Star Dust (13 page)

Until it wasn’t. Until she’d gotten off somehow and hadn’t double-checked herself and had somehow booked seven sets of tickets to the wrong people.

It had taken her all afternoon to set it right, hours when she wasn’t doing all the other things she was supposed to be doing. Nervous sweat had run down her back, and tension had built all through her as she tried to make it right. And even now she was worried that she’d missed one, and the Stevenses were going to show up at the airport in a month only to find they had tickets to Portland instead of Paris.

Then she’d come home, only to discover that Freddie had forgotten to take in his science project and Lisa was sullen about something—she wouldn’t say what—and to top it off, Anne-Marie had burned the casserole she’d meant to reheat.

She stepped outside, mostly to avoid screaming—not at the children, who’d done nothing wrong, but just near them because she was damn tired and this was damn hard and she damn well didn’t like doing it on her own, even if she could.

Which was when Kit had come around the corner. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, though she was increasingly convinced he shouldn’t ever wear one.

And he’d thrown away the trash for her.

And he’d looked at her like she was beautiful, rather than like she resembled a hobo—which she did.

And she’d wanted just for a moment to see herself like that.

So she’d kissed him.

It was a mistake, of course—even if he tasted like her first drink of water in months. Even if the press of his hands against her body had been precisely right. Even if she’d been so aflame with desire she would have let him ravish her in the yard at twilight… if they hadn’t been interrupted.

Because they had been interrupted. Because they would always be interrupted.

And they should be. Her desire wasn’t the only factor in her life anymore, and it would never be the most important factor. Freddie and Lisa had to come first. Whatever was between her and Kit threatened the kids’ happiness.

She had to convince him it had been a moment of madness. She’d stolen something for herself, but wisely, she’d put it back before she’d been caught. She was sorry about using him—but their kiss had been a one-time-only engagement.

She pushed off the door and picked her way across their yards. He wasn’t on his patio.

With a deep breath, she knocked on his door.

Bucky, ever the vigilant watchdog, nudged the curtain with his nose and barked once, short and joyful, before running off into the house. A minute later, Kit slid the door open.

He was, thankfully, wearing clothing. Athletic sweatpants hung from his hips and a white undershirt pulled tight across his chest, revealing the scored muscles underneath. That was clothing… sort of.

She hadn’t changed. Okay, so she’d taken off her kerchief and run a brush through her hair. But that was it—except for freshening up her lipstick. And she might have reapplied her perfume… but women in Texas were expected to do that before they went into their own living rooms, let alone to an astronaut’s house.

He ran his gaze over her. He didn’t seem to mind her attire. He never seemed to mind anything really, except when Carruthers tried stupidly to flirt with her.

Without a word, though with a smile, he stepped aside to admit her.

She took a deep breath and walked into his den. He hadn’t been lying the day they’d met. It was clean, with nary a cracker or errant lampshade in sight. Also missing were pretty blondes, though she might have been more comfortable if they had been there.

She wasn’t here to see the house. “Kit, about earlier… I’m sorry.”

He gave her a gentle smile. “You think I’m upset that you kissed me?”

“I’m not sure. But I am. Upset, that is.”

“And so you’re apologizing?”

She buried in her face in her hands. He wasn’t helping matters. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

He did laugh then, and she dropped her hands from her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. It was easier to be annoyed with him than attracted to him. But he evidently didn’t agree, as after a moment, the mirth in his eyes darkened into something else entirely.

“Yes, you should have.” His voice came out rough, as if it were dragged from some place deep inside him. “You should do it again and again, in fact.”

“What? Why?”

He took a step toward her. “Anne-Marie, we’re not friends.”

“No. No, we’re not.” Whatever else she might be doing with him, she was done with that pretense. None of the feelings she had toward him were anything so pale as friendly.

“I think about you all the time. Well, you and the stars. You’re all bound up together now. You have been for weeks.” He paused and swallowed, and then with heartbreaking earnestness, he said, “Have dinner with me.”

He’d phrased it as a statement, but she could hear the entreaty. That was what surprised her, made her “What?” come out sharp and baffled.

“I want to take you to dinner. I want to bring you flowers. I want to pursue you. And I want to kiss you.”

He took another step toward her, and her stomach went rigid and fluttery at once—which was truly dumb.

“Why? What do you want from me?” she demanded. He made a face. But to underscore her point, she asked, “Do you want to marry me?”

“People date to get to know each other.”

“Oh, is that why? Because I haven’t already been married once? Let me help you! I’m difficult. And stubborn. And when you bolt, because you probably will, I’ll have to see you every day. I can’t run away again. If you think the gossip is bad now, imagine how bad it will be once I date an astronaut. Oh, and let’s not forget my children. Freddie and Lisa? I believe you’ve met them. They adore you. And when this affair burns out, when you aren’t showing up with flowers for dinner anymore, what do you think that will be like for them?”

His expression went from shocked to solemn. “I would never hurt your kids.”

“You wouldn’t mean to, but that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t.”

He swallowed and looked away. She suddenly felt bad—she was being awful to him. But she had to take care of her kids.

More gently, she said, “Yes, that’s why I’m here—to apologize for kissing you. I’m sorry. And now I’m going.”

She started for the door, but he reached out and snaked his hand around her upper arm.

“May I kiss you?” There was the entreaty again.

“Didn’t you just hear what I said?”

“Every word. May I kiss you?”

The question, their proximity, his hand on her body: all of it made her burn white hot all over. His eyes skimmed over her, from her neck to her blouse and back to her face. Waiting.

She should say no. She knew it. But the same little part of her that had grabbed him—literally grabbed him—this afternoon cried out:
Take this one thing just for you.

She nodded, stiff and jerky.

Seconds ground by. Minutes, maybe. She wasn’t sure. Then he curved his hand around the nape of her neck and bowed her toward him. Inch by inch, his face swallowed up her peripheral vision until he was all she could see. The scent of his soap overwhelmed her. Anticipation rampaged in her body.

“Kit.”

As she exhaled his name, her eyelids drifted shut. And in the dark he kissed her so softly she wasn’t sure he had. Until he did again. One brush after another, mouth on mouth, until she sighed.

He released her arm, but only so he could gather her against him. Their heat and bodies melted into one grasping, needy thing. He coaxed her mouth open and stroked inside so gently that she shivered.

He was playful and fierce, tender and powerful all at once. She kept making rough animal noises that should probably embarrass her, but at each gasp, his grip tightened. There was no space between them now.

Indeed, the kiss had dissolved into a full-body thing. Their hips were involved. Their thighs. And his chest. Dear Lord, his chest.

He broke from her mouth, skimming down her neck until he could nip at her collarbone. She gripped his shoulders and tilted her head to make it easier for him.

She’d made one kind of argument, but he was making another. And the clever man didn’t even need words. At least not ones in English.

She rubbed herself against him, against the coiled strength of his body and his growing arousal. Her body hummed with wanting.

Why couldn’t she take this again?

The crux of the problem was publicity. Freddie and Lisa. Her mother. Everyone in Lake Glade. Heck, everyone in America. If it weren’t for them, she and Kit could explore whatever it was they needed to explore. It would still be bad if—when—the affair was over, but they were adults. They could handle it. It wasn’t like the present was peachy. No, this attraction was erupting between them. An affair couldn’t be any worse.

Maybe she could do this crazy, selfish thing without hurting anyone.

He fumbled with the first button on her blouse and abraded the skin he’d revealed with his chin.

“Kit,” she murmured into his hair, “What if there’s another way?”

“Mm?” He glanced up: eyes half-lidded, hair tousled, and lips swollen. From her. From them.

“We can’t date. It’s… we just can’t. I don’t want to.” She took a breath, took the leap. “But we could have an affair.”

He blinked for a moment. “We see each other in secret?” he said, clarifying. “Like we do now? Except with…”

“Kissing,” she supplied.

“I’m hopeful that’s among other things.”

Heat blazed through her. Whatever else was true, she wanted all the other things.

She pulled out of his grasp and turned. He’d pulled the drapes back to let her in. With the glare on the glass, she couldn’t see the stars. But she knew they were there. The Milky Way. Taurus. All the things she noticed now. Because of him.

Why shouldn’t she have something just for her?

Why not?

“Okay,” she said, more to herself than to him.

His hands gripped her shoulders lightly and his mouth touched her ear. “Really?”

“Okay,” she repeated.

“I asked you for this earlier…”

“You didn’t really.” And he hadn’t. It had been reflexive. Like some men opened doors without thinking about it, Kit propositioned women.

“I’m sorry about my earlier offer—truly. It was rude. But why now?”

She turned to face him. “Because I want to now.”

He tugged her, trying to direct her toward the couch, or perhaps his bedroom.

“I have to get home. The kids… it’s been a long day. I can’t leave them.”

“If we’re seeing each other, when can I see you?”

“Are you free on Saturday? My mom was going to come so I could go to Margie’s, but maybe they can go to her place”—she swallowed—“for the night.”

He smiled, a full devilish smile that set off all sorts of silly feelings in all the soft places in her body. Places that hadn’t had the slightest reason to feel silly in, oh, forever.

“I’ll be free on Saturday.”

“Good.”

And with one last quick buss, she bolted before she forgot why she needed to.

Kit didn’t think he’d ever embarked on an affair before.

Dating, yes. Intercourse with a woman… well, yes. But a relationship constructed solely for the purpose of clandestine sex? An affair?

Nope. It all sounded so French.

“So, you and that neighbor of yours?” Carruthers asked.

They were side by side on a bench, waiting for their time in the MASTIF: a spinning rig that simulated how a pilot might feel in space. Reynolds was taking his turn at it while Parsons was pacing and making notes on a clipboard.

“Yeah?” Kit replied, making it clear Carruthers had better tread carefully.

“I thought you didn’t like her.”

“I never said that. I told you to stay away from her.” Just the memory of Carruthers’s hand at her back, the way she’d leaned away from him—it pissed Kit off all over again. Especially now that he’d kissed Anne-Marie. She was having an affair with
him
, not that he could use that information to stop Carruthers here.

“Yeah, but after you ran me off, you danced with her,” Carruthers accused. “Twice!”

“So?”

Carruthers raised his eyebrows.
 

“Jesus, is this a Jane Austen novel?” Kit burst out. “She’s just my neighbor.”

And the woman I’m about to start an affair with.

A woman he admired, appreciated, who had kids he adored, an entire family he’d never want to harm.

He respected her… but she didn’t seem to respect him. In fact, sometimes she didn’t even seem to like him.

He was an astronaut. All of America loved him.

Her occasional flashes of disinterest shouldn’t bother him. After all, he was no saint when it came to loving and leaving someone—but he was bothered all the same.

Not enough to call things off, though. He’d weather her disinterest in public if it meant he’d have her full attention in his bed, that luscious body unwrapped, red curls across his pillow, and her mouth—sweet Jesus, her mouth—all over him—

Parsons slapped the clipboard against his palm, snapping Kit out of his reverie. “You know, if Reynolds were sitting here,” he groused, “he’d be discussing the mission. And not some woman.”