by Lori Foster
“Damn.” He rubbed his face, then gulped down half his coke. He had to stop tormenting himself.
“Stan?” His name emerged as a thread of sound, filled with longing.
Nodding, jaw tight, Stan said, “You see?” He struggled to keep the harshness, the savage need, from his tone. “The moon affects us all, Jenna, did you know that? It’s called the Lunar Effect and can be responsible for everything from mental disorders to heightened awareness.”
She didn’t dispute him, but then, her mind was still on other, more carnal matters, making him nuts.
Stan took her hand again. “Listen to me, Jenna. Studies have proven that more crimes, more births, more conceptions, more animal bites, and more unintentional poisonings all occur during a full moon. The earth and sun and moon are all lined up, causing higher tides, and you have to believe if the moon can do that, it can damn sure work on our glands, our organs, and our moods.”
She blinked hard. “So…you’re interested in me because of the moon?”
“No way.” He’d been hooked from the first day he saw her, he just hadn’t realized that the feeling was mutual. “Didn’t you hear what I said about you being sexy? I’ve wanted you since day one. Make no mistakes about that. And the more I get to know you, the more I want you. But maybe it’s the moon that’s bringing us together, that’s helping us to admit it.”
Stan waited, but she didn’t deny wanting him, and something strangely close to anxiety uncoiled and relaxed in his chest.
Yet her lack of a denial wasn’t enough. He squeezed her fingers. “Tell me you want me, Jenna,” he commanded. “Say it.”
Marylou chose that inauspicious moment to come bebopping back to the table. “You guys ready for your pie?” She eyed Jenna’s uneaten food and raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like the chicken salad?”
“Oh, uh…” Flushed, Jenna picked up her croissant. “It’s wonderful, I’ve just…”
Swallowing his curse, Stan said, “Give us ten more minutes, Marylou, then bring two slices of pie and two coffees.”
Jenna protested. “I’ll need to get back to the store soon.”
“I locked up.” Stan pulled her keys from his pocket and slid them across the table. “The reporter’s long gone. The bookstore is safe.” He pressed his feet farther under the booth, letting his calves brush hers. “Stay for pie.”
Marylou giggled. “Yeah, Jenna. Live a little. Stay for pie.”
Giggling got on Stan’s nerves, but the girl was a good sort and a hard worker, so Stan winked at her and said, “Maybe seeing it will convince her.”
“Right.” Again, Marylou hurried off.
Glancing at her watch, Jenna said, “I suppose I can stay a little longer. I haven’t even been gone a half hour.”
Stan just waited.
With slender fingers, Jenna smoothed her hair, glanced at him and away, and finally drew a deep breath. He could feel her working up her nerve, and it was both endearing and a gigantic turn-on.
“Yes, I want you.” Before Stan could recover from that awesome declaration, she added with earnest sincerity and an appalling lack of deception, “I have since the first day I met you.”
“You never let on.”
“I didn’t think there was any reason to.” In explanation, she said, “If you think I’m attractive…well, it’s nothing compared to what I think about you. It’s probably safe to say you’re the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Of course, every woman in town thinks so, so I’m sure you’re used to hearing that.”
“No,” Stan growled, floored with how her announcement affected him. “I’m damn well not used to it at all. But it wouldn’t matter anyway, because you’re not every other woman in town. You’re special—to me, and to everyone who meets you.”
Shrugging that off, she sipped at her drink and nibbled on her sandwich. Again Stan waited, sensing her efforts to sort things out, to decipher both his feelings and her own. Picking up a pickle slice, she whispered, “Are we going to have an affair, Stan?”
For some reason, he didn’t like her wording. An affair indicated a noncommittal relationship, and damn it, Jenna was the type of woman a man settled down with. She was every man’s fantasy, proper on the outside, torrid on the inside. He wanted to know both sides better.
“I’m going to take you and your son out on the boat tonight. If Ryan wants, he can do some tubing. Or just swim in the cove. We’ll talk. Maybe grab dinner somewhere. And later, when Ryan gets ready for bed, I’m going to kiss you again—probably do more than kiss you.”
Alarm skittered through her. “Oh, but—”
“Jenna,” he said, cutting off her objection, “I understand your privacy is limited. Your kids are a big part of your life, and that’s how it should be. Know that I’d never make things awkward with them.”
Jenna watched him with longing on her face as well as in her heart. She craved the special bond between a man and a woman, but her kids came first, and Stan appreciated that. Even if he hadn’t read it in her head, he’d have said and done the same things. He was sure of it.
How hard would it be for a woman with children to develop any sort of intimacy with a man? Was that why she’d never dated, because it was just too complicated? Well, he wasn’t a bastard who’d ever make her choose or pressure her into an uncomfortable situation.
“Later,” Stan added, wanting her to have no misunderstandings on his intentions, “when we can find some private time so you can relax and enjoy every single second, I intend to make love to you.”
The pickle slice slipped from her lax fingers and landed half on the plate, half on the tabletop.
“You’ll like what I do to you, Jenna. I’ll make sure of it.”
Her head moved in a dazed nod of acknowledgment. “I believe you.” But the images in her head weren’t of him touching her. Just the opposite.
Her sexual imagination played for him like a porn video, and he was the recipient of every hot, wet kiss, every lick and gentle suck and firm stroke. Jesus, the woman had a great knack for covering the details.
On the ragged edge, glad the booth hid his arousal, Stan leaned forward again. “I’m not a kid, Jenna, after a quick tumble and instant gratification. Should I tell you what I want?”
The word, “Yes,” floated out on a breath from between her parted lips.
“I want a woman who isn’t shy in the sack. A woman who’ll let me make her feel good without hiding under the sheets or turning out the lights.” And then, pushing her, he said, “I want a woman who wants me the same way. Who enjoys getting naked and sweaty, fucking, sucking, with no taboos as long as we both enjoy it.”
Oh, yeah, Jenna was that woman. Just hearing him say it had her primed and ready and squirming in her seat.
“I want a woman,” Stan added, knowing how his words would hit her, “who insists on a screaming orgasm every time.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Stan saw Marylou approaching. The girl’s timing couldn’t be worse, what with Jenna flushed, soft in all the right places, her eyes heavy, her nipples taut against her dress.
“Blow your nose,” Stan told her, quickly handing her his paper napkin.
Some of the sensual haze faded from her darkened eyes. “Excuse me?”
“Marylou’s on her way, and honey, she’ll take one look at you and think I’ve been getting you off under the table. Take the napkin, lower your face, and blow.”
Jenna fumbled to do just that, her hands shaking, her breath coming too fast. She turned awkwardly away and lowered her face just as Marylou set the plates of peach pie on the table.
“You want me to take some of these dishes?” she asked, hoping for a reason to hang around.
“That’s all right,” Stan told her. “We’ll be done shortly, and then you can get it all.” He handed her a twenty, which more than covered the bill, and said, “Keep the change.”
Stan knew she was saving for college, so he always gave her a huge tip. Marylou saw nothing amiss. “Thanks,
Stan. See ya later, Jenna.” And off she went.
Jenna’s forehead hit the table. “Oh, God,” she said, her voice muffled through the napkin still covering her face. “I’ll never be able to come in here again.”
Stan couldn’t resist touching her hair. He glided his fingers over the warm silk, thinking of it loose and drifting over his body—his chest, his abdomen. His thighs.
He lifted her face. “So you’re a hot woman with a sexual appetite? It’s nobody’s business—but mine.” He brushed her lips with his thumb. “I’ll keep our secret.”
Jenna looked at her uneaten croissant and then at the piece of pie. She shook her head. “I can’t eat.”
“Yes, you can.” Stan picked up her sandwich and handed it to her. “I’ll help. For the rest of our meal, I’ll make sure we talk about something else.”
Jenna still struggled to get her breathing in order. “Like what?”
There were times when the nonglamorous job of gardening came in handy. “A new low-maintenance rose shrub that’d look great in that bare spot at the side of The Nook. It’s going to be a big seller, so you need to order it now.”
Bemused, Jenna listened as he detailed the finer points of the flower, and within minutes, she’d consumed her lunch. Lust, Stan knew, worked up an appetite, so he enjoyed watching Jenna eat.
After he gave her an evening of mind-blowing sex, he’d feed her a four-course meal. She’d forget about her diet colas and aversion to pie and learn to appreciate her curves as much as he did.
But for now, he had to get back to work before he forgot his good intentions. He walked Jenna back to the bookstore, gave her a brief kiss on her delicious mouth, and told her he’d see her at five-thirty, at her house.
Hopefully the lake water would be cold. Because he had a feeling Jenna’s more sumptuous thoughts were going to be hell on his libido, and on his control. Out on the boat, at least he’d be able to dunk himself in the water as necessary.
Three
When Jenna got home, rushing so she’d have time to refresh her hair and make-up before Stan showed up, she discovered her daughter still in the bathroom, primping for her date.
When she knocked, Rachelle said, “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Jenna sighed. “Hello to you, too, honey.”
The door opened. “Hey, Mom. I thought you were Ryan.”
They exchanged a quick hug, and Jenna asked, “Where is your brother?”
Wrinkling her nose, Rachelle said, “Out back, digging up worms in the hopes you’ll take him fishing.”
Because Rachelle still had hot rollers in her long blond hair and only half her make-up on, Jenna knew she’d be busy longer than the predicated “few minutes.” Sharing one bathroom with an eighteen-year-old daughter wasn’t easy.
But at the same time, Jenna knew she was going to miss her something awful when college started. “I’ll let him know I’m home.” Then she hesitated. “Where are you going tonight?”
“To the movies, and then the Old Orchard Inn for dinner.”
Jenna frowned. The theater was located just outside of town, and that was bad enough, but the Old Orchard Inn was also a B&B—meaning there were beds right upstairs. At eighteen, Rachelle was on the verge of being a woman, but she was still Jenna’s little girl. She didn’t want to be smothering, but neither could she be cavalier. “You’re going to be late?”
Rachelle shrugged. “Maybe midnight or so. Is that okay?”
“I suppose so.” But as usual, Jenna felt the need to lecture. “Please just remember that as nice as Terrance seems, it’s you I trust, not him. If he tries to buy you alcohol or if anything happens—”
Rachelle rolled her eyes and headed back into the bathroom. “I know, I know. I’ll call a cab, or call you, or I’ll hit him over the head. Don’t worry, Mom. It’s just dinner and a movie. I promise.”
Don’t worry? Dear God, Jenna well remembered the raging hormones of youth, how she and her husband had found plenty of inconspicuous places to explore their sexuality. They’d married young and had a wonderful marriage that had lasted until his death three years ago.
But Jenna wanted so much more for her daughter….
“Mom!” Ryan came thundering into the house with all the delicacy of a herd of elephants. His untied, dirty sneakers brought him to a skidding halt on the hardwood floor right in front of Jenna. “I’ve dug up a bunch of night crawlers.” He lifted a paper cup filled with dirt and wiggling worms. “Let’s go fishing.”
Hiding her revulsion, Jenna peered into the cup. “Wow, you do have a bunch. And they’re so…” She swallowed hard. “Big.”
“They’re juicy,” Ryan said. “The fish’ll love ’em.”
Jenna mentally prepared herself and said a quick prayer that her son would be happy with the change of plans. “I’m sure there’ll be time for some fishing, but guess what? Stan Tucker offered to take us out on his boat.”
Ryan’s eyes widened. A heartbeat later, the bathroom door opened and Rachelle stuck her head out, her eyebrows raised in comical wonder.
Dear God, Jenna thought, she’d rendered both kids mute.
Forging on, she cleared her throat and tried to be casual when she felt nearly frantic instead. “I don’t know what type of boat he has, but he said you could go tubing or swim in the cove. We can take the fishing gear along. Stan might like to fish, too.”
Still, both children just stared at her. A deep breath, then another, and a bright smile. “You remember Stan, don’t you?”
They each nodded. Ryan fought a grin. “For real? He’ll take me tubing?”
“That’s what he said.”
Rachelle sent Jenna a sly look—and began teasing. In a soft, singsong voice, she said, “Mom’s got a boyfriend, Mom’s got a boyfriend…”
“Rachelle! Of course I don’t. Stan is a—”
“Stud,” Rachelle said. “And if he’s not a boyfriend, then why are you turning bright red?” Laughing, Rachelle threw her arms around Jenna and squeezed. “I think it’s cool.”
“Me, too.” Ryan was suddenly beside himself, jiggling, hopping, and antsy with anticipation. “When’s he gettin’ here?”
Jenna glanced at her watch and gulped. Time slipped by far too fast. “In about ten minutes.”
“Mom.” Rachelle pulled her into the bathroom. “For heaven’s sake. Why didn’t you say something! It’s all yours. I’ll finish up in my room.” Hands flying, she unplugged her rollers, grabbed no less than three hairbrushes and her assortment of make-up, and said, “Don’t just stand there, Mom. Do something with yourself. Change into your bathing suit and that really cute cover-up you have. And let your hair loose. The wind from the boat will tear it out of the clip anyway.”
Rachelle closed the door before Jenna could think of a single thing to say, but she heard her daughter give rapid orders to Ryan. “Now, behave yourself, squirt. Don’t be a toad, okay? Show Mr. Tucker your best side. Don’t embarrass Mom—”
Their voices faded as Rachelle dragged Ryan and his worms down the hall, listing off all the things he shouldn’t do.
Jenna stared at herself in the mirror. Oh, God, she was still red-faced. But not for the reason Rachelle assumed. She didn’t suffer embarrassment so much as unbridled eagerness. She’d turn forty soon. She was a middle-aged widow, a mother of two children, one a grown daughter. She owned her own business.
But at the moment, she felt like a giddy teenager on her first date.
Jenna put her hands to her warm cheeks and surveyed her appearance. Yes, definitely a mess. No way would she wear a bathing suit—the very idea of showing so much skin to Stan left her mortified. The years, and two births, had not been kind to her body. Any man who hadn’t seen her before she lost her figure sure wasn’t going to see her now, at least, not so soon.
If, as Stan said, they eventually made love…yes. She craved his description of unrestrained, bold lovemaking. Jenna sighed. Then, and only then, she’d let him look all he wanted. After all,
if he was looking, she’d get to look, too. And Stan Tucker was a definite feast for the eyes.
Stan arrived five minutes early. The hazy sun and low ninety-degree temps had him wearing reflective sunglasses and casual khaki shorts with a mostly unbuttoned white cotton shirt. He’d showered, shaved, slapped on a spicy fragrance, brushed his teeth, combed his hair—and generally spiffed up as much as a gardener in the midst of a small town during a heat wave could.
He parked his sporty red SUV in Jenna’s drive and got out, peering at her tidy ranch-style home with a critical eye. Updated landscaping would improve the looks of the house a lot, not to mention the trim could use a fresh coat of paint.
He was considering that when he saw the small, compact body bounce off the porch swing and stand at the top step, hands on hips, eyes squinted from the sunshine. He seemed to be restraining himself with great effort.
Stan couldn’t quite tell if Jenna’s son wanted to challenge him or welcome him with berserk joy.
Joy won out. He leaped off the steps and came dashing across the lawn, bubbling over with enthusiasm. “Mom said you were coming.”
Stan smiled, amused at the boundless energy vibrating from the boy. He opened his mind to him and then wished he hadn’t. Ryan still missed his father terribly, and a giant void existed inside him. He was so hungry for a father figure that Stan put a hand to his chest, rubbing at the ache of a broken heart.
“That’s right,” Stan said. “Boating alone is no fun, so I’m hoping you’re game.”
“You bet I am!” Ryan leaned around him to see his SUV. “Where’s yer boat?”
“I keep it docked at the lake.”
“We used to have a boat. But Mom sold it.” His face scrunched up. “Cuz of my dad dying and everything.”
“You haven’t been boating since?”
Skinny shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I go with friends sometimes. But Mom likes to worry, and sometimes she doesn’t let me go.”
A smile tugged at Stan’s mouth. He touched the boy’s head and started him toward the house. “It’s a mother’s sacred job to worry, and I bet your mother is good at anything she does—including worrying.”
