Harvest Moon (7 page)

Yet tonight, he’d cling to the knowledge that having a clear head would let him enjoy everything else life offered. Truly be in control of his actions. Far better than the way he used to live.

He’d focus on the other guests, only talk to his dad when necessary. After tossing on a pair of black slacks and a white dress shirt, he reached into the wardrobe cabinet for a tie, but instead grabbed a linen gray sports jacket.

He went into the kitchen and made a cup of coffee to help him wake up. Taking a seat at the peninsula stool, he logged into his e-mail account. On top sat an e-mail from Etta. He’d been so relieved yesterday when he got her response, thankful his forward remark hadn’t done any damage.

He opened it.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Self-help books

Do you ever read self-help books? As a rule, I don’t, but I came across one called
Unleash the Past
. I checked it out from the library and now can’t put it down!

Usually, this genre annoys me. An industry, trying to make a buck off people’s suffering. As I read this one, though, I find myself wanting my life to be different. It’s powerfully written and engages the reader.

And for once, I feel motivated to deal with my past. Only here’s where I stumble… Telling people close to me still seems far too risky. What if I can’t face things after I open my mouth? There’ll be no escape from their questions.

But then I figured this… If I told one person about my plan to move my life forward, it could force me to stay strong with this new outlook. Don’t you think?

That said, I will admit to you—and no one else—how my past has held me hostage for a very long time. Going forward, I’ll attempt to keep an open mind to living my life without the barriers tossed up decades ago. Well, easier to get off my chest than I’d thought. Guess what? I feel a sense of relief.

Can I consider you my unofficial “face the past” trainer? You could gently guide me through this, not let me off the hook too easily if I try to let it go?

Am I crazy to let a book make me feel more positive and hopeful? I mean, it’s just a book, but… Right now it feels like so much more.

Have a relaxing weekend.

Etta

His spirit lifted at the idea she’d share this with him—only him. Nobody in his entire life ever considered him a confidant, but her belief in him made him feel taller and stronger, basking in a real sense of pride. He hit reply.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Self-help books

I’m about to run out, so will comment on self-help books later. About your new attitude, though, it already shines—at least from what I’m reading. Whatever it is you are going for, reach for the brass ring, and I’m positive it’ll make a difference in your life. Remember this: I’ll catch you if you slip. Consider me your new personal trainer. More to follow…

Ry

He drained the rest of his coffee and closed the computer top. After the negative thoughts about his father, Etta’s e-mail lifted his mood. Despite having agreed with her to keep personal details private, moments like this one made him wish to see her face, hear the sound of her voice. He brushed his teeth, took his keys off the kitchen counter, and left for the party.

A few minutes later, he followed the road around the lake. His thoughts drifted to Angie. Enjoyable enough, certainly sexy, but lacking in something he couldn’t define. The details about her turned slowly in his mind as he drove. Just as he passed the public beach, a sudden realization hit; conversations with Etta carried a natural comfort, as if they’d been friends for a lifetime. Angie and he didn’t share many interests—at least out of the bedroom. Sure, they conversed, but sparks never flared.

Some days he wondered if he should ask Etta where she lived, or if they might meet. Before the idea could take hold, he pushed it from his mind. The risk of losing their friendship by pushing those boundaries was far too great.

* * * *

Veronica slipped the cobalt blue, sleeveless dress over her head, pulled up the side zipper, and stepped into stiletto sandals. She turned a complete circle in front of her full-length mirror while Boomer watched her from his seat on the area rug near her bed.

“What do you think, Boom-boom?”

His ears lifted at the same time his tail swished back and forth on the floor.

“I’ll take that as a thumbs-up.”

She smoothed out the silky fabric of her dress with a brush of her palm. Meg would agree; this outfit amped-up the sex appeal. It hugged the curve of her hips, dipped in the space between her shoulder blades, and showcased her tanned shoulders. Tonight, she’d stir the pot and see how Jim reacted.

A nervous sensation roiled inside her, twisting and turning, reviving old worries. She’d downplayed sexy in her appearance for some time, always looking nice but never what she’d call provocative. Fear of attracting the wrong kind of man had driven her wardrobe, which in hindsight was a little silly. The violent act wasn’t about a woman’s clothing. And yet…

She dabbed her favorite amber scent behind each ear and lifted the strand of dainty pearls Marc had given her for her twenty-fourth birthday. After their break-up, she’d stored them away, like everything else that happened during her life with him, and immediately afterward.

Afterward. The PartyTime invitation. Gary’s face. The possibility she’d see him again. All threatened to take her down, ruin her perfectly good mood about tonight.

She closed her eyes, thought about the e-mail she’d sent to Ry and her admission about how she wanted her life to be different. The self-help book made her conscious of the dust settling on the years of doubt and mistrust. Time she took out the feather duster! Her eyes popped open. A slightly more confident woman stared back from the mirror. She looked away before her usual wary self could resurface.

The clock on her nightstand showed if she left now, she’d have time for a glass of wine at the country club bar. Although she rarely did this, tonight a liquid confidence booster couldn’t hurt. Jim needed to close the pharmacy, but said he’d meet her there at half past seven. She’d welcome him with open arms to make up for her aloof behavior at Bernadette’s party.

She locked the house, got into her car, and followed the lake road. Fifteen minutes later, she reached the long driveway leading to the Southbridge Country Club. After parking in the near empty lot, she entered the large, old home now owned by the private club and went to the bar. The only patrons sat on the patio, watching the setting sun, while a golf match played on a small television positioned in one corner. She shimmied onto a tall stool and smiled at the bartender.

The young man stopped talking to a waitress and came over. “What can I get you?”

“A glass of merlot, please.”

An unusual sensation surrounded her, a sensual glow she didn’t normally possess. Was it from her dress, the sexier than usual shoes, or maybe the dim golden lights of this room? An urgency to see Jim made her shift in the seat. Oh yes, she planned to kiss him with a passion she’d been afraid to use for so long. She’d toss the reins of control and forget about the predictable, safe way they usually touched each other.

The bartender left her drink. She took a long sip to kick-start her courage. The alcohol burned to the center of her core and emotions she’d guarded for too long struggled for release. Where they’d lead, though, was anybody’s guess.

* * * *

Trent followed the sign into the country club driveway and passed the golf course. At the crest of a hill, he faced the large colonial house, with perfectly groomed shrubbery and what looked like a fresh coat of white paint on the clapboard siding. He pulled into the guest lot and was one of three cars. As he stepped out, he paused to take in the view of Blue Moon Lake, the sun on its westward descent while a few motorboats still darted around the water.

Entering through the front door, he spotted an easel holding a sign for the Jamieson party and followed the arrow. He started past the bar and paused. Angie must’ve left early.

He stood quietly at the doorway and studied her while she watched a golf match on a television over the bar. Hell, leggy brunettes were his kryptonite, most capable of making him fall to his knees. She sure fit the bill. Shoulder-length, dark curls fell softly against her neck—a new style he’d be sure to compliment later. A V-dip exposed her bare back, where the golden hue of her skin begged for his touch. He wanted to slip off the dress’s shoulder, press his lips to her soft skin, and… Okay, he’d better stop. They’d never get to the first course of dinner.

Any concerns he had about dating her faded, especially when he feasted on her slender calves and high heels. Tonight she’d dressed classy—sexy classy—a surprise given her usual tastes didn’t leave much to the imagination.

The bartender disappeared through a doorway, and Trent noted nobody else in the room. He quietly slipped behind her, running his hands along her waist, then taking a path to her flat abdomen. Leaning close to her ear, pausing to breathe in an intoxicating whiff of her exotic scent, he whispered, “Hey, sexy, you’re early.”

She tensed and her fingers slid over his, right where they rested on her abdomen, as if about to remove them. Instead, though, she leaned against his chest and smoothed her palm along his forearm.

He closed his eyes, nestled into her soft curls. Using the tip of his thumb, he caressed the smooth dress fabric and a small sound of pleasure escaped her lips. He cupped her cheek in his palm, gently turning her head to meet his lips. As he covered her mouth with his, she let out a small gasp, then a second later her slim fingers grazed his cheeks and guided him closer.

Trent kissed her with slow and gentle care, the sweet red wine on her tongue adding fire to his gut. He deepened the kiss, and she moaned into his mouth, igniting a fire in his belly for so much more. This kiss, so different than any they’d shared, affected him deeply and unexpectedly.

* * * *

This kiss. Oh, this heavenly kiss. Veronica patted herself on the back for pushing aside her first instinct to remove Jim’s hands from her waist in a public place. The way he’d whispered “sexy” drove a warm blast straight to the core of her belly.

This time when they kissed, his mouth molded perfectly to hers, not his usual awkward preamble. He was strong and demanding, yet not too pushy. His relaxed lips lulled her into a quick surrender, a surrender she strangely didn’t mind at all. His hand slipped to the back of her head, and she sighed into his mouth, wishing this kiss would never end. Slowly and surely, however, he pulled away, but she kept her eyes closed, clinging to the sensation a few seconds longer as his breath landed near her ear.

“God, baby,” he said, low and husky. “I can’t wait to get out of here with you later.”

Not. Jim’s. Voice.

Her eyes flashed open. She slapped her palms to the stranger’s chest, pushed him away. “What the hell!”

He stumbled back a few steps, his mouth agape and brows furrowed. “You’re not Angie.”

“Well, you’re not Jim! How dare you touch—”

“Calm down. I thought you were my date.” He blinked a few times. “Hey, I know you. From—”

“The elevator.” Her head spun as she stared into his crystal blue eyes. His gaze swept her from head to toe, making his dark lashes flutter. “Thank God you kept your lips to yourself then.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” His smiled dropped. “I’d never do that to a stranger.” With a slight cock of his head, a grin creased his cheeks and he lowered his voice. “Although I’m pretty sure we both enjoyed what just happened.”

Her face burned, as if set on fire. “How dare you suggest that I—”

“Hey! You guys are early.” Sophie entered the bar area, Duncan in tow.

Veronica tried to speak but found herself more flabbergasted when Sophie walked right up to Hotlips and they hugged. “Hi, Trent.”

Veronica pinched herself in a bid to wake from this surreal dream. Before she could gather her bearings, Duncan surrounded her in one of his big bear hugs. “Ronnie, you look beautiful. New dress?”

She blinked, nodded.

Sophie came over and hugged Veronica. “You okay?” she whispered in Veronica’s ear.

“I’m fine. Happy birthday.” From over Sophie’s shoulder, Trent watched them. Veronica narrowed her gaze, but he only grinned, like the devil might if he learned your biggest secret.

Duncan slung an arm around Trent’s shoulders. “I see you’ve met my brother.”

“Yes. I have.” The heat of her cheeks still simmered.

Trent winked in her direction, and a sizzling blast assaulted every inch of her skin. “Pearls made me feel right at home.”

“Pearl? That’s not my name.”

“Pearls,” he corrected, an extra emphasis on the
s
. “Like your necklace.”

She reached up and touched the smooth, hard jewels near her collarbone. A few other guests arrived and snagged Sophie and Duncan’s attention. While she clutched the hard beads and tried to digest what just went down, she glanced at Trent. He watched her closely, but a playful twinkle in his eyes suggested the case-of-mistaken-identity kiss hadn’t upset him a bit.

Trent inched closer and she braced herself, but for what, she wasn’t certain. He quietly said, “You wore pearls the first time we met, too.” He arched a single brow and tipped his head toward the doorway. “Come on. We’re heading to the banquet room.”

On move-in day during Veronica’s senior year at the University of New Hampshire, her new roommate had hung a glamorous poster of Mae West with the caption, “A man’s kiss is his signature.”

If Mae’s words rang true, then Trent Jamieson had perfect penmanship.

Veronica pretended to hang on every word of Jim’s remarks about the high price of prescription drugs. Her real attention, however, anchored across the busy banquet room, to Trent and his date, Angie…the woman he’d
meant
to kiss.

The pair stood close, Trent’s arm snaked around her slender waist. Veronica squinted and eyed the beauty from the top of her flowing sable hair to the bottom of her slinky sandals. How could he mistake her for Angie? Angie’s gentle sloped nose, thick dark brows, and high cheekbones, combined with generous size-D cups might land her a spot on the Victoria’s Secret runway or as a
Cosmopolitan
cover model. Veronica’s barely-C cups paled next to the other woman, and her pert nose was more
Ladies Home Journal
. They did have similar hair coloring and height. From behind, if Angie cut and curled hers, confusion seemed plausible.