The Millionaire's Christmas Wish. Shawna Delacorte
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his efforts to provide disadvantaged older youth and high school dropouts with viable work skills and find opportunities for employment was no one’s business but his and the people involved in his training school. He had no desire to put a spotlight on those activities or those he was trying to help.
But every now and then, when he did not have any pressing matters dictating his actions, he liked to make a game of evading the photographers. And today was one of those days.
“Let me go this instant!” Marcie shook off the mesmerizing sound of this stranger’s smooth, dulcet tones and engaging smile. She struggled to escape the arm he had draped around her shoulder in the type of familiar manner that said they were longtime friends.
Chance pulled her closer to him and touched his fingertip to her lips to still her words. “Just as soon as this photographer goes away.”
Marcie glanced toward the camera-laden man. Her initial surge of fear settled as she realized she was not in any physical danger from this stranger, but was quickly replaced by a flash of anger. “I’ll do no such thing! You let go of me immediately or I’ll call for help.” She began to struggle again while trying to maintain a hold on her packages.
The set of the photographer’s jaw and his tight grip on his camera told Marcie of his determination to find his quarry. He looked across the street, into a side alley, then started down the sidewalk toward her and the handsome stranger who continued to hold her within the curve of his arm even though she still struggled to get free.
The stranger quickly enfolded her in a complete embrace. His words tickled across her ear, the hypnotic quality of his voice lulling her into a momentary state of submission. “I was hoping we could just stand here and pretend to be window-shopping together without any fuss, but I guess we’ll have to do it this way instead.” Before Marcie could react, he covered her mouth with his.
The photographer hurried past them without even slowing down. Shockingly aware of the heated sensuality of this stranger’s kiss—a kiss that literally took her breath away and left her weak in the knees—Marcie barely noticed the man as he rushed down the street. She was having trouble collecting her thoughts.
No one had ever kissed her like that before or totally swept her off her feet the way he just had. If it were not for the fact that he had been holding her, her legs surely would have buckled. She fought to gain control of the thousands of butterflies that flitted about inside her stomach and the increased palpitations of her heart.
As soon as the danger passed, Chance started to break off the kiss, but he allowed his lips to linger against hers a second longer before pulling back. He looked into the startled, uncertain eyes of the woman in front of him, holding her gaze trapped within his for what seemed like an eternity. He was not certain what he was seeing, but he knew in an instant that he liked it. He also knew that he wanted more of this tantalizing woman. His gaze drifted across her delicately beautiful features to the lush fullness of her slightly parted lips. He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to continue to hold her.
He tried to swallow the lump that had lodged in his throat as soon as he had broken off the kiss. He wanted to kick himself for having done something so foolish as to have involved this delectable stranger in one of his little games. It had definitely been a rotten idea. It would have been better for everyone concerned if he had just let the photographer take his picture.
A flustered and embarrassed Marcie quickly stumbled backward a couple of steps. She ran her fingers through her short auburn hair in a nervous attempt to smooth it away from her face as she clutched her packages against her body with her other hand. Her legs still felt wobbly, but not so much so that she could not turn and run away from this very bizarre encounter and this incredibly tempting man.
And run she did, as hard and as fast as her legs would take her. It was almost as if her emotional existence depended on getting as far away from this man as quickly as possible.
“Hey! Wait a minute—”
Marcie dashed down the street, her shoes pounding hard against the pavement with each step. She heard him call after her, but she dared not stop. As soon as she rounded the corner she ducked into a large store. Without pausing to look back, she walked swiftly through the store and out the other side to another street. Only then did she stop and glance back over her shoulder.
As soon as she was convinced that he had not followed her, she leaned back against the building to catch her breath. She juggled her packages, being careful not to spill the contents of one sack that had ripped open.
“Oh, damn!” The words came out loud and clear, her irritation audible for anyone within earshot. Somewhere during her flight from that absurd encounter with that very disconcerting stranger she had lost one of her packages—the one from the bookstore. It contained a special order she had placed two weeks ago. Three of the books were hers, but the fourth was a large volume about the Civil War that she had ordered as a birthday present for her father.
And now it was lost before she could even get it to the post office. She clenched her jaw in anger. It was all his fault. She had been minding her own business, doing a little window-shopping while making her way back to her car, when he had accosted her.
It had all happened so quickly. She had not even gotten a good look at him—about an inch taller than six feet, dark blond hair with sun-bleached streaks that really set off his golden tan, sky-blue eyes with just a hint of wrinkling at the corners, handsomely chiseled features with a small scar on his chin, and an absolutely devastating smile. No, she certainly had not paid any attention to his physical presence and overwhelming appeal—not much she hadn’t.
She cleared her throat, glanced around as if to make sure no one had eavesdropped on her totally inappropriate thoughts, then took a calming breath to ease her embarrassment. A little chill shivered across her nape. She immediately stilled it with her hand. She took another deep breath, held it for several seconds, then slowly expelled it as she shook her head.
It had certainly been a weird day. It had started out with a flat tire before she’d even left home to drive down to San Diego. She had done her shopping, been pulled into a totally off-the-wall encounter with a disconcerting stranger, then had lost a package containing four books.
And now it was time to go home.
She reclaimed her car, then drove north out of San Diego to the mostly upscale bedroom community of Crestview Bay. She had a one o’clock meeting with a prospective client. A ripple of irritation passed through her body. Thanks to him she would have to skip lunch if she was going to be on time for her appointment.
Much to her chagrin the heated desire produced by his kiss still lingered in her consciousness. Irritably, she tried to shove it aside, but she was not able to totally eradicate the memory.
Chance Fowler pulled into the parking lot of the yacht club, parked his Porsche in his usual space, and hurried toward the sleek sailboat that bore the name Celeste in black letters on a gleaming white background. He had named the racing sloop after his mother—the first of what had turned out to be many women who subsequently claimed the name of Mrs. Douglas Fowler.
“How’s it going, Take-A-Chance?” The shapely blonde in the hot-pink thong bikini waved from the deck of the boat two slips over from his. “Are you entered in the regatta tomorrow?”
“Sure am, sweetheart.” Take-A-Chance...it was a label that one of his classmates had given him during college and it had stuck, even after all these years. Chance Fowler—always ready to take a chance on a new adventure, a new thrill, or a dangerous stunt.
“Then we’ll see you at the party at the clubhouse afterward?”
“I expect so.” He returned her wave, inconspicuously giving an appreciative once-over to her blatantly displayed charms. He thought the temperature was a little too cool for her to be dressed so skimpily, but that was Bambi. She was never one to keep her attributes under wraps.
“It’s about time you got here!” The angry male voice came from the deck of the Celeste.
Chance