Dancing on a Moonbeam (Bedford Falls Book 1) (34 page)

She smiled. "You wouldn't be able to stay away from your music that long."

"I'll write the notes on your body." He traced a clef note on her, and then he slipped his fingers under her panties. "Can I take these off?"

"Yes, please," she said enthusiastically, lifting her hips to help.

He got them off her and trailed his hand up the inside of her leg to his promised land. With the lightest touch, he ran a finger along the crease between her legs.

She gasped, and her legs fell open in invitation.
 

He wasn't going to rush, he told himself. He touched her again, just as softly, before he let his fingers slide between to find her wetness.
 

"Max."

He glanced up, turned on, satisfied to see her neck arched and her eyes closed in ecstasy. He watched her expression as he slowly ran his finger along her, circling at the top and then to ground zero and back, over and over.

She started breathily heavily. Her eyes opened, heavy-lidded. "Come join me."

"I will, in a minute." He focused the tip of his finger on the spot that made her light up.

Just like that, she began to rock her hips, crying out, her hands gripping him. He knew she was close to coming by the tenor of her voice and the rhythm of her body.

He knew she was going to fall into pleasure, and he caught her cries with his lips.

When she started to come down, he reached for a condom he'd put in the nightstand after the first time they'd been intimate. Wishful thinking.

Covering himself quickly, he positioned himself and carefully eased himself in.

They both groaned. Her eyes opened, and he thrilled at the unquenched desire he saw. He slid all the way in, slowly, not wanting to hurt her.

Her fingernails bit into his skin. "More," she ordered, wrapping her legs around his waist.

That he could do. He moved with long, steady strokes, cupping her face and kissing her until they were both panting and lightheaded from the pleasure. He caressed down to her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers.

Her hands gripped him tighter, and she undulated against him, meeting his every stroke with her entire being. He felt the crest surge in him, and he held back, to make sure she went over first.

But he couldn't hold back when he heard her cry out as her muscles clenched him. Stiffening, he followed her into the crescendo.
 

Not wanting to crush her but still wanting the connection, he rolled them over so she lay draped on top of him.

She sighed, a happy sound.
 

He held her close, closing his eyes to hear her heartbeat better. If he had any doubt about his feelings before, there was none now. He was in love with her. He just had to try not to dwell on how she didn't feel as strongly about him.

Easier said than done.

Chapter 9

Eleanor was in such a delicious glow from the interlude with Max yesterday that nothing could bother her today. Not even her daughter's surly protests over her ongoing detention. She calmly snipped wheatgrass from her window box as Lily raged behind her.

"You're so impossible," the teenager was saying now. "I've been grounded long enough, don't you think?"

"Have you apologized?" she asked as she pulled her juicer closer. "Because I haven't sensed any penitence on your part."

"What are we? In the Middle Ages?" Lily stood, hands on her hips, the textbook look of an annoyed teenager on her face.
 

Fortunately for everyone involved, Eleanor was still in a state of bliss. Max had pleasured her all afternoon, until she'd had to return home to greet Lily from school.
 

The episode in the shower was especially fun. She hoped they'd get a chance to repeat it.
 

"All I'm asking," Eleanor said now, setting a shot glass under the spigot, "is that you understand that you did something wrong and apologize for it."

"Fine. I'm sorry," the kid barked, sounding anything but.

She faced her daughter, eyebrows raised. "Really? You think that's going to help?"

Lily threw her hands in the air. "You're impossible!" she yelled as she stormed out of the kitchen.

Eleanor listened to her angry stomping down the hall. Then she counted. "Three, two, one—"

The door slammed, and something crashed to the floor.

"Not today," she said happily, turning the juice on. She hummed as the bright green liquid poured from the spout. Today she was going to talk to Amanda about the studio and rent it—she'd decided she'd just make it work—and sign the lease. She was also going to text Max and see if he was free.

Her phone buzzed with the sound of an incoming text. She glanced at it, hoping it was Max.
 

It wasn't. It was her sister Eliza.

Eleanor shook her head. Debra had probably told her about the date. Gossip was a given in a small town like Bedford Falls, but word of Eleanor's date with Max lit the town like wildfire.
 

Debra had been the first one to contact her with an avalanche of messages:
 

9:54pm
 
Your dad called me to say you were out dancing with Max. I don't know what's more startling—that you were on a date and didn't tell me, or that your dad called. In any case, you owe me an explanation, young lady.
 

9:59pm
 
PS: I hope you had a wonderful time.

10:00pm
 
PPS: I like him, FWIW.

Robbie had been next, with a simple
I hope you got lucky
. And then Luna had sent,
I heard you were out last night. Maybe we need to have tea? ;)
 

Not even Charles's text had bothered her:
Eleanor, I can't believe you're flaunting yourself. What will people think?

That she was finally getting laid. She typed that reply to him.

But she couldn't send it, she realized. That last thing she wanted was to incite Charles or his mother. There was no telling what they'd say to Lily, and the last thing she wanted was for her daughter to think worse of her.
 

So she deleted the message and decided to return to her blissed out state.

Now, she looked at Eliza's message.
You're holding out on me.

Grinning, she typed back quickly.
More than you know.

Her phone rang a second later. When she answered it, Eliza immediately said, "Okay, tell me what's going on. You buy this guy a tutu and now you're dancing with him. This is a big deal."

"It's not."

"Yes, it is. He's the first guy you've gone out with since you left Charles. I need his name, birthdate, and social security number so I can have him checked out."

She laughed. "You can look up his music. He wrote the soundtrack for 'The Mermaid's Journal.'"
 

"Yeah, but what does he kiss like?"

Closing her eyes, Eleanor imagined him kissing her and sighed. "Do you remember when we used to go to the lake as kids?"
 

"Yes."

 
"You know how we'd climb the highest rock, and that breathless feeling right after we jumped, and the sense of flying free right before we hit the water?"

"Yes."

"That's what his kisses feel like."

"Wow."

Eleanor nodded. "I know."

"Ellie?"

"Yes?"

"This time when you get married, I get to pick my maid of honor dress, okay? Because I refuse to wear cabbage patch roses again."

The sense of bliss faded a little with that. "You don't have to worry about that." Because the thought of marriage made her stomach twist.

"I'm happy for you," her sister said, not aware of Eleanor's sudden anxiety. "You deserve every bit of free-falling joy."

Call waiting sounded in her ear—it was Amanda. "Eliza, I need to answer another call."

"Is it him?" her sister taunted.
 

"No, but it's still destiny. Bye!" She switched calls quickly. "I was about to call you, Amanda."

"I have bad news," the woman said, sounding angry. "The retail space you wanted isn't available any longer."

Eleanor blinked. "It was rented?"

"No, it's just not available," the real estate agent said curtly. "I just can't believe it. I tried to get more information but the owner was suddenly not responsive. It's so weird."

She sank onto a chair at the table, stunned. "But you said they were eager to rent it."

"I did. They were. And then something happened."

She wondered if the "something" could be named Barbara Fehr.
 

"I'll look at the listings again and see what I can find to show you." Amanda sighed. "I'm so sorry, Eleanor."
 

She nodded. "It's okay, Amanda. I guess it wasn't meant to be." She hung up, feeling completely deflated.

Defeated.

Taking her phone, she typed in "Fucker" into a new message, and Charles's number came up. But what was she going to say?
Why are you and your mother so determined to sabotage my happiness?
She had no proof that they'd done anything.

She deleted the message and texted Amanda.
Is it okay to forward the owner's name to me?

A little bit later, the real estate woman texted back.
I told him you wanted to talk to him. His name is Homer Raymond. He's expecting your call.

She didn't wait to call the man, and he answered right away.
 

When she explained who she was, he sounded really contrite. "I'm sorry about that, Eleanor. I thought a dance studio was a great use of the space, and having lessons for kids is a great thing. But the historical society started raising concerns about it."

"The historical society." She knew it. Barbara was behind this. The woman was on the board. Eleanor had been so wrong about them not being able to touch her.
 

"I have other spaces downtown, including my own office, and they're the last people I want to stir up. They make things difficult when you get on their bad side."

"I know," she murmured. She was living it.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"So am I." She hung up and sat staring at the wall. What was she going to do now? Find another space? Barbara would just pull the same stunt.
 

Just because Eleanor dared to marry her son. Or because she'd rejected him—Eleanor had no idea anymore.
 

How was that fair?

It wasn't. She slumped further down in the chair. She didn't know what to do about it or her studio, and the more she tried to figure it out, the farther she felt the dream slipping away from her.
 

Chapter 10

Max spent the morning daydreaming about Eleanor as he worked on his symphony. He texted her, but she didn't reply, so after lunch he just went across their property line to her backyard to begin work on her dance studio.
 

Making a list of supplies he needed, he looked up the closest hardware store and went to pick up the things he'd need to finish off the details on the interior. When he came back, her car still wasn't in the driveway.