book. The man, however . . .
“Do you like the beach?” Reba asked.
“Is that one of your twenty questions?” Chance countered, smiling. Then, “I’ve spent so much time in the deserts of the world that water fascinates me. Even when I can’t drink it,” he added whimsically.
“There’s a private beach nearby. Well, not really private,” she admitted. “No beach in southern California is private enough to satisfy me. But you can sit there and listen to the waves without being surrounded by people.”
“Sounds good,” said Chance, opening the door to her red BMW for her. “I’m not used to being in the middle of two million people.”
He tucked her into the car, settled himself in the passenger seat, and turned to watch as she threaded the BMW skillfully through the heavy traffic headed toward the freeway.
“Nice,” he said softly as she downshifted going into a curve and the car responded with a well-mannered growl of power. “I’d forgotten how much fun a smooth road and a good car can be. Where I’ve been, a twenty-year-old Land Rover is the local equivalent of a limousine.”
“Want to drive?”
“Maybe on the way back. Right now, I’m having too much fun watching you.”
Reba glanced over at Chance quickly and saw that he meant what he said. She smiled at him, glad that he wasn’t one of those men who had to be in the driver’s seat no matter whose car it was. She had bought the BMW because it was a machine for people who enjoyed driving. There were flashier cars on the road, more expensive cars, more powerful cars, but there were few that could equal her car in sheer driving pleasure.
A few minutes later, having been ushered by a guard through an iron gate, she cruised the lot looking for the right place to park. Finally she pulled in between a Mercedes 450 SL and a glittering black Ferrari. Chance, who had said nothing when she passed up parking slots closer to the beach, looked at her inquiringly.
“First rule of southern California driving,” said Reba. “Never park next to a car that’s in worse shape than yours.” She gestured to the expensive cars on either side of her. “This is one time I’m sure the people parked next to me will be as careful of their paint jobs as I am of mine.”
“City survival skills,” he said admiringly. “I’d never have thought of it.”
Reba got out, unlocked the trunk and pulled out a faded beige comforter. Chance raised a dark eyebrow.
“Another city survival skill?” he asked. “Do you do this often?”
The cool distance in his tone made her turn and stare at him. “Do what?”
“Bring a man and a blanket to a private beach.”
For an instant Reba was too surprised to react. Anger flushed her cheeks. She threw the comforter back in the trunk, slammed down the lid and spun around, obviously intending to get back in her car. Chance moved with startling speed, cutting her off by caging her against the side of the BMW. She faced him with narrow eyes. He ignored her efforts to push past him, keeping her prisoner with an ease that infuriated her.
“Let me go,” she said curtly.
“After you answer my question.”
“What in hell was your question?”
“If not Tim, then who?”
“Who what?”
“Who is your man?”
Reba stared at Chance, too surprised to speak.
“A woman like you just doesn’t run around loose,” he said, the words clipped, all trace of a drawl gone.
“This one does.”
“Why?” he asked bluntly.
It was the question she hadn’t wanted to answer. Anger helped, though. And she was angry. “No man has ever wanted me, just me . They always wanted other things. A perpetual wide-eyed student-virgin in my former husband’s case. After him, most of the men I met just wanted a bedwarmer and ego builder. Nothing special about it. Any woman would do. Then later, after I had worked hard and Jeremy had taught me so much, there was a new wrinkle. Men wanted my connections or my money. Not just me,
“Do you like the beach?” Reba asked.
“Is that one of your twenty questions?” Chance countered, smiling. Then, “I’ve spent so much time in the deserts of the world that water fascinates me. Even when I can’t drink it,” he added whimsically.
“There’s a private beach nearby. Well, not really private,” she admitted. “No beach in southern California is private enough to satisfy me. But you can sit there and listen to the waves without being surrounded by people.”
“Sounds good,” said Chance, opening the door to her red BMW for her. “I’m not used to being in the middle of two million people.”
He tucked her into the car, settled himself in the passenger seat, and turned to watch as she threaded the BMW skillfully through the heavy traffic headed toward the freeway.
“Nice,” he said softly as she downshifted going into a curve and the car responded with a well-mannered growl of power. “I’d forgotten how much fun a smooth road and a good car can be. Where I’ve been, a twenty-year-old Land Rover is the local equivalent of a limousine.”
“Want to drive?”
“Maybe on the way back. Right now, I’m having too much fun watching you.”
Reba glanced over at Chance quickly and saw that he meant what he said. She smiled at him, glad that he wasn’t one of those men who had to be in the driver’s seat no matter whose car it was. She had bought the BMW because it was a machine for people who enjoyed driving. There were flashier cars on the road, more expensive cars, more powerful cars, but there were few that could equal her car in sheer driving pleasure.
A few minutes later, having been ushered by a guard through an iron gate, she cruised the lot looking for the right place to park. Finally she pulled in between a Mercedes 450 SL and a glittering black Ferrari. Chance, who had said nothing when she passed up parking slots closer to the beach, looked at her inquiringly.
“First rule of southern California driving,” said Reba. “Never park next to a car that’s in worse shape than yours.” She gestured to the expensive cars on either side of her. “This is one time I’m sure the people parked next to me will be as careful of their paint jobs as I am of mine.”
“City survival skills,” he said admiringly. “I’d never have thought of it.”
Reba got out, unlocked the trunk and pulled out a faded beige comforter. Chance raised a dark eyebrow.
“Another city survival skill?” he asked. “Do you do this often?”
The cool distance in his tone made her turn and stare at him. “Do what?”
“Bring a man and a blanket to a private beach.”
For an instant Reba was too surprised to react. Anger flushed her cheeks. She threw the comforter back in the trunk, slammed down the lid and spun around, obviously intending to get back in her car. Chance moved with startling speed, cutting her off by caging her against the side of the BMW. She faced him with narrow eyes. He ignored her efforts to push past him, keeping her prisoner with an ease that infuriated her.
“Let me go,” she said curtly.
“After you answer my question.”
“What in hell was your question?”
“If not Tim, then who?”
“Who what?”
“Who is your man?”
Reba stared at Chance, too surprised to speak.
“A woman like you just doesn’t run around loose,” he said, the words clipped, all trace of a drawl gone.
“This one does.”
“Why?” he asked bluntly.
It was the question she hadn’t wanted to answer. Anger helped, though. And she was angry. “No man has ever wanted me, just me . They always wanted other things. A perpetual wide-eyed student-virgin in my former husband’s case. After him, most of the men I met just wanted a bedwarmer and ego builder. Nothing special about it. Any woman would do. Then later, after I had worked hard and Jeremy had taught me so much, there was a new wrinkle. Men wanted my connections or my money. Not just me,
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