with no close family, the idea of her children pleased him. He liked kids—always had.
Jenna was a terrific mom, and that appealed to him as much as everything else. It emphasized her loving nature, her sense of responsibility, and the loyalty she had for those she loved. Important qualities. More important than her sexy good looks—which he appreciated, too.
Filled with wariness, she licked her lips and said, “Ryan would love that, I’m sure.”
Stan leaned one elbow on the table and cupped her face with his right hand. “I’m glad. But what about you?”
“What about me?”
“You enjoy boating?” His fingertips brushed over her cheek, down to her throat and across the very top of her chest. “You’re so fair. You don’t get out in the sun much, do you?”
Her eyes sank closed. “Stan, you have to stop touching me.”
“But I don’t want to stop.” And if she’d be truthful, she wanted more touches, not less.
She drew an unsteady breath. “I don’t really want you to stop.”
Stan stared in amazement.
“But I can’t think when you touch me.”
Her honesty astounded him. And left him shaken. He thought of his ex-wife, of the lies he’d learned during a blue moon—no, forget that. He’d gotten over her and her deceptions ages ago, and he wouldn’t mar his time with Jenna by thinking of that.
“All right.” Stan dropped his hand, but said, “I like it that you tell me what you’re feeling.”
Horrified, she gave a shaky laugh. “Oh, no, never that. Well, maybe some of what I’m thinking, but not all.”
A predator’s delight curled through him. Too late, sweetheart, he could have told her, but she wasn’t ready to hear about his whacky relationship with the moon. He didn’t want to send her running from him with truths she couldn’t handle.
“Why not?” he asked, just to tease her. “What is it you’re thinking, Jenna?”
“I’m thinking that this is happening awfully fast.”
“We’ve known each other six months.”
“I know. So . . . Why now?”
Deliberately dragging things along, Stan took a bite of his croissant and contemplated her while chewing. Flustered, Jenna nibbled on her own sandwich while she waited.
“Tomorrow night, there’ll be a full moon,” Stan finally told her, deciding it might be best to ease her into the idea of his lunar-inspired intuition.
“And so you’re going to change into a lycanthrope?”
“A werewolf ?” He hated that stupid legend. Whenever he researched the moon, he invariably ran into the myths.
She grinned. “I remember the whole wolf transformation really ramped up Jack Nicholson’s libido in the movie.” She toyed with her sandwich. “Are you telling me you’re the same? Should I expect you to sprout hair on your back and start howling at the moon?”
Stan gave her a long look. “I might howl, strictly out of sexual frustration, you understand. But I won’t actually turn into an animal.” He ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “Hell, I’m hairy enough as it is. Any more would be overkill.”
Her gaze went to his chest, then his forearms. Her voice again grew quiet, a sure sign of her mood. “You’re just hairy enough. It’s sexy. Very manly.” Then she shook her head. “So tell me, what does a full moon have to do with you kissing me twice, when in six months, you’ve never given me a second look?”
Disbelief left him speechless, but he could tell by her expression—as well as her thoughts—that she believed what she said.
“Jenna, honey, there’s not a man alive who doesn’t give you second looks. And third and fourth looks, for that matter.”
“Right,” she said in exaggerated tolerance. “I’m almost forty. I’ve had two kids. I’m hardly a sex symbol.”
“Wrong. You’re incredibly sexy. Warm, friendly . . . and sweet enough to eat.”
He tacked that last on just to prod her, and sure enough, she caught her breath—then got exactly the visual he wanted. Watching her, seeing what she saw, made him feel it almost as if he had her spread out on his bed, completely naked, twisting with pleasure while he showed her his favorite way to make a woman come.
“Damn.” He rubbed his face, then gulped down half his coke. He had to stop tormenting himself.
“Stan?” His name emerged as a thread of sound, filled with longing.
Nodding, jaw tight, Stan said, “You see?” He struggled to keep the harshness, the savage need, from his tone. “The moon affects us all, Jenna, did you know that? It’s called the Lunar Effect and can be responsible for everything from mental disorders to heightened awareness.”
She didn’t dispute him, but then, her mind was still on other, more carnal matters, making him nuts.
Stan took her hand again. “Listen to me, Jenna. Studies have proven that more crimes, more births, more conceptions, more animal bites, and more unintentional poisonings all occur during a full moon. The earth and sun and moon are all lined up, causing higher tides, and you have to believe if the moon can do that, it can damn sure work on our glands, our organs, and our moods.”
She blinked hard. “So . . . you’re interested in me because of the moon?”
“No way.” He’d been hooked from the first day he saw her, he just hadn’t realized that the feeling was mutual. “Didn’t you hear what I said about you being sexy? I’ve wanted you since day one. Make no mistakes about that. And the more I get to know you, the more I want you. But maybe it’s the moon that’s bringing us together, that’s helping us to admit it.”
Stan waited, but she didn’t deny wanting him, and something strangely close to anxiety uncoiled and relaxed in his chest.
Yet her lack of a denial wasn’t enough. He squeezed her fingers. “Tell me you want me, Jenna,” he commanded. “Say it.”
Marylou chose that inauspicious moment to come bebopping back to the table. “You guys ready for your pie?” She eyed Jenna’s uneaten food and raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like the chicken salad?”
“Oh, uh . . .” Flushed, Jenna picked up her croissant. “It’s wonderful, I’ve just . . .”
Swallowing his curse, Stan said, “Give us ten more minutes, Marylou, then bring two slices of pie and two coffees.”
Jenna protested. “I’ll need to get back to the store soon.”
“I locked up.” Stan pulled her keys from his pocket and slid them across the table. “The reporter’s long gone. The bookstore is safe.” He pressed his feet farther under the booth, letting his calves brush hers. “Stay for pie.”
