Falling for You (3 page)

A burst of night wind carried the scent of rain, and somewhere far out over the gulf, lightning flickered.

“Magic?” He leaned a hip against the rail to study her. She had the quiet, cultured sort of looks he found comfortable, with her pale blond hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. The diamond studs that sparkled at her ears complemented her silvery blue slip of a dress. Her dainty body had always made him feel masculine, even back in the days when he was a scrawny adolescent. Although now that he towered over her a full foot, he idly wondered how well they’d fit together in bed.

He pushed the image aside, feeling somewhat guilty for trying to picture the act of sex with Paige. For as long as he’d known her, Paige Baxter had possessed a pristine quality that discouraged base thoughts in her presence. He supposed, if they were going to be married, he needed to get over that.

The sliding glass door opened, and Chance turned as their parents joined them.

“Ellen, your dinner was superb as always,” Marcy Baxter said to his mother as the ladies made their way to the grouping of outdoor furniture amid the potted palms. The striped awning that shaded the deck during the day had been retracted so they could enjoy the stars. “I don’t suppose I could get the recipe for that praline flan?”

“I’m afraid even I can’t get it,” his mother laughed as she settled onto a cushioned settee. The long Oriental silk top she wore with wide-legged pants shimmered softly as she made herself comfortable. Even staring the age of sixty in the face, with threads of silver weaving through her brown hair, Ellen Chancellor was a handsome woman. “I made the dinner but Carmen made dessert and you know she never shares her recipes with anyone.”

“Well, you should make her give it to you,” Marcy said as she perched on a chair, tucking her short skirt about her legs. “She does work for you, after all.”

While Ellen accepted the advancing years with grace, her lifelong friend was fighting them every step of the way with dyed blond hair to hide the gray and the latest trends from Neiman Marcus.

“How about a cigar?” Chance’s father, Norman, asked Harry Baxter as the men headed for the outdoor bar beneath an overhang at the other end of the deck.

“I’d love one,” the land developer answered in his deep, booming voice. His short, powerful body provided a sharp contrast to Norman Chancellor’s tall, masculine grace.

“Harry,” Marcy warned her husband with a pointed look. “You know what the doctor said about your blood pressure.”

“Bah, one cigar every now and then isn’t going to kill me.” Harry selected a fat Cuban from the box Norman presented. Chance caught his father’s look of longing as Harry puffed the cigar to life. Since his heart attack two years ago, Norman had to settle for smoking by proxy.

“So”—Harry leaned back in the high-legged bar chair allowing his full stomach to relax—“what’s this rumor I hear about your bank foreclosing on Pearl Island?”

The tension snapped back into Chance’s shoulders.

“Hmm, what’s that?” Norm asked, distracted by a plume of aromatic smoke.

Chance closed his eyes as he waited for Harry to answer. He’d hoped he could tell his father about the foreclosure personally—and in private.

“One of the real estate agents I work with was out boating today,” Harry said. “Told me he saw a foreclosure sign in front of the house on Pearl Island.”

A heartbeat of silence followed in which Chance could almost hear the thoughts spinning through his father’s mind. The confidentiality of a bank customer was sacred to Norman Chancellor. He would never publicly humiliate anyone by putting up a foreclosure sign. But then, Norman Chancellor didn’t own the bank anymore. While the new owners had kept him on as bank president, they operated behind his back all too often, expecting Norman and his old-fashioned ways to be little more than window dressing to keep the Old Money accounts happy.

“Foreclosure? That’s nonsense.” Norm flashed a look in Chance’s direction, a look that demanded an explanation. Helpless, Chance gave his head an infinitesimal shake, letting his father know they’d talk about it later. Norm forced a laugh as he turned back to Harry. “The LeRoches have been depositors at the First Bank of Galveston since my ancestors founded the bank. I don’t care if it is the Liberty Union now, or if the LeRoches only vacation in Galveston these days, we still consider them locals. What’s the point of doing business with a local bank, if you aren’t extended a bit of leeway now and then?”

“Well, if anyone needs a bit of leeway right now, it would be John LeRoche,” Harry said. “From what I hear, his first wife took him to the cleaners, and that young model he’s taken up with is spending him out of house and home. Although,” Harry added with a booming laugh, “from the looks of her, maybe she’s worth it! Did you see the picture of her on the cover of that magazine? What’s the name of it?” he asked his wife.

“
Glamour
,” Marcy answered, her lips pursed with disapproval over John LeRoche’s behavior.

Seeing her expression, Norm cleared his throat. “If you want my opinion, few women are worth losing a fortune over, much less making a fool of yourself in public. As for the foreclosure, it’s bound to be a simple mistake.” He scrubbed his face with a long-fingered hand. “I’m telling you, Harry, sometimes I wonder about the folks I sold the bank to. It was the best decision from a business standpoint, just the way of the world in banking these days, but those East Coast Yankees don’t have a clue how we do business down here in the South. It’s as if the term ‘gentleman’s honor’ has no meaning to them.”

“I hear you there.” Harry puffed on the cigar.

“Chance,” his father said, “we’ll meet on this tomorrow. But first, find out who put up that damn sign and see that it’s taken down.”

“I’ll talk to Brian in loans about it,” Chance answered evasively, dreading the inevitable confrontation.

“Norman,” Chance’s mother scolded lightly. “Can’t you men talk about something other than work?”

“You’re right.” Norm nodded. “Sorry.”

“Miss Ellen?” Carmen, the housekeeper, appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “I have coffee ready if you like.”

“Oh, yes, I’d love some. Marcy?” Ellen asked her friend. “You’ll have some coffee, won’t you?”

“Only if it’s decaf,” Marcy answered.

“Chance? Paige?” his mother called. “What can Carmen get for you?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” Chance answered, suddenly eager to escape the entire evening. “Paige, do you want anything?”

“Actually”—she hesitated—“I think I’d prefer a walk.”

Her face tipped up to his, and he saw perfect understanding in her eyes. It was this knack she had for reading him that had drawn him to her from the first. For as long as he could remember, Paige had always been there, at her parents’ house just up the street, ready to listen to his problems. “Would you like to go with me?”

“Yes, I would.” He smiled and moved his arm so she could link her hands about his elbow.

“Paige, dear, don’t forget your sweater,” Marcy Baxter said. “It feels like that storm is moving in.”

“Yes, ma’am.” With a barely audible sigh, Paige ducked back inside and returned with a lightweight cardigan.

Chance took the sweater and draped it over Paige’s shoulders before they descended the wooden steps and headed for the golf-cart path. With the neighborhood located on the west end of the island, where the ground barely rose above sea level, all the houses were elevated. Garages and storage rooms filled in the ground level with the living areas above. The houses on the gulf side of the street backed up to the golf course. Houses on the bay side, like the Baxters’, were set on a series of canals with boat docks in back.

The moment they passed a row of oleanders that shielded them from their parents, Paige pulled the sweater from her shoulders and draped it over one arm. Overhead, the wind rustled the palm trees that lined the path.

“I take it all is not well at the bank?” Paige asked quietly.

“You might say that.” Chance snorted, wondering where to begin. So much had happened while Paige had been off at college. They’d kept loosely in touch, but only saw each other when she was home. And then she’d spent most of her time with her friends from McConnell High, the private school she’d attended.

Dating would have been easier if she’d gone straight to college after high school, but she’d waited four years. So, while he and most of her friends were at UT, she’d been in Galveston. Then when he’d returned home, she’d left, which had delayed any serious involvement.

That arrangement had suited them both. Though they’d never discussed it openly, they each knew that someday they’d marry. Chance had decided it would be best if they tested other waters while they were still young, rather than spend their
entire
lives together. Since Paige hadn’t objected, he assumed she felt the same.

They strolled easily together, with him shortening his long-legged stride. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

About our marriage?
he wondered, having lost the thread of the conversation. Then he remembered the bank and laughed at himself. “Actually, my mother’s right. I talk about work too much. I’d rather talk about you.”

“Oh, really?” Her voice held a touch of pique.

He glanced down at her, but could see little more than the top of her head. “You sound surprised.”

“Well, yes, I suppose I am.” She tilted her face up, revealing an expression that looked as accepting as it always did. “Since I’ve been home a week and you haven’t made any attempt to see me.”

Has she really been home a week?
He mentally scrolled down his desk calendar and realized she had. “I was giving you time to get settled.”

“Chance.” She stopped, so he did the same. “I’m staying in the house where I grew up. How much time do you think I need to get settled?”

“Oh,” he said, chagrined. She shook her head at him, and they resumed walking. He tried to think of a conversational gambit, and wondered when talking to Paige had become a task. And an awkward one at that. “So, um, you’re going to live with your parents this summer?”

She heaved a sigh. “It’s a little hard to get an apartment when you don’t have a job. And Daddy would kill me if I touched my trust fund.”

He glanced at her in confusion. “But you have a degree in interior design. Don’t you plan to use it?”

“Did you honestly think my father would let me work? Good heavens, it took me four years simply to convince him I wanted to go to college and get a degree. Actually wanting to use that degree seems beyond his ability to comprehend.” She made a sound that came dangerously close to a snort. “To think, I was actually hoping to go to work for his architect and design team. But you know how he is. He expects me to be his pampered darling until I marry. And then he expects me to be my husband’s pampered darling till the day I die.”

“And what do you expect?”

She didn’t answer. As they passed from shadow into moonlight, he noticed emotions flickering across her brow. Before he could read them, they slipped back into shadow.

“Chance?” she asked as they stepped onto a footbridge. “Why haven’t you ever kissed me?”

“What are you talking about?” Chance stared at Paige, stunned. One moment they’d been having a rational conversation. Now he felt as if he’d been hit in the head with a two-by-four. “I’ve kissed you.” He thought for a moment, his mind racing. “The first time I kissed you was during the Connelys’ Christmas party when Nerdy Ned ran over and held mistletoe above our heads.”

Paige gave him a disgruntled look. “A kiss on the cheek doesn’t count.”

“Of course it counts. Everyone in the room was watching. I thought my face would catch on fire I was so embarrassed, but I knew if I didn’t do it all our friends would call me a coward. Trust me, Paige, anything that traumatic counts.”

She just leaned against the bridge rail and shook her head.

“Okay,” he persisted, “the first time I took you to a school dance. I distinctly remember kissing you on the lips when I drove you home. We were standing on your parents’ front porch, and I kept expecting your dad to open the door and point a shotgun at my chest.”

“He wouldn’t have done that!” Paige gaped. “Even if he and Mom were watching from the living room window. It still doesn’t count, though, because it was a polite, thank-you-for-the-date kiss. Not a
real
kiss.”

“And what exactly do you call a
real
kiss?”

She plucked at her sweater rather than look at him. “The year you were a senior and you took Carri Hempstead to your prom, the next day in the locker room before dance class, she called you Clark Kent.”

“Clark Kent?” Chance slumped back against the opposite rail, wondering if he’d slipped into the Twilight Zone.

“Hmmm.” Paige’s eyes twinkled as she looked at him through her lashes. “Carri said you might look mild mannered, but when you kiss, you turn into Superman.”

“She said that?”

“She said you could take a girl flying through stars with the way you kiss.”

“Really?” His chest expanded with pleasure as he remembered that night with Carri Hempstead in the back seat of his father’s Lincoln.

“So”—Paige crossed her arms—“how come you’ve never kissed me like that?”

Kiss Paige the way I kissed Carri?
Images flooded his mind of his hands on Carri’s naked breasts, of her fingers tugging at his shirt. Lips locked, tongues entwined. The rush of cool air on his backside when he finally kicked free of his pants. And the glorious heat of Carri Hempstead’s eager body taking his virginity. At least one of them had had experience that night. And oh, the wicked things she’d taught him all through the following summer. The carnal feast had ended on friendly terms when he’d left for UT in Austin, and she headed for Texas A&M.

He tired to imagine doing those things with Paige and his mind drew a complete blank. Paige stood waiting, all but tapping a sandal on the wooden bridge.

He looked around, hoping for a graceful way out of this predicament. Only... why would he want out of it? Wasn’t this the moment he’d been waiting for? He should
want
to kiss Paige. But once he kissed her—kissed her the way a man kisses a woman he wants to take to bed—the courtship would officially begin. It would no longer be a thing in the future. They’d be headed straight down the path of dating, engagement, matrimony, mortgage, children, diapers, IRAs, retirement, and vacations spent on cruise ships.

It all loomed over his head, ready to crash down on him the minute his lips made contact with hers.

“Paige, you know how interested I’ve always been in you.”

She mumbled something that sounded like “You could have fooled me.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She smiled sweetly.

“But going from being friends to being... something more is awkward.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” He gestured outward with his long arms. “It just is. And it’s not something we need to rush.”

She looked stricken. “Do you really find the idea of kissing me that offensive?”

“No! Of course not. I just don’t want to rush you into anything. You’ve only been back a week. Surely you want to spend time with your friends before I start monopolizing you.”

“I see.” She hesitated, her brow dimpled. “I guess we aren’t as suited for each other as people think, if you find me so repulsive.” She turned and started walking back toward his parents’ house.

“Paige, wait!” He caught up with her and took hold of her arm. She refused to look at him and he wondered if she were crying. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just feeling a bit pressured. Aren’t you? I mean, all our lives people have talked about what a perfect couple we’d make, and I’ve always agreed with that. I just didn’t want to act on it too fast. I wanted to give you time to grow up first.”

Her head whipped around and he saw moonlit tears shimmer in her eyes. “You think I need to grow up?”

“No!” He felt as if he’d just kicked a kitten. “But, well, don’t you find it daunting to have something that has always been off in the future suddenly... you know...
here
?”

“Actually, yes, I do.” She dabbed beneath her wet lashes. “I just thought maybe we should get this one thing out of the way. You make me nervous, Chance. All week I’ve been jumping every time the phone rings, wondering if it’s you, and if you’d want to see me. Want a date. A real date. Then, this evening I’ve barely been able to breathe, wondering if tonight would be the night you’d finally kiss me. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve tried to imagine what it would be like? I don’t care about what happens after. We don’t have to start dating right away. To be honest, I’d like a little time to myself rather than going straight from college to being tied down. I just want you to kiss me and get it over with so I can quit being sick to my stomach. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said softly, willing to do anything to stop her tears.

“Okay?” Her eyes widened.

“Okay.” He stepped forward, his heart pounding as he cupped her jaw. His thumb stroked her wet cheek. Steeling his nerves, he lowered his mouth to hers.

Her lips were soft and pleasant. But the scent of baby powder distracted him, made him remember how she’d looked as a little girl, so tiny and lost and looking to him to protect her. It was an image to inspire brotherly affection, not great passion. Brushing her lips a second time, he searched his mind for something more erotic, anything to get him through this moment. A mental image to turn him from Clark Kent into Superman.

The memory of Aurora St. Claire flashed to life. He saw her towering over him, the long bare legs leading to a body made for pleasure and all that glorious golden-red hair flying about her. With a groan he deepened the kiss, molding and tasting the lips beneath his as arousal rushed through him, tightening his groin.

The instant erection made him jerk back, breaking the kiss. Paige swayed toward him, off balance. He caught her shoulders to steady her, thankful his hips hadn’t been pressed against her. Still, he was mortified that he’d been so violently turned on with thoughts of another woman while kissing the woman he intended to marry.

Aurora was a fantasy in the flesh. Paige was his sensible reality. He needed to remember that.

He struggled to slow his breathing as she blinked up at him.

“How was that?” he asked at last.

A frown flickered briefly across her brow. “It was... nice.”

“Yes, nice,” he echoed, trying not to be disappointed. Maybe he could keep his mind on her while kissing if she’d wear perfume instead of baby powder. He wondered how rude it would be to mention it, and promptly rejected the idea. He’d just have to get used to the scent. At least she’d quit crying, he noticed with relief. “Should we head back to the house?”

“All right,” she agreed reluctantly. When they turned to walk along the path, he took her hand in his. Her bones felt small and fragile.

As they neared the house, his mind drifted back to Aurora. He couldn’t help but wonder how he would have felt if he’d just kissed her in the moonlight. Somehow he didn’t think “nice” would properly describe the experience.

~ ~ ~

The enthusiasm that had kept Rory up half the night faltered when she reached the Liberty Union National Bank. Stepping through the glass doors framed in polished brass, she tried not to gape at the opulent lobby. Mahogany paneling rose twenty feet to the coffered ceiling. To one side of the entrance, leather sofas bracketed Oriental rugs, and financial magazines lay in regimented order on antique coffee tables.

A low hum of voices drew her attention in the opposite direction, where tellers sat behind a long counter, waiting on customers. Two of the tellers she recognized as classmates from high school, girls who’d gone on to college and now worked at a job she couldn’t even fathom. The thought of all those numbers they dealt with so effortlessly made her stomach clench.

Between customers, they bent their heads together and laughed over some bit of gossip, then glanced toward an older woman with mocha skin and jet-black hair smoothed into a French twist. When the older woman looked up, the tellers instantly sobered, like schoolgirls spotting their teacher.

Rory noticed the older woman’s desk guarded a hallway lined with closed doors. Chance’s office would probably lie behind one of those doors. Never one to let intimidation hold her back for long, she took a deep breath and crossed the lobby. Her rubber-soled deck shoes squeaked on the marble floor, making her cringe. She’d worn her tour guide uniform since she planned to go straight to work afterward. Galveston was a casual community and she’d never felt out of place wearing shorts—until now.

“Excuse me,” she said in a subdued voice when she reached the desk. “I’m here to see Oliver Chancellor.”

The older woman looked up and took in Rory’s attire over the tops of reading glasses. “Is he expecting you?”

“Yes, of course, I’m Rory, I mean—” She took a breath and slowed down. “I’m Aurora St. Claire.”

The woman ran a finger down a list of names. “I don’t see you. What time was your appointment?”

Rory squirmed. “I didn’t exactly make an appointment. But I did tell him I’d be coming in today.”

“Regarding?” The woman arched a black brow.

“He’ll know,” Rory said, hoping he remembered.

“Hmm.” The woman’s lips compressed. “I’ll see if he’s available.”

“Thank you.” Rory offered a smile that seemed to go unnoticed.

As the woman picked up the phone and spoke in a hushed voice, Rory tucked her hair behind her ears and wondered if she should have pulled it back. People who worked at real jobs always seemed to have a secret set of standards she could never quite grasp. Looking about the lobby, at the framed portraits of men with dark suits and serious expressions, she suddenly felt like a bit of flotsam that had been tossed by a storm onto a manicured lawn.

“Aurora?”

She turned to see Chance striding toward her and her heart skipped a beat in surprise. He looked quite fashionable—and intimidating—in an olive-colored suit. Yet something in his welcoming smile made her nervous stomach relax.

“You came,” he said. “I wondered if you would.”

“Yes, of course. I said I would, and here I am.” She spread her arms to either side.

“So I see.” His gaze swept downward, toward her legs, then darted away. “Perhaps you’d, um—” He cleared his throat. “Care to step into my office.”

“Certainly.” Her enthusiasm returned and tangled with her nerves as she followed him down the hall. She caught her breath when she passed through the door, for the room was every bit as grand as the lobby, but on a smaller scale. “Wow,” she said. “What a great office.”

“Thanks,” he said from behind her. She turned and saw him smile as he pushed his wire-rimmed glasses higher on his nose. He really was cute, in a scholarly sort of way. Except for his mouth. His mouth wasn’t cute at all. It was well defined, full, and... sensual. The kind of mouth that put thoughts into a girl’s head.

Glancing about, she took in the massive desk, the wet bar set discreetly within the custom-built cabinets, and an oil painting of the beach at sunset. “You must love working here.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You know, the office, the bank, everything.” Her gesture took in the whole room. “God, it must have been wonderful to grow up knowing you had all this waiting for you. You know”—she laughed and waved her hand—“instead of being like me and wondering what the heck you would do with your life.” When he just frowned as if confused, she clasped her hands to keep them still.

“Can I get you anything?” He nodded toward the coffeepot on the bar.

“No, nothing. I’m fine.”

“Well, then, have a seat.” He gestured toward a pair of chairs that sat on either side of an end table and lamp that gave the room a homey feel. “I assume you’re here to talk about Pearl Island?”

“Yes!” Trying to contain her excitement, she took a seat in the closest chair and waited for Chance to sit in the other. “I, we, what I mean is, Adrian, Allison, and I talked about it and they agreed with my idea. Well, actually, they didn’t
agree
, but they didn’t object to me looking into it.”

“ ‘It’ being... ?” Chance prompted, smothering a smile.

“What?” She blinked at him. “Oh! Sorry,” she laughed. “I got ahead of myself.”