Читать книгу Star Quality - Lori Foster - Страница 9

Two

Damn, he liked the way Jenna’s cheeks warmed and how her fast breathing shimmied her breasts. And that tiny pulse fluttering in her throat gave everything away, even if he didn’t have access to her every emotion and sensation.

Stan brushed his fingertips over her palm again, felt the undulating wave of growing response that rolled through her, and he pushed up from his seat.

At the same time, Jenna pressed her shoulders back in the booth, not out of disinterest, but from utter surprise. That didn’t deter Stan at all, not when he knew she wanted him, that her longing was so strong it scared her a little.

Holding her hand so she couldn’t completely retreat, he leaned over her, hesitated with his mouth a breath away from hers, building the anticipation, then gave in to the urge.

Jenna made a small sound as his mouth covered hers, and this time he made damn sure she wouldn’t mistake his claim as some forward form of friendship. As he deepened the kiss, her mouth softened, her lips parting, and Stan used just the tip of his tongue to taste her, just inside her lips, over her teeth, touching against her own tongue—and retreating.

Jesus. Heart thumping hard, thighs tense, Stan pulled back. He’d meant to tease her, to make her understand what he wanted from her. But while Jenna did look more heated than ever, Stan felt ready to self-combust. Hell, at his age he’d done his fair share of necking. It shouldn’t have been any big deal.

But not once could he remember enjoying the feel and taste of a woman’s mouth quite so much. He wasn’t a sweaty-palmed, hair-triggered kid anymore, not by a long shot, but damn if he didn’t want to drag Jenna out of the booth and rush her to the nearest form of privacy they could find.

A simple kiss had him primed, and he knew it was the woman responsible, not the kiss itself.

As he settled back in his seat, a little disconcerted by her effect on him, Jenna touched her lips. Voice faint, gaze searching, she whispered, “What was that?”

Stan made a sound of disgust. Her confusion mirrored his but probably for different reasons. “I thought it was a kiss.”

Her gaze dropped, and she looked around the tabletop, at her hands, at his. “Yes.” Her green eyes lifted. “A kiss, but . . .”

Stan flattened his mouth. “I know. A punch in the gut, huh? Kissing is nice, but kissing you flattens me. It makes me think of a hell of a lot more than mouth on mouth, that’s for damn sure.”

Her hand went to her stomach, and she nodded. “I don’t understand, Stan. What are we doing?”

Marylou reappeared, her expression filled with titillated nosiness. “Got your sandwiches and stuff.” Wide-eyed, she looked between the two of them, plopping down the plates and glasses without the attention necessary to the task.

Stan scooted his plate back a little so it didn’t end up in his lap. “Thanks.”

Jenna wouldn’t look at Marylou, and that bothered him.

Marylou lingered, and that bothered him even more.

“That’s all we need for now, Marylou. But save me a piece of pie, okay?”

“Oh.”

At least the girl knew a dismissal when she heard one.

Wearing a smile, she nodded. “Yeah, ’kay, sure. No problem, Stan.” With a lot of reluctance, she eased herself out of hearing range.

Jenna moaned and put her face in her hands. “It’s starting already.”

It had started the moment he stepped into her shop and knew she pictured him naked. Over her. With her naked, under him, anxious and ready to come.

It was Stan’s turn to groan. “When do you get off today?”

Her head shot up. “Why?”

Rolling his eyes, Stan said, “Honey, something’s happening between us. You know that as much as I do. I want to see you. I damn sure intend to kiss you again.” He shifted his booted feet under the table until they caged her smaller feet in. “So tell me, when do you get off ?”

Her regret bombarded him before she answered. “At five, but I have to get home to Ryan because Rachelle has a date.”

Her son Ryan was a rambunctious ten-year-old, and her daughter Rachelle was a beautiful eighteen-year-old young lady. Stan had met them both several times now. Jenna sometimes kept Ryan at the bookstore with her, and with the town so small, you eventually ran into everyone at one time or another. He’d seen them in the grocery, at the fountain in front of the town square, and at the diner.

She had nice kids, polite and happy and healthy.

A family get-together wasn’t quite what Stan had in mind, but he knew he’d go nuts wondering about things if he went home alone. “Why don’t you let me take you both out on the boat?”

Turbulent puzzlement warred with buoyant desire. Stan’s heart wanted to melt. How long had it been since a guy asked her out? Had the fact of her kids been a deterrent? Hell, as a divorced bachelor with no close family, the idea of her children pleased him. He liked kids—always had.

Jenna was a terrific mom, and that appealed to him as much as everything else. It emphasized her loving nature, her sense of responsibility, and the loyalty she had for those she loved. Important qualities. More important than her sexy good looks—which he appreciated, too.

Filled with wariness, she licked her lips and said, “Ryan would love that, I’m sure.”

Stan leaned one elbow on the table and cupped her face with his right hand. “I’m glad. But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You enjoy boating?” His fingertips brushed over her cheek, down to her throat and across the very top of her chest. “You’re so fair. You don’t get out in the sun much, do you?”

Her eyes sank closed. “Stan, you have to stop touching me.”

“But I don’t want to stop.” And if she’d be truthful, she wanted more touches, not less.

She drew an unsteady breath. “I don’t really want you to stop.”

Stan stared in amazement.

“But I can’t think when you touch me.”

Her honesty astounded him. And left him shaken. He thought of his ex-wife, of the lies he’d learned during a blue moon—no, forget that. He’d gotten over her and her deceptions ages ago, and he wouldn’t mar his time with Jenna by thinking of that.

“All right.” Stan dropped his hand, but said, “I like it that you tell me what you’re feeling.”

Horrified, she gave a shaky laugh. “Oh, no, never that. Well, maybe some of what I’m thinking, but not all.”

A predator’s delight curled through him. Too late, sweetheart, he could have told her, but she wasn’t ready to hear about his whacky relationship with the moon. He didn’t want to send her running from him with truths she couldn’t handle.

“Why not?” he asked, just to tease her. “What is it you’re thinking, Jenna?”

“I’m thinking that this is happening awfully fast.”

“We’ve known each other six months.”

“I know. So . . . Why now?”

Deliberately dragging things along, Stan took a bite of his croissant and contemplated her while chewing. Flustered, Jenna nibbled on her own sandwich while she waited.

“Tomorrow night, there’ll be a full moon,” Stan finally told her, deciding it might be best to ease her into the idea of his lunar-inspired intuition.

“And so you’re going to change into a lycanthrope?”

“A werewolf ?” He hated that stupid legend. Whenever he researched the moon, he invariably ran into the myths.

She grinned. “I remember the whole wolf transformation really ramped up Jack Nicholson’s libido in the movie.” She toyed with her sandwich. “Are you telling me you’re the same? Should I expect you to sprout hair on your back and start howling at the moon?”

Stan gave her a long look. “I might howl, strictly out of sexual frustration, you understand. But I won’t actually turn into an animal.” He ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “Hell, I’m hairy enough as it is. Any more would be overkill.”

Her gaze went to his chest, then his forearms. Her voice again grew quiet, a sure sign of her mood. “You’re just hairy enough. It’s sexy. Very manly.” Then she shook her head. “So tell me, what does a full moon have to do with you kissing me twice, when in six months, you’ve never given me a second look?”

Disbelief left him speechless, but he could tell by her expression—as well as her thoughts—that she believed what she said.

“Jenna, honey, there’s not a man alive who doesn’t give you second looks. And third and fourth looks, for that matter.”

“Right,” she said in exaggerated tolerance. “I’m almost forty. I’ve had two kids. I’m hardly a sex symbol.”

“Wrong. You’re incredibly sexy. Warm, friendly . . . and sweet enough to eat.”

He tacked that last on just to prod her, and sure enough, she caught her breath—then got exactly the visual he wanted. Watching her, seeing what she saw, made him feel it almost as if he had her spread out on his bed, completely naked, twisting with pleasure while he showed her his favorite way to make a woman come.

“Damn.” He rubbed his face, then gulped down half his coke. He had to stop tormenting himself.

“Stan?” His name emerged as a thread of sound, filled with longing.

Nodding, jaw tight, Stan said, “You see?” He struggled to keep the harshness, the savage need, from his tone. “The moon affects us all, Jenna, did you know that? It’s called the Lunar Effect and can be responsible for everything from mental disorders to heightened awareness.”

She didn’t dispute him, but then, her mind was still on other, more carnal matters, making him nuts.

Stan took her hand again. “Listen to me, Jenna. Studies have proven that more crimes, more births, more conceptions, more animal bites, and more unintentional poisonings all occur during a full moon. The earth and sun and moon are all lined up, causing higher tides, and you have to believe if the moon can do that, it can damn sure work on our glands, our organs, and our moods.”

She blinked hard. “So . . . you’re interested in me because of the moon?”

“No way.” He’d been hooked from the first day he saw her, he just hadn’t realized that the feeling was mutual. “Didn’t you hear what I said about you being sexy? I’ve wanted you since day one. Make no mistakes about that. And the more I get to know you, the more I want you. But maybe it’s the moon that’s bringing us together, that’s helping us to admit it.”

Stan waited, but she didn’t deny wanting him, and something strangely close to anxiety uncoiled and relaxed in his chest.

Yet her lack of a denial wasn’t enough. He squeezed her fingers. “Tell me you want me, Jenna,” he commanded. “Say it.”

Marylou chose that inauspicious moment to come bebopping back to the table. “You guys ready for your pie?” She eyed Jenna’s uneaten food and raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like the chicken salad?”

“Oh, uh . . .” Flushed, Jenna picked up her croissant. “It’s wonderful, I’ve just . . .”

Swallowing his curse, Stan said, “Give us ten more minutes, Marylou, then bring two slices of pie and two coffees.”

Jenna protested. “I’ll need to get back to the store soon.”

“I locked up.” Stan pulled her keys from his pocket and slid them across the table. “The reporter’s long gone. The bookstore is safe.” He pressed his feet farther under the booth, letting his calves brush hers. “Stay for pie.”

Marylou giggled. “Yeah, Jenna. Live a little. Stay for pie.”

Giggling got on Stan’s nerves, but the girl was a good sort and a hard worker, so Stan winked at her and said, “Maybe seeing it will convince her.”

“Right.” Again, Marylou hurried off.

Glancing at her watch, Jenna said, “I suppose I can stay a little longer. I haven’t even been gone a half hour.”

Stan just waited.

With slender fingers, Jenna smoothed her hair, glanced at him and away, and finally drew a deep breath. He could feel her working up her nerve, and it was both endearing and a gigantic turn-on.

“Yes, I want you.” Before Stan could recover from that awesome declaration, she added with earnest sincerity and an appalling lack of deception, “I have since the first day I met you.”

“You never let on.”

“I didn’t think there was any reason to.” In explanation, she said, “If you think I’m attractive . . . well, it’s nothing compared to what I think about you. It’s probably safe to say you’re the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Of course, every woman in town thinks so, so I’m sure you’re used to hearing that.”

“No,” Stan growled, floored with how her announcement affected him. “I’m damn well not used to it at all. But it wouldn’t matter anyway, because you’re not every other woman in town. You’re special—to me, and to everyone who meets you.”

Shrugging that off, she sipped at her drink and nibbled on her sandwich. Again Stan waited, sensing her efforts to sort things out, to decipher both his feelings and her own. Picking up a pickle slice, she whispered, “Are we going to have an affair, Stan?”

For some reason, he didn’t like her wording. An affair indicated a noncommittal relationship, and damn it, Jenna was the type of woman a man settled down with. She was every man’s fantasy, proper on the outside, torrid on the inside. He wanted to know both sides better.

“I’m going to take you and your son out on the boat tonight. If Ryan wants, he can do some tubing. Or just swim in the cove. We’ll talk. Maybe grab dinner somewhere. And later, when Ryan gets ready for bed, I’m going to kiss you again—probably do more than kiss you.”

Alarm skittered through her. “Oh, but—”

“Jenna,” he said, cutting off her objection, “I understand your privacy is limited. Your kids are a big part of your life, and that’s how it should be. Know that I’d never make things awkward with them.”

Jenna watched him with longing on her face as well as in her heart. She craved the special bond between a man and a woman, but her kids came first, and Stan appreciated that. Even if he hadn’t read it in her head, he’d have said and done the same things. He was sure of it.

How hard would it be for a woman with children to develop any sort of intimacy with a man? Was that why she’d never dated, because it was just too complicated? Well, he wasn’t a bastard who’d ever make her choose or pressure her into an uncomfortable situation.

“Later,” Stan added, wanting her to have no misunderstandings on his intentions, “when we can find some private time so you can relax and enjoy every single second, I intend to make love to you.”

The pickle slice slipped from her lax fingers and landed half on the plate, half on the tabletop.

“You’ll like what I do to you, Jenna. I’ll make sure of it.”

Her head moved in a dazed nod of acknowledgment. “I believe you.” But the images in her head weren’t of him touching her. Just the opposite.

Her sexual imagination played for him like a porn video, and he was the recipient of every hot, wet kiss, every lick and gentle suck and firm stroke. Jesus, the woman had a great knack for covering the details.

On the ragged edge, glad the booth hid his arousal, Stan leaned forward again. “I’m not a kid, Jenna, after a quick tumble and instant gratification. Should I tell you what I want?”

The word, “Yes,” floated out on a breath from between her parted lips.

“I want a woman who isn’t shy in the sack. A woman who’ll let me make her feel good without hiding under the sheets or turning out the lights.” And then, pushing her, he said, “I want a woman who wants me the same way. Who enjoys getting naked and sweaty, fucking, sucking, with no taboos as long as we both enjoy it.”

Oh, yeah, Jenna was that woman. Just hearing him say it had her primed and ready and squirming in her seat.

“I want a woman,” Stan added, knowing how his words would hit her, “who insists on a screaming orgasm every time.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Stan saw Marylou approaching. The girl’s timing couldn’t be worse, what with Jenna flushed, soft in all the right places, her eyes heavy, her nipples taut against her dress.

“Blow your nose,” Stan told her, quickly handing her his paper napkin.

Some of the sensual haze faded from her darkened eyes. “Excuse me?”

“Marylou’s on her way, and honey, she’ll take one look at you and think I’ve been getting you off under the table. Take the napkin, lower your face, and blow.”

Jenna fumbled to do just that, her hands shaking, her breath coming too fast. She turned awkwardly away and lowered her face just as Marylou set the plates of peach pie on the table.

“You want me to take some of these dishes?” she asked, hoping for a reason to hang around.

“That’s all right,” Stan told her. “We’ll be done shortly, and then you can get it all.” He handed her a twenty, which more than covered the bill, and said, “Keep the change.”

Stan knew she was saving for college, so he always gave her a huge tip. Marylou saw nothing amiss. “Thanks, Stan. See ya later, Jenna.” And off she went.

Jenna’s forehead hit the table. “Oh, God,” she said, her voice muffled through the napkin still covering her face. “I’ll never be able to come in here again.”

Stan couldn’t resist touching her hair. He glided his fingers over the warm silk, thinking of it loose and drifting over his body—his chest, his abdomen. His thighs.

He lifted her face. “So you’re a hot woman with a sexual appetite? It’s nobody’s business—but mine.” He brushed her lips with his thumb. “I’ll keep our secret.”

Jenna looked at her uneaten croissant and then at the piece of pie. She shook her head. “I can’t eat.”

“Yes, you can.” Stan picked up her sandwich and handed it to her. “I’ll help. For the rest of our meal, I’ll make sure we talk about something else.”

Jenna still struggled to get her breathing in order. “Like what?”

There were times when the nonglamorous job of gardening came in handy. “A new low-maintenance rose shrub that’d look great in that bare spot at the side of The Nook. It’s going to be a big seller, so you need to order it now.”

Bemused, Jenna listened as he detailed the finer points of the flower, and within minutes, she’d consumed her lunch. Lust, Stan knew, worked up an appetite, so he enjoyed watching Jenna eat.

After he gave her an evening of mind-blowing sex, he’d feed her a four-course meal. She’d forget about her diet colas and aversion to pie and learn to appreciate her curves as much as he did.

But for now, he had to get back to work before he forgot his good intentions. He walked Jenna back to the bookstore, gave her a brief kiss on her delicious mouth, and told her he’d see her at five-thirty, at her house.

Hopefully the lake water would be cold. Because he had a feeling Jenna’s more sumptuous thoughts were going to be hell on his libido, and on his control. Out on the boat, at least he’d be able to dunk himself in the water as necessary.