The Millionaire's Christmas Wish. Shawna Delacorte
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feeder is no good without something to go inside it. So—” he reached for a ten-pound sack of wild bird feed “—is this what I need?”
“Yes.” Her reply was curt. She did not intend to waste any more time on him by discussing the merits of one type of feed over another. She just wanted him to leave. “Will that be cash or charge?”
“Cash.”
He pulled his wallet from his pocket while she rang up the sale. She took his money, gave him his change, then placed the items in a box and shoved them across the counter toward him.
She tried to sound as cool and confident as she could even though her stomach churned and her nerve endings tingled with a surge of excitement when she caught a whiff of his aftershave. “Goodbye, Mr. Fowler.”
“Goodbye?” He leaned forward, pressing the palms of his hands against the counter. He lowered his voice to a soft, intimate level. “I thought maybe we could have a drink when you finished here. It would allow me to apologize... and give us an opportunity to get to know each other better.”
It took all the fortitude she could muster to fix him with a stern look. “I believe we know each other as well as we need to. Goodbye, Mr. Fowler.”
He refused to be put off. It was definitely time for that trump card. He picked up the box containing his purchases and flashed a devastating smile. “I’ll see you later, Marcie Roper.”
She stared at his retreating form, her mouth hanging open in stunned silence. Even though she had accused him of tracking her down, she had been so startled by his sudden appearance that it had not occurred to her to ask him how he knew her name or where to find her. She started to call after him, but quickly closed her mouth. Nothing would be gained by making him think she had any interest in his detective skills.
She watched as he left the nursery and crossed the parking lot to his car, every step and gesture indicative of a man who knew exactly who he was, where he was going, and what he wanted out of life. She hurried to lock the front door and put out the Closed sign. She paused for a moment and took a deep breath in an attempt to restore some semblance of order to the shambles his presence had made of her routine.
She returned to the cash register and began ringing up the totals for the day’s business. The sound of someone tapping against the front window drew her attention away from her work. She looked up to see Chance Fowler motioning for her to let him in. She shook her head and mouthed the words, “We’re closed,” while pointing to the sign.
He tapped on the window again and triumphantly displayed his hidden prize. He held up the sack so she could see it.
Marcie squinted as she stared at the object, at first not understanding the significance it held. Then the words came into focus—the sack was from the bookstore where she had picked up her order the day Chance Fowler had turned her life upside down. Could it possibly be the bag she had lost? She furrowed her brow in confusion as she made her way toward the door.
Again he motioned for her to unlock the door and let him in. She hesitated for a moment, then complied with his wishes... to a certain extent. She unlocked and opened the door, but did not stand aside to allow him entry. She stared at the sack without reaching for it, then shifted her gaze to him as her curiosity outweighed her impatience. “I’m really very busy right now, Mr. Fowler. Just what is it you want?”
“I believe I have something here that belongs to you. May I come in?”
She hesitated, then stepped aside.
Chance walked across the room and placed the bag on the counter. “You dropped this the other day. I tried to follow you to return it, but by the time I got to the corner you had disappeared.” He reached into the sack, withdrew the sales slip and placed it on the counter. “Fortunately, this had your name on it.”
She picked up the sales receipt and looked at it, then took the books from the bag. Her voice grew soft, conveying just a hint of embarrassment as she inspected the contents. “I—I thought they were lost for good. This one—” she held up the large volume about the Civil War “—is a birthday present for my father.” She ran her fingertips across the cover of the book, then looked up at the very handsome man standing on the other side of the counter.
Her manner softened considerably. “Thank you for returning my books.” Her words were unquestionably sincere.
“I’m just glad that I was able to track you down. I thought it was the least I could do in light of the fact that it was probably my fault that you dropped them.” Her shy smile captured and held him as tightly as if she had physically put her arms around him. A little twinge of longing told him it was an idea that he found very appealing—and definitely an idea worth pursuing. The memory of her taste and how she had felt in his arms told him there was no way he was going to let this just drift away like so many other things in his life.
“Well...” She glanced down, then looked up at him again. “Anyway, it was nice of you to go to all of this trouble. I really appreciate the gesture.”
“Enough to have dinner with me tonight?” He saw the way she stiffened in response to his invitation. The shy softness that had covered her features just a second earlier had changed into wariness.
“That’s impossible.” Her words were clipped, indicating her displeasure. “I have an employee out sick, so I need to be at the San Diego wholesale flower mart at five o’clock in the morning. That doesn’t allow me the luxury of socializing tonight.” She hurried toward the front door and held it open for him. “Thank you, again, for returning my books. Good night.”
Chance hesitated a moment. There did not seem to be anything to say that would change the situation, so he acquiesced to her wishes. “Good night, Marcie Roper.” He flashed a devilish smile that said she would definitely be seeing him again. “Pleasant dreams.”
Marcie watched as he crossed the parking lot to his car. The audacity of the man. Her disgust sounded loud and clear in her thoughts. He was obviously accustomed to thinking everyone would simply drop whatever they were doing to cater to his whims. Well, he had another think coming where she was concerned. Unlike other people, she was not impressed with whom he was.
Her fingertips lightly touched her lips. No matter what she tried to tell herself, she could not shake the very real sensuality of his kiss. He personified everything she found unacceptable, yet she was unable to dismiss him from her mind.
Pleasant dreams, indeed! She returned to her close-out chores as she made yet another unsuccessful attempt at shoving Chance Fowler from her thoughts.
The gray streaks of predawn light had not yet penetrated the black sky when Marcie pulled the nursery van out of the parking lot and headed south toward San Diego. She stifled a yawn, then reached for her travel mug of coffee. The night had been far too short, the alarm jarring her awake way too early. She had gone to bed in plenty of time to get enough sleep... if she had been able to sleep. As much as she tried to ignore it, however, thoughts and images of Chance Fowler kept circulating through her mind.
Regardless of how attractive she found him and how much he heated her desires, she knew nothing would be gained from speculating about where things might have led if she had accepted his initial invitation to join him for a drink, or his later offer to have dinner with him. He was an irresponsible, headline-grabbing playboy who did not know the first thing about hard work and commitment. That was everything she knew about him and it was everything she needed to know.
She drained the last swallow from her coffee mug just as she pulled into the flower mart. She parked the van, locked the door, then hurried inside to make her purchases. She stifled another yawn. It was going to be a very long day.
Chance glanced at his watch. Five forty-five in the morning was a wretched time to be up, but some things were worth a little extra sacrifice. He spotted the nursery van as soon as he pulled into the parking lot and he quickly secured a parking space for himself. After spending a restless night in an unsuccessful attempt to