Sleight Of Hand (12 page)

As long as she was making a wish list, she
wanted back the corner of her heart of which Chance had
mysteriously claimed possession. The sooner they found her father
and the thieves, the sooner she could put this experience behind
her. Put Chance behind her. She shivered. Was it already too
late?

He'd told her, hadn't he, that he was a
leaving man. Just like her father. The only way to get her life
back, was to walk through that door and keep going forward. Her
father would contact her. He'd already tried to this morning at the
diner. Just before he rushed out into the sudden snow storm, he'd
told Cindy he'd try again soon.

She smoothed her hand down over her dress,
opened the bedroom door and walked out. Her breath rushed out of
her lungs as she halted halfway into the living room.

Chance stood by the couch. He tugged at the
red tie she suspected he'd just knotted around his neck. A warm,
endearing feeling flowed from her heart to meet the hot zing of
desire that shot up from below.

"You look...different." The husky tone of her
voice betrayed her.

His white shirt and black suit jacket made
him appear authoritative, powerful. Even his casual black chinos
didn't detract from the image. If anything, they added an air of
recklessness, especially when he plowed a hand through his hair and
one lock fell forward.

Her mouth turned dry with a sudden,
unquenchable thirst. She edged over to a kitchen stool and leaned
against it to support herself, wobbly legs and all.

"Is that good or bad? I hate wearing these
things." He yanked again on his tie.

Of course he'd hate wearing a tie. He'd hate
anything that held on too tight. "Good. You look like a Harvard
lawyer."

Can't have. Can't have.
The thought
scratched at her like nails on a blackboard. She tore her gaze away
from his shoulders that seemed so wide, so powerful under the black
jacket and dug in her evening purse for the lipstick she'd
forgotten to put on. Chance's intense gaze followed her as she
walked over to the mirror by the door. He looked confused,
startled. Now what?

She uncapped her lipstick and traced her
upper lip with the delicate pink color. Her hand froze in mid-air
when she felt Chance's warm breath on her nape. How could such a
large man move so quietly?

"Is that what you like? Harvard lawyers?"

His voice held an odd mix of disbelief and
disgust. It burrowed deep inside her, breached barriers erected
long ago. She shoved the cap back on the lipstick and whirled to
face him. "I've never gotten what I want, so what does it
matter?"

"According to your father, he gave you
everything a kid could dream of wanting."

"He gave me things, Chance. Things I never
asked for."

"So what do you want?"

"I want..." His serious expression made her
hesitate. He looked as if she was about to tell him the meaning of
life, and she was embarrassed that her wishes were so simple. Or so
it appeared when she looked at the world around her and saw what
most people seemed to have. But she'd never come close to attaining
that humble dream.

"I want someone who will be there for me,"
she continued in a rush. "Someone who will show up at his kid's
baseball games and dance with his daughter at her senior prom. I
don't care if he's a lawyer or a shoemaker, as long as he
cares."

"Come on, Sarah. Your dad's crazy about you.
He's just not the kind of guy who hangs around baseball
fields."

"I know. Neither are you." She shoved the
lipstick cap off and on, hating herself for her outburst and
wanting to hate Chance, too. Except she couldn't, because, God help
her, she was falling in love with him.

She turned away, snatched up her evening bag
and tossed her lipstick inside. Move forward. Past the trembling.
Past the fear of hoping. If her father had taught her anything, it
was to never depend on anyone.

"It's not you."

She jerked away, surprised when he touched
her shoulder from behind. He moved closer, wrapped his arms around
her and tugged until she felt his hard body press against her back.
"Some men are put together differently. Your father's one of
them."

Her eyes met his somber gaze in the mirror.
"And you?" she asked, hoping and hating herself for it.

"Oh Sarah." He slid his palms down her arms
and covered her hands with his. In the mirror, she watched him
close his eyes on a sigh. "My life has been..." His lips grazed the
back of her neck. "I'm not ashamed, but there are things that I've
done...."

He turned her in his arms and cupped her
face. "I always thought that what I did was right, but lately.... I
gave it all away, babe. There's nothing worthy left to give."

He was wrong. In her heart she knew that.
Whatever he had done in the past, there was still an essential
goodness in him, a code of honor he would never break. She needed
to let him know she believed in him, trusted him.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and
pressed her lips against his. He held himself still as though
surprised, but only for a heartbeat. Then he pulled her into his
arms and opened his mouth, inviting her in.

It was worth the risk. Worth waiting that one
long second while he hesitated, her heart poised to break in a
million pieces. His lips were soft and sensual, searching.

Yes, she wanted to say.
Yes to
everything.
She opened her lips and darted her tongue into his
mouth, touching his tongue. Withdrawing. Touching.

He shifted, leaned his hip into hers and
turned his head to explore her ear. She felt his muscular body
through her thin dress. Felt his strength, was moved by his
tenderness.

"Did I tell you how beautiful you look
tonight?" He nuzzled just below her ear, his breath warm and
moist.

"And you." She nipped his jaw. "Kiss me
again. Please." Again. And again.

His mouth covered hers, hard this time,
demanding.

She made her own demands. Pressed her breasts
against his hard chest. Moved her thigh to rub against his arousal.
His soft, urgent moan poured into her mouth, and she felt herself
being pulled down under a hot sensual wave.

She grabbed the front of his shirt to hold
herself up. His tie tangled around her hand.
His tie. Too tight.
Too close. Have to let go. Now.

She snatched her hands away and pushed
against his shoulders. His mouth slowed its sensual exploration,
then stilled. He rested his forehead against hers and took one last
nip at her bottom lip.

"God, I love your mouth."

A shudder rippled through his body. She
clasped her hands loosely around his waist, away from his tie, from
his heart. She could stay this way forever, but it wasn't possible.
They had so far to travel to stay right here.

"The reception." She let her hands drop to
her side.

"Yeah, I know." He planted a swift kiss on
the corner of her mouth and pulled back.

He avoided her gaze as he tightened his tie
and patted it into place. "Listen, Sarah--"

"Don't." Trembling, she turned away from him
and busied herself getting her jacket from the closet. She didn't
want to hear his let's-not-get-involved speech any more than she
wanted him to see how much their kiss had affected her.

"These things happen sometimes. Let's not
make it out to be more than it is." She forced a cheery note into
her voice, but leaned against the closet edge for a minute to
steady herself.

"What just happened between us was a lot more
than a mildly flirtatious kiss and you know it."

She spun around to face him. "What do you
suggest we do, then?"

His mouth tightened. "About what?"

"If this is more than physical attraction,
where do we go from here?"

"I thought we discussed this already."

Was his low growl from embarrassment or
anger? She wanted to take pleasure in the fact that this was as
hard for him as it was for her. Somehow, it made it worse.

"Keys." She snapped her hand open, wondering
what was happening to her, where she found the nerve to be so
abrasive. She'd always been a push-over, but she couldn't afford to
be now. She needed to take back something of hers, before she was
no longer able.

"You have the one for the cabin, don't
you?"

"I meant the Blazer."

"You want to drive?"

"I did rent the blasted thing." She
stubbornly kept her hand out.

He held up the keys. "Do you want me to warm
it up first? That dress doesn't cover much."

"No. Thank you." Suddenly embarrassed by her
childish behavior, she averted her gaze as he dropped the keys into
her open palm. She turned and darted out the door into the blessed
cold night air.

She pulled the car door open and hopped into
the cab. Her hand shook as she stabbed the key into the ignition.
What a ninny.
My keys. My car. My heart. Give it back.

It didn't matter that Chance was wrong
thinking he had nothing good left to give her. In her experience,
if you thought something wasn't possible, that pretty much wrapped
it up. It wasn't.

How could someone like her convince him
differently? She parceled out her emotions like they were a
birthday cake. A piece for you and one for you, but no one ever got
the whole of her. A piece wouldn't do for Chance. He needed
someone's all.

She turned the fan up high and shivered again
as cool air blasted out of the vents. Chance kept insisting her
father loved her, but dear old dad had never stuck around long
enough to prove that. Why? She'd never asked him why it was so
imperative to be everywhere, but where she lived.

Her heart clutched as she watched Chance
close the cabin door and check the lock. When he turned, his
crooked, tentative smile, like a peace offering, warmed her chilled
body, and she added one more urgent reason for finding her father.
She needed to know if he really did love her. Because if her own
father didn't love her, how could she expect anyone to?

Chance put a proprietary hand on the small of
Sarah's back and felt the sensuous slide of silk over skin. He
snatched his hand away and tugged at his tie. For a cold, wet
November night, the small museum pulsated with heat. It was the
number of people crowded into the foyer, he assured himself. Every
man and woman from miles around must have turned out for the
reception.

He touched Sarah's elbow to guide her to the
right to the Adams' exhibit. Her skin felt flower soft, and he
rubbed his thumb against the inside of her arm before he realized
what he was doing.

He had to pull himself together. Anything
could happen tonight--including a few paintings going missing. He
was looking at a lot of possible years in jail if those paintings
were stolen while he was here. He should be studying the crowd for
suspicious characters. Usually, he could spot a mark or a cop from
a mile off.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the way
Sarah's long blond hair moved over her mostly, naked back in a
sensuous wave. He wanted to feel that silk slide over him, to part
her hair and kiss his way down the delicate curve of her spine.
Right down to her tight, little butt.

He grabbed a glass of red wine from a passing
waiter, handed it to Sarah, then grabbed one for himself and downed
the drink in one swallow. Bad idea. The alcohol slid through his
throbbing veins, racketing his internal temperature up another
notch.

He eased out a breathe and let go of Sarah's
arm as they entered the room that held the Ansel Adams photographs.
Less crowded than the foyer, his anxiety that someone might accost
her dissipated.

Is that what he feared? Someone would steal
her rather than the paintings? Where had that idea come from? The
paintings upstairs were the main attraction for the thieves. That's
where he should be right now. Watching. Waiting. Except, he
couldn't seem to tear himself away from Sarah's side."

Oh, my. Look at this one." Sarah tugged his
arm to pull him closer to the photograph in front of them.

The delight in her voice fed the fire
smouldering inside him. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as her
mouth tilted up into a full smile. No photograph, no matter how
good, could compare to the ravishing woman who stood beside him.
Sarah, for once happy and relaxed, looked beyond beautiful. His
heart did a slow revolution in his chest. She looked radiant.

"Chance." She blushed as though realizing he
was studying her, not the picture.

She'd caught him staring. With his tongue
hanging out..

"Sorry." He tore his gaze away from her full
mouth and clenched his teeth as he looked at the photo. The black
and white picture of mountains and snow did nothing to cool him
down.

"Look." He spun around to stand between her
and the rest of the room. "This isn't working. I can't concentrate.
Can't think. I want to make love to you."

"What?" Her hand fluttered to her throat. If
he had said he wanted to burn the museum down, she couldn't have
looked more surprised.

"I need to make love to you." He couldn't
believe he was propositioning her in a room half full of
people.

She looked over her shoulder, then sent him a
shy glance before her lashes fluttered down obscuring her eyes.
"Here?"

If he felt hot before, he was a burning
inferno now. She sounded as if she were actually considering it.
Here? Hell, anywhere. In the bathroom, outside in the car.
Upstairs, maybe. The office.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a
glimpse of a familiar face just as the man slipped from the room.
Please don't let it be Gage. His blistering fervor turned to ice.
Hell. He was screwing up big time here.

Sarah stared at him as if he were crazy,
which, at the moment, was a damned accurate assessment. How in
blazes was he going to back out of this one without coming off like
a complete idiot?