Excerpt from Bad Boy of New Orleans
"Look at me and say that, then maybe I'll believe you."
Micah forced her eyes to meet his once more for a brief, agonizing moment. "The answer is no," she said, her voice sounding like a plea in her own ears.
"You say no. Why do I get the feeling you're lying to me? To yourself? Don't ever try to take deception up for a living, Micah. You're lousy at it."
"Too bad you're not."
Micah regretted the words as soon as they were out. For so brief an instant she wondered if she had imagined it, she could have sworn she saw him grimace.
"He really did a number on you, didn't he?" Chance laughed then, a little unpleasantly. "A little more time, Micah? I've waited years, what's a few more weeks?"
He studied her face then, and Micah did her best to shut him out, not to acknowledge the exhilaration that came with his nearness, or the acute, unwanted things he was doing to her inside and out. She felt confined by her own emotions, and the tension between them was stretched so taut, she expected to hear something snap.
Then for a frozen, heart-stopping moment he bent close as though he meant to kiss her.
Micah heard her own breath hiss through her teeth as Chance fastened her seat belt.
"You can run, Micah," he whispered, his face scant inches from hers. "You can run as fast and as hard as those sweet, long legs can take you, but in the end you'll still run to me. Because I'll be there every which way you turn. And Micah," he touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers, and she felt the jolt of that touch down to the pit of her stomach. "Remember..."
And as he left she knew it was true he could be cruel, ruthless. A man, Micah thought, who some believed had no capacity for tenderness, for love. She could almost believe that; she needed to believe that, and she could. As long as she didn't remember...