Chance Encounter

  It was hot. Messy. Glorious.

  “Damn it,” Chance growled, backing away from her as if she had the plague. “Damn it.”

  “What…” Ally had to clear her throat to speak. “What was that about?”

  “Nothing. It was just a kiss.”

  That had been just a kiss?

  Well, she was certainly glad he’d cleared that up for her, because she’d been quite positive it had been more, far more, as in something from the heart, from the soul.

  “I meant to stay away from you,” Chance said.

  “Well, you’re not doing a very good job.”

  “I’m going to try harder.”

  “Good. Because…” Ally’s throat tightened. She wanted him, plain and simple. And he wanted her, too, she knew that. But he didn’t want to want her, and that hurt. Suddenly she missed her own quiet world. “I want my old life back,” she whispered.

  He nodded curtly. “Then go get it.”

  So simple. So why did it seem so hard?

  Dear Reader,

  There’s nothing more sexy than a hero who knows his own mind and isn’t afraid to speak it. T. J. Chance is definitely one of those men: confident, gorgeous, not to mention ready, able and willing.

  Ally Wheeler admires these qualities, and though she’s naturally not superconfident herself, nor ready, able and willing, she’s hoping to learn. From Chance.

  Only, Chance doesn’t want to teach Ally to walk on the wild side. He doesn’t want to do anything with her, especially fall in love, which is exactly what happens. Hope you enjoy this last installment of the MEN OF CHANCE miniseries!

  Jill Shalvis

  P.S. You can write to me c/o Harlequin, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, M3B 3K9, Canada.

  Books by Jill Shalvis

  HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

  742—WHO’S THE BOSS?

  771—THE BACHELOR’S BED

  804—OUT OF THE BLUE

  CHANCE ENCOUNTER

  Jill Shalvis

  To my own man of Chance, David.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  1

  “YOU’RE FIRED.”

  “What?” Ally meant to sound fierce but she might as well have been a squeaky mouse. “You…can’t do that.”

  “Oh, yes, I can.” Professor Langley Weatherby III, every bit the antiquated snob his name suggested, peered over his small wire-rimmed spectacles. “You’re no longer a librarian at this university, Ms. Wheeler. Consider yourself officially unemployed.”

  “But—” Ally loved her work, loved everything about it, the feel of the glorious old books in her hands, the scent of aging paper, the pleasure of helping students soak up all that knowledge.

  And the silence, most of all she loved the silence.

  “We’ll give you two weeks’ severance pay,” the professor said. “More than generous, given the scandal.”

  Ah, yes, the scandal. Not that anyone had let her forget it for one moment. It hadn’t been her fault, and feeling her throat burn, she swiped at the moisture in her eyes, as if flicking away a pesky piece of lint instead of her hopes and dreams.

  The professor let out a heavy sigh and thrust a handkerchief beneath her nose. “You do see our position,” he said gruffly, but with slightly less antagonism. “We can’t let you stay now.”

  It was hard to believe that little Miss Goody-Two-shoes had gotten herself into so much trouble. First with the professor, then the head of the school himself, and finally, when no one had believed Ally’s story, with the authorities. She’d even had an eventful ride to the San Francisco police station for questioning, an experience that would surely headline her nightmares for the rest of her life.

  Ironic, since in all of her nearly twenty-six years she’d never so much as been sent to the principal’s office. “But Thomas was the one who stole the classics,” she said for at least the hundredth time.

  “They were priceless first edition literary classics that had been at our university for decades, Ms. Wheeler. Your boyfriend used your special clearance to steal them.”

  But what would she do without her job? Her heart and soul were embedded in these brick walls, because here she wasn’t mousy Ally. Here she was important. She belonged.

  “This decision is final.”

  She wouldn’t beg. With her stomach somewhere near the vicinity of her feet, she stood, lifted her chin to the level of the professor’s aristocratic nose, and walked out of her beloved library for the last time. She passed the biology building, the Social Studies Hall and the Student Union before moving toward the park, her second favorite place on earth. Here was where she left her car every morning, so at the end of a day filled with books, she could unwind by feeding the squirrels.

  Fired. Fired. Fired. The word rang in her head.

  Well, if being let go was the worst thing to ever happen to her, then so be it. So she’d been forced to leave the best job she’d ever had. She’d survive. Probably.

  But where was her car? Craning her neck, she looked to the right, then to the left— Oh, no.

  Had she really thought her day couldn’t get worse?

  Her fifteen-year-old tomato-red Escort coupe, temperamental and spunky at the best of times—of which this wasn’t—was gone all right. It had rolled down the steep hill.

  And smashed into a plush, very new-looking BMW sports car.

  HER ANSWERING MACHINE had just clicked on when Ally wearily made her way into her apartment.

  “Ally?” came a cranky, smoke-ladened voice. “I know you’re there, pick up the phone this instant!”

  “I don’t think so,” she said, grateful to have avoided Mrs. Snipps, landlady from hell.

  “Listen missy, I sold the building.”

  Ally dropped her purse and stared at the machine.

  “I’m retiring to the Bahamas.”

  Ally sank to her couch.

  “And you have until next month to get out,” the cragly voice continued. “Six weeks. Don’t cause me any trouble, girl.”

  At the sound of the dial tone, Ally let out a choked laugh. “Trouble?” she muttered. “It’s only my middle name.” She was jobless, and now soon to be homeless as well. Not to mention the major dent her car had put into that brand-spanking-new BMW. She had insurance, but she also had a very high deductible that might as well be a million dollars for all her ability to pay it.

  Another mirthless laugh escaped. Her life was not only over, it was pitiful.

  The phone rang again.

  What now? Dammit, she was tired. Tired of jumping at the sound of the telephone, tired of being insecure and mousy all the time. Suddenly mad, she straightened on the couch.

  No more doormat, she decided as she yanked up the receiver. “Hello!” And because being forceful felt so good, she added, “Who is this and what do you want?”

  “It’s Thomas.”

  At the sound of the confident masculine voice, her nearly nonexistent temper exploded. How dare he call after destroying her life. “You! You— You big jerk!” Oh great. Was “you big jerk” the biggest insult she could come up with?

  “Listen, Ally,” he said quickly. A strange clinking sound came over the phone. “I need you to get me a lawyer. Like yesterday.”

  What had she seen in this guy?

  But she already knew the answer to that, painful as it was to admit. He was a gorgeous, smooth, e
legant man who’d noticed her. Unlike everyone else in her life, he hadn’t needed her money—little as there was—he hadn’t required her mothering skills, hadn’t wanted anything from her except…her. More than that, he’d given her attention.

  How pathetic was that? He’d made plain Ally Wheeler—of average height, average weight, average hair and eyes—feel beautiful.

  It’d taken awhile for the stars to clear from her eyes. Only then had she been able to see Thomas for the user and con man that he was, though not in time to save her job, or the library’s classics.

  “No, I won’t get you a lawyer,” she said, winding up to let loose some of her pent-up feelings. “And another thing—”

  “Officer Daniel here,” a strange voice said in her ear. “Time’s up.”

  Ally stared at the phone and for the first time in days let out a genuine laugh. Thomas had called from jail, in handcuffs if the clanking noise meant anything. Wasn’t life just one big excitement after another?

  NO JOB CAME THROUGH. Thanks to the ruthless rumors about Ally’s involvement with the priceless missing volumes, no library in the entire state would touch her. And nothing could soften the cold, hard facts. She had little to no savings, three sisters in college counting on her financial help, elderly parents on a fixed income, and she was staring poverty in the face.

  She needed a job, any job. Without one, who would rent her a place to live? Her sisters were all settled in dorms. Her parents, who’d had their kids late in life, lived in a senior center. She had no one to turn to.

  It was then that the letter came. Lucy was Ally’s mother’s second cousin by marriage, and though they didn’t get to see each other often, they corresponded regularly. Lucy’s weekly letters from Wyoming, where she ran a mountain resort, were always the exciting highlight of Ally’s day. Just a month ago, there’d been a terrible fire, and Lucy had been crushed at the loss of over one hundred acres of lush landscape. They’d written each other frequently since then, with Ally doing her best to cheer up Lucy.

  Unlike the others though, this letter turned Ally’s life completely around. Or upside down, depending on how one looked at it.

  Dearest Ally,

  You won’t believe this, but I’ve broken my hip and ankle, and landed myself in the hospital for a while. Blast those newfangled mountain bikes!

  Ally blinked. The sixty-something Lucy on a mountain bike?

  We’re desperately racing to clean up from the fire before our summer season can start. We need that acreage cleared for our mountain bikers and hikers, or I’ll lose business.

  So I need a favor, Ally, a big one. Come stay at the resort while I’m in the hospital recovering from this stupid mishap. I have a great staff, but there’s nothing like family to watch out for your interests. You’ve got good business experience, and a degree. You’ll make a great general manager.

  General manager? Ally shuddered, her head filled with visions of huge snowdrifts. Endless dark, haunting forests.

  Big bugs.

  I’ve arranged for you to be on the payroll, so take a leave of absence from that boring, stagnant, indoor job and you’ll never regret it. Give me a month of your time, that’s all. Do it for me. Do it because I’m desperate and need you.

  Do it for yourself.

  Love, Lucy

  From the envelope fell a plane ticket dated two days from now. Ally sat there staring down at it, her eyes glued to the date.

  She couldn’t have just been offered a miracle, could she? She couldn’t really be sitting here holding a one way ticket out of the disaster her life had become. To say she was afraid was the understatement of the century. She had less than a hundred dollars left in her checking account, no car and no job.

  But…Wyoming?

  The normally quiet and unassuming Ally would never consider such a thing, but that woman was gone, replaced by a woman determined to stop helping everyone else and help herself for a change. And maybe even enjoy herself while she was at it.

  She supposed she could say Lucy needed her, that her family did as well. That by going she’d be fulfilling just another family obligation. But those thoughts irritated her. Her entire life had been dictated by the needs of others. No more.

  So she’d hit rock bottom. It meant she had nowhere to go but up, right? And she wanted more than just survival, she wanted to succeed at something. Anything. For once she wanted to be great at her life. She was going to go Wyoming. Look out big bugs, she thought. Here I come.

  2

  TWO DAYS LATER, Ally stepped off the plane and stared at the wide, open sky and outlying sharp, majestic mountains, completely awestruck. It all seemed so…big.

  As she walked across the tarmac, the wind hit her, a stinging, sharp draft that nearly knocked her sideways. “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy,” she whispered, glancing at the threatening, thunderous clouds gathering on the horizon.

  No problem. This was going to be fun. She had to repeat that to herself when a pesky little voice inside her head kept saying, I want my quiet, cozy life back.

  Her old life was gone for now. This is what she had. With a lifted chin and a swagger that was mostly bravado, she continued away from the plane toward the small terminal. She’d just retrieve her luggage, find a cab and go meet Lucy at the hospital, where they could spend a little time catching up. Then she’d head over to the resort and meet the staff Lucy had described as a young, capable, tight unit.

  She was ready! She was going to dig in and help with the fire clean-up. She was going to try everything and anything, and succeed no matter what. No more taking care of everyone. No more putting everyone else first.

  It was Ally Wheeler’s turn.

  She staggered a bit, pummeled by the increasing wind. The other passengers, who’d seemed so cityish on the plane, suddenly all had sweaters or jackets out. Several of the men had placed cowboy hats on their heads, and she noted for the first time, they all wore boots.

  She felt like a fish out of water, especially when her cell phone rang.

  “Ally!”

  Pesky younger sister number one. “You’re already gone,” wailed Dani. “I didn’t get to talk to you before you left. What if I need you?”

  Only calmness worked on Dani, and Ally strove for some now as she was pelted by the wind, jostled by people walking past her, and all around overwhelmed by her new surroundings. “I told you I was going.” It was the most soothing voice she could muster. “And if you need me, Dani, you can do as you’re doing right now and call.”

  “But what if I need money?”

  For the first time, Ally couldn’t find any patience for her baby sister. “You might try putting in a few hours of work.” She was nearly at the terminal now and her mind was far from home. Her heart was racing as she walked toward this new adventure of hers. “I’ve got to go, okay? I’ll call you later.”

  “But—”

  Ally disconnected, and forced herself to let go of the guilt. She was no longer saving the world, she was living for herself for a change. It was exciting. Scary. Her hair whipped at her face. Her blouse, perfectly suitable for May in San Francisco, plastered itself to her body, providing no barrier against the chill, but she kept moving.

  And then found her gaze locked with a stranger’s.

  His wide shoulders were propping up the wall of the terminal, one long leg bent, foot braced on the brick behind him. He wore reflective sunglasses and a crooked, follow-this smile.

  He tugged off the glasses and suddenly his pose didn’t seem lazy but…coiled. He was looking right at her, through her, with dark, dark, piercing eyes.

  Feeling silly, and too skittish for someone who was supposed to be tough instead of wussy, Ally forced herself to remain calm. She knew she was cold, knew too, that it was painfully obvious through the blouse she wore, the one that at this very moment was plastered to her like a second skin, outlining her every curve for his inspection.

  And inspect he did, slowly, thoroughly, leaving her blushing
from toes to roots. Out of necessity she continued to move toward him, her one and only goal at this point to get warm. Closer now, she could see his eyes were blue; the clear, startling dark blue of the ocean deep. His hair was sun-kissed blond, on the wrong side of long, hitting past his collar at the back of his neck. No razor had touched his skin in at least two days, and the stubble only emphasized his firm, tough mouth. His faded jeans, leather bomber jacket and attitude assured her he was the poster boy for bad.

  “Excuse me,” he said, facing her fully. He was tall, and built like a man who used his body often. A gold hoop shone at his ear. His face was rugged, tanned and comfortably lived in, holding the sweet, saintly expression of an angel—with the devastating, irresistible smile of the devil. But it was his low, husky voice that grabbed her, a voice that was so innately…sexy she felt all her X chromosomes jerk to attention.

  “Ms. Wheeler, right?” He lifted one dark blond brow and shifted that tall, leanly muscled frame, drawing her attention to the way his Levi’s caressed his lower body, but she couldn’t concentrate on that at the moment.

  Because he knew her name.

  That couldn’t be good, or safe. She wanted to be cool but the little mouse resurfaced. And he looked like he ate little mice for breakfast. “Who are you?”

  He gave her a pleasant enough smile while he studied her. Pleasant being relative of course, in a face that could tempt the gods. “I’m T. J. Chance. Lucy sent me for you.”