One Chance With You Read online

  One Chance With You

  Denise A. Agnew

  Blush sensuality level: This is a sensual romance (may have explicit scenes, but not erotic in frequency or type).

  Sometimes being who you really are means taking a chance.

  Amber MacMillan has survived abuse and misunderstanding over her empathic abilities. Being true to herself has set her free but most men aren’t interested in a woman who can sense their feelings.

  Jim Clay’s time in war left a mental scar—a fear of flying. When Amber rescues him with her gentle touch and understanding, he thinks he might have a chance to defeat his phobia. An unlikely crisis brings them unexpectedly closer. Amber and Jim may have found the chances they’re looking for—in each other’s arms.

  A Blush® contemporary paranormal romance from Ellora’s Cave

  One Chance With You

  Denise A. Agnew

  Chapter One

  As the big passenger jet bucked like a stallion Amber MacMillan took a deep breath and gripped the armrests. Turbulence had sent the flight attendants into their seats and most of the passengers into fear mode.

  Amber had always hated flying.

  At least she had in the past. Not even a year ago someone would have had to hogtie her to get her on an airplane. She was proud not only of her progress but the sense of peace she had under this thunderstorm. The flying can dipped and bounced about every two minutes and the pilot had promised at least ten minutes more before the storm outside the metal conveyance would lessen. The window shade was up to her left and lightning sent forked tongues across the clouds outside. She sucked in a breath as she sensed danger on the edge. Amber felt a sudden wave of anxiety and realized it didn’t come from her. Someone nearby had a bad case of fear of flying. She glanced over at the man to her right for the first time.

  No, that wasn’t true. She’d noticed him the moment he’d sat down next to her while they were still on the ground in Denver but not before. She’d had her nose buried in her e-reader, inhaling a great novel. Reading was one way she blocked crazy vibes that battered at her empathic senses. If she hadn’t been reading she definitely would have noticed his brand of masculinity. He was the type of man a woman with any libido would have to notice, to feel in the most primal part of her. The man was scary in that way that made a woman question her sanity if she found him attractive. In one glance she took in his physical appearance once more. Oh yeah. Prime choice male but not in that too-good-looking-to-be real way. Plastic men is what her sister called pretty boys but this guy was brutal-looking and definitely not fancy. He took up the whole seat with wide, muscular shoulders that filled out a black t-shirt. A broad chest tapered down to flat belly, trim waist and long legs in faded blue jeans. His booted feet looked big. He didn’t fit in this tin can all that well with his sense of barely controlled power. As for his face, she barely glanced at it, not wanting him to catch her staring. Longish black hair curled around his neck and over his forehead. A messy twist of this and that. She doubted he’d designed it that way. She had an impression that he didn’t care much what people thought of him. A prominent nose, tanned features and cruel mouth gave him the look of a Roman soldier.

  She felt deep down that somewhere along the way he’d defended others. Maybe he was in law enforcement or the military.

  She turned her gaze forward as another air pocket caused several female passengers to scream. She drew in one deep breath and then another. She felt the man next to her tense and that was when she understood. This new sense of fear truly didn’t belong to her. The man next to her struggled with real trepidation. She’d done such a good job of shutting him out until now. Another bump and her senses went on high alert. Yeah, the guy next to her was freaking out but he wouldn’t want anyone to know. Compelled to help, she dared look at him again. As he gripped the armrests veins showed on his very masculine hands and strong forearms. Another glance at that strong face showed a tight mouth and his gaze darting around. Maybe some women would have found his distress disturbing but it turned her “gotta take care of him” meter up several notches. Caution threatened to derail her wish to comfort him. After all, she’d learned the hard way that trying to change a man never turned out right. Then she saw how green he looked, that tan face more pale than moments before. Damn.

  She couldn’t just leave him like this. Drawing in a deep breath and envisioning a white light surrounding her body, she made sure to block his anxiety. She couldn’t afford to take on that horrible feeling. When she was certain the white light cloaked her in protection, she opened her eyes.

  “Hi. My name is Amber MacMillan.” She held out her right hand. “Hell of a storm, isn’t it?”

  When he turned his face full toward her she almost sucked in a breath. In profile he looked intriguing but his entire face told the story. Not only was he handsome, he was scarred. Down his right cheek a thin line grooved his skin from cheekbone to chin. Not a horrible scar, but one people would notice. Yep, if he’d been in the right costume he would have made an excellent pirate. His eyes were so dark they were almost black but they weren’t scary at all—they were filled with a valiant attempt to rein in panic.

  His frown deepened. Crap. He didn’t look any too pleased. She almost drew her hand back, but he presented his big right hand and she took it. His palm and fingers swallowed hers but he didn’t squeeze hard. When he drew his touch away the brush of his slightly callused skin made a tingle of pure feminine arousal dart low in her belly. Wow.

  “Jim Clay.” His voice rumbled a little, a deep, rich texture.

  “Nice to meet you.” Her mouth felt drier than sand. “Um…” Go ahead, Amber. You started the conversation. “Where are you from?”

  “Right now I’m from Tucson.”

  “I’m from Redemption Ridge. I mean, not originally. Originally I’m from Woodland Park, Colorado. I was at a retreat. Barely got out of Colorado Springs before the thunderstorm hit.”

  “Hmm.” The sound that came from him was more grunt than acknowledgement.

  “Redemption Ridge is in the Arizona mountains.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been there. About four hours from Tucson.”

  “Right.”

  His gaze focused, as if he’d managed to leave the turbulence behind. She felt his anxiety decline and that pleased her. But the way those intense eyes swept over Amber increased her own awareness. He took her in with one assessing glance that said he approved. A lot. He practically blistered her with smoldering attention. Holy guacamole. A heat wave took her over and she almost fanned her face. When was the last time a man had checked her out like that? She couldn’t remember.

  “Were you on vacation in Colorado?” she asked, her tongue feeling as thick as a plank.

  He swallowed hard and her gaze snagged on his strong throat for a few seconds. “No. At a funeral.”

  Oh man. She’d stepped in it. Now she saw grief in his eyes. A quick, almost-not-there sadness. “Oh I’m so sorry. Not family I hope?”

  “An old friend.”

  “My deepest sympathy.”

  He let out a breath and appeared to relax a little more. “Thanks.”

  His eyes held the searing grief of a man who’d lost big and somehow she didn’t think this one funeral had burned such pain into him. There was a lot more hiding behind those intriguing eyes. Curiosity pushed her forward and she changed gears. She nodded toward the magazine sticking out of the seat pocket in front of him. “That your magazine?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Security Industry? Sounds like a trade journal.”

  “It is.”

  She sensed she pushed the envelope with this guy but she continued. “You work in some sort of security?”

  “Yep.”

 
He looked away and she suspected that last question would shut him down. The devil on one shoulder urged her to continue the interrogation while the angel on the other told her to leave the man in peace. The devil won.

  “What do you do exactly?” she asked.

  When a bump hit, he returned his attention to her. “I work for Clay Security in Tucson. We have offices in Phoenix too. Personal security.”

  Intrigued, she pressed onward. “As in bodyguards?”

  “Yep.”

  “Do you act as bodyguards for celebrities?”

  “Sometimes. More often for members of the public.”

  “Wow.” She almost winced. She sounded like a teenage girl meeting the quarterback for the first time. She modulated her voice. “Do you hire a lot of former military and police?”

  “We have.”

  “Which were you?”

  His eyes narrowed, a flash of sharp attention. “You ask a lot of questions.”

  Heat filled her cheeks. “Sorry. People say that about me a lot.”

  It took him a moment to respond, his gaze once more assessing and cataloguing her. “I was in the Navy. Explosive Ordnance Disposal.”

  “Oh I saw a documentary about you guys. Were you in Afghanistan?”

  “Bingo.”

  “For how long?”

  “Three tours.”

  She glanced at his thick, full hair. “So you’re not in the military anymore obviously.” An awkward moment sent more heat to her face. She wasn’t usually so bumbling in conversation but something about this guy threw her totally off guard. “I mean obviously you’re not if you’re working for this security company.”

  “Messed up my ankle and had to get out.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I mean…if it was your career path and you liked it, I’m sorry it had to end.”

  He shrugged. “Stuff happens. I got over it.”

  “I knew you had to be in the military or a cop at one time.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I’m not sure. Well, okay, that’s a lie.” She smiled. “Cops and military have a certain aura about them.”

  A dubious look came into his eyes. “Aura?”

  Here it comes. When you speak your truth and tell him how you know these things he’ll either freak or laugh. But if she wanted to be authentic, she had no choice but to explain, did she?

  “People in professions that serve and protect often have a way of being that just screams dangerous sometimes. Not everyone who is a cop or in the military is like that but you have it. And I can see it and feel it.”

  He took a while to respond, assessing her with curiosity. “Okay. But tell me this. You don’t know me. How do you know I’m not some freaky stalker dude? If you were my sister or any female friend I’d tell you straight up not to get so involved with some bozo on a plane.”

  So was this his way of telling her to bug off? “Of course you would. You’re probably extremely protective of women too. So are you a stalker bozo?”

  “Hell no. I don’t hurt women.”

  “Bingo. Do you have sisters?”

  “God, you’re something else.”

  “As long as the else is a good thing.”

  She half expected him to smile but that serious gaze remained. “Yeah. Three younger sisters. All as much a handful as you are.”

  Uh-oh. Maybe he’d decided to turn the tables on her. A sweet thrill went through her, a forbidden excitement. She was getting into this conversation now and like a bulldozer didn’t stop. “I’ll bet they think you’re a pain in the neck too.”

  “They’ve called me that.”

  “They’re lucky to have you for a brother.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You love them and want the best for them, right? You don’t butt in when they’re making their own decisions but you’ll give advice when they ask. Sounds pretty good to me.”

  “Yeah, well, I haven’t been there for them much in the last few years.”

  “Deployed?”

  “Yep. How the hell do you know all this stuff?”

  “Well, that would be telling, wouldn’t it?”

  “I—” He cut himself off as another rough batch of turbulence hit, his mouth tightening into a thin line.

  Maybe he’d moved on where the military was concerned but there was a hell of a lot more he hadn’t resolved. It was there in the way he looked, the way he talked and the way the tension hadn’t entirely left his eyes. She wanted to know why flying bothered him so much. The turbulence continued but it seemed to be slowing in violence and intensity. One good thing…Jim didn’t seem as nervous as before.

  She realized she was staring, which she rarely did. But then he stared back and their gazes tangled in a war. His attention caused two reactions inside her. Apprehension and full-blown attraction. The empathic side of her sensed he wouldn’t break eye contact first. Something challenging kept her looking into his eyes. She’d probably asked him enough questions for now.

  “I’m a teacher,” she said, adding a smile to be reassuring.

  “Grade school?”

  “Everyone thinks that.” She made a stamping motion on her forehead. “It must be written across here. Amber MacMillan, grade school teacher. Actually I teach junior college courses in humanities at Peterson Community College.”

  “Hmm.” Another one of those male grunts. He shifted until he turned slightly toward her. Once more his gaze took measurement of her and this time the sweep of his eyes held even more interest. “Maybe it’s because you’ve got a certain quality.”

  As a student of body language, his movement excited Amber. He was paying attention. Her attempt to distract him from the bucking plane seemed to do the trick.

  “Quality?” she asked.

  “Calm. Controlled. You seem gentle and not easy to upset. You’ve got your hair pulled back in a ponytail and it makes you look innocent.”

  “Ugh. Innocent. I get that a lot too. But I’m not.”

  “I can see that.”

  Okay. So maybe she wasn’t the only one who could read people. “I am cool, calm and collected for the most part. I don’t know about gentle but I try to be kind. I wasn’t always calm and cool, though. I’ve had to learn that.”

  “Me too.”

  She didn’t know. He had way too much energy crackling inside him.

  Amber held her breath as another huge air pocket rocked the plane. Women cried out. Jim tensed but only a tiny twitch of his left eye betrayed him.

  “We can’t change the way we look unless we want to project a certain image.” Once more that dark gaze turned hot. “You don’t have pretentiousness. What people see is what they get.”

  She smiled. “It’s the freckles.”

  A smile flirted with his mouth but didn’t score. A minute twinkle glittered in his eyes. Wow. Even that small evidence of good humor sparked heat within her. The man had too much sexy for his own good. His gaze lingered on her, tracing her face and catching on her mouth. Her lips tingled as if he’d touched them. For a wild second she wanted his mouth on hers. Yearning to discover what his kiss would be like, she wondered if before they left the plane she could ask him for it. Oh Lord. Right. You’ve lost your mind, girl.

  “Could be the strawberry blonde hair.” His voice held velvet mixed with teasing. His attention dropped to the outrageously frilly pink purse under the seat in front of her. “Or the crazy purse.”

  She laughed softly. “You could be right. Not many thirty-year-old women have crazy pink purses. What can I say? Blame my inner child. We all have one if we’re lucky.”

  “I’m thirty too. Sometimes I feel eighty-seven.”

  Concern touched her. “Physically?”

  “Nah. Mentally.”

  “Do you think the war used you up?”

  He made a soft sound that was almost a laugh. “Sometimes.”

  “I think we’re all like that. All we need is to know someone else understands. We need to let others in.”

  He
stayed quiet but his attention remained on her. Good. The mission to keep him calm and relaxed had gained some ground.

  “Maybe I should be suspicious of you,” he said.

  That gave her a jolt. “Me?”

  “What’s that magazine in the pocket in front of you?”

  “National Geographic.”

  Another smile flirted with his mouth. “Seems suspicious to me. And those shoes you’re wearing. The most sensible walking shoes I’ve ever seen on a woman in an airport. What’s up with all those thirty-year-old women wearing high heels in the airport anyway? Never can understand it.”

  She shrugged. “Fashion.”

  He snorted. “Still don’t understand it.”

  She smiled. “My feet won’t take it and high heels aren’t my style. I wouldn’t wear them even if I could.”

  “Mmm. A sensible woman despite the pink purse. I like that. My sisters are the ones who wear the mile-high shoes in the airport. Drives me crazy.”

  “And I’ll bet you tease them about it.”

  “Never miss a chance.”

  “Sounds like a big brother to me.”

  “You have brothers?”

  “Just my older sister. But she’s overprotective. She’s ten years older and knows what’s best.”

  “Yeah?”

  “She’s a lawyer and thinks my path is impractical.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Your path?”

  “I’m also a Reiki practitioner. I’m a little too woo-woo for her.”

  A strange expression flitted over his face. Here it comes. He’ll definitely brush me off if he thinks I’m a wacko.

  Instead he said, “I’ve had Reiki before. One of my Navy friends has a wife who does Reiki.”

  “Did it help you?”

  “Yeah. She did it on my ankle. It helped a lot.”

  “You could use some Reiki now.”

  He smiled and this time it was full-blown, absolutely genuine, devastatingly gorgeous. “How do you know?”

  “You have to ask that by now?”

  “What makes you think I need it?”

  Maybe she should come totally clean with him. “Because I’m empathic. I can usually tell when people are distressed even when they’re doing a great job of hiding it. This turbulence is bothering you. A lot.”