Under A Painted Moon

by Rayne Forrest

  He smiled at her. “Pizza? I'm offering you steak."

  Courtney took a deep breath. It was time to put the cards on the table.

  "I'm offering you me."

  He swallowed, then nodded. “I got that,” he said softly. His lips touched hers in a warm, lingering caress. “I'm not turning you down.” He cupped her head, coaxing her to rest it on his shoulder again. In spite of the tension in her belly, she relaxed against him.

  "We'll go to dinner and then stop and get a few things. We might want breakfast, you know."

  She knew he would give her every opportunity to change her mind—and not hold it against her if she did. It was a big risk for him to take, one most men wouldn't gamble on.

  "There's no stove and no refrigerator.” Her voice was muffled against his chest. She listened to his heartbeat. It was anything but slow and steady.

  "Good. I can have doughnuts.” He moved away from her. “I'll be back. Six-thirty."

  She shook her head. “Pick me up at home—my other home. I need a shower, too."

  He nodded, then tapped her bottom. “Get your car out of my truck's way."

  "Aren't you going to kiss me?"

  He grinned. “I don't dare, babe."

  "Chicken. Wimp.” She hastily backed away as he began stalking her. “Weenie.” She backed into the wall and darted sideways past him. He made a grab for her.

  He could have caught her. His fingers closed around her wrist then relaxed so she could pull away. He chuckled softly.

  "Remember that you called me names. You'll be changing your tune later."

  "Promises, promises."

  "It is a promise, babe. One I'll keep."

  Courtney's knees wobbled. The gleam in his eyes spoke volumes. Her vulva pulsed. She really didn't care about dinner. Her eyes drifted below his belt. He laughed, a sound of wicked delight.

  "Like what you see, little girl?"

  "Sure. What there is of it."

  "What. There. Is. Of. It.” He tipped her chin up and kissed her lightly. “Oh, my darling you will see. You will see.” He turned and strolled toward the kitchen.

  She hurried to keep up with him. “Such cocky arrogance, McWaters."

  "Good choice of words.” He handed her keys to her and headed back down the hallway. “The clock is ticking. Scram."

  Courtney jingled her keys. “What are you going to do?"

  He grinned over his shoulder at her. “Put the sheets on the bed."

  * * * *

  Barry reached the bedroom about the time Courtney hit the paved road with more burning rubber. He shook his head.

  "I bet she puts tires on a car every six months,” he mumbled to himself. He flopped across the bed. A king-sized sleigh bed made of mahogany, it was perfect for the room. It did seem a bit more than two people needed, though. Maybe the extra room was for all the bed pillows. He wasn't going to ask why she needed six new pillows for one bed.

  He could think of a few inventive uses for them and none of them involved sleeping.

  He stripped off the protective plastic wrappings from the mattress and box springs, then pulled the mattress cover out of the box. It only took a few minutes to get the sheets and pillowcases on. Being single all his life, he'd had enough practice at making a bed. The last item in the box was a lightweight bedspread. He'd grab a blanket at his place and bring it along, just in case. The nights could still be chilly and he didn't know if the heat worked.

  The smaller box yielded a few candles, a clock radio, two telephones, a pottery bowl, and a small bag of crystals in every hue imaginable. He ran his fingers over the smooth, polished stones. He recognized one as being amethyst, but even that didn't give him any clue as to what she did with them or why they'd be so important they'd be one of the first arrivals to her new home.

  Checking the time, he made his way back to the carriage house to find something fireproof to set the candles on. He rooted about until he found a broken mirror. Perfect.

  He gingerly carried a few pieces of the mirror up to the bedroom and arranged the candles on them. It was all he had time for if he wanted to make his necessary stop and get showered. He locked the door behind him then drove away at a more sedate speed than Courtney favored.

  His pulse refused to settle to normal. On the verge of sweating, he kept shivering. It was times like these he regretted giving up cigarettes.

  He wanted Courtney. He'd wanted her for years. And not just in bed.

  This could be folly. Taking her to bed could be the biggest mistake of his life. Heaven beckoned, but hell lurked close behind if he messed this up.

  She'd bolt. She'd cut and run so fast, he'd never catch up to her if he messed this up. Courtney was very vulnerable, despite the tough, savvy, businesswoman exterior. If she ever realized he could see that, she'd push him away.

  He made a stop at a convenience store, grabbing the evening paper and some matches for the candles. He stowed the bag behind the seat.

  However the evening ended, it was going to be a night he'd remember. He just hoped it would keep going his way.

  Chapter 11

  It was six-thirty-one when Barry pulled into Courtney's driveway. She was waiting on the front porch. He beeped the horn, then got out to open her door.

  "Very funny.” She swung a small overnight bag at his mid-section. He caught it deftly and stowed it behind the seat with his. He gave her a boost into the truck.

  "I guess I'll need to look for a set of running boards.” He grinned as she adjusted the hem of her dress downwards. She rolled her eyes and reached for her seatbelt.

  He leaned in and kissed her. He'd intended the kiss to be light, a gentle greeting and nothing more. Her tongue flicked boldly across his lips. He opened his eyes. His gaze locked with hers.

  She cocked an eyebrow at him. It was a challenge and he knew it.

  He'd discover soon enough whether or not she was shaking beneath that cool, coiffed exterior. Not that it mattered. He was quivering on the inside enough for both of them, which was ridiculous.

  Putting the truck in gear, he glanced over at her. She was staring out the window at the house.

  "It's going to seem strange to leave that house. Tyler and I really enjoyed living there together."

  "I suppose it's not the same with her moved away."

  "No, it's not. I miss her, but she's happy now, and I'm happy for her.” She lapsed into silence after that. Barry left her alone with her thoughts and concentrated on his driving.

  A valet appeared as he pulled to a stop in front of the restaurant. The young man greeted him by name when Barry handed him the keys. Courtney gave him a searching look.

  "He was in the one and only art class I'll ever teach at the junior college,” Barry told her, guiding her inside with a gentle hand on the small of her back.

  Courtney chuckled. “I heard you didn't enjoy that."

  "I had three teenage girls throwing themselves at me. I needed body armor."

  He gave his name to the hostess. They were immediately seated in a quiet corner of the restaurant near the fireplace. The window bedside their table afforded a grand view of the mountains.

  "What's good here?"

  Barry shook his head. “I've never been here, but I've heard the house salad is a meal in itself, the crab bisque is to die for, and the prime rib melts in your mouth."

  Courtney grinned at him. “I'll have that, then.” She handed him her menu. “With, horror of horrors, Chardonnay."

  "Tsk, tsk. White wine with red meat. Is that what they do back east?"

  "No. I have an unschooled palette. It likes what it likes."

  The waitress appeared and Barry ordered, adding a beer and appetizers to the order.

  "When I took Mary to dinner, everything was very proper, you know. She even wore a hat and gloves."

  Courtney smiled. “That was a different era, wasn't it? I'm glad we moved away from all that.” She met his gaze and licked her lips, a slow, seductive sweep. Pinpricks of heat teased t
heir way through his groin.

  "Just think. If we still lived in Victorian times, I'd have a chaperone and you'd not be coming back to my house with me."

  Barry cleared his throat, wondering if his voice would even work. “Just think. If we still lived in Victorian times, I'd have brought a friend along to distract your chaperone and the buggy wheel would mysteriously fall off somewhere between dinner and propriety."

  She grinned at him. “Your buggy had better not lose a wheel. I'm excited about sleeping in my new house."

  He looked closely at her. Nope. He wasn't going to take the bait. She laughed softly and tapped his foot with hers. He moved his foot back. She pursued, tapping his again. He leaned forward.

  "Pick on me now, babe. I have something special in mind for the payback.” His eyes flicked to her breasts. The soft fabric of her dress outlined every nuance. He leaned back, grinning. “Did you get a sudden chill?"

  Glaring at him with mock disgust, she crossed her arms in front of her. She tipped her nose up. “We should refrain from entertaining the wait staff, don't you think?"

  He laughed wickedly. “It doesn't bother me, but since you're a lady, okay. I'll act respectable.” For now.

  The appetizer arrived and they turned their attention to the business of eating. Their conversation focused on business as Barry talked about his idea for the painting of the carriage house. Courtney was enthusiastic.

  "Are you looking for a distributor?"

  He knew she'd ask that. He fidgeted. Damn.

  "Would you be upset if I tried to work a deal with Hawke Gallery to distribute?"

  She looked surprised. “Of course not! Nichols-Morgan has the Elizabethtowne series coming up. You should have several distributors.” She laid her hand over his.

  "But if Hawke Gallery doesn't give you a good deal, you'd better let me make an offer."

  Barry turned his hand over to grasp hers. “Deal."

  He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. Her hands were slender, the veins blue and delicate under her pale skin. Her fingers, icy cold, closed around his.

  So. She was nervous. He'd never have known, looking at her.

  Their salads arrived, followed closely by their meal. The food was excellent, and the portions overly generous. When the waitress asked if they wanted dessert, Barry asked for two slices of chocolate cheesecake—to go. Once outside, he helped her in the truck and closed her door. She was patting her stomach when he climbed behind the wheel.

  "I'm stuffed,” she moaned.

  "Me, too. It's not curfew yet. Let's go take a stroll around the park."

  She nodded her agreement. Barry dropped the truck in gear.

  She was quiet on the ride to the park, and he didn't press her for conversation. He had a few reservations, too, although none of them would stop him from spending the night with her.

  He opened the door for her at the park and she slid off the seat and into his embrace. Her arms wrapped around his neck, clinging to him. His mouth found hers and all doubts fled.

  Their tongues danced in a mock battle for supremacy. He backed her against the side of the truck, pressing his hips to hers. He was swelling rapidly. Little sparks of pleasure shot through his groin with every heartbeat. He flexed into her. She moaned in his mouth and his erection completed in a wonderful rush.

  He kissed his way down her neck. She arched against him, rolling her head back and giving him free reign.

  "Barry.” Her nails dug into his shoulders. He cupped her breast, rubbing his palm across her hard nipple. He pulled away.

  "Ready for our walk?” His knees were wobbly, but he'd promised her a stroll.

  "Walk?” she repeated, blinking at him. He rested his forehead to hers, touching her nose-to-nose.

  "Walk. Around the lake. You and me. Remember?"

  "Can't we just go on home?"

  She didn't have to ask him twice.

  * * * *

  Courtney watched Barry's profile as he drove. He'd grown from a gawky youth to a handsome man and she'd barely noticed the change until a few months ago. That was the story of her life. Everything went on around her and she barely noticed. Then there'd come a moment when she'd suddenly wake up to it all, surprised.

  She was certainly awake to Barry now.

  His hands on the steering wheel fascinated her. They were not what one would envision the hands of an artist being. Instead of slender and aristocratic, they were broad across the back, with a field of sparse, dark hair. The fingers were straight, long and strong-looking. The nails were blunt, but carefully tended. An old, white scar ran along the outside of his right hand from his wrist to the base of his pinkie finger. She'd never heard how he'd gotten it.

  Those hands would be on her soon, learning her body, touching more than her flesh. She shivered again.

  He glanced at her, and offered her his hand. Instead of locking fingers with him, she ran her fingertips along the path of the scar. He spoke without her asking.

  "I ran through the storm door when I was a kid. My mother warned me—repeatedly—not to put my hand on the glass and push the door open. I was ten and didn't pay any attention to her at all."

  "Hmm. Did you learn anything?"

  He shook his head. “It's debatable."

  His attention shifted back to the road. They would be at the house in just a few minutes. The bottom dropped out of her stomach, setting dozens of butterflies free inside her.

  The left turn signal light blinked.

  "Where are you going?"

  "Just a quick stop. I couldn't get this sooner.” He pulled to a stop in front of a wine specialty shop. Leaning over, he gave her a kiss. “I'll only be a moment."

  She watched him walk inside. Even as a younger man, he'd always had that long, easy stride, but now it was tempered with strength and confidence. That confidence came across as arrogance at times, but that didn't disturb her. She recognized it for what it really was.

  He was back in just a few minutes with a large bag, which he put behind the seat. Her mouth went dry as they finally turned into the driveway at the Victorian. This time, when he opened her door, she ducked past him, stopping a few paces away. He didn't say anything, just handed her overnight bag to her and motioned toward the house while he gathered up all the other assorted bags. She raced up the steps on trembling legs and opened the door for him.

  The bag yielded a smaller bag of ice, an ice bucket, two flutes, and a bottle of champagne, already chilled. He pulled a manila folder from the outside pocket of his overnight bag and handed it to her. She flipped it open. Several glossy photos fell onto the table.

  "Barry!” She scooped up the top picture. It showed the Victorian in colors of purple, lavender, yellow and cream. “This is wonderful!"

  "Keep going,” he urged, working on the champagne cork. “There are some truer Victorian color schemes there."

  She obediently flipped through the photos that showed her house in every shade of the rainbow. Laying out one in shades of blue and cream with orange trim, she picked up the first one again. Barry had put that one on top on purpose, she was sure.

  "You knew I'd like this one, didn't you?” She tapped the purple house. He nodded.

  "It's the first one I did. I'm just sorry it took me so long to get the equipment squared away and working.” He pulled a folded sheet from his pocket. “Look at this."

  She unfolded the sheet. It was a color photocopy of a painting of her house in faded shades of lavender and purple.

  "That's a copy of an old print the historical society had. These are the original colors of the house. I added the deeper shades for added contrast."

  "This is unbelievable. I love it. This is perfect.” She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. “Thank you. It's definitely worth the wait."

  "You're welcome.” He returned her hug then tipped her chin up. His eyes were almost black. His body heat was a lure, pulling at her to get even closer. His voice was a whisper, soft and low.

  "I want you, Cour
t."

  Deep in her core, a pounding began, rolling through her, gaining strength. The oblivion he offered sang a siren song to her heart. To be in his embrace would be to forget the weight she carried. She could lay it all down and rest in what he offered. The past would be put to rest.

  The future was not yet written. It would have to take care of itself.

  Now there was only Barry.

  She reached for him, pulling his mouth down to hers. He cupped her bottom, drawing her closer, pulling her tight to him. He was already hard. Her breath caught in her throat. He loosened his hold on her, coaxing her back to the kiss. She slipped her hand between them, pressing against the rigid length of him. A low rumble of encouragement sounded in his chest.

  His lips were hot, tasting her with an urgency that made her thighs tremble. She touched her tongue to his, beginning a dance of sweet give and take where to lose was to win. The need to touch him, to learn his shape and size echoed through her. She found the tab of his zipper and tugged it down. His fingers began inching her dress up across her hips.

  He slid his mouth along her jaw line, nibbling his way to her ear. He whispered her name in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. She slipped her hand inside his jeans, grasping him through the thin layer of cotton of his shorts, squeezing gently. Her curiosity about him grew by leaps and bounds. Feeling all of him the way she wanted wasn't possible like this.

  "Jesus, Court.” His fingers had finally bunched her dress and slip up. His hand caressed her bare skin. “Do you always run about without drawers on?"

  She normally dressed quite properly. She loved the feel of lacy, silky undergarments against her skin. Wearing delicate, feminine bras and panties made her feel special, and sexy. She and Barry had been headed for tonight for several weeks. She'd dressed, or more to the point tonight—not, with deliberate intent.

  Lifting her head from his shoulder, she met his intense gaze and smiled.

  Chapter 12

  Courtney's pulse stuttered then settled at a faster pace. Barry was eyeing her like she was a choice morsel of steak. One large hand was splayed against the small of her back. The other moved slowly, caressing the round curve of her bare rump. His fingertips found the strap of her garter belt.