Night Moves

by Julie Kenner

  She’d managed to get away, though. And she could still remember the shocked looks when she’d told who’d done that to her. Not a football player! It couldn’t be! In Texas, football was magic and power, and in addition to being a local celebrity, Tommy had powerful parents.

  Her parents had refused to let her press charges, fearing that somehow their own careers would be damaged. For this humiliation, her father actually had gotten involved, though the rat bastard had never once come to see how Ella was doing. The police, without a witness and who were probably huge fans of Central’s winning season, had dropped the case.

  Ella had hated her parents for that, acknowledging for the first time what she’d already known in her heart—she wasn’t their priority. She wasn’t even close.

  In the end, she’d hated the town, too. Too many bad memories and too few good ones. Shane, in fact, had pretty much marked the parameters of what had been positive in her life.

  She knew he felt the same. His family had been poor, his mom a drunk and his dad verbally abusive. Neither worked a steady job, and it was astounding that Shane had such a great smile considering he hadn’t even gone to a dentist until high school.

  Shane’s brother had been a slacker but kind—and Shane had been devastated when he’d died. When Marc died, so did everything good in their family for Shane.

  Junior high had been a tough few years. That was an understatement. But they’d gotten through it together.

  With a sigh Ella shook off the memories. She was in New York now and life was good. And even if Shane was going back to Houston, it would be different for him now. He was going on his own terms, with his own life. She didn’t need to worry about him.

  But she was worried about that shoulder. She got up, then moved around the table, coming to stand behind him. “Did you pull it out again?”

  “Yeah, but it’s really not bad. Just a little sore.”

  “Dammit, Shane! This happened because you were painting my apartment, didn’t it? I told you I didn’t want you to do anything that might screw up your shoulder.”

  “It’s fine,” he said.

  She scowled, irritated that he’d hurt himself working for her and feeling completely responsible. “It’s not fine,” she said. “I can see it’s not fine.”

  “Okay,” he said, flashing that grin again. “You’re right. It hurts like hell. But it was a small price to pay.”

  “For what?” she asked, incredulous.

  “For that,” he said, waving an idle hand toward her fire escape.

  Curious, she got up and crossed the short distance to the window. The double-pane glass had long ago fogged over, so she unlocked it, threw up the sash and poked her head outside. There, drying on the metal grating, were her kitchen cabinets.

  “Wow,” she said. And then, because that hadn’t conveyed the right tone, she added, “Wow.”

  “Not bad, huh?” he asked, coming to stand behind her.

  “Not bad at all,” she breathed. He’d done an amazing job. The cabinets—previously clumpy and thick with layer after layer of paint accumulated over the years—had been completely stripped down to the wood. And what Ella had assumed was cheap pine turned out to be some fancy hardwood, complete with an amazing wood-grain pattern. Shane had stained each piece, and the effect drew the grain out even more, emphasizing the natural beauty of the wood.

  The sun had already disappeared behind the taller buildings that surrounded Ella’s apartment, so she stepped outside and flipped on the little light that she’d rigged up for the fire escape. In the dim illumination provided by the single bulb, the wood seemed to gleam. She moved forward, approaching one of the cabinet doors.

  She reached out a finger, then hesitated. The raw beauty of the wood called to her, and she wanted to stroke it, but she didn’t want to mar any of Shane’s hard work.

  Shane. She realized with a start that he’d come up behind her. He was standing there, his breath on the back of her neck, the toe of his shoe pressed against the heel of hers. His hips weren’t touching hers, but she knew he was back there. Knew that all she had to do was take one tiny step back and her rear would be pressed right there, right against him.

  Good God, what was wrong with her?

  “Go ahead,” he said. “Touch it.”

  “What?” Her voice came out raw, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “What did you say?”

  “The cabinet door,” he said—and was that amusement she heard in his voice? It couldn’t be. He couldn’t know what she was thinking.

  “The door,” she repeated stupidly.

  “If you keep holding your finger out like that,” he said, “a bird is going to land on it.”

  “Oh. Right.” She quickly dropped her hand.

  “Touch it,” he insisted, his voice sounding low and erotic, even though she now realized he was talking about the door. “You know you want to.”

  “I don’t want to mess up your work.”

  “It’s dry.”

  “Really?” Not quite believing him, she inched her finger closer until finally she ran the tip down the smooth lacquered surface. Just as he’d said: dry.

  He chuckled, his breath tickling the hair on the back of her neck. Never in her life could she remember having been so aware of Shane.

  “I told you.”

  “You did a great job.” She drew in a breath. “These are absolutely beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” He moved to stand beside her. “I wanted to finish this up for you before I went away.”

  She couldn’t help her smile. “Yeah? I thought you were the one who was supposed to get a going-away present. Not the one who’s staying behind.”

  “You know me. I like to be different.”

  “Well, um, thanks again.” An awkwardness settled over her, and she realized that on any other day she would have brushed his cheek with a kiss. Today, though, she couldn’t bring herself to do it, too afraid of where the kiss might lead. Or maybe afraid that it wouldn’t lead anywhere at all.

  If Shane realized her discomfiture, though, he didn’t show it. Instead he bent toward the nearest cabinet door. “Shall we take them inside?”

  “Is it okay?”

  “Sure,” he said, but as he lifted it, she saw him wince.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she said. “Down.” She pointed toward the grating. “Put it back down now.”

  He just stopped and held it in front of her, his brow furrowed.

  “Now,” she said, stabbing the air with her finger. “Right there.”

  “Ella…” Reprobation laced his voice, but he didn’t argue. And when he stood back up again, she made a circle motion with her finger. “Turn,” she ordered.

  Fortunately Shane was more than familiar with her no-nonsense voice and he did as he was told.

  “What were you thinking?” she demanded, moving closer. “I specifically told you not to do anything that would screw your shoulder up again.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Don’t even start,” she said. She pressed her hands against his shoulders, something she’d done hundreds—no, thousands—of times during their friendship. This time, though, the contact sparked electricity, and a million volts shot through her fingers and ricocheted through her body.

  With a little yelp she yanked her hands back, suddenly aware that her nipples were hard and her crotch warm. Shit.

  “El?”

  “Sorry. Just, um, static electricity. I’m fine.”

  She swallowed, took a deep breath and tried again. This time she managed to touch him without sparking a flood of lascivious thoughts. She drew a breath and kneaded his flesh, paying special attention to the knot she felt just under his shoulder blade.

  He exhaled, a sigh of pleasure on his breath. “Oh, yeah. Thanks. That feels awesome.”

  She squeezed her eyes tight, glad he couldn’t see her face. This had been a very, very, very bad idea. She should have called her house first. Should have gone out of her way to make sure
he was nowhere in the vicinity before she’d come home.

  No way should she have walked through those doors and been forced to face Shane mere hours from the time her mind had started conjuring images of her and Shane in a variety of acrobatic, erotic and decidedly naked positions.

  Well, maybe she’d made a mistake coming, but she fully intended to rectify that error right now. She would very calmly tell him that her head was throbbing and that she really needed just to lie down and take a nap. She’d suggest they meet for breakfast, he’d leave, she’d take a cold shower and by morning she’d have her head, her body and her libido under control.

  Yes. That was a good plan. A plan she could live with.

  But then Shane said, “That’s enough, thanks,” and started to turn in her arms. And that was when Ella realized just how wrong even the best of plans could go.

  “I—” He was right there, his face so close to hers, his lips slightly parted. His green eyes were warm and they seemed to pull her inside them. She wanted to go. She wanted to lose herself in those eyes. The eyes of a lover and of a friend.

  And before she could think, consider, talk herself out of it, she inched forward, her mouth tingling with the mere possibility of a single forbidden kiss.

  Snap!

  Ella jerked back, her breath coming fast as she realized that every light in the city had been extinguished, as though God had simply blown out the candle. She stood there for a second, disoriented by the pudding-thick blackness.

  And then she said a silent thank-you to the powers that be, whether divine or merely ConEd. One of New York’s famous blackouts had saved her from embarrassing herself with Shane.

  Fate, she thought, was watching out for her.

  4

  “EL?” SHANE REACHED OUT instinctively, needing to find her in the black, but his fingers found nothing but air. “El?” he repeated.

  “I’m fine. Fine,” she said, her voice unnaturally high.

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely. Of course. Just startled. Probably a power surge. This heat has got to have all the air conditioners working overtime.”

  “Probably right.” Something in the back of his head said that he ought to get inside and start fumbling around for flashlights and candles. But he couldn’t seem to get the synapses in his head to send the message to his limbs. Instead, he was rooted to the spot, his mind turning over one question and one question only: Had Ella really been about to kiss him?

  No way.

  That was impossible. Totally unthinkable. Unprecedented. Absolutely not true.

  And yet…

  There had been something in her eyes. A spark of interest. A hint of heat. Just a tiny indication that she was longing for him as much as he was longing for her.

  But no, surely he was mistaken. The heat he’d seen in her eyes was just a reflection of his own prurient thoughts. Because that’s what his thoughts had been. Dark and needy and filled with lust.

  The moment she’d touched him, it had been as if she’d turned on a movie in his mind. A close shot first, of her hands on his shoulders. Then the camera pulled back to reveal her face, eyes closed as her fingers kneaded his tender flesh. Her expression was one of seductive ecstasy, and he felt his cock stiffen with the memory of that fantasy.

  In his mind, she slipped her hands down his front, and she’d stepped up closer behind him so that her hips fit against his as her fingers went to work on the buttons of his shirt.

  She then abandoned the cause of his shoulders, her warm hands instead finding new fascination with his chest as she stroked and teased and he grew harder and harder, his entire body filled with a desperate longing for her, a lust and a need so urgent, he thought he would explode if he couldn’t have her right then, right there.

  He’d spun around under her touch, and the fantasy had miraculously become real. At least a little bit. Her hands hadn’t really been stroking his chest and her hips were well away from his—a little fact that, in retrospect, was probably good, because there was no way he could have hidden his massive hard-on from her.

  But her face had done him in. That expression of need and want and longing. Longing for him. And, he was certain, the promise of a kiss.

  You’re insane, he told himself. He knew perfectly well he was deluding himself if he thought she could want his fantasy movie to become a reality.

  Fantasy and reality weren’t the same. He knew that. He was a lawyer. He dealt in facts and evidence and persuasion. Before the night was over, he intended to lay his case out in front of Ella and persuade her to his side. That was his intent, anyway. And Shane had yet to pursue a losing case.

  “Shane? Did you hear me?”

  Her soft voice pulled him out of his reverie.

  “What? Sorry. What?” he asked.

  “So what do you think happened? Just a blackout, right?” Her voice sounded oddly stilted, as if she were working to make conversation.

  “That’s what I’m thinking. Probably a system overload, just as you said.”

  He realized with mild surprise that he could actually see her face now, though see was probably too strong a word. Rather, he could make out the subtle lines and contours and discern a hint of expression. The night was overcast and there was no moon, so this sudden glimpse surprised him until he glanced around and realized the source of the illumination: hundreds of candles and flashlights filling the dozens of windows that surrounded Ella’s apartment.

  While he’d been busy fantasizing, their neighbors had been busy working the situation, and now the city was lit by the warm, barely existent glow of candlelight. He pointed off the balcony, fairly certain she could see the shadow of his arm and the direction he was pointing. “Look,” he said.

  He watched her face, his heart lifting when the shadow of her mouth shifted into a tiny smile.

  “Well,” she said, “if nothing else, it’s pretty.”

  “Come on. Let’s get inside and turn on a radio.” He moved toward her, planning to take her arm and maneuver the two of them through the dark into the apartment. She twisted sideways, though, managing to avoid his grasp.

  “You go ahead,” she said. “I’ll follow.”

  He stared at her for a moment, trying to read her expression, but the light was too poor. Was she simply, innocently, wanting to walk unassisted? Had she picked up on his überlust?

  He considered the possibilities as he picked his way back to the window, careful not to step on the cans and brushes still outside drying. He could hear Ella moving behind him, her soft footfalls on the metal grate telegraphing her exact position.

  The window was still up, and so he swung one leg over the sill, then ducked inside. She followed, picking her way gingerly inside, and when he took her hand to help her in, she flashed him a smile. His stomach twisted, and he had to force himself to drop her hand once she was safely inside. All he really wanted to do was enact a scene from his mental movie. But he needed to take care of business first.

  He left the window open—it was going to get stuffy in the apartment without the air very soon—and followed her toward the couch. “Where’s your stuff?”

  “There,” she said, pointing to a chest of drawers they’d refinished together their first year in the city. “Bottom drawer is my emergency kit.”

  He was closer to it than she was, so while she fumbled through the apartment turning off lights and unplugging her computer in anticipation of the power’s return, he took the single lit candle from the table and maneuvered to the chest. He opened the bottom drawer and, in the dim orange glow, could see that the drawer was filled with everything they needed. Flashlights, batteries, candles, matches, a tiny portable stereo with a radio and cassette player, even little Sterno cans in case they needed to heat up food.

  He pulled the radio out right away, along with a package of size-C batteries. Then he grabbed a couple of flashlights and held them in his hand, weighing the options. The blackout had been unexpected, but he couldn’t help but think that i
t could only benefit him. Flashlights, however, would not.

  With one swift movement, he shoved the flashlights under the chest and took only the candles and matches. He shut the drawer, gathered everything up and headed toward the table, still set for dinner.

  “Did you find everything?” Ella asked.

  “Sure. No problem. You?”

  “I got everything unplugged and turned off, and it looks like we’ve still got water, so that’s good.”

  “Definitely.”

  He added a few more candles to the table, then placed the rest in strategic places around the apartment—the window, the kitchen, the bathroom—before moving back to join Ella on the small futon sofa. She’d put the radio on the oversize ottoman that doubled as a coffee table and was busy twisting knobs.

  “I never listen to the radio,” she said. “What news station should I put it on?”

  He named the first one that came to mind, but before she could switch the contraption over to AM and turn the knob, he reached out to stop her. “We don’t need a news channel. Everyone’s going to break programming to talk about this. So we might as well stick with a channel that will have some good music, too. Okay?”

  She shrugged. “Sure. But as I said, I never listen to the radio, so…”

  “No problem.” He took the radio from her, then started twisting the dials, stopping at the station he woke to every morning.

  He told Ella as much. “The music’s pretty good,” he said. “At least, it is when I’m getting dressed.” He didn’t mention that he also sometimes listened to the station in the evenings and was more than familiar with the program—Sensual Songs and Decadent Dedications. He often thought of her whenever the song selections played. Once or twice he’d even considered calling in a dedication of his own. Usually those were nights when he’d been drinking or had been out on a particularly bad date. Nights when every other woman paled in comparison to El.