The Millionaire's Christmas Wish. Shawna Delacorte
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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 work, and now it’s dinner tonight.”
“You should have accepted my invitation at the coffee level. Now, it’s too late. Besides, you owe me.” He saw her objection start to form, and quickly cut it off before she could give it a voice. “You owe me the opportunity to prove that your preconceived notions about me are wrong.”
He flashed a teasing grin. “Surely you wouldn’t deny me my Constitutional right of being innocent until proven guilty...” His smile faded as he searched out her vulnerability and caressed the essence of her soul. “Would you?”
“I suppose I do owe you that much.” There was a hint of concern surrounding Marcie’s words. She was not sure exactly how she had gotten herself into this predicament.
“Good.” Chance’s face literally beamed his pleasure at her acceptance. “When will you be finished with work? What time should I pick you up? And where—at the nursery or at your house?”
“No... I mean, it would be more convenient if I met you somewhere.” The last thing she wanted was to be trapped someplace where she could not conveniently and quickly leave if things turned out the way she feared they probably would. She caught herself, putting an immediate stop to the direction her thoughts were taking her. She was making assumptions again. He had been correct, it was a bad habit. It was something she needed to work on.
He hesitated a moment, then gave in to her request. “All right. How about the Crestview Bay Bistro? The food there is good, the atmosphere comfortable, and the ocean view is terrific.”
“Sure, that will be fine.” She wondered if he had picked the bistro as a convenience for her since it was close to the nursery, or if it was someplace he really wanted to go. “What time?”
“You tell me... I don’t know your work schedule.”
She thought a moment. With Sandy out sick she would not be able to get away early. “How about seven o’clock? Will that be okay?”
He flashed a smile of genuine pleasure. “That will be absolutely perfect. I’ll make reservations.” He reached for her hand and gave it a little squeeze—not what he wanted to do, but it would have to suffice for the moment. “I’ll see you tonight.”
She watched him shove the cart toward the collection point outside the main entrance of the building. A hint of anxiety churned in her stomach. She quickly climbed into her van and headed out of the parking lot before he could return. She had made the commitment to have dinner with him. She was obligated to show up. Another hint of anxiety shuddered through her body. It was not trepidation. She was certainly not afraid of him. But it was anxiety none the less. Could it be her own feelings and emotions that she feared? It was an unanswered question that did not sit well with her.
Chance returned to his car just in time to see Marcie pull out of the parking lot. He was not sure exactly why he was so attracted to her, beyond the obvious of her being a very enticing woman. Was it merely the challenge of charming someone who kept rejecting him, or did it go much deeper than the shallowness of a physical attraction? He was not really sure he wanted to know the answer to that question, but the possibilities definitely disturbed him and at the same time they excited him.
For the first time in his life he seemed to be treading a thin line between playing a game and being drawn into what could only end up as a serious relationship. There was no doubt in his mind that with Marcie it could never be a casual affair. She was not the type of woman who would be willing to play games just for the fun of it. No matter how many times he told himself to get out and move on to something that was less of a threat, he did not seem to be able to do it.
Three
Chance arrived at the bistro nearly half an hour early. He secured a quiet table in a corner of the cocktail lounge and ordered a beer. It had been a bad day all around, starting with the insistent ringing of his phone as he arrived home from the flower mart.
The phone call had been from Hank Varney, apprising him that one of his students had gotten into trouble again. He had to admit that he was not surprised about Jeff being picked up for car theft, but it still upset him more than he wanted to admit. He knew he could not expect to have a one hundred percent success rate with the program, but when one of his students turned to criminal ways, Chance always took it personally.
Which brought him to another point of contention between Chance and his father. When he’d first come up with the plan to take school dropouts, disadvantaged older teens, and those who were having a difficult time of it because of an arrest record for minor offenses, and teach them a trade so they could make it in the world, his father had been vehemently against it.
“Can’t trust these punks... They’ll rob you blind... There will be no sponsorship