The Moonlight Serenade

by Ava Miles

  “I catch your drift,” Rhett said, rubbing his face. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable either, so how about a bargain? We’ll keep it between us and see each other when we can. You come along to Mac’s poker games like usual, and we’ll find some time behind the scenes. Or when I come to visit y’all like I have in the past.”

  Sex on the side? Abbie reached for the sheet to cover herself. The mere feel of the soft Egyptian cotton on her naked skin made desire race through her. Was this called being over-sensitized? Whatever it was, she wanted more of it. She was thirty-two years old, and it was time for her to enjoy what it meant to be a woman with a man. And Rhett wouldn’t say anything. She knew that. It would be between them. Practical-like.

  “It’s a deal,” she said before she could think of any cons. “And when the time comes to an end—” she gestured between them, “—whatever this is, we’ll remain friends and never speak about it.”

  When he didn’t immediately answer, she glanced over at him. He was stroking his unshaven chin. A shiver ran through her as she remembered how good that rough stubble had felt against her flesh. “All right, honey.”

  His hesitation made her wonder what else he was thinking. She put a hand on his arm. “I’m glad…this happened.”

  “Me too,” he said with a soft smile, and when he leaned in to gently kiss her on the lips, something else snapped in her heart and she floated into the air while his mouth made sweet love to her.

  Chapter 5

  Rhett felt like he’d won the World Series of Poker again the day Abbie donned his Ole Miss Eli Manning jersey. They’d made love earlier, and she’d been oddly restless instead of languid. She’d picked up his cologne and dabbed some Narciso Rodriguez right between her breasts, saying she wanted to smell like him.

  When she’d wandered into his walk-in and brought out the jersey, asking why it had earned a special place at the front of his closet, he’d told her the story of how the former Ole Miss quarterback had played one of the most famous overtime games in college football history. Abbie didn’t understand the significance of seven overtimes or what a grudge match it had been against Arkansas, but she hadn’t hesitated when he’d told her to drop the sheet she was clutching and put the darn thing on.

  No woman could have looked better in such a mannish outfit. It hung clear to her ankles, and Rhett had a thing for delicate, trim ankles. The only thing sexier was a woman wearing heels to show them off. When he suggested she strap on the cream heels she’d arrived in, she shot him an odd look.

  “Is this some sort of male fantasy?” she asked, her brow furrowing.

  “You bet your ass, honey,” he drawled. “Seeing you like this might actually be the pinnacle of my life. I figure it can’t get much better than this. You’re still flush from making love, wearing my cologne and my favorite football jersey. Add in the heels, and I could make my peace with the world.”

  “You seem pretty healthy to me,” she joked, crossing to where her heels rested on the floor.

  This was her first visit to his current home. Mac had taken Dustin off on a boys-only trip, and she’d flown here to see him. When he wasn’t off at a tournament or on one of his trips, he hung his hat at this Spanish-style hacienda in Las Vegas that made him think about banditos, tequila, and a woman wearing a low-cut white blouse.

  He’d been as nervous as a pregnant possum at her seeing his house. He’d so wanted her to like it. To like him even more…

  They’d been meeting secretly for four months now, and the moments together had all felt as good as the first days of summer, if you asked him. The times apart had sucked. He hadn’t looked at another woman since they’d come together—a first for him.

  He was falling in love with her, and for a man who rolled with the hand of fate, he found himself tighter than usual. It was getting harder to settle into his usual easygoing demeanor, especially when he set eyes on her for the first time after a separation. They didn’t talk on the phone or text when they were apart. She’d wanted to keep things separate, something he was finding it harder to accept. He wanted to hear her voice—every day—wanted to hear about her life and share stories about his, all the little relationship things he’d never had much interest in until now.

  “Why don’t you come on over here so I can show you how healthy I am?” he asked, leaning back against the pillows.

  She had a spring in her step as she hopped over to the bed—as much as one could hop in those shoes—and climbed on top of him, straddling him ever-so-sweetly. Then the smile disappeared from her lips and she tensed up. “I’ve been…ah…meaning to ask about something, and this position rather reminded me.”

  Normally he would have made a joke, but the spit had dried up in his mouth at her tone. “What is it, honey?”

  “I went on birth control a while back,” she said, “but I wasn’t certain about whether we should stop using condoms.”

  He fought his frown. “I’m not following you.”

  She bit her lip. “I wasn’t sure if you…”

  When she got like this, it was like pulling teeth. “If I…”

  “Always practice safe sex with other people,” she said softly, staring at his collarbone. “If they’re on birth control too.”

  Awareness dawned, and the hurt that sliced into him was razor sharp. He picked her up and set her off to the side. “You’re asking if I’m having sex with other women while I’m with you.”

  Her head shot up. He supposed it was a fair question, but he was oddly pissed.

  “I’m not,” he said flatly. “Not since the first time we made love. I…” Jesus, was he going to pour his heart out like this? “I haven’t wanted another woman, and…I wouldn’t betray you like that.”

  She was silent, playing with her cuticles in a way that made him want to cover her hand to garner her full attention. “We don’t have an agreement,” she finally said.

  And if that didn’t blister his heart… What the hell did she think this was? “Honey, sure we do. We’re making love as a matter of course. That’s a mighty serious agreement, if you ask me.”

  Her frown pissed him off, and he had to reach for the cool he always brought to the poker game when emotions were running high.

  “While we’re on the subject, I’ve been meaning to ask you something too.” In for a penny… “I want to be in touch when we aren’t together. I understand your desire for discretion, but calling or texting each other isn’t going to put any of that at risk. I miss you when you’re gone, Abbie.”

  The bold white letters across her chest lifted with her inhale, and he watched her breathing, making sure this conversation wasn’t bringing on an asthma attack. “I miss you too, but—”

  He put his finger gently on her lips and stared into her uncertain green eyes. Yes, she was in uncharted territory too. “It’s only talking.”

  But even he knew it would be more than that. Talking without sex was serious relationship stuff.

  “Let me think about it,” she said, fussing with those darn cuticles again.

  “Okay,” he replied, reaching deep for patience. “How about we try a little skin-to-skin action then? I have a feeling we’re both going to love it.”

  And they did, twice that afternoon, once in the bed, and once on the kitchen counter after they ventured out of his bedroom for a snack.

  He wanted to take her out that night, but she declined, saying he was a famous figure around Vegas. They might be spotted. Grinding his teeth, he defrosted some chicken breasts—chicken!—because she liked it better than steak. He was even re-ordering his diet when they were together.

  “You’re quiet tonight,” she said to him later. They were outside by the sizzling grill, having just put the chicken onto cook. She was wearing a navy dress that would have looked formal if her hair hadn’t been so mussed up from their lovemaking.

  No one ever accused Rhett Butler Blaylock of being quiet. “Am I?” he bluffed.

  She put her hand on his back, and he fel
t his muscles jump from that simple touch. Last month, she’d started touching him outside the bedroom. He wondered if she realized it, or if she even understood the significance. On days like this, he had a hard time reconciling the guarded, conservative lady she’d exuded so effortlessly in the past with this newer, more open woman who laughed when he tickled her in bed or turned around so he could take her from behind while she clutched the dining room table with both hands.

  Some women were full of mystery, his mama had told him. She would know—she herself was one of them. Abbie was such a woman as well.

  “You don’t have to eat chicken with me, you know,” she said, fighting a smile. “I know you love your steak.”

  “I’m happy to eat what you eat,” he said, and even to his ears, it was total cow manure. He wasn’t going to get closer to her by eating the same things. That was ridiculous—and not a little codependent. Since when did Rhett Butler Blaylock even think about being codependent, least of all exhibit the signs?

  “Fine,” he grumbled, “I’ll grab a steak from the fridge.” He headed into the kitchen without looking back.

  “Why are you in such a bad mood?” he heard her ask him as he opened the refrigerator door. She’d followed him inside.

  Pulling out a ribeye, he set it on the counter. “I suppose it bothers me some that I’m good enough to sleep with, but not good enough to talk with. I’m trying to get over it.”

  He ripped off the plastic wrap and stilled when he felt her arms come around him.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to correct her, to say she hadn’t hurt his feelings, but who was he kidding? She had. “I care about you, Abbie. If you haven’t figured that out yet, I don’t know…” What the hell more to do.

  “I care about you too, Rhett,” she said, pressing her face into his back. “These past few months with you have been some of the best of my life. I’ve never…”

  He turned around so he could see her face.

  She looked down, making him want to growl. “I’ve never had this with a man, and it’s precious to me. I’m grateful.”

  He didn’t want her gratitude. “What about Dustin’s father?”

  Her spine seemed to straighten, and she stepped away from him. “No.”

  “Do you want to tell me about him?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “That subject…isn’t one I care to discuss.”

  Suddenly she looked ready to shatter, and he fought a curse. He’d known the asshole had hurt her, but until this moment, he’d never realized how much. “I’m sorry, Abbie.”

  “It’s fine,” she said without inflection. “I’m going to check on the chicken.”

  He watched her walk away, not knowing how to fix things between them. Then his eyes settled on the sunflower seeds he kept around for something to chew on. He hated being a cliché, but as a country boy, he liked to chew over things. If a piece of straw was around, he’d work it between his teeth. When he was a sprout, he’d gnawed on honeysuckle blossoms for the sweetness.

  Picking up his steak, he followed her out to the porch. The chicken was smoking, a clear sign Abbie wasn’t paying attention. He raised the grill lid and threw his steak on, wiping his hands with the paper towels he’d brought out.

  “How about a sunflower seed contest?” he asked, holding out the bag.

  She eyed it like he was serving her spit-turned squirrel from a campsite fire. “Excuse me?”

  He drew out a sunflower seed and popped it into his mouth.

  “Ew,” she said. “You didn’t wash your hands.”

  He laughed, not feeling the need to respond to her germ fussing. Women! Working the kernel free until only the shell remained, he then walked to the edge of the back lawn and spat it as far as he could. “The person who spits the farthest wins.”

  She laughed, not easily, but it was something. “You’re crazy.”

  After demonstrating one more time, he held out the bag again. “See? It’s easy.”

  “Rhett,” she said in the haughtiest tone to ever grace his ears, “I don’t spit.”

  His shoulders started to shake, and soon all of his nerves and tension dissolved with laughter. “Honey, you should hear yourself. I don’t spit. Who are you? Queen Elizabeth or something?”

  “I won’t ask whether you mean Elizabeth I or II—”

  “The Second,” he said drolly. “Everyone knows Elizabeth I was a pistol. I’ll bet she could out-spit any man.”

  She gaped at him. “Are you really suggesting one of the most powerful women of all time actually spat?”

  “Bet your ass,” he said with a wink.

  Laughter erupted from her mouth. “Oh, Rhett.”

  The earlier storm between them was passing. “Your chicken is a bit charred, milady. Let’s eat first, and then we can have our contest.”

  “You are out of your mind if you think I’m going to do this,” she protested.

  But he was good at persuading people to try new things. Hadn’t he been the lucky one she’d decided to make love with? After dinner, he led her to the edge of the lawn and gave her another demonstration. This time he propelled the sunflower shell a good eight feet across the lawn.

  “Give it a go, Abbie,” he suggested, jangling the bag. “Think of how impressed Dustin will be when you show him.”

  Her brow knit, and he fought a frown. Normally they didn’t bring up Mac or Dustin when they were alone. It was weird since both men meant so much to them, but again, he’d followed her cues. Perhaps it was time to test that boundary as well.

  “You’ll be a hit with Dustin’s male friends, let me tell you,” he said. “Men admire a woman who can out-spit them.”

  “Why?” she asked, complete astonishment lacing her voice.

  He could only think of an off-color reply, so he fumbled for something more palatable. “Because it shows gumption. Men like women with gumption.”

  “What the heck is gumption?” she asked, her brow knitting.

  “Grit.”

  Both her hands came to rest on her hips as she stared him down.

  “You know…it’s a woman who knows how to get things done,” he continued. “Won’t take no for an answer.”

  “That’s not me,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Sure it is,” he said. “Let’s take an example. If the company that was supposed to deliver the flowers to the hotel up and told you they couldn’t that day because…”

  God, what would cause flowers to be delayed? He was out of his depth.

  “They didn’t get my full order in,” she answered for him.

  “Exactly! And you had a huge event that night. You’d hold them accountable, wouldn’t you?”

  She worried her lip. “I’d ask them what other flowers they had in stock and see if they could deliver them according to our agreed-upon schedule so I could pull together a new design for the arrangements.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “But you’d tell the delivery man to get his butt over to your place with the flowers, right? Once you insisted on getting some flowers—any flowers.” Land sakes, he was talking about flowers. If he didn’t hang the moon by this woman, he’d ask a male friend to put him down.

  Her shoulder lifted. “I couldn’t say it like that. I’d appeal to their honor as a business.”

  Okay, maybe she did need some practice on gumption. Most people in the world weren’t nearly as honorable as her, though she sure made him want to be a better man.

  “Let’s get back to the contest.”

  “Rhett!”

  Reaching for her hand, he dropped a sunflower seed in her palm. “Go on. Pop it in your mouth and work the seed free. Once you have the shell, go on and spit it as far as you can.”

  “I feel like Rose in Titanic,” she complained.

  “Think of me as your Jack Dawson,” he said with a smile.

  “You saw Titanic?”

  He thought about whether he shoul
d be embarrassed for a moment. Nah. “It won the Oscar for Best Picture. Of course, I saw it. I like going to the pictures.”

  She started laughing, but he caught her studying the seed in her hand.

  “Go on,” he cajoled. “Try something new.”

  Sure enough she tried, only to end up with a glob of spit on her white heels. “Oh yuck, I got it on my shoes. Rhett! I told you this was a terrible idea.”

  Shoulders shaking, he ran to the dinner table for some paper towels. She was bent over, eyeing her shoes, when he knelt at her feet and wiped away the glob. “Okay, so you have a lot of work to do when it comes to spitting.”

  She shoved his shoulder. “Hear me, honey. I am never spitting again. Got it?”

  He looked up at her. She’d never called him anything endearing, and even though smoke could have poured from her ears, there was a new sass in her that he rather liked.

  “Did you just hear that?” He cocked his ear for effect as he stood. “I believe that’s what we call good ol’ fashioned gumption.”

  Her hand shot out to shove him again, but he only grabbed her and hefted her over his shoulder. “Rhett! Put me down this minute.”

  This wasn’t the first time he’d hauled her over his shoulder, and while she protested, he knew she loved it since she was always smiling by the time he set her down. He headed to the bedroom.

  “Didn’t I mention men love women with gumption?”

  “Lucky me,” he heard her whisper softly.

  Chapter 6

  Abbie sometimes felt a little like Persephone, traveling from the world of Rhett Butler Blaylock to her normal everyday life of being a single mom, a sister, and a business woman. The division felt especially stark at moments like this one, when she was sitting alone in the stands watching Dustin’s soccer practice.

  Not that Rhett lived in the underworld. After visiting his current home, she knew he had good taste. She’d gone there fearing it would be full of wild decorations, like snakeskin chairs or an array of hides or stuffed animals with beady eyes. But she’d been wrong. His house was tastefully decorated—full of warm-colored, geometric-styled Western rugs, Native pottery, and rugged landscape paintings of the surrounding area straight out of a John Ford movie.