Star Dust (12 page)

“Perhaps you’ve been dancing with the wrong partner.”

She scoffed. She had been, but that wasn’t the point. Kit was no more right for her than Doug. “Perhaps I shouldn’t dance at all.”

“Now that would be a crime.”

The air between them fairly buzzed. She was aware of her body, of his fingers digging into her waist, of the fall of her feet on the patio, of the heaviness of her breasts. She felt bound by those things, and restless at the same time. She couldn’t look him in the eye. She absolutely couldn’t look at his neck.

But she couldn’t look away, precisely. She stared at the bits of light that flashed on his hair.
 

She shouldn’t have told him the truth—not during those nights in the dark together, and not here. It made this responsiveness, this attraction, worse. No, she noticed him because of his kindness. His fame. Or because of her loneliness. Their proximity. Nothing more.

The song went on. So did their silence.

She resettled her hand on his shoulder. It was a big shoulder, but not god-like. Just solid. She focused on the music, the predictable sway of their bodies. Not of course on his body, but on the steps. They weren’t too close. They were merely dancing.

At last Anne-Marie could feel the blush recede from her cheeks. She’d fallen into him. It was fine. She shook her head and looked at him. He’d composed himself and appeared normal—handsome, with his charming façade in place.

“It was sweet of you to throw the ball with Freddie.” She needed small talk as distraction.

“My pleasure. He’s talented.”

“He’s a lot of things. But for the astronaut next door to play with him? I doubt you know what that means.”

He shrugged, all nonchalance. “I can guess. But it’s not an imposition.”

She sincerely doubted that was true. She’d rarely met a man who loved his job and hated its strictures as much as Kit. But she was done pushing him. If he wanted to say the adoration of children, or the nation, didn’t bother him, who was she to say it did? Polite lies were fine for the two of them, even if they had acknowledged that they were lies.

She went back to staring into the dark and moving out of routine. There, she was safe and composed.

After an eternity, the song ended—the enchanted evening having finally come to an end and reality having set in even for Ezio Pinza—and she sprang away from Kit before the final chord had finished reverberating. “Thank you for the, uh, well both of the dances.”

He shrugged. “If Carruthers bothers you again, just whistle.”

“You’ll be there?”

“Something like that.”

He smiled down at her, and she had to whirl on her heel and put space between them. Kit was many things. Playboy. Knight in shining armor. Man. None of those were any good for her. They weren’t why she’d come to this party, and they weren’t what she needed.

She weaved through the people and found Lisa laughing with Sherry Dunsford. “Are you having a good time, honey?”

“Oh yes. Do we have to go home?”

“Pretty soon. It is a school night. Half an hour more.”

Lisa opened her mouth to protest, and Anne-Marie steeled herself for what was likely coming. The children were… asserting their independence of late. Which meant they were adjusting. Oh good.

The tension ground on for a moment, but then Lisa made a pained face and turned on her heel. Sherry towed her away, back toward the other children, and Anne-Marie watched them go. This evening had been worth it for that sight: her kids playing with other children, happy and normal, the divorce only the slightest fissure on the surface.

“I’m glad you came.”

Margie Dunsford’s voice came from behind her. Anne-Marie turned and smiled—genuinely this time. “Me too. It was very kind of you to invite us.”

“You did me a favor. I would have had two extra pounds of meat without you. And”—the other woman dropped her voice to conspiratorial—“I’ve never seen Kit so attentive.”

Anne-Marie swallowed. Of course someone had noticed, though that meant Margie had probably seen Anne-Marie fall into him, too. “Ah, well, he was being indulgent. I’m a clumsy dancer.”

Margie cocked her head. “I don’t think so.”

“He—I—that is…”

“I don’t need details.” Margie held up a hand. “But I had a suspicion. I’m always happy when I’m right.” She suddenly turned her head. “Alan, I said not to throw the ball near the tiki torches.”

Alan swiftly reorganized his features from jubilant to chastened.

Margie gave him a long, level look and then turned back to Anne-Marie. “Are you free on Saturday?”

Interesting. Maybe their acquaintance was going to continue beyond a one-party fill-in appearance. “I, uh, think so.”

“Good. I host a ladies’ bridge night, and we’re short a player. How’s seven thirty?”

“It’s fine.”

Anne-Marie might not have meant to move to Lake Glade, and she might not have meant to ingratiate herself to the astronauts and their wives. But since she had, well, she’d much rather have Margie Dunsford on her side. And that meant she’d even play bridge.

Roberta’s face alone would make it worth it.

For a few long moments, she and Margie stood together watching the kids play. Freddie and Alan were tossing a ball, the arc between them growing longer with each throw. Lisa and Sherry laughed together between the dormant crepe myrtles.

Anne-Marie exhaled. She could see the future and, for the first time in years, it didn’t scare her.

Just then the ball spiked wildly in the air and slammed into the ground inches from one of the torches.

“Boys!” Anne-Marie shouted. “Careful.”

“Some people just can’t handle limits,” Margie muttered. And as she marched away to lecture the kids about fire hazards, Anne-Marie could have sworn the other woman muttered “indulgent my foot” under her breath.

Being managed had its downsides.

Kit slowed his feet, pulled from his belly to bring himself back to a walk. He checked his watch as his chest worked like a bellows.

Six miles in forty-five minutes. Not bad.

All the astronauts were required to exercise so many minutes a week, although Kit suspected he was the only one who went above and beyond the requirement. But it wasn’t only the requirement sending him out tonight—a certain neighbor of his might have been foremost in his thoughts all day.
 

He reached up to the spot where his throat met his shoulders, the same place where she’d put her mouth last night. As far and as fast as he’d run tonight, sweat and wind licking at that very spot, none of it had erased the lingering imprint of her.

He set his hands on his hips and shook his head, his heart and lungs working as if he was still running.

That kiss wasn’t even a kiss—it had been a complete accident. She only wanted to be friends.
 

He came in sight of his house then, Bucky racing ahead to the backyard, no doubt to lap at his water bowl for about ten minutes straight.

Kit followed him, rubbing a hand over his sweat-slick, hair-rough chest. He’d taken off his shirt after the first mile, since it was too dark for anyone to see him.

He studied the tips of his toes as he crossed his front yard, the white of the canvas damply green from grass and flecked with mud. He’d have to leave these by the back door to keep from tracking dirt in. Not that there was anyone beside himself to care.
 

As he came around the side of the house, Bucky barked once. Kit’s gaze snapped up from his shoes.

Anne-Marie was there. Watching him. She wore some old trousers, her hair covered with a kerchief, holding a bag of trash in her hand. But her tongue slipped out from between her lips, swiped across them as she looked him up and down.

He couldn’t remember when he’d ever seen a woman looking better.

And he was shirtless and stinking from a run.
Way to impress her, Campbell.

She simply stared, her eyes wide and roaming him. She was no doubt horrified by his state of undress—but he didn’t care. He stalked over to her, took the trash from her unresisting hands, and hauled it to the bin.

They were only friends, but friends took out the garbage for one another. And if she thought this too presumptuous—well, she’d just have to get over it. There was no way in hell he was letting her take out the trash, not when he was nearby. His mother would have a fit if she knew he’d let a lady carry garbage.

He slammed the lid down on the bin a little too hard. There. That gave her plenty of warning to scoot back into the house.
 

He dusted off his hands and walked back, only to find that she hadn’t moved an inch. Her mouth was parted as if she couldn’t quite breathe properly, and she was frowning.

He sighed. If she kept looking like that, he might have to kiss her back to life. And they were only friends.

“Ma’am.” He nodded in her direction, preparing to beat a retreat.
 

But her hands snaked out toward him and then—

Mother of God.

Her fingers snuck beneath the waistband of his shorts and she tugged him toward her. He wasn’t wearing any briefs, and the tips of her fingers were dangerously close to his cock. So of course, the damn thing had to stiffen and inch even closer to those trespassing fingers.

She rolled up onto her toes and set her mouth against his.
 

This was no accident. This was heat and tongue and… moans? Hell, he was moaning. He’d imagined kissing her, but having her lips pressed against his, her tongue in his mouth… daydreams had nothing on this. He cupped the sweet curves of her bottom and pulled her up to him. Thank God she was light and he spent time in the weight room.

She kept her fingers curled around his waistband, dragging his shorts tight against his balls. Which should have been uncomfortable, but with her devouring him, it was arousing as all get out. Her thighs slid around his waist, her calves hooking around his hips, and he sank his fingers deeper into her ass.

She tasted so good, her tongue tangling with his, and Christ, now she was moaning—

Bucky let out one short, sharp bark, and Kit dropped her.

She released a little grunt as her feet hit the ground.

“Are you okay?” Stupid of him, to drop her like that. And what was Bucky barking about—

“Mooooom! Where are you?”

That. Bucky had finally earned his keep.

Anne-Marie turned for her house. “I’m here,” she called back. “I’m coming in now.”

Thank God Lisa hadn’t come out and caught them. But he wished she’d held off for one more minute of soft, gasping…
 

Anne-Marie made her way to her own back door, leaving Kit standing halfway between her house and his.

Suddenly she was marching back, her forefinger stabbing the air as she shook it in his face. “We,” she sputtered, “we need to talk.”

Christ. Was there a man alive who’d ever been happy to hear those words?

He touched his fingers to his forehead in a resigned salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

She dropped her finger, nodded sharply, and retreated double time for her house.

Just friends.
Kit shook his head. What a load of bull.

Anne-Marie shut the back door with as much quiet finesse as she could manage. The kids were down. Finally. She’d spent twenty minutes pacing in the dark to make sure they were actually asleep. What she didn’t need was for them to wake up and look for her, not when she needed to talk to Kit.

Or maybe she was being a coward and had needed to work up the nerve.

She hadn’t meant to kiss him. She hadn’t even known he was jogging—it wasn’t his normal time. Didn’t he know he was supposed to keep to his schedule? She’d been doing such a good job ignoring him since the party.

The only thing she had in her defense was that it had been a very bad day. She was close, so close, to finishing with the backlog of airline reservations—or Big Ben, as she’d taken to calling it. She was getting fast at the bookings. Arrogantly so. Sometimes she’d call and book multiple reservations at once. She was always working ahead, finishing her notes for one call while she was on hold with another, flipping through the pile to find a third or fourth… and it had been just fine.