. I’ve already charged this to my account. So—” she grabbed the handle to take charge of the cart “—thank you for your assistance. I can manage it from here.”

He refused to move aside. “I’ll help you out with these boxes.” He shoved the cart through the check out area, moving quickly as he headed toward her van.

She hurried after Chance, not sure exactly when it was that she had lost control, or exactly when he had managed to take charge. “Wait a minute.” She caught up with his fast-paced stride. She tried to sound assertive. “Really, Mr. Fowler, I can handle the rest of this by myself.”

Chance ignored her words. He pushed the cart next to the van, tried the door, then held out his hand toward her. “Keys?”

Marcie hesitated a moment, then unlocked the door for him. A couple of minutes later he had all the boxes off the cart and loaded inside the van. He leaned against the side of the vehicle, noting the way she nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

During the course of their three encounters she had run away from him, ignored him, been rude to him, rejected his invitations and cast aspersions on his character. And still he could not tear himself away from her. He certainly was not a masochist nor was he so desperate for feminine companionship that he needed to put up with this type of treatment to spend a little bit of time with an attractive woman.

There was no logical reason for him to be standing there, but somehow this woman had reached out and grabbed hold of his senses as no one else ever had. She was her own woman, not what she thought someone else wanted her to be. She had her identity intact, unlike most of the women he knew who would rather attach themselves to his. It was a very appealing aspect of who she was. She was also intelligent, beautiful, independent—very independent. He could still feel her body enfolded in his embrace and taste her mouth pressed against his. She was everything a man could want.

“Well...” She nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “If you’ll excuse me—”

He offered an inviting smile. “Let’s go get some coffee.”

“That’s not possible, Mr. Fowler. These are cut flowers, not plants. I need to get them back to the shop immediately and put them in the cooler.”

“Okay. We can get some coffee after you take care of the flowers. And please, call me Chance. Mr. Fowler is reserved for dear ol’ Dad, the one and only Douglas Winston Fowler.”

She stiffened to attention, literally as well as figuratively. “I don’t believe I’d feel comfortable calling you by some cute little nickname given to you by the press... ‘Take-A-Chance Fowler,’ always ready to take a chance on some new adventure...”

Her words trailed off when she saw that look dart through his eyes, the same one she had seen when she had called him a playboy. Only this time it did not disappear as quickly as it had before.

He looked away from her for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts, then recaptured eye contact with her. “Chance is my legal first name, given to me at birth. It was my mother’s maiden name.”

A stab of guilt caught her up short when she saw his reaction to her words mirrored in his eyes. It was almost as if she had reached out and physically struck him. She spoke with genuine regret as she tried to apologize. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

He glanced away again before saying, his voice soft, “It doesn’t matter.”

She heard what he said, but she did not believe him. She could tell that it did matter, that it mattered very much. Without meaning to, she had hurt him and she felt bad about it. “I just assumed—”

“You seem to assume a lot.”

Chance had said the words without malice or anger, but he had not been able to hide the underlying vulnerability that seeped into his tone of voice. Marcie felt the pangs of guilt stab deep inside her. She knew she had been less than gracious. That was a laugh—she had been downright rude. Something about this quick glimpse of the man beneath the facade touched an emotional place for her. It was a different place than the excitement caused by his kiss. This was a place of caring, tenderness, and concern. She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then slowly expelled it.

“You’re right.” The sharp edge to her voice was gone, along with her guarded attitude. “I sometimes do tend to make assumptions. It’s a bad habit of mine.” An additional softness caressed her next words. “I apologize for the crack about your name. It was totally uncalled for.”

“I’ll tell you what, Marcie Roper.” He reached out and ran his fingertips across her cheek, then cupped her chin in his hand. He plumbed the depths of her eyes. He saw uncertainty, wariness, and something else... a warmth and a passion that he very much wanted to tap into. He quickly allowed his hand to drop away as the temptation to kiss her grew stronger. “You can make it up to me by joining me for a drink when you get off work tonight.”

She glanced down at the ground, indecision churning inside her. “I—I don’t know.”

“Now that’s what I call an improvement—you didn’t reject my invitation outright. You’ve left it open for discussion.” He placed his fingertips underneath her chin again and gently raised her face until he could look into her eyes. “Why don’t we try for the next level, where you agree to have dinner with me this evening?”

“You’re certainly a fast worker.” A shy smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “A minute ago it was coffee, then it became a drink after work, and now it’s dinner tonight.”

“You should have accepted my invitation at the coffee level. Now, it’s too late. Besides, you owe me.” He saw her objection start to form, and quickly cut it off before she could give it a voice. “You owe me the opportunity to prove that your preconceived notions about me are wrong.”

He flashed a teasing grin. “Surely you wouldn’t deny me my Constitutional right of being innocent until proven guilty...” His smile faded as he searched out her vulnerability and caressed the essence of her soul. “Would you?”

“I suppose I do owe you that much.” There was a hint of concern surrounding Marcie’s words. She was not sure exactly how she had gotten herself into this predicament.

“Good.” Chance’s face literally beamed his pleasure at her acceptance. “When will you be finished with work? What time should I pick you up? And where—at the nursery or at your house?”

“No... I mean, it would be more convenient if I met you somewhere.” The last thing she wanted was to be trapped someplace where she could not conveniently and quickly leave if things turned out the way she feared they probably would. She caught herself, putting an immediate stop to the direction her thoughts were taking her. She was making assumptions again. He had been correct, it was a bad habit. It was something she needed to work on.

He hesitated a moment, then gave in to her request. “All right. How about the Crestview Bay Bistro? The food there is good, the atmosphere comfortable, and the ocean view is terrific.”

“Sure, that will be fine.” She wondered if he had picked the bistro as a convenience for her since it was close to the nursery, or if it was someplace he really wanted to go. “What time?”

“You tell me... I don’t know your work schedule.”

She thought a moment. With Sandy out sick she would not be able to get away early. “How about seven o’clock? Will that be okay?”

He flashed a smile of genuine pleasure. “That will be absolutely perfect. I’ll make reservations.” He reached for her hand and gave it a little squeeze—not what he wanted to do, but it would have to suffice for the moment. “I’ll see you tonight.”

She watched him shove the cart toward the collection point outside the main entrance of the building. A hint of anxiety churned in her stomach. She quickly climbed into her van and headed out of the parking lot before he could return. She had made the commitment to have dinner with him. She was obligated to show up. Another hint of anxiety shuddered through her body. It was not trepidation. She was certainly not afraid of him. But it was anxiety none the less. Could it be her own feelings and emotions that she feared? It was an unanswered question that did not sit well with her.

Chance returned to his car just in time to see Marcie pull out of the parking lot. He was not sure exactly why he was so attracted to her, beyond the obvious of her being a very enticing woman. Was it merely the challenge of charming someone who kept rejecting him, or did it go much deeper than the shallowness of a physical attraction? He was not really sure he wanted to know the answer to that question, but the possibilities definitely disturbed him and at the same time they excited him.

For the first time in his life he seemed to be treading a thin line between playing a game and being drawn into what could only end up as a serious relationship. There was no doubt in his mind that with Marcie it could never be a casual affair. She was not the type of woman who would be willing to play games just for the fun of it. No matter how many times he told himself to get out and move on to something that was less of a threat, he did not seem to be able to do it.