Shawna Delacorte - The Millionaire's Christmas Wish

No one had ever kissed her like that before or totally swept her off her feet the way he just had. If it were not for the fact that he had been holding her, her legs surely would have buckled. She fought to gain control of the thousands of butterflies that flitted about inside her stomach and the increased palpitations of her heart.

As soon as the danger passed, Chance started to break off the kiss, but he allowed his lips to linger against hers a second longer before pulling back. He looked into the startled, uncertain eyes of the woman in front of him, holding her gaze trapped within his for what seemed like an eternity. He was not certain what he was seeing, but he knew in an instant that he liked it. He also knew that he wanted more of this tantalizing woman. His gaze drifted across her delicately beautiful features to the lush fullness of her slightly parted lips. He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to continue to hold her.

He tried to swallow the lump that had lodged in his throat as soon as he had broken off the kiss. He wanted to kick himself for having done something so foolish as to have involved this delectable stranger in one of his little games. It had definitely been a rotten idea. It would have been better for everyone concerned if he had just let the photographer take his picture.

A flustered and embarrassed Marcie quickly stumbled backward a couple of steps. She ran her fingers through her short auburn hair in a nervous attempt to smooth it away from her face as she clutched her packages against her body with her other hand. Her legs still felt wobbly, but not so much so that she could not turn and run away from this very bizarre encounter and this incredibly tempting man.

And run she did, as hard and as fast as her legs would take her. It was almost as if her emotional existence depended on getting as far away from this man as quickly as possible.

“Hey! Wait a minute—”

Marcie dashed down the street, her shoes pounding hard against the pavement with each step. She heard him call after her, but she dared not stop. As soon as she rounded the corner she ducked into a large store. Without pausing to look back, she walked swiftly through the store and out the other side to another street. Only then did she stop and glance back over her shoulder.

As soon as she was convinced that he had not followed her, she leaned back against the building to catch her breath. She juggled her packages, being careful not to spill the contents of one sack that had ripped open.

“Oh, damn!” The words came out loud and clear, her irritation audible for anyone within earshot. Somewhere during her flight from that absurd encounter with that very disconcerting stranger she had lost one of her packages—the one from the bookstore. It contained a special order she had placed two weeks ago. Three of the books were hers, but the fourth was a large volume about the Civil War that she had ordered as a birthday present for her father.

And now it was lost before she could even get it to the post office. She clenched her jaw in anger. It was all his fault. She had been minding her own business, doing a little window-shopping while making her way back to her car, when he had accosted her.

It had all happened so quickly. She had not even gotten a good look at him—about an inch taller than six feet, dark blond hair with sun-bleached streaks that really set off his golden tan, sky-blue eyes with just a hint of wrinkling at the corners, handsomely chiseled features with a small scar on his chin, and an absolutely devastating smile. No, she certainly had not paid any attention to his physical presence and overwhelming appeal—not much she hadn’t.

She cleared her throat, glanced around as if to make sure no one had eavesdropped on her totally inappropriate thoughts, then took a calming breath to ease her embarrassment. A little chill shivered across her nape. She immediately stilled it with her hand. She took another deep breath, held it for several seconds, then slowly expelled it as she shook her head.

It had certainly been a weird day. It had started out with a flat tire before she’d even left home to drive down to San Diego. She had done her shopping, been pulled into a totally off-the-wall encounter with a disconcerting stranger, then had lost a package containing four books.

And now it was time to go home.

She reclaimed her car, then drove north out of San Diego to the mostly upscale bedroom community of Crestview Bay. She had a one o’clock meeting with a prospective client. A ripple of irritation passed through her body. Thanks to him she would have to skip lunch if she was going to be on time for her appointment.

Much to her chagrin the heated desire produced by his kiss still lingered in her consciousness. Irritably, she tried to shove it aside, but she was not able to totally eradicate the memory.

Chance Fowler pulled into the parking lot of the yacht club, parked his Porsche in his usual space, and hurried toward the sleek sailboat that bore the name Celeste in black letters on a gleaming white background. He had named the racing sloop after his mother—the first of what had turned out to be many women who subsequently claimed the name of Mrs. Douglas Fowler.

“How’s it going, Take-A-Chance?” The shapely blonde in the hot-pink thong bikini waved from the deck of the boat two slips over from his. “Are you entered in the regatta tomorrow?”

“Sure am, sweetheart.” Take-A-Chance...it was a label that one of his classmates had given him during college and it had stuck, even after all these years. Chance Fowler—always ready to take a chance on a new adventure, a new thrill, or a dangerous stunt.

“Then we’ll see you at the party at the clubhouse afterward?”

“I expect so.” He returned her wave, inconspicuously giving an appreciative once-over to her blatantly displayed charms. He thought the temperature was a little too cool for her to be dressed so skimpily, but that was Bambi. She was never one to keep her attributes under wraps.

“It’s about time you got here!” The angry male voice came from the deck of the Celeste.

Chance boarded the sloop. “Sorry, Dave. I got held up avoiding another one of those damned tabloid photographers.” Then, in response to the image of startled hazel eyes surrounded by long dark lashes, he added, “Although it might have been better if I’d just let him snap his picture—it certainly would have been quicker.”

His brow furrowed in momentary concentration as he recalled for at least the tenth time in the past couple of hours exactly how the mystery woman had felt in his arms and the taste of her mouth. And there had been something in her eyes, something he could not quite place. Had it been a spark of passion? A heated moment of desire? Whatever it was had flickered through her eyes and disappeared before he could accurately read it. He wanted another opportunity to ignite that spark, but she had run off before he’d been able to discover who she was or where to find her. By the time he had gotten to the corner, she was nowhere in sight.

He closed his eyes and visualized her delicate features. When he had stared into her eyes, he’d been captivated by tiny golden flecks that sparkled brighter than the light glinting off the water in Mission Bay on a bright sunny day. Her lips were full and lush, her mouth—

“Earth to Chance...” Dave’s irritation broke into Chance’s momentary lapse of attention.

“Huh? Oh...sorry. I have several things on my mind.”

“I don’t have all day. Do you suppose you could narrow that list down to just one item—like maybe tomorrow’s regatta?”

“Yeah.” Chance extended an apologetic smile. “Sure thing.”

“Then let’s get under way. Bonnie’s sister, her husband, and their three kids are coming over for dinner tonight and I’m going to catch hell if I’m late again.”

Chance could not stop the laugh prompted by Dave’s complaint. “Bonnie’s a lovely lady, but you’re the one who was dead set on getting married. I tried to warn you about the pitfalls of marriage, but you refused to listen to me.”

Dave glared at his friend. “Give it a rest, will ya?”

The two men quickly got down to the business of preparing for the next day’s regatta and were soon under way as they passed from the yacht club basin out to open water.

Four hours later they returned to Chance’s slip at the yacht club. After securing the sloop, Dave hurried toward his car. Chance watched his buddy pull out of the parking lot and head down the street before turning toward his own car. He was not in any hurry. It was Friday night, but he had no place special to go and nothing special to do. He had no desire to hang around the yacht club and socialize with a bunch of people he did not care that much about.

He looked at the package on the passenger seat of his car. The mystery woman had dropped it when she’d run off. He had picked it up, intent on following her to return it, but had lost sight of her when she’d disappeared around the corner. He had stuck the package in his car, with plans to do something about it later.

It seemed that later had finally arrived.

The outside of the sack bore the name of a downtown bookstore located just a block from where he had perpetrated his little charade. He opened the sack, hoping to find something inside that would tell him who she was. He removed four books and set them on the car seat, then reached into the bag again and withdrew a hand-written special order sales receipt. Marcie Roper. Crestview Bay Nursery.

He folded the sales slip and stuck it in his jacket pocket. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, leaving him a little uncertain about where it had come from or why. His breathing increased slightly and a tightness pulled across his chest accompanied by a soft warmth that settled over him. “Well, Marcie Roper...I’ve never had a woman literally turn and run from me before. I guess I’m going to have to see what I can do to change your apparent opinion of me.”

He furrowed his brow in contemplation. He had never had an impromptu kiss grab him like that, either. He could still feel the heat of the moment and the desire that had flooded his consciousness as the enticing interlude played through his mind.

He returned his attention to the package she had dropped. He took a look at the books she had purchased. The special-order item was a large and expensive volume on the Civil War. In addition, there was the latest bestseller thriller, a biography of Catherine the Great of Russia, and a romance novel.

He put the books back in the sack, got out of his car and made his way to the yacht club office. Checking the phone books, he quickly grabbed the appropriate one, and flipped through the Yellow Pages until he found what he was looking for. He pulled the bookstore receipt from his pocket and jotted three names on the back of it. Crestview Bay Florist. Crestview Bay Nursery. Crestview Bay Landscaping. All three businesses had the same address. Then he looked in the white pages and found a listing in Crestview Bay for an M. J. Roper.

The image of her delicate features played across his mind—her kiss-swollen lips, the golden flecks in her hazel eyes. He shook his head as he walked back to his car. The entire incident had been nothing more than a fluke—a random encounter, a spontaneous moment. So why was it still so vividly real in his mind? Why could he still taste the kiss and feel her in his arms?

“Marcie Roper of Crestview Bay...” He stared at the sales receipt as he uttered the words. “You may have managed to slip away from me today, but it won’t be quite so easy the next time we meet now that I know where to find you.”