Moonlight and Shadows (5 page)

Jack was busy absorbing the ton of
information he’d just received, about rich photographers who were
dead and Lila Singer being a widow, but he’d caught the kid’s drift
loud and clear. “I think so,” he said carefully, then paused for a
swallow of wine. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but what we’ve got here
is a kid who can’t even dress himself right hiding behind a hundred
years of overseas fiction and trying his damnedest ‘to make’ the
teacher along the way, a kid who can’t even find four feet of
concrete porch without falling on his swollen head, and somehow
this jerk thinks he’s got something over a guy who works for a
living. Does that about sum it up?”

Lila’s return stole Trey’s chance to answer,
which was probably just as well. The lady’s timing was proving to
be the only thing keeping the evening at all polite and civil.

“This may sting a little, but it’s all I
have.” She poured the antiseptic on a cotton ball and squashed it
onto Trey’s forehead. “I’m very sorry this happened, but if you’ll
go straight home and take a couple of aspirin, you’ll probably feel
fine in the morning.”

“I feel fine now, Dr. Singer, really. It’s
just a scrape.”

“I don’t think we should take a chance,”
Lila insisted. “Especially with me being the liable party.”

“Oh, you don’t have to be the liable party,”
Trey said, and gestured at Jack. “I’ll sue him.”

That did it.

Jack pushed away from the counter and picked
the kid’s coat up off a chair. “I’ll help you out to your car.”

“But I’m not—”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Hudson,” Lila
interrupted. “I don’t think he should try those steps on his own
again, not without a handrail.”

Jack nodded and hustled Trey out of his
chair and into his coat. What resistance he felt in the bony little
body, he overcame with a bit of subtle strong-arming.

“But, Dr. Sing—”

Jack quickly nudged the back of Trey’s knee
with his own knee, effectively disabling Trey for a couple of
seconds so he could snag the kid’s arms in the sleeves of his big
coat.

“Goodness!” Lila lunged for Trey and caught
him at the same time that Jack pulled his coat over his shoulders.
“Why, you can barely stand up. Are you sure you can drive?”

“I’m fine, I swear,” Trey gritted through
his teeth, giving Jack a black look and shaking the bigger man’s
hands off with a quick jerk of his shoulders. Then he reconsidered
his statement. “Well, maybe I am a little wooz—”

“You’re fine,” Jack interrupted, giving him
a good clap on the back. “I can tell. You young kids are made of
stern stuff. A couple of aspirin and you’ll be great. Come on. I’ll
get you across the porch without breaking any bones.”

“I bet,” Trey muttered.

“Thank you, Jack.”

Jack. Finally, he thought, Jack. Her use of
his first name put a measure of determination in his step, and he
had Trey out the door, down the stairs, across the backyard, and
into his car before the kid had a chance to regroup.

“Nice meeting you, Trey,” he said. “Don’t
forget to take those aspirin.”

“Wait a minute, buddy.” The kid speedily
rolled down his window and grabbed Jack by the sleeve. “That was a
twelve-dollar bottle of wine.”

Laughter checked Jack’s anger in an instant.
He shoved a hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out a ten and a
five, chuckling under his breath. “You’ve got good taste, kid. Keep
the tip.” He loved being generous in victory. It was a hell of a
lot better than being generous in defeat.

Trey took the money and shoved it into his
coat pocket. “Yeah, well, just remember what I said, man. You’re no
Danny Singer
.”

It was a cheap shot, the cheapest; a low
blow, the lowest; and it hit home with unerring accuracy. Jack
didn’t care much for the kid’s presumptuous, intellectual
categorizing, and he didn’t know anything about dealing with
widows. But he did know he’d never come close to what he’d seen in
the magical photograph of Lila
Singer dressed in ethereal
gauze in the moonlight.

“Right, kid,” he said, leaning over the open
window. “Now, why don’t you give this thing a little gas, and let’s
see if we can get you out of here before I change my mind about
keeping you in one piece.”

* * *

Lila stood on tiptoe at the kitchen counter,
peeking out the window over the sink, not certain if she’d won or
lost. Getting rid of Trey was a definite plus, but Jack Hudson was
a definite unknown.

She took another sip of wine and tried to
think of a polite way to thank him and kick him out at the same
time. The man unnerved her in some very private places, places
she’d forgotten about, and she didn’t have a clue as to why. Sure,
he was good-looking in an all-American way: broad and rugged in the
shoulders, independent behind the eyes, and plain cute everywhere
else. But that was no reason for her pulse to skip, or her
breathing to quicken whenever she was around him. No reason at
all.

She stretched higher on her tiptoes, craning
her neck to one side to watch Jack give Trey’s car an extra push
out of the driveway. Her problem was she’d become too used to her
students, graduate or otherwise. With them there was always an
unspoken barrier, an undeniable difference in experience and
authority. Jack Hudson didn’t seem to recognize those things, even
though she was the boss.

Or was she?

“Damn,” she whispered. He was coming back
into the house. She quickly swallowed the rest of her wine and set
the glass aside. She’d thank him, that’s what she’d do. There was
absolutely no reason for him to hang around any longer. She’d just
thank him and, of course, he’d take the hint and leave.

Of course he would, she assured herself,
pausing to straighten the bottom of her sweater and smooth her
skirt. As a matter of fact, he was probably coming in only to get
his coat and his lunchbox.

The French doors opened with a squeak of
newness. Drawing in a fortifying breath, Lila marched toward the
office to thank him for all his trouble and his help. She got no
farther than the connecting doorway, for there he was, standing
next to a stack of lumber, picking up his lunchbox and putting on
his battered black ski jacket. She didn’t believe it. Neither did
she believe the ache of disappointment she felt tightening her
chest.

Jack heard a soft sound of dismay and looked
up. Lila stood in the doorway, backlit by the glow from the
kitchen, with the light tangled through her hair like a net of
silver. In that instant she conjured up a thousand new feelings in
his heart and body.

Hell, he thought. It’s New Year’s Eve.

He set his lunchbox back on the boards and
walked over to her.

“I think the kid will be okay,” he said.

“Me too,” Lila whispered, though she hadn’t
meant to use such an intimate tone of voice. Whispering had a way
of drawing another person near.

Jack obliged, ever so slightly. “Tomorrow is
the last day I can work full-time over here,” he said, resting his
hand high on the doorjamb.

“Oh.”

“I’ve got some other jobs I need to get back
to.”

“I have some other jobs.” she softly
corrected him.

He quirked one eyebrow in question. “At the
university?”

“What?”

He grinned, slow and easy, and she felt a
wave of heat spread across her face and chest. “Well, I guess it
doesn’t matter. I’ll be over in the evenings to finish up.”

“Okay.” She’d lost the thread of the
conversation somewhere, but it really didn’t matter, not when he
was standing so close in the half-dark room.

“I’ll work on the handrail tomorrow.”

He shifted his weight subtly, moving a
couple of inches closer to her. She watched the smile fade from his
face, and wondered if she could possibly be wanting what she
thought she was wanting.

“If it’s okay with you,” he continued, “I’ll
keep my key to the French doors until the whole job is
finished.”

“That’ll be fine.” Her voice grew softer,
her eyes wider, and Jack found himself edging even closer, wishing
he had a reason to touch her.

“I’ve been thinking of building in some
bookcases,” he murmured, absently lifting a hand to brush the wild
curls back from her cheek. He needed no more reason than desire to
touch her, he realized.

“Nice . . .” was all Lila managed to breathe
out. His caress mesmerized her, like a magic spell.

He leaned down and brushed his mouth across
her cheek. His hand tilted her chin up until their lips barely met.
“You’re too beautiful not to be kissed,” he whispered, his voice
husky with the same tension Lila felt with every breath.
“Especially on New Year’s Eve.”

His hand slid to the nape of her neck as his
mouth claimed hers in a series of teasing explorations. Lila found
her reasoning powers melting with every light kiss he feathered
across her lips. Each brief touch fanned a flame deep inside her,
evoking once more the memories of a long-ago moonlit night when a
stranger had kissed her and seemed not to be a stranger at all. His
mouth rubbed against hers, warm and breathy, gentle and demanding.
His tongue tasted her lips, and she sighed, granting him what he
asked for.

In the way dusk slips into darkness,
gentleness turned into passion and memories into a startling
present. Lila felt the muscles in his arms flex as he gathered her
closer. She felt her own heart beating a new rhythm, and she heard
his breath grow ragged and heavy as he kissed her deeper, longer,
slower. She reached for him to steady her world, but found the
hardness of his body even further disorienting. It had been too
long, and he felt too good. The size and strength of him was
overpowering and protective at the same time. The circle of his
arms was a homecoming, a haven to which she’d returned.

What was left of her rational mind insisted
that this man was still a stranger, but coursing through the lost
recesses of her soul was a remembrance of his slightest touch, of
the way his mouth moved, the scent of him . . . Or was it an
expectation, an instinctive knowledge of what was to come and the
satisfaction of his fulfillment?

She didn’t know, and truth be told, as he
kept on kissing her, she didn’t care.

Jack cared. He cared about her hair sliding
through his fingers. He cared about her sweet curves pressed
against him and driving him crazy. He cared about the wild abandon
of her kiss and the way he was starting to lose control.

One more minute, he told himself, just one
more minute of tasting her, of feeling the excitement she generated
like heat under a summer sun. He slanted his mouth across hers in
the opposite direction, and she followed him down the new path,
molding her body to his in that one extra degree he couldn’t
handle. He’d never known a kiss to get out of hand so fast. He’d
never known himself to get out of hand so fast.

“Lila . . .” He couldn’t tear himself
away.

“Jack?” she murmured, her mouth still
touching his, and he knew she’d never forget his name again.

“Do you think—” He stopped, unsure of the
right words, and kissed her again. When they came up for air, he
knew he had to ask. “Lila, how do you feel about making love . . .
with me, tonight? I mean . . .” Hell, he didn’t know what he meant,
so he kissed her again, and again, all the while trying to get it
straight in his head about where his mind and his body were
conflicting. Three more seconds of holding her in his arms proved
his body thought his mind was nuts. His body had no doubts about
wanting her, about how and where to touch her for the maximum
effect, for a response guaranteed to leave tracks of fire across
his senses. His body said, “Lift her skirt, Jack. Run your hand up
her thigh and show her how good love can be with you.”

His mind insisted on being a gentleman, of
reminding him she was a widow and that she barely knew him, on
giving her time, on promising the end would be worth the wait. Yet
even as his mind took its noble stand, his hand slid down the side
of her skirt.

Lila gasped, not knowing if it was in shock
or pleasure. His fingers grazed the curve of her hip, his palm
rubbed slow, sensuous circles on the fabric of her skirt. Her body
picked up the rhythm as he drew her deeper under the spell of his
touch and his kiss.

Then, as if a transmission had finally made
its delayed connection, his words penetrated the cloud of passion
fogging her brain. She stiffened in his arms, though her mouth
remained on his.

Jack felt the stilling of her lips and knew
exactly what had happened. He opened his eyes the barest degree.
Chocolate-brown eyes gazed back at him, wide with an emotion he
couldn’t name, until he noted the flush of embarrassment coursing
across the delicate pale skin of her face. He closed his eyes and
kissed her again, softly, telling her silently that he wanted her
but was willing to let her go.

His insides remained on overdrive, and it
took him a moment longer to finally break contact. When he did he
knew he had to do something besides stand and stare at her like a
man who’d just seen water after twenty years in the desert. He’d
probably frightened her, coming on like a randy teenager.

He had frightened her, but Lila knew it was
a poor second to how badly she had scared herself by reacting to
him as she had. Her breath was coming short and shallow, a dead
giveaway to his effect on her. Yet even with the hot flush of
humiliation staining her cheeks, she couldn’t step away.

She looked up at him, watching him watch
her, feeling like two people. One of those people had seldom gazed
into his hazel eyes, barely knew his face, the straight nose, the
gentle grin playing about a mouth that looked thoroughly kissed.
Her blush heightened, but she didn’t look away, for the other
person knew him like the earth knows rain. It was that knowledge
that frightened her. A sensual being inside her knew the pleasure
of his thigh against hers, the light touch of his tongue on her
lips, the heavier, drugging passion when his tongue invaded her
mouth with primitive, consuming thrusts; a sensual being who had
reacted instinctively to his every touch. And her instincts were
the last thing Lila trusted. They’d been scorched and manhandled by
grief. They’d led her into shame and degradation, and she planned
on never taking the trip again.