CHAPTER 2

           ‘He’d do it, too, the bastard. I know he would,’ she thought, giving in to the inexplicable smile that seemed to rise from the ashes of every memory she had of the man that went away with her heart forever. Nearly every memory anyway.

          Chance knew no limits when it came to getting what he wanted. And now, after a decade with little more than the most limited greetings passing between them, and only when absolutely necessary, he wanted to get into her hideout.

“Now, Melora! You need to say something right this instant, otherwise... 3… 2… 1…”

          With a reluctant sigh, and then a second, louder, more pointed version of the first, Melora gave up her holding on the door and scooted into a seated position against the wall where she’d arranged a pile of linens to pad the floor.

“Alright, come in! Just hurry up before someone sees you.”

“Good girl! I knew I could count on you.”

          Chance shouldered through the door, closing it with the sweep of one foot behind him. The swift, fluid move, executed with Chance’s signature masculine economy of motion, took her back to the days of watching him tear across the soccer field, totally lost in him. Fast and strong and so skilled. Damp strands of dark hair whipping about his face as he drove toward a goal.

          She hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him. Even now, attempting to pry her gaze from the man-sized version of the boy she’d wanted so badly, Melora only managed to skirt from one hard-planed, deep-chiseled element of his physique to the next.

          It was no good. He was more devastating in the looks he’d grown into than any man had the right to be. His hair was now combed and it looked freshly cut and looked so silky and so imperfectly shaped. But remained utterly tempting in its unruly disarray. And the fact that he chose not to shave was making him even sexier.

          Chance was broader in the shoulders and chest, still athletically lean, and exuded so much power and confidence that dwarfed the world around him and making him ten feet tall. Particularly in his tailor-made tux with a bottle of champagne hanging loosely from his long fingers.

          He was the personification of careless elegance. Intimidating in ways to which Melora was normally immune. But then, the man near her was Chance Benson. It had been different with him from the start. He was everything she never allowed herself to be.

“What the hell are you doing back here?” Melora finally asked.

          His cool dark brown gaze locked with hers, and the corner of his mouth twisted upward to the slightest degree.

“What can I say? I started feeling the urge of participating at the most romantic wedding of the season,” he said and his laughter filled the utility room where they were hiding. “And I also was desperately looking for my salvation. I was looking for you, princess.”

          Maybe he was looking for her, but it had nothing to do with what his words were suggesting since his tone wasn’t all that seductive. There was something fishy going on, Melora was absolutely sure.

“Yeah, right! Tell it to someone who’s going to believe you, buddy!”

          Chance didn’t think of her like that when he had the opportunity and never will. For him, she always was the little Channing princess. She peered up from her spot on the floor, waiting for him to elaborate, but Chance glanced around the small room instead, taking in the shelves stocked with miscellaneous serving equipment, a rolling cart, table dressings.

“Nice place you’ve got here. Built-in sound system and everything,” Chance said with a gesture to indicate wires coming out from a hole in the wall.

“Thank you, it’s coming together quite nicely, I think. A few more weeks and I’ll be ready to entertain.”

          He raised an eyebrow at the makeshift seating she’d assembled. His gaze got a little darker and his tone got cold and way too serious. 

“Not expecting company now, are you?”

          Heat splashed up her neck and cheeks as she realized what her little sanctuary might suggest to a world-class ladies’ man like Chance Benson.

“Absolutely not!” she said, shaking her head, her hands flapping as her explanation tumbled out. “Just settling in here, waiting for the time to pass. I shouldn’t be seen leaving for at least another hour, but with all the talk I just couldn’t stand to stay there and pretend I was having the time of my life.”

“I get it. They’re like a pack of wolves out there. From the paparazzi, the journalists up to the guests.”

          Chance gave her hip an indelicate nudge with the point of his perfectly shined Italian black shoe.

“Make some room for me, will you? I want to sit here too.”

          Inching over, Melora made room as Chance knelt down, the heavy muscles of his thighs flexing beneath the hug of his trousers, and settled against the wall beside her. Sensing his manly scent, her pulse started pounding like a jackhammer. The temperature in the little utility room she’d been sure was cool only moments ago went up in a matter of seconds.

          Arms balanced atop his bent knees, Chance held the champagne in one wide palm, brushing his thumb through the condensation accumulating on the heavy glass.

“What I can’t understand is why in the hell you would come willingly in this snake pit. And I’m hoping, for your sake, it isn’t because you were hoping to hook back up with that prick ex of yours, Charlton.”

          Melora looked at him for a moment, then rolled her eyes. He too with this story? It was too much to hope that Chance wouldn’t have heard the gossip surrounding her breakup. This was another reason to run as fast as she could from the social scene and leave behind her this empty life where her problems, her pain, her desperation, her tears were everybody’s business thanks to the infinite number of gossip columns 'taking care of the poor rich girl.'

          There was no more reason to stay around and act like a puppet on a string. The escape had become imminent.  

“Oh, God, no! Absolutely not! I had to be here and since the first second, this has become my worst nightmare. Initially, I’d planned to come down with something highly contagious and unexpected and not be able to attend this charade at all. But a bridesmaid beat me to it and I got promoted up from simple guest. Lucky me…”

          Chance’s mouth twisted down as he looked her over.

“If you say so…”

          She laughed out a breath and then turned, falling back into the conversation that had always come so easily between them.

“Well, what about you being here alone? It’s a wedding and it's not that safe for you out there… You’ve scored a slot on the world’s most eligible bachelors' list three years in a row. You’d need a date on each arm to escape unscathed. But escaping like this, like a thief in brought daylight? I’m amazed you made it out of the ballroom without the single girls setting up a numbered queue to get served.”

“Get served?”

          This time it was Chance who laughed, letting his head leaned back against the wall behind him.

“Melora, Melora…”

          He caught her with a questioning glance.

“What kind of talk is that from a good girl like you? Such a pity for all those years you spent in the most exclusive college.”

         Her mind went back to the moment when Brando pushed her away from the house, right after that awful day. Even if this decision wasn’t made by her, Melora followed all the rules, turning into a very beautiful, educated woman, smart and stylish, making everyone but herself, proud and content.

          Melora stared at him, her heart skipping a beat as his focus shifted to her mouth.

“Man… You’re all grown up…”

          She couldn’t have Chance looking at her like that, particularly when he had no intention of following through. Melora could handle her attraction to him, she’d done it for so many years. Managed it. Tamped it down and stuffed it away. Buried under a mountain. First, because it was futile, and secondly, because it was misplaced.

          But now… The last thing she needed was Chance reminding her of what she couldn’t have. He was flirting when he’d never see her as more than Brando’s little sister. The good girl.

          Enough with the small talk! She needed to know what the man who walked out of her life with barely a word all those years ago wanted with her now. And then Melora needed to get him out of her space before she did something stupid. Such as catch a bit of that unruly hair between her fingers and test its softness against her lips.

“Listen, Chance, what do you want from me? Why are you stuck here, in this utility room, together with me? What could you possibly want from me after all these years?”

          Those questions hung between them. Chance raised the bottle to his mouth, tipping it back for a long swallow, before turning and pinning her to her spot with the full intensity of his gaze.

“I thought I’d already answered your questions, princess.”

          Their eyes locked and Melora saw her past, the pain he put her through when he left, but also a glimpse of her future, where, strangely, Chance was very much present. No, not again! Not now! She shook her head and tried to get up, but he grasped her hand and stopped her.

“You… I want you, Melora. I really need you.”

          For a second, she believed his every word. This was what she always wanted to hear from the man of her dreams. How stupid was she to listen to him? His eyes swept over her and she knew she needed to put an end to this… to her thoughts, to that pounding in her chest that was so unsettling.

"Do I look stupid to you?"

“Not one bit. Perhaps you will allow me to take you out to dinner if you're not otherwise engaged and explain myself?”

“I don’t think so…”

“Allow me to enjoy your company a bit more… maybe outside of this damned room,” Chance insisted. “Don’t let me eat alone… Please.”

“Listen, Chance, I’m not falling for your act. I’m not that stupid. So, cut the crap and tell me what you’re really after.”