Night Moves

by Julie Kenner

  Right now, though, the station wasn’t broadcasting music. Instead he heard the forced calm in the DJ’s voice as he read copy that had undoubtedly been hastily prepared: “…so, it looks like it’s a good old-fashioned blackout brought on by the incredible demand for a little air-conditioned relief from the triple-digit heat. Unfortunately the lights are out all over the tri-state area, and authorities are telling us they’re not sure when they’ll have the power back on. It looks like it’s going to be a hot night, so just settle down where you are and stay put. In honor of the blackout, we’re going to open the lines for requests and dedications that have to do with hot and summer. And I guess we’ll be seeing a bunch of newborns nine months from now. Hey, you’ve got to pass the time somehow.”

  Shane turned down the volume and shifted his gaze to Ella. “Looks like we were right.”

  “That’s good to know,” Ella said almost distractedly. She was surveying the apartment, her face pulled into a frown.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, then pasted on a smile that seemed forced. “Nothing. I was just… Nothing.”

  On any other day he might push, but tonight wasn’t just any other day. He had an approach planned, and pushing wasn’t on the agenda. Not yet, anyway.

  “It’s just such a small apartment,” she said after a moment. “And already it’s hot in here. And muggy. It’ll probably rain, and then this apartment will be like a sauna and we’ll be all hot and sweaty and…” She cleared her throat as images of hot and sweaty filled his mind. He had the overwhelming urge to touch her. Thought he might die, in fact, if he couldn’t. And so he shifted, trying to look casual as he trapped his hands under his knees.

  Beside him Ella shook her head. “Never mind. Anyway, um, you should stay the night. The subway will be shut down and the streets will be murder. I hope the blackout doesn’t screw up your itinerary.”

  “I’m sure the power will be back on well before Monday,” he said, but he spoke the words automatically. His mind was still back on her previous statement—that he was going to stay the night. There’d been something in her voice. Subtle, but he’d been trained to listen to witnesses’ voices, to watch their faces. Plus, he knew Ella.

  There was something going on there, he just wasn’t entirely sure what. Discomfort maybe? Awkwardness? But that couldn’t be right. He’d stayed at her place dozens of times—a bit awkward for him lately, particularly when they shared a bed, but never for her. Why would it be? Unless…

  He got up and headed to the kitchen, using the motion to hide the flash of hope that he was certain was crossing his face. Unless his first reaction had been right and that had been the heat of desire he’d seen reflected in her eyes. If she felt that way, then he was already halfway to winning his case. And he didn’t even have to stack the jury.

  “Hot damn,” he whispered, knowing it was past time for him to approach the subject.

  “What?”

  He jumped, realizing that not only was Ella right behind him but that he’d spoken aloud. “Hot,” he said, pointing to the foil-covered pan he’d been reaching for. He held up a finger. “I burned myself.”

  Even in the candlelight he could see her brow furrow. “Do you want me to find some salve?”

  “No, I’m fine.” He took a deep breath and took the plunge. Well, not the plunge, really, but he dipped his big toe into the water. “Listen, is there something wrong?”

  “Of course not,” she said. Her eyes may have widened a bit at the question—it was hard to tell in the dim light—and he couldn’t get another look because she turned and started to open some of the containers that were sitting on the counter. “Why? Do I seem like something is wrong?”

  He didn’t answer right away because he was suddenly tongue-tied, lust overtaking him as she reached up into the cabinets to get their plates. A simple move, and one he’d seen a million times before. Tonight, though, it was as sexy as the dance of the seven veils, the curve of her ass straining against the thin material of her knit pants and practically begging for his touch.

  She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail, and a few blond wisps rested on her neck, damp with sweat. He longed to reach out and run a finger down the soft strands. To watch as she shivered under his touch. He longed for that, but he didn’t do anything. Not yet. Instead he rested a hip against the counter and tried to sound casual. “You don’t seem too keen on my spending the night. Should I head home?”

  “Are you insane?” This time she turned back to look at him, her expression reflecting just how idiotic she thought his question was. It was an expression he knew well. When you’re friends with someone since second grade, there are a lot of opportunities for them to accuse you of idiocy, and vice versa. “It’s a blackout. Every freak in the city will be out trolling. Of course you’re not going home.”

  “Right,” he said. “It’s just that—”

  She waved his words away, then picked up the plates and passed within an inch of him as she headed for the table. “I’m sorry. I’m really glad you’re staying. It’s your last weekend. I should have invited you to stay the night already. We can sit up and talk and stuff.”

  The “and stuff” part sounded particularly good to Shane. More, it gave him additional time to implement his plan, letting him ease slowly into it. He hid a grin, thinking about all the witnesses he’d drawn out in long depositions until, by the end, they were putty in his hands. It was stressful but exhilarating.

  With Ella there was only exhilaration. Coupled, of course, with a hell of a lot of risk.

  But he couldn’t worry about the risk. He had to do this, had to put his feelings for her out there and hope that she felt the same. Persuade her to his side if she didn’t. One way or another, by the end of tonight, things would be different between them. In the meantime, he intended to do everything in his power to see to it that the difference tilted in his favor.

  AS SHANE CLEARED THEIR salad plates, Ella put down the clean flatware, all the while trying to act casual even though her insides were tied up in knots. If she survived this night, it would be a miracle. Already Shane knew that there was something on her mind—why wouldn’t he? He certainly knew her well enough.

  But knowing that something was up and knowing what was up were two different things. And Ella intended to do everything in her power to make sure Shane never became aware of her lapse in good judgment.

  Because that’s all this was. A tiny little blip in her libido. Nothing permanent and certainly nothing to get worked up about.

  Of course, she was now faced with the question of how to keep up the subterfuge. Not an easy proposition, especially considering how fabulous the apartment looked in candlelight and how Shane’s green eyes and tanned skin seemed to glow. And—she was a big girl, she could admit it—he looked pretty damn hot, too. And not in an air-conditioner-died sort of way. More like a run-her-fingers-all-over-his-sweat-slicked-chest kind of way.

  She could be strong. This was just a libido blip. She just needed to keep repeating that like a mantra. Libido blip.

  “You sure you’re okay, El? You keep zoning out on me.”

  “Fine,” she said, then smiled brightly. “I’m great.” She gestured to the table. “This is just amazing.”

  “The salad was only to get you warmed up. It’s the rest of the meal that will really knock your socks off.”

  “Just the look of my table’s already done that,” she admitted. “It looks like I’ve actually got some style.”

  Her dingy little table had been transformed. Amazing, since the table hardly qualified as a dining table. It was more like a glorified card table, something that Ella had picked up after her move when she’d realized that all of the furniture she’d cherished in her Houston bedroom would never fit in the tiny hovel that Manhattanites called apartments.

  It had been a small sacrifice, though, because in the end she’d found a studio all to herself, which meant she was a rare breed: a student living in the city w
ithout a roommate. She liked it that way, though. Liked coming home to an empty apartment and winding down without having to worry about being polite to someone else.

  Shane had helped her sell her old pieces and buy the dollhouse-size furniture that now filled her place. Since dollars were tight, they’d raided thrift stores and even schlepped into New Jersey for garage sales.

  This table had been one of her favorite finds and it had served her well for years. Usually it was topped with stacks of her books, but tonight, Shane had covered it with a white cloth that, upon a second look, Ella realized was one of her sheets. Atop the sheet he’d put two place settings, cozily arranged across from each other.

  If Ella didn’t know better, she’d think Shane had been planning to use her apartment to entertain a date.

  “Considering all of my dishes are chipped and mismatched, I know this didn’t come from my apartment. How did you—”

  “No, no, no,” he said in a fake French accent, “zee master chef, he never reveals zee secret, no? Zee presentation, she is as important as zee meal, is it not so?”

  Ella lifted her brow.

  “Come, ma cherie. Do not disappoint Chef Shane. You are impressed, non?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, unable to fight her smile. “The table is beautiful. The salad was delicious. I’m totally impressed.”

  “Then we’ll move on to the main course.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “This is a celebration of new cabinets, a going-away dinner for me and an early birthday party for you. I figured we should do it in style.”

  “No complaints from me,” she said, although in her heart she did have one tiny complaint. But she could hardly complain to Shane that he was making it supremely difficult to recover from her recent festival of lust. And then, when he started to rub her shoulders, she just about came undone.

  “You’re tense,” he said.

  “Um, yeah. I guess. A little.” She started to twist away, tried to casually extricate herself from his touch before the heat generated by his fingers fried her brain.

  “Hang on,” he said, firmly holding her in place. “What’s your hurry?”

  “Nothing. No hurry.” She was certain she sounded frantic. “I was just going to get up and help you with the food.”

  “I can handle the food.” He spoke softly, his head bent low to her ear so that his breath tickled the back of her neck. Her heart stuttered in her chest, and she was certain her cheeks were flaming red. Thank God for the dim lighting. And thank goodness Shane was standing behind her, where he couldn’t get a look at her face. At the moment she was certain that every tiny bit of lust in her body was reflected right there in her eyes.

  Slowly his fingers started to knead her shoulders more deeply, and she let out an involuntary moan of ecstasy. “That feels nice,” she said, hoping she sounded like a woman with sore muscles and not a woman whose every nerve ending was tingling from the touch of his hands.

  “You know,” Shane said, “if your course load is making you this tense, maybe you should back off.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said. He knew as well as she did that backing off from her schoolwork wasn’t an option. “Besides, that’s not what’s making me tense.”

  “No?” he murmured. “What is?”

  You. Part of her really wanted to say it, wanted to let him know just how nuts he was making her tonight. Wanted to see what he’d do about it. The other part of her—the rational part—vetoed that plan. “Just everything. You leaving. End of the semester. The heat.”

  “Hmm.”

  She twisted to look at him, but his strong grasp prevented her. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded. “‘Hmm.’”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Just a noise.”

  She didn’t believe him, but right then it didn’t matter. Her body was turning into liquid heat, his hands the catalyst. Her breasts felt heavy, her now-hard nipples pressed enticingly against the soft cotton of her tank top. She closed her eyes and for just a second let herself slide into the fantasy that was pounding in her head. A fantasy involving Shane’s skillful hands and her breasts. His palms cupping her, his thumb and forefinger tugging at her nipple until the hot wire that ran from her breasts to her crotch fired, pushing her over the edge into total bliss.

  “Do you want more?” Shane asked, and Ella opened her mouth, lost in a dreamy haze, and almost said Yes, yes, oh, please, yes.

  She caught herself just in time. “What? More?”

  “Champagne,” he clarified, and she realized with a start that one of his hands had moved forward to grasp her champagne glass.

  “Oh. Right. Sure.”

  “Good,” he said. “You could use a little more. It’ll loosen you up a bit.”

  That was a worry, but she wasn’t going to admit that to Shane. And at the moment, getting drunk sounded like a dandy plan. He took his other hand off her shoulder, leaving her both relieved and frustrated, then filled her flute to the brim. She took a sip, forcing herself not to gulp it down and demand more.

  He’d drained the bottle filling her glass, and now he moved into the kitchen. When he came back, he was holding a new bottle, the dark bottle slick with condensation.

  “Um, Shane?”

  He looked up, a question in his eyes as his thumbs gripped the cork. The glow from the candlelight danced in his dark brown hair, and Ella had to force herself not to reach out to see if it was as soft as it looked. She’d touched that hair before, of course, but suddenly it was as if she’d never, ever touched any part of him. Shane Walker was a totally new commodity, and Ella had a sudden premonition that this Shane was going to keep digging until he discovered her secrets.

  “El?”

  She realized that she’d never finished her thought. “Oh. I, um, was just going to say that I have to study tomorrow. One bottle is probably enough.”

  “Sure,” he said, but he kept on with that cork. “But if it’s all the same to you, I think I might want a little more.”

  “Oh. Sure. Of course,” she said as the cork popped and Shane snagged it soundly with his thumbs.

  He topped off his drink from the fresh bottle, then went back in the kitchen to get the rest of the food. Once he’d finished filling their plates, he took his seat across from her. For a moment he just watched her, the candlelight flickering in his eyes. And just as she was starting to squirm under his scrutiny, he lifted his glass for a toast.

  “To best friends,” he said. Then the corner of his mouth lifted and he looked at her with an intensity that she’d never seen before. “You look really beautiful tonight.”

  “I—” Her cheeks heated, and she glared at him. “Where did that come from?”

  He just shrugged, totally innocent. “I’m just stating a fact. It’s no secret that you’re pretty. And the candlelight really brings out the gold in your eyes.”

  “Thanks,” she said, but the butterflies that had settled in her stomach started up again. “You, um, look good, too.”

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she cringed. That was not the kind of thing she should be saying. Not today. Not when he may have picked up on her lust.

  Flustered, she took refuge in the meal, suppressing a little moan of ecstasy as the tender morsel practically dissolved on her tongue. “Fabulous,” she said.

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  There was nothing special about his tone or the words, but she felt a little shimmy of pleasure nonetheless. He’d done this for her—as her best friend, of course, nothing more—and that was a really nice feeling.

  Their already staggered conversation faded to nothing, unable to compete with such amazing food. At some point during the meal Ella realized that her flute—once near empty—was now completely full.

  She considered protesting, then decided against it. She’d already decided that a buzz was pretty appealing. And this was a blackout, after all. The normal rules didn’t apply.

  A little voice repeated that in her head: the normal rules do
n’t apply.

  She shook her head, ignoring the self-indulgent little voice. That little voice could get her in trouble. That little voice could ruin everything.

  They didn’t talk much as they finished the meal, though Ella did say how fabulous it was and how surprised she’d been. All true, of course. What she didn’t say was how special it made her feel that Shane would go to all that trouble. She thought it, though, and that little morsel of truth sat in her stomach like a rock. Tony had never done anything like this for her. As friends went, Shane really was the best, and she felt a little pang of guilt that while he’d been out preparing this amazing surprise for her, she’d been sitting in a study carrel thinking about his pecs.

  They cleared the plates together, the already small kitchenette seeming even more tiny by candlelight. Any residual coolness from the window-unit air conditioner had long since faded, and the air in the apartment seemed thick and heavy, full of the musky scent of Shane, which was driving Ella nuts despite her best effort not to think about it.

  As he reached past her to put a dish in the sink, his arm brushed against her shoulder. It was a nothing contact, certainly nothing she would have even noticed before today. Now, though, every nerve ending in her body seemed concentrated on that one spot.

  One tiny little haphazard touch. Think of the damage he could wreak if he touched her deliberately with an intent to seduce.

  She swallowed, the possibility more than she could bear at the moment, then turned to frown at her stove. She’d reached a hand out without thinking, and now she pulled it back, feeling slightly stupid. “I guess coffee or tea is out of the question. I was just going to heat some water and realized—”

  “Kind of limits our options, doesn’t it? But we do have dessert, so it would be nice to have something with…”

  He trailed off as he turned, his gaze sweeping her apartment before settling on the armoire that served as closet, TV cabinet and, as Shane well knew, wine cellar.

  “Got any Frangelico left?”

  “Yeah, but it’s really only good heated,” she said, then cringed. The answer should have been, “Yes, but I’ve had enough alcohol, thanks.” Instead she’d left a door wide open.