Seeing Stars

by Vanessa Grant

  She had little experience of men's bodies. Kevin's had been smooth and tame. Blake's was different. Everywhere she touched, she felt hard muscles. When he flexed, she felt his strength, his power. Although she tried to fight it, something primitive and female, deep inside, woke and stretched.

  She'd asked him for a wild ride on the back of his motorcycle, eating the miles and flying over the world, clinging to his back. With the wind whipping the arms of her jacket and her body sheltered by his, she felt sharp joy that he'd given her this one fantasy.

  When he slowed to turn off the highway onto Sheridan Street, she forced herself to loosen her grip and ride, her hands at his sides, ready to grab if he leaned into another of those turns—but he wouldn't, not at this slow city speed.

  He pulled up behind her red Honda Passport at Manresa Castle and turned off the engine.

  The silence seemed oddly intimate when he turned off the engine. She climbed off the bike and pulled her helmet off.

  "That was... nice. Thank you, Blake."

  He put the bike on its kickstand.

  Silence.

  How could his eyes be so black?

  Last night... Oh, God, she'd been an idiot last night.

  "Blake, when... How did you know this was my car?"

  "Arizona plates."

  She took a deep breath, stared at the castle turret, hoped for courage, or at least clarity. "I need to talk to you. Last night I talked a lot of nonsense. The motorcycle ride was nice. I enjoyed it, but I hope you don't think I... that I meant the rest of it."

  "We made a deal last night."

  "I've changed my mind." Her throat clogged and she cleared it. "I must have been crazy. I don't know why... I don't know you. We're strangers, really."

  She looked straight at him and tried to read his face. Her heart crashed uneasily against her ribs.

  "I don't think so," he said slowly. "Not anymore."

  "What?"

  "Strangers." He brushed a wisp of hair back behind her ear. "I wouldn't say we know each other well, but I wouldn't call us strangers after last night. I figured you'd chicken out this morning."

  "Chicken? I'm not chickening out! For heaven's sake, I'm being sensible! I was crazy to suggest it."

  "Why is it crazy? You want something. It's low-risk. Why not?"

  "I don't want anything! That's what I'm trying to tell you!" She heard her own voice screaming—screaming at him. Standing in a public parking lot shouting at a man, telling him she didn't want to have an affair with him. She gulped and said, "I had too much to drink. The wine, after that punch. I never would have said what I said, if..."

  "Maybe." He stepped closer.

  "So you... what are you doing?"

  He cupped the back of her head with one hand.

  "Blake, I-I..." But she didn't twist away, didn't put her hands up to push him away, did nothing, not one thing to stop those lips.

  He tasted salty and strong, enticingly musky when his lips played over hers, then settled. Her mouth opened, welcoming him from somewhere deep inside, accepting the way his kiss drew strength from her muscles and left her clinging.

  He shifted and her hands framed the angles of his face as he deepened the kiss and drew a moan from deep inside her. When he lifted his head, he didn't release her. A good thing, she thought wildly. She would have sunk to the ground in a puddle.

  She'd never understood what they meant when they talked about a woman surrendering to a man... this overwhelming ache to be possessed.

  "Tell me," he demanded, his voice lazy, dangerous.

  "Tell you what?"

  "That you don't want anything."

  Want.

  She jerked back. The castle. The man. Her hair, tumbled around her face. Blake and Lydia making out in the gym.

  "All right," she said raggedly. "I lied about not wanting anything, but it's not practical. It's not... I'm not... I should have had the sense to clear out last night."

  His laugh unsettled something deep inside her. "I'm glad you didn't. You're not the only one who wants, Claire."

  "You want me to do some magic with Jake."

  "Partly, but I remember back in high school, the way you would never meet my eyes. I had a few fantasies about your eyes, and now you're here, head up and eyes meeting mine, and I want more than one kiss."

  She wished she could look away. "It's not a good idea."

  "Why?"

  Because right now, she wanted nothing more than to step right back into his arms.

  "It's too fast," she said soberly.

  "Speed isn't necessarily a bad thing." His thumb brushed her cheek.

  She shivered and stepped farther back. "I'm not the sort of person who has impulsive affairs. I live on a mountain, work on a mountain. I like my life. I love the sky." He didn't want to hear about her love of the stars, for heaven's sake. "My life doesn't have room for a man."

  "I'm asking you to spend time with me, Claire. No commitment, just a few days out of our lives. If you hadn't started it last night, I probably wouldn't ask, but you did."

  He brushed another strand of hair behind her ear. "You're tempted," he said softly. "And it's a low-risk deal. You don't want a man in your life, and I don't have room for a woman in mine. There's no danger of us falling in love with each other, hurting each other. Give me your week, Claire. We'll fulfill a few fantasies. While we're at it, you'll end up spending some time with a troubled kid. You could do something worthwhile there."

  How many crazy things had she done in her life? Not nearly enough, according to Jennifer. And he was right, wasn't he? This was low-risk: a man who didn't want a permanent woman, and a woman who felt exactly the same. One week, and there was no reason they ever had to see each other again.

  "Yes," she whispered.

  "What did you say?"

  She cleared her throat and repeated, "Yes. I said yes."

  She thought he would smile, but he stared at her with something dark in his eyes, and she parted her lips, on the verge of taking her words back.

  "Follow me down to the shipyard," he said abruptly. He swung back to his bike, tossing over his shoulder, "With luck, Jake might turn up. Then we'll grab lunch before you go back to get ready for tonight." He flashed a smile then, the sort of dangerous grin she remembered. "I'll pick you up at seven. We'll have dinner, then head for the dance."

  Jennifer, what have you gotten me into?

  Five minutes later, Claire parked her car behind Blake's motorcycle in the shadow of a massive wooden boat in front of a green building. She climbed out and stared up at the hull looming overhead, the network of planking and ladders surrounding it.

  "You're building this? It's immense."

  "Not building it, just trying to repair the damage of neglect. Come on in here." He opened a door in the wall of a tall green building and she followed him inside.

  From somewhere nearby, she heard a rhythmic sound.

  "Reminds me of the observatory," she said. "No windows."

  He threw a switch somewhere and light flooded over a glistening wooden hull. She smelled wood, fresh wood, and saw the reddish tinge of newness on the planking.

  She couldn't resist stepping closer, reaching up to feel the smoothness.

  "It's gorgeous... and so big."

  "It's only a thirty-seven footer. Boats always look bigger out of the water."

  A muffled voice called out, "That you, Mac?"

  "Yeah," shouted Blake. "You seen anything of the kid?"

  "Not a sign."

  The owner of the voice must be inside the boat.

  Blake said, "I may have to go hunting for Jake."

  "If you want to go look for him, I don't mind."

  "I'll give him a couple of hours. Better if he turns up on his own." He gestured to a strange, four-sided stepladder that must have had treads six feet wide. "Come on up."

  "I see the point of the jeans," she said, grasping one of the higher treads and starting to climb.

  As she climbed, the t
opsides of the boat came into view, all glistening wood and smooth curves. She spotted what looked like a steering station, but no sign of a wheel or tiller.

  "Is it a sailboat, isn't it?"

  "Mm-hmm. A good size for family cruising."

  He had climbed up the second broad ladder, and now he stepped onto the curve of the deck and held out a hand to help her make the transition from ladder to deck. She arrived with a feeling of breathlessness, high above everything, with a queen-of-the-castle view of the boat shed.

  "Where woes the mast go?"

  "Right here," he said, gesturing.

  "It just sits on the deck?"

  "There's a support post underneath, and shrouds and stays to keep it in place."

  "Shrouds and stays?"

  "Steel cables."

  "I'll take your word for it."

  She turned slowly, feeling precarious with the edge of the boat so close. As if sensing her thoughts, he reached out and caught her hand.

  "There'll be lifelines, of course."

  "How do you start something like this?" She tried to ignore the sensation of his palm against hers, the fact that her fingers had twined through his as if they belonged there. "First the plans, you said. But what then?"

  "I lay the keel first. We put down timbers, four-inch oak beams. Once the keel's true, everything else is built onto it."

  "Can I see inside?"

  "Have you ever been on a sailboat?"

  She shook her head.

  "Step down into the cockpit, and then turn backward to go down the companionway steps." He kept a hand on her arm, steadying her, she supposed, then he called out, "Tim, we're coming down."

  No wonder he recommended she turn backward – the steps were more like a ladder.

  Down below, she spotted Tim, a muscular man dressed in a sleeveless T-shirt and tattoos, his body wedged into a ledge in the boat's miniature living room. He appeared to be sanding the wood.

  "You sand the whole thing by hand?"

  When Tim turned his head, she realized he couldn't be more than seventeen.

  "You think we're nuts?" he asked.

  Blake laughed. "Claire, meet Tim, my number one man on this job."

  "Number one slave," muttered Tim, sliding out of the tiny space he'd been wedged into. "Check this out, Mac. I got it smooth as a wha— Ah, pretty smooth. You new around here?"

  "I'm here for the reunion," she answered, watching Blake twist his body into the narrow space Tim had vacated. "I live in Arizona."

  "I hear you've got major rocks in Arizona."

  "We do," she agreed. "Do you climb?"

  "Some."

  Blake twisted his body free and said, "Good work, Tim. When the whole interior's that smooth, we'll be ready for the first coat of varnish."

  "Where's the kid?" asked Tim. "I could use some help."

  "I'll help," said Claire.

  He looked at her with something approaching horror, and she laughed and said, "Show me."

  "It's precise," said Tim.

  "I can see that. I've never sanded a boat, so I'll need instructions, but I've done precision work, grinding telescope lenses, making my own telescopes. I'll bet you the cost of lunch that I'll pick it up pretty quickly."

  "You've built telescopes?"

  "Yes."

  "Lunch?"

  "Lunch," she agreed.

  "What do you think, Mac? Should I give your chick a try?"

  Blake had his hands in his pockets. She couldn't read the look on his face, but it wasn't a smile.

  "Try her out on the starboard pilot berth. She can afford to buy you lunch, but make sure you can afford to buy hers if you lose."

  "Right," said Tim, grinning now. "I'll get more sandpaper."

  For a big kid, he was amazingly graceful as he ducked past them and climbed the stairs, leaving her alone with Blake's frown.

  "It's harder work than you think. You'll get your hands roughed up, and your shoulders are going to be sore as hell by the time you've spent half an hour upside down in that pilot berth, sanding overhead."

  "They're my shoulders. How do you expect I'll get Jake to listen if I just stand around like a chick, watching the macho action? It's easier to talk to someone you're working with than someone who's just hanging around and obviously doesn't belong."

  "This isn't Jake.

  "I know that."

  "All right, but don't overdo it. Will you be OK here with Tim if I go out for a bit?"

  Looking for Jake, she thought. "I'm fine. I'd rather not have any more witnesses than necessary if I do lose this bet.

  He smiled then. "You'll ruin your manicure."

  "I'm not soft, Mac, whatever you think." It was the first time she'd called him Mac, but she thought it suited him here, where he acted tough while devoting himself to straightening out delinquent kids. "If the state of my manicure bothers you, you'd better think twice about tonight's dance."

  She didn't expect his laughter, didn't expect him to jerk her into his arms with a hard motion before he covered her lips with a searing kiss, but she gripped his arms hard and the wild surge of energy flooded her body just as he let her go.

  "What was that about?" she gasped.

  He didn't answer, just brushed her lips again and turned away to grasp the rail beside the stairs. "I'll be back," he said, and she had no idea whether he meant it as a promise or a warning.

  Mac knew any woman with eyes like hers was bound to be more complicated than she looked. He'd expected her hesitance, her thoughtfulness—it fit with the eyes. He figured those eyes might have an effect on a kid like Jake, but he sure as hell hadn't expected her to bond with a tough case like Tim, having a pissing contest about precision, for Christ's sake, and coming out with a draw.

  He hadn't expected a woman who could innocently wear a slippery blue dress as if it were seduction itself to turn around and suddenly cloak herself in battered denims and offer to sand his boat.

  She'd never worn jeans back in high school.

  Building telescopes. Sanding one of his boats.

  The way it was looking, he wasn't going to get her together with Jake any time soon and this low-risk affair was beginning to look more like a high-yield explosive.

  A wild streak's a fine thing, so long as you know the price before you commit, and you 're prepared to pay. Do you know the price here, Mac?

  Mac figured that's what James would have said if the Cessna hadn't crashed. It was James who had taught Mac to count the cost, James who'd talked a seventeen-year-old punk into going back to school, James who was responsible for his being a shipwright instead of a career criminal.

  Yeah, he knew the price. She'd thrown him with that business with Tim, but it made no difference that she had more spirit than he'd expected. The lady wanted a week of romance—even after her morning case of nerves. He didn't mind admitting that the idea of dragging Claire behind the bleachers and kissing that tempting mouth of hers senseless had a lot of appeal.

  As for the risks: He had condoms in his wallet, and neither he nor Claire was signing on for more than seven days. The risks were negligible, so long as he remembered the agenda.

  He found Ellie baking bread in the kitchen at the group home.

  "Jake's not here," she told him. "He didn't show up last night, and if he doesn't show up by noon, I'll have to notify Don."

  "Shit. Any ideas?"

  Ellie shook her head. "He doesn't hang out with the other boys from the group home. I don't think he's been into drugs again since the overdose, but I'm not sure. He won't talk to me."

  "Me either. Call my cell phone if he shows up, okay?"

  "Absolutely."

  After he left the group home, he checked a couple of the downtown places where he hoped he wouldn't find the kid, then finally spotted a familiar head of shaggy red hair in a parking lot. The boy's shoulders were drooping as he stared out over the rough water.

  Eleven-thirty.

  Mac pulled out his cell phone first and dialed Ellie. "Don'
t sound the alarm. I found him."

  Ellie wouldn't call Don, but it was going to take more than that to get a favorable result at Jake's next hearing. Mac approached the kid slowly, tamping down his irritation and the urge to shake Jake.

  The wind whipped Mac's jacket as he stopped at the edge of the water beside Jake.

  "Anything worth seeing out there?"

  "Whad'ya want?"

  Mac turned his head and managed to pin the kid's eyes. "Do you want a ride to the shipyard?"

  Jake's shoulders hunched up against his ears. "Sawdust and stinky varnish. I got better things to do."

  "Like letting friends shoot you up with enough smack to kill you?"

  "I'm not stupid. I'm clean."

  Count the cost, Mac thought, but hadn't a clue whether his words would shake sense into the kid, or send him running.

  "Listen, Jake, you've got about one more chance here. Nobody wants to send you into juvenile detention, but if you don't give them a reason to give you a break, it's going to happen."

  No eye contact.

  "The system doesn't give a damn," muttered Jake.

  "You're right. But I give a damn, and Don Henley does, and so does Ellie. The fact is, it doesn't matter what we do when you're so damned busy proving to the system that nothing we do can make a difference.

  "The power's yours, Jake. The power to dump yourself in juvenile detention where you can get a good head start on a criminal career, or take control and make something of yourself."

  "What the fuck am I supposed to make of myself?" The kid looked as if he might be about to cry.

  "What do you want to make of yourself?"

  Jake shrugged and looked away. Mac hadn't a clue if he'd lost him or stirred him to thought. At moments like this he respected the hell out of his stepfather, James Denver, for asking questions like that and having the courage to sit and wait when no answer came.

  He waited it out, watching the back of Jake's head as he stared out to sea, trying to measure the immeasurable.

  When the kid kicked at a rock on the ground, Mac figured it was time to break silence.

  "You want that ride?"