Chance Encounter. Jill Shalvis

      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.”

      “She didn’t have to do that, I can catch a cab to the hospital.”

      He chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that did funny things to her belly, even though that laughter was clearly directed at her.

      “They don’t have cabs in Wyoming?” she asked, a little defensively.

      “Sure.” He lifted a broad shoulder. “But even if you managed to get one, it’d cost you about a hundred bucks to go that far.”

      A hundred dollars. More than she had. Her shoulders slumped. “A bus then?”

      “No such luck. But don’t worry. I’m not as bad as they say.” A wicked gleam came into his eyes. “Not quite.”

      Who was he kidding? He looked bad to the bone, a fact that was both oddly thrilling and disturbing at the same time.

      She wanted to be bad to the bone, just once. “Look, Mr. Chance—”

      “Just Chance.”

      “Chance,” she corrected cautiously. “It’s nothing personal, really, it’s just—” That she’d sworn off men, especially men like him, men who could make her every nerve sizzle by just standing there. “I don’t take rides from strangers.”

      “Ah. Spoken like a true city girl.”

      “Well, I am a city girl.”

      “I’d never have noticed,” he said wryly, taking in her wispy sandals, her lightweight khakis, her even more lightweight blouse. “And we’re not strangers. Lucy is more like my family than…” Something flickered in his deep, unreadable gaze. “Well, my family.” He stepped close, so close he blocked out the bright sunshine with his big, rugged body.

      Ally barely came up to his chin and she backed away, because learning to be tough didn’t mean she had to be stupid.

      “Hey, relax.” He lifted his hands in innocence, but somehow she doubted he’d ever been innocent. “You’re turning blue is all.”

      “That’s because I’m freezing.”

      “Should have brought a jacket.” He looked very nice and toasty in his. He slipped his hands in the pockets. The leather crinkled enticingly, looking luxuriously warm, and in envy, her entire body leaned toward it.

      Chance’s eyes narrowed.

      “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t ask you to share.” But then she shivered again, and with a disgusted look, he yanked the leather off, leaving him in a soft-looking, black T-shirt.

      “Here, dammit.” His arms were as tanned and rugged as his face, and roped with strength. When he held out the jacket, she caught a glimpse of a small tattoo where his sleeve was stretched taut over his biceps.

      Bad to the bone, she thought again. “I couldn’t.”

      “Now you’re being stubborn.” He set the jacket on her shoulders, enveloping her in his lingering body heat and outdoorsy, very male scent. For a second, his hands skimmed over her shoulders, then he slipped them into the pockets of his jeans, legs spread wide on the ground, sure and confident in a way Ally reluctantly had to admire. He was everything she wanted to be, here in Wildland, U.S.A.

      “A thin blouse isn’t the smartest thing to be wearing in the mountains,” he noted. “It could still snow. You’ll need to be more prepared.”

      She wondered how prepared he’d be in her world. But the truth was, T. J. Chance looked pretty darn capable. Without a doubt, he’d fit in anywhere, he’d make sure of it.

      And suddenly her newfound and not quite secure baby-new strength deserted her. For a terrible moment, it all seemed so completely overwhelming. The loss of her job, her apartment, her quiet, happy life…and now this too rugged, too masculine, too everything man was looking at her as if she was an idiot.

      Well she was an idiot. She’d lost her job, her apartment. She’d lost her dignity and all self-confidence.

      “Ah hell,” he said, going very still as he looked at her. “You’re not over there crying, are you?”

      Ally got busy trying to suck it all up, trying to be the tough girl she wanted to be, but he looked so fierce with all that bad attitude blazing from his eyes, that the harder she tried, the more her eyes stung from the effort.

      “Perfect.” He sounded so annoyed, that a laugh shot out of her, which had a tear escaping down her frozen cheek.

      He pointed at her. “Stop it.”

      Of course she couldn’t, and he slapped at his pockets, muttering beneath his breath as he thrust a napkin under her nose, reminding her of the incident with the professor.

      His handkerchief had been soft cotton, laundered and pressed.

      This napkin was rough and rumpled paper.

      “Take it,” he demanded roughly. “Take it and knock off the waterworks. They don’t work on me.” Before she could take the proffered napkin, he grabbed her arm and led her through the terminal, stopping inside to once again shove the napkin at her. “Your nose is running.”

      Perfect. She swiped at it and gave Mr. Rough and Tumble a sideways look. He seemed unraveled, and she found it…amusing. He was insensitive. In a hurry. He was edgy and quite likely to be horrible