Fortune (35 page)

Chance swore and dragged a hand through his hair. “I feel like such an asshole.”

“You?” Skye curved her arms around her middle, not able to meet Chance's eyes. “I'm so embarrassed. I don't know what came over me.”

“It's my fault,” he said, his voice tight. He collected his shirt from the floor and tugged it on. “I shouldn't have come here.”

She made a choked sound. “This was hardly a case of date rape, Chance. I practically…I all but threw myself…” She cleared her throat, unable to finish the thought. She pulled her hands through her hair, noticing that they trembled. “It was a mistake. Everybody makes mistakes.”

He was silent a moment, then looked her in the eyes. “Was it a mistake, Skye? Are you sure?”

She jumped to her feet, too agitated to sit still. She crossed to the fireplace, then swung around to face him again. “Of course I'm sure. We need to forget this happened. I was upset. Because of Moo.” Her voice quivered, and she bit down on her bottom lip, feeling like both a liar and a fraud. “It won't happen again.”

Chance got slowly to his feet, his expression unreadable. “Whatever you say is okay by me.” He shoved his necktie into a pocket and went to the kitchen for his topcoat. He returned a moment later, coat on, and headed for the door. “Let me know how Moo is.”

“I will.”

He reached the front door, hesitated, then jerked it open. Only then did he look at her. “You and I both know this had nothing to do with Moo. But keep telling yourself that it did, Skye. Keep telling yourself to forget it happened. Maybe if you say it often enough, you'll even believe it. And God help me, maybe I will, too.”

B
ut Chance and Skye didn't forget. They couldn't. Unrelieved sexual tension clung to them like potent perfume to a flower. It crackled in the air around them.

Skye thought about Chance, and about sex, all the time. She existed in a constant state of heightened awareness. As her silk blouse fluttered against her skin, she thought of his hands and mouth moving across her breasts. As she stripped out of her jeans at night, she would remember the feel of his rough skin against her, the rasp of his cheek against the side of her neck, the tip of his tongue trailing over the curve of her shoulder.

They saw each other constantly, as if the fates had contrived to taunt them. They avoided looking at each other, so studiously Skye feared those around them would notice and begin to wonder about them. She had no choice but to keep her gaze averted; should she actually allow herself the pleasure of gazing at him, everyone would know. It would be that obvious. That transparent.

When their gazes did happen to meet, she found she couldn't drag hers away. She found herself becoming aroused. Her nipples would harden, her juices flow. And she would ache.

For him to touch her. Everywhere. In every way.

She had taken to crossing her arms over her chest, to hide his effect on her. He knew, anyway. He felt the same. She saw the sexual heat in his eyes, the longing. The frustration.

What had happened between them had nothing to do with Moo having been poisoned. They both knew it. They both knew, too, that it was only a matter of time before something happened between them again.

Skye gazed blindly at the drawings on the board in front of her. She was embarrassed by her feelings. Guilty over them. She hated herself for being such a fool. It was Griffen she really wanted. Griffen who was right for her. Griffen who promised her all she had ever wished for in a man and a relationship.

Griffen loved her. Chance did not.

Then why did Chance make her feel this way? She curved her fingers into fists. And why did Griffen's touch turn her cold? Why did it unsettle her? Lately, when Griffen kissed her, she had the strongest urge to run. As far and as fast as she could.

Skye brought a hand to her temple. She had a lot of other things she should be thinking about, things more pressing than her sex life. Milan was not that far off. Only four weeks. Dorothy hoped to enter the first pieces of City Lights in the show. They were in the final stages of production; Skye expected the delivery of the cast pieces, ready for finishing, today or tomorrow. She had several more in the metal production-model stage.

Dorothy had been turning to her more and more, for her opinion, her expertise, her friendship. She had begun having Skye take care of many of the day-to-day details and decisions that she didn't have the inclination—or physical wherewithal—to handle.

Skye frowned. She was worried about Dorothy. She was so forgetful. And so easily fatigued. The older woman had scared her the other day by telling her how she had a craving for a deviled egg and had fallen asleep while the eggs were boiling. She had awakened to a smoke-filled house and the most horrible scorched smell. She had burned the eggs completely out of their shells.

Dorothy had been annoyed with the smell and mess; Skye had been thankful for both. What if she hadn't awakened? Skye had demanded. What if there hadn't been smoke or a smell to drag her out of sleep?

Dorothy had only laughed. Sometimes she exasperated Skye. Sometimes she behaved so childishly.

“Skye?”

Chance.
She lifted her gaze. Chance stood at her office door, his hungry gaze upon her. Her mouth went desert dry, her heart began to thrum. “Yes?” she managed to say.

“May I speak with you for a moment? About your interview with Mickey Spelling?”

“Of course.” She stood, clasping her hands in front of her, the blood rushing to her head. She felt dizzy and weak. And wet. Unbearably, achingly wet.

He closed the door behind him. He took a step toward her. “I heard he was by to see you this morning.”

She took a step toward him. “Yes.”

He drew in a shuddering breath and moved closer. “How did it go?”

“Good.” Without conscious design, she closed the remaining distance between them, stopping so close, if she swayed slightly, her breasts would brush against his chest. She wanted to, so badly it hurt.

“How's Moo?”

“He's good. Came home and was immediately back to one hundred percent.”

“That's great.” He moved his gaze hungrily over her face. “I know how happy you must be to have him home.”

“I am.” She breathed deeply through her nose, feeling awkward and too vulnerable. Wishing she could take that one tiny step closer to him. That was all it would take, she thought. Then they would be together.

“Any luck finding out who poisoned him?”

“No. I talked to the other tenants. They were shocked. The other pet owners were frightened. Everyone's watching closely, making sure the gate's locked. Things like that. Lulu Green said she had the gate open that afternoon. She lives on the first floor and was bringing groceries in the back way. She didn't see anyone, though. And she didn't see the coffee can, either.”

“Do you think any of them could have done it?”

“I can't imagine. They all seemed so upset when I told them.”

He lowered his eyes to her mouth, and her nipples hardened. Just like that. Spontaneously.

He swore and looked away. “We need to talk. About what happened.”

She didn't have to ask what he referred to; she knew. They both knew. “Yes.”

He returned his gaze to hers. “Dammit, Skye. Stop looking at me like that.”

She wet her lips. “Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me up.”

But she did want to. God help her.

She swayed toward him. He cupped her face in his palms, searching her expression. “What the hell are we doing?”

“I don't know.” She closed her eyes. “I hate this.”

“Me, too.” Chance trailed his lips up the side of her neck to her ear. “I can't sleep for wanting to touch you. I think about you, us, all the time.”

“Me, too.”

“Stop seeing him,” he whispered thickly. “I need you to stop seeing him.”

She froze.
Stop seeing Griffen. Give it all up—her dream of love, a family, a forever. And for what?

She laid her hands on his chest and tipped her face up to his. “I have to know…what do you feel for me? Besides lust, that is?”

He didn't answer, and heat burned her cheeks. The truth was, she knew, he felt nothing for her but lust. He wasn't even pretending to offer her more than sex. She supposed she should appreciate his honesty, but at the moment she wasn't in a particularly appreciative mood.

“You want me to stop seeing him so you can fuck me and not feel guilty. So you can enjoy yourself and not feel like a total shit for screwing over your friend. Isn't that right?”

“It's not like that, Skye. I don't know what's happening between us, but I know it's strong. And I know I can't bear the thought of you with him. I can't bear the thought of his hands on you.”

“Stop it.”

“I know you feel the same way.”

“I know what I want. I know what I need.”

“And Griffen's it?”

“Yes.” She fisted her fingers; beneath them his heart thundered. “Yes.”

“Then why do you turn to fire when I touch you?” He covered her hands. “You're looking at me that way again, Skye. And it's driving me crazy.”

“I'm not.”

“You are.” He lowered his voice. “Go ahead, eat me up.”

She wanted to, wanted so badly she ached. But she couldn't throw away everything she had ever dreamed of. She wouldn't.

She made a move to swing away from him. He stopped her, bringing their joined hands to her breasts, to her nipples, pressing against the silk. He trailed his fingertips across the silk, so lightly it felt like the brush of butterfly wings.

She shuddered and swayed, a small sound of pleasure slipping past her lips.

“Stop seeing him,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers, breathing hard. “I want to be with you. See how much.”

He guided her hand to his arousal. For one heady moment, she curved her fingers around him, reveling in the fact that she had done this to him just by standing close.

Shivering, she dropped her hand. “I can't, Chance. I'm sorry.”

“Can't? Or won't?”

“Same thing.” She retreated to her desk, legs shaking so badly she could hardly stand. She slid into her chair, not able to meet his eyes for fear if she did, she wouldn't have the strength to do what was best for her.

“Griffen loves me,” she murmured. “He wants to be with me for more than a night. I've waited all my life for someone to love me like that. I'm not going to throw that away.”

For a long moment Chance said nothing, simply looked at her, his gaze measured. “Then that's that.”

“Yes. I suppose it is.”

He walked to the door, then turned back to her. “Seems to me, you're asking yourself the wrong question, Skye. Do you love him? That's what you should be asking yourself.”

She opened her mouth to say that she did, but the word wouldn't come out. She couldn't say it, not to him or to herself. Her cheeks burned, and she felt suddenly, ridiculously close to tears.

“That's what I thought. See you around, kid.”

Chance opened the door.

Griffen stood on the other side.

G
riffen sat in the dark. Naked. Shaking with the force of his fury. The bathroom's tile floor was hard and cold, the wall behind his back damp. Shards of the shattered mirror lay scattered about him, winking in the darkness.

He looked straight ahead, staring at nothing, his thoughts darting, rabbitlike, from one thing to another, landing on a word, an image, a memory. An impulse.

Some of the impulses were strong. And fierce. More animal than human. Like the impulse to protect what was his, to take out an enemy any way he could.

Griffen's mouth twisted. He had smelled the sex on them. Chance had opened Skye's office door and run smack into him, reeking of pussy. Skye's pussy. He hadn't trusted himself not to kill Chance then and there. But killing him would have ruined everything. So he had smiled and exchanged a few words with the two, then walked away.

Griffen picked up a piece of the broken glass. Long and jagged, he turned it over in his hands. As he did, he alternately saw flashes of his reflection—an eye, a section of his nose, the slash of white that was his mouth—and nothing at all, just blackness.

Griffen dragged the glass across the flat of his belly. Skye was his. She belonged to him. He had found her, brought her here. He had given her everything she had.

She was his prize. His.

Hatred and rage boiled up inside him. He moved the piece of glass again. Skye had always belonged to him. Always. No two-bit, backstabbing, piece-of-shit nothing was going to take her away.

Griffen squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing. He had been a fool. How could he have missed it before? It was so obvious. Like two animals in heat, sex charged the air around them. They avoided looking at each other, yet their bodies strained toward each other's.

He narrowed his eyes, thinking of all the times he had
thought
he'd seen something pass between them, a silent message, a spark of heat. He had told himself he was imagining things. He had told himself Skye despised Chance, that the heat he saw was the heat of hate. He had told himself that she wouldn't bother looking at a man like Chance when she had him, Griffen Monarch.

He tightened his hand into a fist around the sliver of mirror. He had been a fool for his arrogance.

The rage built. Bitter, burning like acid. He had been soft. More like his father than his grandfather. He had been too lenient with Skye. He had failed to show her who was boss.

When they were children, he had shown her. He had controlled her. And when someone or something had gotten in his way, he had taken care of them. His penis stirred at the memories, becoming semi-erect. He smiled, thinking of those times, remembering how he had sneaked into her room and watched her while she slept, awakening her with a jab or a poke or a pinch—to anyplace he chose to touch.

The glass slipped from his fingers, and he grasped himself and stroked, remembering the times he had forced her to watch him do things, to her toys, to her pet, to himself. And then there were the times, few though they were, that he had forced her to submit to him.

He had been in charge. He had controlled her.

Impulses.

His head lolled back against the wall, his breath coming harder. She was weak, of course. The way all the Monarch women had been. The way all women were, easily seduced, quickly spoiled—like fruit left too long on the vine. She needed guidance, direction. She needed to be controlled.

Griffen slowed his hand, though it was agony. He had given her too much time and space. That, too, had been his mistake.

He had allowed himself to be swept away in his own heady feeling of power, of excitement. When he had finally had her near, it had been the culmination of his every wish. He had allowed himself to celebrate too long.

Unfortunately, he had to punish her now. Even though he was partly to blame. He hated to hurt her, he loved her, after all; but she had left him no choice. He had to teach her a lesson. He had to show her the way. This time he would take care of that ridiculous mutt of hers, once and for all. He would take care of Terri, too. And her little bitch daughter.

When she had no one else, she would understand how much she needed him. He would make her understand.

He increased his pace again, heart thundering. Oh, yes, she would understand. Chance was nothing. No one. He meant nothing to Skye.

Griffen arched his back. A sound bubbled to his lips, part rage, part howl of completion. Skye was his prize, his possession. His destiny.

Spent, he brought his hands to his face. They were sticky with blood and come. He smeared the mixture across his mouth and nose, its taste raw, its smell earthy. His senses filled with both, and he smiled. He and Skye would be together at last. Forever. And it would be good. So very, very good.

Griffen stood and calmly crossed to the sink. He peered into the fragment of mirror that remained. His hands were covered with blood, as were his chest and stomach. The blood stained his face, like a grotesque imitation of a painted woman's mouth.

He turned on the cold water and bending, rinsed his face and hands, the water sluicing down the drain in a pink swirl. Yes, Skye would understand. Soon, she would see that they were each other's destiny.

And as for that nothing little prick, he thought, splashing water on his belly, he had just outlived his usefulness.

The time had come to take away all that he had given Chance.