Seeing Stars Page 7

  He took her to dinner first, the same restaurant as before, an inside table this time because that dress wasn't designed for evening air. Once she sat down across the table from him, he couldn't see her legs, and he found it marginally easier to stop himself from thinking about how the creamy skin of her thighs would feel under his hand, how her throat would let that little moan out—the one he'd heard when he grabbed her earlier today and gave way to the temptation to kiss her the way his hammering pulse demanded.

  He talked about the kids—mainly Jake and Tim, because she'd met them, and it was the only topic he could think of that didn't have sexual overtones.

  "I didn't get to talk to Jake," she said. Then she sent his pulse hammering when she lifted one hand and pushed the sleek fall of her hair back, hooking it behind one ear.

  "You're off the hook on that." He forced his eyes away from her throat, from the way it flexed when she swallowed. He picked up his glass—straight water—and took a long drink. He cleared his throat. "I think I might have cracked the kid, a bit anyway. We took a motorcycle ride."

  Her eyes flashed something disturbing. Just a smile, with eyes instead of lips, but it sent his blood pressure into the red zone.

  "A motorcycle ride could do it," she said softly, using the voice he remembered from that day back in high school, when he'd held her on the verge of falling, when she'd looked up at him and said words he couldn't hear because of her eyes.

  "You liked the motorcycle?"

  "I loved it. It had that forbidden excitement. I'm thinking of taking lessons, learning to ride by myself. It would be fantastic in the mountains."

  He frowned at the thought of Claire hurtling over treacherous mountain roads on a big bike. "You want to be careful on the curves until you've got a lot of experience."

  "I'm good at being careful."

  He wasn't sure he liked the idea of her riding. He didn't want to worry about whether she was doing something crazy and not knowing it was crazy, like asking a guy like Mac to have a temporary affair. OK, so he'd been stupid enough to encourage her, to tell her it was a low-risk operation. The fact was, a girl like her, a woman with intense blue eyes and heat boiling just under the surface, wasn't going to be capable of having a casual relationship. She'd get burned without even realizing there was a fire.

  She ordered halibut sautéed with asparagus tips. He went for the oyster burger. Then, afterward, when they walked back out to his car, he managed to hold the door open for her without watching her legs as she slid into the car. Then he punched the stereo once he'd started the engine, looking for a distraction.

  Nina Simone singing the blues.

  So far, so good. Now, if he could just keep the dance a public event and stay out of dark corners, they'd both get through the night safely.

  Claire felt the band's music before she heard it, a pulsing vibration in the air surrounding the hall. Someone grabbed Blake's arm as they came through the entrance, and he smiled an apology at her and mouthed, "Be with you in a minute."

  She shrugged and went on inside. A big hall filled with last night's strangers, people she supposedly knew but had never really talked to.

  The man who appeared at her side looked vaguely familiar, like so many of the people around her.

  "Claire, isn't it?"

  "Don," she said, remembering his name and trying to remember whether Blake had said he was a probation officer or a social worker. "How are you?"

  "Better than I was a minute ago. Could I talk you into a dance?"

  She looked back and saw Blake still entangled with the man who'd stopped him at the door.

  "All right, but I'll warn you, I've never danced much."

  "I thought you were going to turn me down." He had a nice smile, and when they began to dance, she found him an undemanding partner.

  "I met one of your clients today at Blake's shipyard."

  "Blake? Oh, you mean Mac? I'm hoping you're going to tell me you met Jake there, but it's probably Tim."

  "They were both there, painting green preservative onto the hull of a boat."

  Don executed an impressive turn that she managed to follow. "That's good news. Jake's got a court appearance coming up soon, and it was beginning to look as if no one would be able to come up with a good reason for giving the kid a break. Guess I should have known Mac would turn the trick."

  "Is that what happened with Tim?"

  "You should have seen Tim two years ago. I suppose you saw the tattoos, but that was the least of it." The music stopped and Don asked, "Shall we go another round? We're not doing badly here."

  "All right," she agreed. He was, she thought, a nice man. A comfortable man. "Have there been others, besides Tim and Jake?"

  "Quite a few. It started, I guess, about seven years ago. Mac and Stenners, up at the high school. They got together and set up a wilderness camp for troubled kids. Mac figured if you could get a kid when he was just edging into trouble, take him out on a boat and make him face nature and high seas, teach him to eat off the sea, he'd find himself."

  "And it worked?"

  "That—the nature excursions—and the fact that Mac was willing to take some of the kids on at the shipyard, putting his money where his mouth was, so to speak. The kids listen to him. He's tough on them, but they respect him for it. They know he cares about them, and they know they can't con him because he's been there. If it weren't for James Denver, Mac figures he'd probably have ended up as a career criminal—or dead."

  "Do you think it's true?" She knew she shouldn't be probing this way, that she had no right to the information Don was giving her. She asked anyway, because she was going to have an affair with Blake McKenzie. A brief affair, but while it lasted, she wanted to know everything she could, because once the week was over she'd never learn any more, never see him again.

  Unless she came back.

  No, she thought. Coming back wouldn't be wise.

  He noticed the moment she began dancing with Don. He saw them meet, saw her step into Don's arms. Blake figured she didn't know he was married, but she sure as hell should know that when a woman wearing less than a yard of skintight dress danced with a man three dances running, she was issuing an implied invitation.

  Don, damn his hide, should have brought Wendy.

  Toby Miller bent closer. "Hastings is so excited about that boat you're building him, he's bragging about having a McKenzie yacht to everyone he sees. He's talking about going cruising up in Canada until the end of September, but the boat's supposed to be on display in the festival, isn't it."

  "Don't worry about it. He's taking delivery the fifteenth of August. He just needs a couple of weeks to play with it."

  Mac twisted to see through the crowd. Nothing had changed. Don's hand was still firmly plastered to the skin of Claire's back.

  "So he can cruise for three weeks," said Toby, "then deliver it back here. We're talking three days. He can spare the boat for three days in the festival, can't he?"

  Where the hell had they gone? If Don was trying anything...

  "Mac?"

  "Don't worry. I'll talk to Hastings. I'll fix it."

  Claire and Don had disappeared.

  I want you to sneak me away from the crowd at the dance and kiss me as if you couldn't get enough.

  Mac ran a rough hand through his hair and told himself to calm down, to think with his head instead of his glands. She wouldn't go off with Don, a man she'd said she didn't even remember. They'd probably headed for the bar, looking for refreshments. After three, maybe four dances, they must be...

  Last night, after three drinks, Claire had asked him if he would spend the week romancing her.

  Where the hell were they? If Don put one hand on her... if he so much as—

  "Hey, Mac—"

  "Later," he muttered, brushing past.

  Dancing! Still goddamned dancing. He shouldered his way through a cluster of people without seeing faces and tapped the probation officer's shoulder.

  "Henley. You
're dancing with my woman."

  Don laughed. "Mac, if you don't show a presence you can expect someone to jump your claim."

  "I'm here," he growled, and Don's smile faded.

  "Sorry, Mac. I didn't realize the lady was private property."

  Mac yanked Claire into his arms.

  She jerked back. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  "We're dancing," he growled, aware of her stiffness as she stood in his arms, of the way she'd moved in Don's arms, so relaxed.

  "Your woman? What was that? Some kind of ritual head-butting? Your woman?"

  "Just a manner of speaking." Had he really said that? What the hell was he doing? "Don Henley is married. He had no business pawing you."

  "Pawing?" Blue eyes blazed up into his. "We were dancing, talking. And I am not your woman. I don't belong to anyone. I'm not an object, nor anyone's possession. I'll dance with whomever I please."

  "You'll dance with me."

  Her breasts rose and fell in quick rapid breaths, covered with the sultry fabric of that damned dress.

  "If you wanted to dance with me, you could have tried asking. Then if I wanted to—if I wanted to, I'd—"

  He silenced her the only way he could think of, his lips on hers, his hand tangled in her hair. Her lips parted under his and he dove deeper into a spinning vortex as her hands clenched on his jacket.

  When he jerked his mouth back, free of her lips, someone behind him cheered. He saw Claire swallow, her throat flexing, a nerve jumping in the hollow at the base of her throat.

  "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... moane
d, 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.