The Millionaire's Christmas Wish. Shawna Delacorte
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Then, in response to the image of startled hazel eyes surrounded by long dark lashes, he added, “Although it might have been better if I’d just let him snap his picture—it certainly would have been quicker.”
His brow furrowed in momentary concentration as he recalled for at least the tenth time in the past couple of hours exactly how the mystery woman had felt in his arms and the taste of her mouth. And there had been something in her eyes, something he could not quite place. Had it been a spark of passion? A heated moment of desire? Whatever it was had flickered through her eyes and disappeared before he could accurately read it. He wanted another opportunity to ignite that spark, but she had run off before he’d been able to discover who she was or where to find her. By the time he had gotten to the corner, she was nowhere in sight.
He closed his eyes and visualized her delicate features. When he had stared into her eyes, he’d been captivated by tiny golden flecks that sparkled brighter than the light glinting off the water in Mission Bay on a bright sunny day. Her lips were full and lush, her mouth—
“Earth to Chance...” Dave’s irritation broke into Chance’s momentary lapse of attention.
“Huh? Oh...sorry. I have several things on my mind.”
“I don’t have all day. Do you suppose you could narrow that list down to just one item—like maybe tomorrow’s regatta?”
“Yeah.” Chance extended an apologetic smile. “Sure thing.”
“Then let’s get under way. Bonnie’s sister, her husband, and their three kids are coming over for dinner tonight and I’m going to catch hell if I’m late again.”
Chance could not stop the laugh prompted by Dave’s complaint. “Bonnie’s a lovely lady, but you’re the one who was dead set on getting married. I tried to warn you about the pitfalls of marriage, but you refused to listen to me.”
Dave glared at his friend. “Give it a rest, will ya?”
The two men quickly got down to the business of preparing for the next day’s regatta and were soon under way as they passed from the yacht club basin out to open water.
Four hours later they returned to Chance’s slip at the yacht club. After securing the sloop, Dave hurried toward his car. Chance watched his buddy pull out of the parking lot and head down the street before turning toward his own car. He was not in any hurry. It was Friday night, but he had no place special to go and nothing special to do. He had no desire to hang around the yacht club and socialize with a bunch of people he did not care that much about.
He looked at the package on the passenger seat of his car. The mystery woman had dropped it when she’d run off. He had picked it up, intent on following her to return it, but had lost sight of her when she’d disappeared around the corner. He had stuck the package in his car, with plans to do something about it later.
It seemed that later had finally arrived.
The outside of the sack bore the name of a downtown bookstore located just a block from where he had perpetrated his little charade. He opened the sack, hoping to find something inside that would tell him who she was. He removed four books and set them on the car seat, then reached into the bag again and withdrew a hand-written special order sales receipt. Marcie Roper. Crestview Bay Nursery.
He folded the sales slip and stuck it in his jacket pocket. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, leaving him a little uncertain about where it had come from or why. His breathing increased slightly and a tightness pulled across his chest accompanied by a soft warmth that settled over him. “Well, Marcie Roper...I’ve never had a woman literally turn and run from me before. I guess I’m going to have to see what I can do to change your apparent opinion of me.”
He furrowed his brow in contemplation. He had never had an impromptu kiss grab him like that, either. He could still feel the heat of the moment and the desire that had flooded his consciousness as the enticing interlude played through his mind.
He returned his attention to the package she had dropped. He took a look at the books she had purchased. The special-order item was a large and expensive volume on the Civil War. In addition, there was the latest bestseller thriller, a biography of Catherine the Great of Russia, and a romance novel.
He put the books back in the sack, got out of his car and made his way to the yacht club office. Checking the phone books, he quickly grabbed the appropriate one, and flipped through the Yellow Pages until he found what he was looking for. He pulled the bookstore receipt from his pocket and jotted three names on the back of it. Crestview Bay Florist. Crestview Bay Nursery. Crestview Bay Landscaping. All three businesses had the same address. Then he looked in the white pages and found a listing in Crestview Bay for an M. J. Roper.
The image of her delicate features played across his mind—her kiss-swollen lips, the golden flecks in her hazel eyes. He shook his head as he walked back to his car. The entire incident had been nothing more than a fluke—a random encounter, a spontaneous moment. So why was it still so vividly real in his mind? Why could he still taste the kiss and feel her in his arms?
“Marcie Roper of Crestview Bay...” He stared at the sales receipt as he uttered the words. “You may have managed to slip away from me today, but it won’t be quite so easy the next time we meet now that I know where to find you.”
Marcie leafed through the Sunday newspaper while enjoying her morning coffee. It seemed that all the ads featured Christmas items even though the holiday was still almost six weeks away. It was difficult to think in terms of Christmas when the normal San Diego weather was so pleasantly warm and sunny that time of year.
She knew she needed to get busy setting up her displays for the limited number of Christmas items she carried at the nursery—a special line of handmade ornaments, indoor and outdoor wreaths, holly plants and cuttings, evergreen garland, poinsettia plants and Christmas trees. She found the holidays to be a lonely time and so far the spirit of the season had eluded her.
That was the way it had been for the past few years, since the death of her grandmother. In all her thirty-one years, it was her grandmother who had provided the only stable home life she had ever known. She continued to keep in touch with her father, who lived in Illinois, but they had never been very close. She expelled a sigh as she turned the page, knowing that if she did not get those Christmas displays set up pretty soon it would be too late to bother.
She took another sip of her coffee, but before she could swallow it, a photograph leaped off the page and grabbed her. The mug nearly slipped from her hand, spilling most of its contents on her newspaper. A hard gulp sent her swallow of hot coffee down the wrong way. She fought the choking cough that spasmed in her throat as she tried to get her breath.
She could not believe her eyes. Right there in the newspaper, staring at her with that same devilish smile, was the man who had grabbed her on the street. He was with another man and the two of them were holding up a trophy. There was also a woman in the photograph, her arm linked through his, wearing a very skimpy bathing suit.
Marcie stared at the photograph again. There was no doubt about it. He was definitely the man whose kiss had gone right through her and even curled her toes. She had been trying to erase the incident from her mind, but to no avail. She closed her eyes for a moment as she recalled for perhaps the hundredth time every nuance of the heated instant when his lips had touched hers.
She scanned the caption beneath the photograph, then went back and carefully read it a second time. “Chance Fowler and Dave Stevens display their first place trophy from Saturday’s regatta. This is the third win for Fowler and his racing sloop, Celeste, seen in the background.”
“Chance Fowler.” The words came out in a hushed gasp, as if she were too stunned to even say the name. Chance Fowler? The man in the photograph was the one and only Chance Fowler? The man who had appeared from out of nowhere and totally swept her off her feet was the heir to the Fowler family fortune, the infamous playboy whose picture graced the pages of the tabloids as often as it did the society pages and sporting news?
Her