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“Would you like me to?” Chance hadn’t expected the conversation to take such a flirtatious turn, but he didn’t object. “After your antics at the pool, I’d say a little guidance wouldn’t be amiss.”
“Guidance?” She drew the towel tightly around herself. It failed to hide her slim legs or the graceful curve of her neck. “I’m not your little sister.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Back off.” Her toes curled inside her thong sandals. “I don’t need anyone taking charge of me.”
“All I want is information,” he said. “Why did you bail out on me that night?”
“You know, on second thought you’re right. I’d better put on warm clothes.” Like a will-o’-the-wisp, she vanished into the bedroom, leaving Chance gritting his teeth in frustration.
DAISY STRUGGLED to peel the damp suit from her goose-bumpy flesh. It didn’t help to know that the best-looking man she’d ever met was waiting in the next room and that, by all indications, she had only to summon him and he’d come to undress her, inch by quivering inch.
Undress her and how many other women in the next few days and nights?
She couldn’t tear from her mind the image of him standing in the sunshine, holding that blond woman outside the restaurant. Gazing into her pouty face. Surrounding her with his strength, just as he’d done a few minutes ago to Daisy.
It was unfair that a man should possess such tenderness, such endearing manners—and such a complete lack of faithfulness.
Daisy wasn’t usually a sucker for a ladies’ man. She’d seen how her mother struggled to bring up a child alone, and her heart still bore the scars inflicted by an absentee father.
But there was something different about Chance Foster, a genuine quality that sneaked past her defenses. Should she be honest with him about why she’d left and risk letting him persuade her to try again?
Still debating, Daisy put on a long, hand-dyed dashiki her mother had made and went into the bathroom. She dragged a brush through her hair and stared at herself in the mirror.
Her skin looked more flushed than usual, probably from the sun, or could it be the result of her hormone pills? The doctor had changed her prescription a few months earlier, and she’d been suffering minor side effects.
The reminder of her medical condition threw cold water on temptation. A man like Chance Foster, attractive and successful and popular, would never have the patience to put up with her problems.
The doctor had said she might not be able to have a baby at all. The golden boy of Phoenix wasn’t very likely to choose a wife who couldn’t provide him with suitably golden offspring, was he? Even assuming, and it was a huge long shot, that he ever developed serious intentions toward Daisy.
Perhaps other women could afford to risk their hearts on him. She couldn’t. She needed a kind and undemanding family man who was at no risk of dragging her emotions onto a roller coaster the way her father had done.
No matter how much she wanted to hold Chance Foster one more time, she couldn’t afford to.
Squaring her shoulders, Daisy went to face him.
CHANCE COULDN’T FIGURE OUT why it took a woman so long to throw on a few clothes. On the other hand, he enjoyed knowing that Daisy cared enough about him to take pains with her appearance.
He appreciated women who groomed themselves well. And he knew a lot of them. Chance had heard that other men envied the way he showed up at charity and social events with one beauty after another.
What they didn’t know was that most of the ladies were platonic friends. Few men took the time to listen or to share big brotherly advice, and he’d discovered that women were hungry for uncritical companionship.
He was no monk, of course. There’d been a few lovers during the ten years since he finished law school, when his fiancée broke off their engagement to pursue her dream of a high-powered career.
It was a dream Chance had once shared, but he was a realist about his circumstances. Most of the time, anyway.
He didn’t regret that none of his later relationships had resulted in marriage. The women had been wrong for him, and not ready for marriage, either, in his view.
As a divorce attorney, he’d learned to identify the danger signs. Unrealistic expectations. Financial irresponsibility. Unwillingness to discuss differences of opinion.
Chance had long ago discarded the romantic notion that love was the essential ingredient in marriage, because he’d seen how quickly it could fade under adversity. He knew the keys were mutual respect and compatibility, not head-over-heels passion.
At least he’d thought so until he met Deirdre. He couldn’t explain what had hit him. Heaven knew he’d spent two months trying to talk himself out of his burning desire to see her again, without success.
With Deirdre he felt a new kind of connection. He wanted to linger in her arms, to listen to her breathing, to hear her laughter. When he’d awakened the morning after they’d made love and found her gone, the house had echoed with emptiness.
Chance was flipping through an art magazine, wondering if this was where she got her decorating ideas, when Daisy came out wearing an African-style dress whose soft fabric molded to the contours of her body. The dress was neither stylish nor glamorous, but on her, highly appealing.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
Her reddish-brown hair bobbed as she nodded. It reminded him of the woman he’d seen this afternoon.
“You don’t happen to work at an art gallery, do you?” he said.
“I own one.” Daisy led the way into the kitchen, where she poured herself coffee from a carafe and stuck it in the microwave to reheat. “Native Art, downtown.”
“No wonder you did such a great job of selecting your furnishings.” He made a mental note to visit her gallery. Often. “So you work one block from my office. I haven’t been imagining things.”
“You mean you saw that oddball woman ducking into alleys whenever you walked by?” Daisy shrugged. “That was me.”
“Care to provide an explanation?” he said. “Or do you behave this way with all your lovers?”
She snatched the coffee mug from the microwave, and for a moment he feared she was going to throw it at him. “That was uncalled for.”
“A low blow,” he agreed. “I’m sorry. I’m also still awaiting your answer about why you left that night.”
“I left because I don’t think we’re suited to each other,” she said. “And I was embarrassed. It isn’t my custom to go to bed with strangers.”
“That doesn’t explain why you couldn’t wait until morning to tell me. I thought I’d done something to offend you. You owe me an apology and a lot better reason than you’ve given.”
Chance knew he was pressuring her. Had she been a casual friend, he would have backed off and listened sympathetically. But he had no intention of behaving that way with Daisy.
She’d hurt him, and it was going to hurt him even more if he couldn’t make her change her mind. He wanted more of the excitement that had been missing from his relationships since college. He wanted another chance with this woman.
Daisy sniffed at the coffee and set the cup down without tasting it. “You’re right, it was cowardly. I’m sorry. You have every right to be angry. So I guess you don’t want to see me again, and that’s the end of it.”
“Wrong,” he said.
“You can’t possibly expect—I mean, this is all mixed up. My coffee doesn’t even smell appetizing. I must be really wired.” She paced into the living room. “We should never have—done what we did. What would your sister say? And Phoebe?”
“I can’t imagine why they should object,” Chance returned.
“Oh, they won’t. They’ll fuss. They’ll cheer us on. They’ll shove us together at every possible opportunity,” Daisy said. “They’ll drive us both crazy.”
“So you’re rejecting me because I’m Elise’s brother? And because my sister would approve of our getting involved? That doesn’t make sense.”
Daisy took a stance on the pale carpet. “I answered your question about why I left you. I knew we were wrong for each other, and I was embarrassed. That’s the whole story.”
Chance knew it couldn’t be. His lawyer instincts prodded him to back her into a corner, argue until she broke down and win the case through logic. But if he did that, he would lose any hope of winning her heart.
Instead he said, “Maybe we could start over. You have no reason to be embarrassed now, because I’m not a stranger, and—”
“I didn’t agree to a debate,” she said. “This conversation is over.”
“Are you asking me to go?”
“No hard feelings, but yes.”
For one agonizing moment he held her gaze. She was so much smaller than he but equally strong willed. He’d met his match, he thought. Perhaps in more ways than one.
“I yield the point,” he said. “And, Daisy?”
“Yes?”
“Please stop ducking around corners and nearly drowning yourself to avoid me,” he said. “I’m not an ogre.”
“I’ll remember that,” she said.
Judging by the glint in her eye, Chance knew she was teasing. He just hoped that behind the teasing lay an attraction to match his own.
Chapter Three
He certainly wasn’t an ogre, Daisy thought as she closed the door behind him. He was sexy and bewitching and even a bit vulnerable.
If only she could yield to instinct and haul him into her bedroom. If only she had a heart of cast iron and could simply enjoy the moment.
But Chance had the power to hurt her badly. And eventually he’d do it, either through one big abandonment or through little betrayals over time.
In the meantime he was too forceful. Daisy had nearly backed down beneath his verbal onslaught, had nearly apologized and admitted she’d been wrong.
She didn’t want to back down. She didn’t want a man who could override her better judgment and control her actions.
In her adult life she’d been involved seriously with two men. They’d seemed different from each other on the surface, but underneath they’d been alike.
Commanding. Insistent. Wanting to take charge of her. In both cases, she’d broken things off after a nasty argument.
Maybe it was because she’d grown up without a father or even a grandfather, but in Daisy’s experience it simply wasn’t possible to negotiate with a man. There was no way to share power, only fight or flight.
She needed a low-key fellow who wouldn’t lock horns with her. So why wasn’t she attracted to a guy like that?
Daisy wandered into the kitchen and tried to concentrate on fixing dinner. She couldn’t stop thinking about Chance. The lingering scent of his aftershave drifted from the living room, as if a part of him had permeated her condo.
While using the electric opener on a can of soup, she noticed a white paperback wedged between two cookbooks on the counter. What a relief to discover where she’d stuck it! She’d been afraid a deep-lying emotional reluctance had led her to lose the book her friends had bought her, 2001 Ways to Wed.
The book worked, all right. Using it in an attempt to help Daisy, both Phoebe and Elise had fallen in love.
So far she hadn’t done more than glance through it. But if it could help her find Mr. Right, she’d be able to put Chance Foster out of her mind once and for all.
Daisy opened the book. “Okay, Jane Jasmine,” she said, as if the author were standing in front of her. “What pearls of wisdom do you have to offer me?”
Flipping through the pages, she noted and rejected some of the suggestions. She wasn’t going to meet the man of her dreams at the workplace. Sean O’Reilly, her assistant at the gallery, was a kid of twenty-two, eight years younger than she was.
Nor was she likely to find the man of her dreams next door. She’d already ruled out the brother of her next-door neighbor, Elise. The condo on the other side belonged to a middle-aged married couple with school-age children.
Daisy stopped at a chapter entitled “If He Knew Me, He’d Hate Me—Or Would He?”
All of us fear rejection. And many of us secretly feel unworthy of love. Putting the two areas of anxiety together, we may believe that the object of our interest couldn’t possibly love us as we really are.
So we pretend to be something we aren’t, or we hide our real self deep inside. This is exactly the opposite of what we should do if we want to find true love.
We need to be frank and honest. We need to take the risk of showing our true self to the one we care about.
I’m not suggesting you test your loved one’s devotion by dropping your dirty boots on her spotless floor or unloading a day’s worth of frustration by yelling at him. That’s not honesty, it’s inconsideration.
But if you’re watching his football games and haven’t seen your favorite ice skaters in months, tell him what you like. Look for a way to satisfy both your needs. Don’t hide your interests, your fears, your hopes. Sharing them can only create a stronger bond between the two of you.
Skeptical, Daisy stuck the book back into place. The author’s advice made sense up to a point, but how could she tell a formidable man like Chance Foster that she had run away because she knew that sooner or later he would break her heart?
And, having seen him again, she was more certain of that than ever.
“WHAT WAS ALL THAT ABOUT?” Elise demanded when Chance popped into her condo.
His sister had changed into shorts and a sleeveless buttoned shirt. With her medium-length brown hair clipped back, she looked too young to be a college professor. It was hard sometimes to remember that she was thirty-three and had a Ph.D.
“What was all what about?” he temporized. It had become a habit, as an attorney, to reveal as little as possible while he organized his thoughts.
Plus, Chance felt a natural restraint about revealing his emotions. Perhaps it came from being a big brother and taking a lot of responsibility for his sisters. He’d seen the pressure that having eight children put on his parents and had done his best to spare them from unnecessary worry.
In any case, he didn’t like having other people see his vulnerabilities. Not even Elise.
“I got the notion you and Daisy had met before.” She turned her back and marched into the kitchen. Judging by the onions, mushrooms, eggs and cheese on the counter, she was planning to cook an omelette. “You’re going to have to satisfy my curiosity if you expect me to fix you dinner.”
“I had no such expectation,” he said, although the sight of the ingredients made his mouth water. “And naturally, I wouldn’t dream of preparing one of my kitchen-sink salads unless you answer a few questions I happen to have.”
Chance was famous in the Foster household for salads in which, according to his sisters, he tossed everything but the kitchen sink. Starting with a base of greens and tomatoes, he would hunt through the pantry and come up with sardines or tuna, water chestnuts, cashew nuts, crispy Chinese noodles, garbanzo beans or whatever else was on hand.
Elise cracked a couple of eggs into a bowl and regarded him assessingly. “Well, all right. I’ll bet I can tell plenty about you and Daisy from whatever questions you ask, anyway.”
“You should have been a lawyer.”
“Spare me!” she cried in mock horror. “Two in one family?” She cracked a couple more eggs into the bowl. Elise would never put that many eggs in an omelette unless she was expecting company, Chance noted happily.
“By the way, I came over here to talk to you about your wedding plans,” he said. “As an attorney…”
“If you say one word about James and me needing a prenuptial agreement, I’ll wring your neck!” She chopped the onions hard against the cutting board.
From the refrigerator, Chance fetched the salad’s basic ingredients. “If I were his lawyer, seeing how wealthy he is, I’d insist on it. As your brother, however, I’m delighted that he hasn’t asked for one.”
