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
