Jill Shalvis - Chance Encounter

“I’m fine,” she whispered.

“I’m glad you’re fine,” he told her. “But I’m a wreck, so hold me, Ms. Fine, and don’t let go.”

Temporary, she reminded herself ruthlessly. He would only feel this way temporarily.

But at the moment, locked against his hard, warm body, she allowed herself to pretend it could last forever.

JO DROVE TO ALLY’S cabin first, which was a huge relief to Ally, who needed to be alone to regroup. To think. And maybe to wallow, just for a moment.

But Chance got out with her.

“What are you doing?” She sounded panicked, but she needed to be by herself. If he so much as touched her again, if he looked at her with that look, the one that told her things he didn’t mean for her to know, she’d melt. She’d beg him to hold her again and never let go, to make it real.

He’d get the holding part right, oh he most definitely would. And she’d be lost.

“You should go to your cabin and clean up,” she insisted, practically shoving him back into Jo’s car.

“I want to clean up, but-” He bent to say something to Jo and Brian, something she couldn’t hear.

Jo glanced up at Ally, then nodded. Revving the engine, she drove away.

And left him standing there next to her.

The rain continued to come down, but they were already drenched. Chance was staring at her while she stared at the ground. She could feel his gaze caressing her hair, her face. Then she felt his hand skim her back, so softly it nearly made her cry.

“Remember what you wanted to do before that branch blocked our path?” he asked.

She’d wanted to talk. And she’d nearly goaded him into it, just as she’d goaded him into everything they’d ever done together. Pathetic.

“Do you remember?” he asked again, sounding unusually solemn.

“We were going to the store.”

He let out a sound of frustration. “You wanted to talk.”

“That was then.” Now all she wanted was a pity party, and she was damn entitled. When she was done feeling sorry for herself, she planned to dry herself off and get on with her life. Her heart was broken, but she’d survive.

She always did.

“I think talking is a good idea.”

He didn’t look as if he thought so. He looked as if he’d offered to face the guillotine. “Your timing is off,” she informed him as if she were bored, but he simply slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her into the curve of his body, sheltering her from the rain.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked, mocking her own earlier words.

You. “I just don’t feel like talking, Chance.”

“Well I do,” he said simply, and propelled her inside, out of the rain.

FRESH FROM HER SHOWER, Ally paced the kitchen, ignoring the hot chocolate Chance had made her. From the bathroom she could hear the shower running. Then it abruptly turned off.

Chance was in there. Standing in her shower, water streaming down his leanly muscled body. A body that was tough. Hot to the touch. Gorgeous.

And naked.

His hair would be in spikes around his head. He’d probably just shove his fingers through it, as he seemed to do most of the time. His eyes would be tired, his voice deep and husky from the exhaustion of the day. He needed sleep, and she thought maybe he intended to do that here.

If only he knew how she’d fallen so stupidly in love with him, he’d be running for the hills.

As she’d told him, she’d changed.

Actually, both of them had. Where he’d once been unwilling to let anyone into his fiercely guarded, loner heart, he’d opened up and let Brian in. He’d opened up for her as well, as much as he could. That it wasn’t enough for her wasn’t his fault.

Which meant it was time for her to be running for the hills. Or at least for San Francisco.

He’d built a fire, probably to comfort and warm her, but each time it crackled and sizzled she jumped. She left the small kitchen for the living room, hoping the warmth would penetrate her chill.

Chance stood in the doorway, his face dark and pensive. He hadn’t bothered to dry his hair and he smelled like her shampoo. When he saw her, he smiled but she noted the tightness of his shoulders and the grimness in his gaze. He was worried, which startled her. She’d seen him in good humor, and in bad. She’d seen him in the throes of passion, and in a foul temper. She’d seen him sad, and also afraid. But never worried.

“I needed you today,” he said. “I needed you…and you were there.”

She knew all too well this was a problem for him. He made it a point to never need anyone.

“It meant risking your life, and you didn’t even hesitate.” He shook his head. “I can’t stop thinking about that, or about how I felt when I thought that car was going to hit you, right in front of me.”

“But it didn’t hit me. You made sure of that.”

“From the very beginning, when you first came here, I had this ridiculous need to keep you safe.” He laughed mirthlessly. “I didn’t understand it. And I fought it every step of the way because it drove me crazy watching you do all the things I do every day, all the dangerous things I do and just take for granted because I’ve done them before. But when you did them…God. When you went biking, kayaking, anything, I had to hold my tongue and…just let you.”

“I don’t remember you holding your tongue very much,” she said wryly.

“My point is that it was pure hell to watch you go at this life with such gusto. It was hell, but I did it, and today-” He drew a deep, ragged breath. “Today it almost cost you your life.”

“My life is mine to run,” she said softly. “Not yours.”

“I know. I’m trying to back off. I know you wanted to be alone now. I know you wanted to pull away from me, and maybe I should have let you.” Turning his back to her, he walked to the fireplace and stared pensively into the fire. “But I couldn’t.”

His shoulders looked as if they were holding the weight of his entire world. Ally had never been able to watch someone in pain and not try to ease it, and there was no way she could hold back here, with him. She crossed the room and slipped her arms around him from behind, laying her cheek against the sleek muscles of his back. Her hands found their way beneath his T-shirt, sliding over the hard sinew and warm skin of his stomach.

At first he didn’t move, just stood rock-still so that the only sound was the roaring fire and his own harsh breathing.

Her fingers danced over him, up and down and back again. Then she whispered his name.

It unleashed him, and with a jagged sigh, he turned in her arms, locked his around her, buried his face in her hair, letting out a heartfelt groan. “Ally, I want you. Say you want me, too.”

“You know I do.”

“Say it.”

“I want you, Chance.”

His mouth found her neck and nuzzled there, at the sensitive spot beneath her ear, and the embrace changed, shifted into something far more complicated than comfort.

“I want to feel you,” he murmured, his hands streaked over her body, cupping, stroking, holding. “I have to feel you.”

Again, that thrill, that squeeze on her heart, because he did need her. Maybe not on the mountain, but now, right now, and that this big, tough, strong man could be rendered helpless by that need made her want to burst. “Touch me, Chance.”

He took her down to her knees on the rug before the fire, removing pieces of clothing as they went. Lying back, he pulled her over him so that she straddled his hips, and it was incredible how he looked up at her, as if she was the most beautiful, most sexy, most amazing woman on earth.