Seeing Stars (11 page)

"Calm down." 

"I am calm."

"No, you're not. I'm not." He forced a grin because what the hell could a guy do but laugh at himself when he got caught playing Neanderthal with a woman like this. "Look, I... I got into the part too enthusiastically."

"What part?" she demanded, frowning up at him, anger in her eyes.

He'd been deluded, telling himself
she
might get in too deep. She knew exactly where she was, who she was, and next Friday she probably wouldn't look back when she waved good-bye. He was the bloody fool. All he'd ever done was kiss the woman, just a couple of damned kisses, and the sight of another man's hand on her naked back made him see red, made him feel murderous rage toward a man he'd been friends with for eighteen years.

Jealousy. He'd never been here before, and didn't like it.

She moved in his arms as if she were meant to be there, her body belying the frown on her mouth. What the hell was he going to do about her?

"You wanted romance." 

"This isn't romance. This is a scene on the dance floor. Everyone is watching us."

"They cheered when I kissed you."

"No, they didn't."

"Yeah, they did." He hadn't known he could feel such pleasure at the sight of a woman's skin flushing. "It's probably ten years since I kissed a woman in public, if you discount my sisters and kissing old friends on the cheek."

He studied the clouds in her eyes. All right, so it was a bigger storm than he'd bargained for, but if anyone knew how to sail through a storm it should be Blake McKenzie. Damned if he was heading back to port before the ride was over. Damned if he was going to watch any other man touching her, wanting her.

The lady wanted romance. He'd show her romance.

"This is crazy," she muttered against his shoulder.

He drew her closer, moving to the slow music. The soft pressure of her breasts against his chest tightened muscles already rock-hard.

"Crazy isn't necessarily bad." 

"So long as I can keep both my feet on the ground," she said.

He tucked her head more closely against his shoulder. If he had anything to say about it, for the next five days Claire Welland was going to forget her desire to keep both feet on the ground.

"Pretty soon," he murmured, "I'm going to go looking for that corner."

She lifted her head and met his eyes with confusion.

"The one I'm going to drag you into, just before I kiss you as if I never wanted to stop." He let himself taste her parted lips, briefly. "Remember? That was part of our deal."

She shook her head, her eyes unfathomable. "If this happened back in high school... No, you'd never have noticed me back then, never have flirted with me unless it was some kind of joke."

"I noticed your eyes the day you fell into my arms."

"But I wasn't the sort of girl who'd go out parking on Point Wilson."

"That's true. I wasn't very patient back in those days."

"And now?" she asked, and if he hadn't known better he would have sworn she was flirting. Sultry, seductive flirting. But this was the woman who had stared right at him last night and told him she used to have a case for him. Direct and to the point.

He pulled her closer and drawled, "Exactly how patient do you want me to be, Claire?"

Maybe she had a blood pressure problem, thought Claire wildly. How patient did she want him to be? Dancing with him, caught close in his arms, she was having trouble keeping her thoughts in order, trying not to feel a primitive thrill at the way he'd yanked her out of Don's arms. The man didn't want a relationship, couldn't possibly be jealous. He'd simply been, as he said, playing a part. Maybe that's what she was doing too, playing the part of a woman irritated, yet unwillingly thrilled by her lover's jealousy.

Jealousy, she reminded herself, was a destructive emotion. One she seriously disapproved of. If she had time to get her breath, she'd probably also disapprove of the way she was plastered up against Blake's chest, the way her body wanted to melt closer, to turn her face up and invite his kiss, right here, in the middle of all the people she couldn't quite remember from her senior year.

"Storm coming," he murmured. "You can see it in the sky. By Monday we'll have overcast skies, then gale winds."

"How can you tell?" she asked, distracted. There were fewer people around them now, no reason for him to hold her so close, but she didn't pull away.

"Mare's tails in the sky."

"Sailor's lore?"

"Perhaps."

He danced them out onto a patio, into night air warmed by large radiant heaters. Then he stopped dancing, but didn't release her.

"There's no one else here." 

"No," he agreed.

She stared up at him, was still staring when his head blocked out the world and his mouth settled on hers. Slow, very slow... and soft. His lips brushed hers so gently that hers parted, perhaps in protest Then his hand slid slowly up her back, into her hair, and between one breath and the next, his mouth turned hot and wild.

"I don't think.." she gasped.

His fitted his mouth more closely to her lips.

"Don't think. Just feel."

Sensations crawled wild though her veins. The hard bar of his forearm against her back, his hand in her hair, her body humming with nerves. A kiss, just a kiss, and she wanted to wrap herself around him, sink so deep in him she could never let go... drowning, hungry as if she'd been an eternity without touch.

Her body welcomed the impact of his as he crushed her close. Her arms slid up, found his hair, his shoulders. Mouths tangled and his tongue slid over the hungry softness of her inner lip. His lips took her mouth, her jaw, and the trembling pulse in her throat. Her head fell back, pressed against his waiting hand, and a sound from her throat drew his mouth over the hot flesh above the bodice of her dress.

Hunger exploded into raging thirst. She twisted against him, heard his growl and welcomed his body hard against hers, his need pressing into her belly, a hot heavy pulse throbbing deep inside her, his mouth searing the curve of her breast above her bodice... her arms tangled in his hair, holding him close, needing more.

His hand scorched her breast through the fabric, and she moaned and ached for the touch of his mouth, for his thumbs brushing her nipples.

"Blake..."

His hands slid down, cupped her buttocks and pulled her tight against him, grinding against her, or perhaps she strained against him... closer. She wanted... moaned, and his hands answered, slid down and found the heated surface of her thighs as he groaned her name.

Then, suddenly, he released her. She stared up at him, mouth parted, swollen from his kisses, aching with hunger.

He glared back, black eyes blazing.

Then he kissed her, deeply, shatteringly, touching nothing but her mouth with his. When he released her, she could hear her own breath, ragged, and his, harsh and quick.

He stepped back.

From inside, she heard music, laughter. 

Out here, only Blake...

He said in a low voice, "You wanted me to take you away from the dance, to kiss you as if I never wanted to stop."

"You... you kissed me because of our agreement?" Her pulse pounded in her ears. "This is part of the deal? Were you pretending I was Lydia?" It hurt, the more because she hadn't expected the pain. This was a game, an
affair.
Her feelings had no business being hurt.

He jammed his hands into his pockets and she saw a muscle jump in his jaw. "Did it feel as if I were kissing another woman?"

"How would I know?" she snapped. "I've only had one affair, I'm no expert, but I've had enough of this. If you want Lydia, then go find her."

He cursed softly and said, "Don't be a damned fool. I'm thirty-five years old. I don't drag women away from public dances, and come within an inch of taking them here, on the balcony."

"Taking..." Her body remembered the feel of him hard against her, remembered welcoming his hands as they slid down onto her thighs.

Would she have stopped him?

"You pack a hell of a punch," he said soberly. "You'd better make damned sure this is what you want, Claire, because next time there won't be a room full of witnesses to stop us."

Next time...

Chapter Six

She woke breathless, her heart pounding and her hand clenched in the fabric of the pillow clutched to her body. The dream felt so real that it took a series of ragged breaths to realize she was alone.

Blake here... his body naked, tangled with hers... her flesh searing with flames, his mouth hungry as he drove her to explosive release... crying out his name as the world spun into stars.

Stars... a dream... only a dream.

She shoved the pillow away. There might be stars outside, beyond the electric lights shining down on the resort, but not here, not in this bed with her. She'd slept alone, with Blake a figment of dreams, when only hours earlier she'd been caught close in his arms, outside the door of this condo.

"Tomorrow," he'd said as he lifted his head from a shattering kiss. "Tomorrow the salmon bake is at my place." He'd threaded his fingers through her hair, his voice low enough that she felt its vibration more than heard the words. "Afterward, I'd like you to stay."

"Stay?" For a moment, she imagined that he meant forever.

"For the night. Shall I pick you up at three tomorrow afternoon?"

"I'll drive myself. You'll be busy getting ready for the salmon bake."

She'd gone to bed after he drove away, had lain there with her mind empty of everything but his touch, his lips, the way his body felt against hers, the way she imagined it might feel with the barrier of clothing removed... the way he'd touched her on that balcony, then danced with her afterward, every dance, as if there were no other woman in the world.

Impatiently, she pushed the tangled sheets aside and left the bed, the fantasy memory of his mouth on her breasts in dreams. Too much, too complicated.

Had Lydia felt like this, that year in high school, being romanced by Blake McKenzie? From the outside looking in, Claire thought Lydia's life had been pretty straightforward that year. But what could anyone know about another person's life?

She went into the bathroom, turned on the shower and stood under the pounding spray. Closed her eyes and wondered what it would be like if they'd just made love, if she'd come to the shower and now, as the water beat down over her breasts, he'd slipped in behind her, his hands, his mouth...

Stop it!

She grabbed a bar of soap and lathered herself, but the foaming bubbles felt sensuous on her breasts, her belly, her thighs.

She wanted him, wanted him too much. She could feel it in her body, the heated swelling that ached for completion. At the dance, on the balcony, she'd wanted him to tear her dress aside, to love her completely, to brand her and make her his... had wanted to give herself to him so deeply that no other man could look at her without knowing that she belonged to Blake, only Blake.

She hadn't understood about lust until now, hadn't realized a man's touch could tangle in her mind, making her believe she needed him for survival. With Kevin, making love had been simple, pleasant, whereas with Blake... 

She hadn't made love with him yet, but calling Blake's touch pleasant was like referring to the distance between Earth and Alpha Centauri as moderate.

She turned the water off, grabbed a towel and twisted her hair up in it, and then scrubbed the dampness from her skin with another towel. She wondered what Jennifer would say if she called to confide:
He asked me to stay Sunday night, and I want it so badly I'm aching with need—but I'm afraid.

No, of course she wasn't afraid. She was... simply wondering if it was wise, wondering if she should have stayed away from Port Townsend. Wondering if it wouldn't have been wiser to leave her high school fantasies back where they belonged—in the past.

In the bedroom she caught sight of the clock beside the king-size bed. Two-thirty A.M. Too late to call Jennifer. 

Lust.

Enjoy it.
That's what Jennifer would say, with an added caution about being sure she had condoms in her purse.