Lady Moonlight (7 page)

❧

When Dane knocked on the door that evening, Kara yelled that it was open and to come in.

"I'm in here," she called. "You can't get lost, just keep coming."

He followed her voice down the entryway into the living room. "Why do you suppose I put those locks on your door?" he inquired.

"To lock burglars out when I'm not here," she answered promptly. "Certainly not to lock me in when I am here. Besides, it had to be you. It's neither six fifty-nine nor seven-oh-one, but exactly seven. Who else would it be?"

He changed the subject abruptly. "Is this something new in the way of meditation?"

"Don't be clever."

"Just checking. It's not every day that I find my hostess flat on the floor staring at the ceiling."

"Skylight," she corrected absently. "Not the ceiling. I'm watching to see how the evening light affects it. "

"Why?"

"Because it's important. Also the morning and afternoon light."

"I'll bite again. Why?"

She sat up, holding her hands out to him. He obligingly pulled her up and waited.

"Because I want to make a stained-glass window for it, and the light pattern will affect the design and the colors I use."

"Have you ever made one before?"

She stared at his bland face, hearing, if it were possible, the raised eyebrows of disbelief in his voice.

"You should come down and see my workroom in the shop," she suggested dryly. "Yes, I've made one before. More than one. Many. And sold them. My only problem is, I don't know how to install it so it won't leak. A carpenter I'm not."

"But I am," he reminded her. "You make it watertight, and I'll install it the same way."

"It's a deal," she said, leading him into the kitchen and opening the refrigerator and waving a hand at its contents. "Name your poison."

"Beer. Very cold." He reached in over her shoulder, withdrew a can and pulled the tab while she poured herself a glass of white wine.

"Speaking of carpenters and such, why is it that you have so much spare time? I thought contractors spent part of the day sending workers out to locations and the rest of the day chasing them down and inspecting their work. Then at night ..."

"Deciding where to send them again the next day? Wrong. Even so, I've done my share of whip-cracking today, and I rarely work nights. Which means we've got the rest of the evening to ourselves." He inspected her silky ice-blue caftan, which emphasized the silvery fairness of her hair. "That's nice, but you don't look ready to go out."

"Watch it," she warned. "Too much flattery completely unhinges me. But you do get points for being observant. This is not a going-out dress. The reason I'm wearing it is because I'm not going out."

She turned, pulled a plastic-wrapped salad bowl out of the refrigerator, peered in the oven for a satisfied moment and reached for some plates.

"I haven't thanked you for the clutch of trees you sent me this morning. They're lovely, but since I sold off the south forty, I had a little trouble deciding what to do with them. As they took up all the walking space in the shop, by unanimous decision they now line the sidewalk beneath our windows. It was also decided that since they were my gift, I got to move them and, in the future, water them."

She thumped the plates on the table and turned to look at him. "Have you ever heard of sending a single flower for a bud vase? Or a small bouquet? Have you ever heard the adage that says nice things come in small packages? Especially if the person on the receiving end owns a shop with very little extra space?"

He stood quietly, watching as she added dressing and tossed the salad. "And, if you're wondering, the reason I'm not going out is because of the way you told me we were. Your note, if I remember correctly, said 'Be ready at seven.' Ordered me to be ready at seven."

Throwing napkins next to the plates, she snapped, "I may be persuaded to do something. I may be motivated, enticed, convinced, lured or charmed, but I will not be ..."

"Ordered. I'll try to remember that. What's for dinner?"

Her glare turned into a reluctant grin. "You're being difficult. I was ready for an argument. Fish. I'm not up to watching you devour another bleeding steak."

❧

After they had eaten and cleaned up the kitchen, Kara led him back to the living room. She turned on the stereo and found a station with soft music while Dane looked around.

An interior decorator, he thought, would probably say that the room was a bold statement. Nothing at all like his cream walls and gold carpeting. The persimmon carpet and off-white walls were a perfect foil for the boldly striped couch of black, cocoa, persimmon and white. A scattering of chairs and cushions picked up the dominant colors for eccent. The rest of the house reflected the same energy, with cheerful splashes of color. The result, he decided, was one of warm welcome.

He dropped down on the sofa and tugged gently on her hand. She settled beside him, and he draped an arm over her shoulders, pulling her close.

"This is nice," he commented lazily, turning his head to look down at her.

"Don't get too comfortable," she warned, trying and failingto edge away. "We're going to talk."

"Okay," he agreed amiably. "You first."

"Why didn't you tell me who you were?"

"I did. I told you my name. I couldn't have been clearer. "

"You didn't tell me what you are."

"I said I was a contractor. And I am."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes." The word was grim. "I know. What do you want me to do? Wear a sign around my neck stating my credentials and net worth?"

"No. But I feel like such a fool. Because of your involvement with the city, I'll bet even the school kids know who you are. And what have I had you doing? Pulling wires, hanging pictures and propping up Aunt Tillie's house."

"In short, you've treated me exactly as you would any other man who can swing a hammer."

"Yes." She thought a moment. "But they understood and wanted it that way."

"So do I."

"That's not the point. I have the feeling you got conned into something you had no intention of doing."

His mustache twitched, and his smile was one of pure amusement. Green eyes gleamed beneath lazily lowered lashes. "Honey, do you honestly think you could make me do anything I didn't want to do?"

After thinking it over, she admitted, "Probably not."

"Definitely not. I'll let you know if I have any complaints."

He shifted, lifted her as if she weighed nothing at all, and settled her across his thighs.

She pressed her shoulders against the arm of the couch, found a comfortable spot for her head and looked up with a tolerant expression of inquiry in her large, dark eyes. "What's this all about?"

"You're too small," he complained. "I'm getting a crick in my neck trying to see you. And," he added after a moment, "I think I'm getting ready to pounce. I did tell you that I'd give warning," he reminded her.

"So you did. I don't think I've ever been officially pounced on before," she admitted with a grin. "What do we do now?"

"Whatever comes naturally. You join in whenever you're ready."

He moved again, lifting her higher. Her eyes closed as his lips touched her eyebrows. It wasn't, she reminded herself, as if she had never dated or kissed a man before. On the contrary. Being gregarious and, yes, popular, she had always had men around friends, and those who wanted to be more. But now, for the first time, she realized that something had been lacking. Not in quantity, but quality. For the most part, the friends had remained. The others had drifted away, one disappearing as another appeared on the horizon.

But Dane, she remembered hazily, had announced his intentions. He wanted her in his bed. And not to sleep or, perchance, to dream. He wanted her awake and willing. And drifting away definitely wasn't part of his plan.

His hands brushed over her body, softly investigating this curve, that hollow. She murmured incoherently against his lips, and his arms tightened. At least her dress, the caftan, was relatively manproof, she thought dreamily. No back zippers, no front buttons.

No encouragement there.

Doing what came naturally was potent stuff, Kara concluded a few minutes later. Not nearly as confident as she had been, she unwrapped her arms from around Dane's neck and tried to use them as a wedge.

But a wedge, an effective one, required a certain amount of room. And there was none between his hard body and her soft one. None at all. Furthermore, both his large, warm hand and the hem of her caftan now rested on her bare thigh.

She pushed against his shoulders and slowly, reluctantly, he lifted his head. Dropping back against the arm of the couch, she drew in a deep, ragged breath.

She was flushed and disheveled and looked, Dane thought, utterly delectable. And, he noted, her expression was no longer one of amused expectation.

It was the satisfied gleam in the silvery-green eyes that loosened Kara's tongue. "As the . . . pouncee in this affair, I request that we take a break."

Kara closed her eyes in exasperation as she heard her own husky, breathless voice. She took a peek at his expression and sighed. His eyes remained unwaveringly on her face. And even though he was leaning back, she could still feel the warmth..of his arms, his lips, his ...

She reined in her errant thoughts. That could only lead to trouble, big trouble, she decided. He was doing just fine on his own. He certainly didn't need her encouragement. She had the feeling, though, that regardless of what she did, he would stubbornly hack away at her objections until he got what he wanted.

Kara groaned silently. She was the peace-at-almost-any-price type and; whenever possible, avoided battles----of will, or any other kind. Up to now she had enjoyed her large circle of friends and changed partners so often that no relationship had ever gone beyond the platonic. She had seen too many friendships ruined by the onset of that old devil, sex.

Charged atmospheres and frustrated passions were not for her. She liked her life the way it was. Simple.

Spur of the moment parties; her orphans; laughter at the small absurdities of life. It was a comfortable life. She wanted it to stay that way. Was that asking too much?

One look at Dane's determined expression assured her that it was. He had the look of a man with a mission. And it didn't take a genius to figure out where he was directing his attention. He intended to shake up her life with the same casualness he would display when he shook sand out of a blanket after a beach party

"Oh, my gosh!" She sat up and grabbed Dane's wrist, looking at his watch. "What time is it?"

"Almost nine-thirty. Why?"

"I'm late. I was supposed to make a phone call fifteen minutes ago." She slid off his lap, opened a drawer in a small desk and rummaged through it, sending a shower of paper to the floor. "I know I put it in here," she muttered. "It was on a blue piece of ... here it is!"

"What's the hurry?" Dane asked.

"He doesn't have a phone, so he's waiting at a store," she answered absently as she checked the written number and poked buttons on the white receiver.

"Who?"

Kara mumbled in disgust as she hit the wrong button. "Will you wait a minute? Now I have to start all over." She tapped a nail impatiently as the phone buzzed in her ear.

"Juanito? Hi. I'm sorry I'm late. I . . uh," she glanced obliquely at Dane, "got held up. No, no, everything's okay."

Her eyes remained on Dane's face, watching in fascination as his expression ranged from curiosity to recognition to grim determination. "I just wanted to make sure that the plans haven't changed for Saturday. About one?"

"No," Dane said, moving to her side. "Not at one, two, or any other time. You're not going."

"Just a minute," Kara said into the mouthpiece. "I can't hear you. There's some interference on this end." She glared upward. "You don't even know what I'm talking about, so will you please be quiet?"

"You're not going," he repeated calmly.

"For heaven's sake, it's just an innocent ....What, Juanito? Oh. That may be a problem, but we'll work something out. Nothing is impossible, my friend."

"Some things are," Dane countered. "Such as your trip. There will be no trip." The words were spaced evenly for emphasis.

Kara's temper was normally slow to rise. Suddenly she knew why. Most of her life she had been surrounded by pleasant, tolerant, ordinary and nice people. Dane's arrival into her life had introduced her to a new species-determined, stubborn, provoking and rude. His interference in her affairs was awakening a dormant and unfamiliar side of her personality.

"You know something? You've known me for less than two weeks. And in that time you've decided that I'm a featherbrained idiot, and that I need a keeper. Well, I'm not, and I don't. I especially don't need you frowning at everything I say and telling me what I can or can't do. I told you earlier, I won't ..."

"Ordered. I remember. But someone has to ..."

"No, they don't. But if they did, you wouldn't ...."

"But, apparently, I'm the only one with enough ...."

".... be the one I'd choose to..."

"...sense to see that you're heading straight for ..."

" ....help me cross the ..."

"...trouble!"

".....street!"

Their words ended in a dead heat. Kara's exasperated tone all but drowned out Dane's level voice.

Suddenly aware of a crackling coming from the telephone, Kara lifted the receiver to her ear. "What? They want to close the store? Ask them to wait a minute. I'm trying to get rid of the interference I told you about."

Kara drew in a steadying breath and directed her angry gaze back to Dane. "Good night," she said, "and good-bye. I'll finish this conversation after you leave."

Dane turned away and dropped back down on the sofa. "You'll have a long wait," he warned, folding his arms across his chest and settling down, Kara thought in fury, for what looked like the rest of the summer.

More agitated crackling prompted her to raise the receiver once again. "I don't know how long," she said, scowling at Dane. "As long as it takes."

They glared at each other, neither willing to back down.

"If you think you're going down there without me," he finally said through clenched teeth, "you're crazy!"

Not sure she had heard correctly, Kara stared.

Recovering quickly, she asked, "In the truck?"

His nod was curt. "Why not? It's the closest thing I have to a tank."

"Juanito? Problem solved. See you at one on Saturday. Bye." After dropping the receiver in place, she turned to the simmering man.

"Why on earth you go on about these things, I'll never know. I'll be perfectly safe with ..."

"How can you be safe with half the population chasing ...."

"For heaven's sake! I thought I was the one who exaggerates around here. At the most, there were only five or six men. Anyway, that was then. It's not going to happen Saturday ...."

"Damn right it won't, because I'll be there to keep an eye on you."

She rolled her eyes and asked the ceiling, "How did I ever survive all these years on my own?"

"That's what I've been wondering. Maybe Walter hasn't said ..."

"You leave my uncle out of this!" She dropped down in a chair across from him.

"I wish I could. What amazes me is that Tillie hasn't tuned into this whole thing."

"She knows all about it."

"Then why hasn't she tried to stop you?"

"Obviously because she doesn't see anything so bad about it. And what you expect to hap...."

"I'm sure that by now the word is out to watch for a gringa rubia."

"English, por favor."

"The blond American. Every two-bit hood at the racetrack will be looking for that head of hair."

"There's plenty of time to worry about that," she said carelessly.

"Five days isn't that far away."

"Your timing's off. We're not due to go to the racetrack for another two weeks."

She watched his changing expressions with fascination.

"Then will you tell me," he asked quietly, "just what the hell that telephone conversation was all about?"

"You mean, you thought ...."

"I did."

"Well, it serves you right. It's a perfect illustration of what I've been talking about. You listen to a shred of information, weigh the paltry evidence, arrive at an erroneous conclusion and ...."

"What was the problem he mentioned?"

"Transportation. But your truck took care of that."

"And the rest?" He eyed her widening smile with resignation.

"You've just insisted on supervising ten children at a beach party. They range in age from about one to fifteen, so they're a bit of a handful." She let that sink in before she softened the blow. "Of course, Juanito, Carmella and I will be there to help."

They regarded each other in silence. Dane's words, when they finally came, did not surprise her.

"I'm beginning to understand why you're still running free. There aren't many men who could ..."

"Don't apologize for the poor quality of available men," she said airily. "I fly free because I choose to."