ONCE IN A BLUE MOON
Lori Foster
One
Lunacy, that’s what they’d call it. Pure, plain, lock-em-up-and-throw-away-the-key lunacy. And all because of a stupid moon—the second full moon in July. If anyone knew, they’d label him crazy for sure. Not that he planned to tell anyone. He’d tried that once as a kid, and everyone had had a freakin’ shit fit, so no more.
But damn it, why now, when he had a full week of landscaping work, a book deadline, and a newspaper interview to get through?
As Stan Tucker walked down the clean sidewalk of Delicious, Ohio, enjoying the fresh air and bright sunshine of July, he did his best to block the voices. Not much of a problem there since most people’s thoughts were boring as hell. Grocery lists, appointments, and work woes vied with guilt, jealousy, and self-pity. It amazed him that mankind didn’t have more important things to think about.
He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it worse than half a day’s work and uneasy breezes had already done. Dirt and noticeable sweat stains covered his shirt, and dried mud clung to his boots. But despite his occasional celebrity status, he still worked hard, and if the interviewer didn’t like it, he could take a hike. His publicist would snarl and groan, but Stan just plain didn’t care.
As he passed people on the sidewalk, more voices battered his already fractured senses. Stan narrowed his eyes, again tuning them out. It didn’t take much effort to put their private thoughts, their personal conversations, on hold, but it bugged him that he had to bother. He’d hoped that moving to Delicious, away from the crowds and human congestion, would help. But thanks to the approach of the full moon, the second in this month, he’d become privy to the introspection of all who got close to him, and not a one of them had a thought worth hearing.
Disgusted, he shoved open the fancy, etched-glass double doors of the small bookstore, The Book Nook, owned by Jenna Rowan. The bookstore was across Jonathan Avenue and up one building from his garden center. Stan owned several acres that backed up to Golden Lake, with his home next door to the garden center. A short jaunt would take him to the town square and the fancy fountain erected by the citizens long before he’d moved in.
Thanks to the apple trees growing wild around the lake, the town’s structures had some whimsical names, including the Garden of Eden Salon, Johnny Appleseed Museum, and Granny Smith’s Apothecary. Old Orchard Inn, a charming but outdated B&B and restaurant, used the apple trees on their lot for daily fare offered to the guests. In the afternoon you could smell the scents of cooking applesauce, apple pie, and apple cider.
Stan appreciated the novelty of Delicious as much as the laid-back, easy pace.
The second he entered The Book Nook, chilled, conditioned air hit his heated face and the scent of fresh cinnamon got pulled deep into his lungs. Stan liked The Book Nook, every tidy shelf, polished tabletop, the scents, the colors . . . and the proprietor. Yeah, he especially liked her.
As usual, his gaze sought out Jenna, and he found her toward the back aisle, stocking new books on a shelf. Today she wore her honey blond hair twisted into a sloppy loop, clipped at the back of her head with a large gold barrette.
He soaked in the sight of her, making note of her long floral dress and flat leather sandals. He’d known Jenna about six months now, ever since he’d moved to Delicious to escape the chaos of Chicago. Thanks to him, her bookstore had become a tourist attraction, not that she gave him any special attention for it.
Jenna treated everyone, young and old, male and female, with a sort of maternal consideration that never failed to frustrate him. He wanted her, but she saw him only as a friend.
In nature and appearance, Jenna was the sweetest thing he’d ever met, caring and protective of one and all. He liked the fact that she was near his age, close to forty. She’d been widowed about three years now, yet she never dated, never gave any guy—especially not him—more than a friendly smile and platonic attention. With just the smallest encouragement from her, he’d make a move.
But she never encouraged him.
When he released the door, the bell chimed, and Jenna glanced up. Dangly earrings moved against her cheek, drawing attention to a dimple that formed when her mouth kicked up on one side. “Hello, Stan. All ready for your interview?”
She straightened, and the dress pulled taut over her sumptuous behind and thighs. Unlike younger women he knew, Jenna had a full figure meant to attract men. Feeling strangely intense, Stan strode toward her and for a moment, only a single moment, he forgot to bar the thoughts bombarding his brain.
Like a clap of thunder, Jenna’s nervousness struck him, but at the same time, giddy excitement rippled . . . and clear as a bell, he saw what she saw: him naked, sweaty, fucking—
Staggered, Stan drew up short. Her thoughts were so incredibly vivid that his jaw clenched and his stomach bottomed out on a rage of sexual desire.
Watching him, Jenna licked her lips and smoothed her skirt with visible uneasiness. “Stan? Are you all right?”
Incredible. She looked innocently concerned when Stan knew good and well what she’d been thinking. About him.
Why had she never let on?
As he continued to stand there, staring hard, absorbing her wanton musings, she laughed. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Her thoughts were so evident to him, he saw them with the same color and clarity of a moving picture. Her stomach was quivering, deep inside her, down low . . . Jesus. Out of self-preservation and to prevent a boner, Stan attempted to block her thoughts. Muscles tight, he took a step back, distancing himself physically as well as mentally.
It didn’t help. Sensation continued to roll over him with the effect of a tactile stroke. “Nothing’s wrong.” Except that he was suddenly turned on and they were in a public place and he had an interview to do any second now.
Her smile faltered. Her gaze skimmed down his body, over his crotch, then jerked upward again. “It’s probably the heat, then.”
He hadn’t suffered an unwanted erection since his teen years!
As casual and natural as ever, pretending she hadn’t noticed the bulge in his jeans, she breezed out of the aisle and strode past him. Buttons marched up the front of her dress, from the hem to a scooped neck, and she’d left several undone all the way to her knees. With her long stride, the dress fanned out around her, showing smooth, shapely calves and a sexy ankle bracelet. “Would you like something to drink? I’ve just made lemonade. Or we have tea, of course.”
Lemonade? No, he wanted her. Right now. Maybe on the counter or up against one of the book aisles. Watching the sensual sway of that sweet behind, he almost missed her panicked thought. Oh, God. Did he see me looking at him?
He soaked in her response to him—and knew that he’d have to have her. Soon. Tonight if he could manage it. Hell, if she’d shown even the slightest interest, they’d already be intimately involved. But she hadn’t. She kept her attraction to him private, so private that if it weren’t for the blue moon, the second full moon this hot July, he still wouldn’t have a clue.
She
