Under a Silver Moon

by Barbara Sheridan

  “Those aren’t on loan.” Koji grinned at her. “At least, if they were, that would be a first for Imai-san.”

  “You’re kidding me.” Her eyes widened, and she reached up to touch her throat where the jeweled choker was fastened in place.

  “Those are gifts.” Koji reached between them to brush some of the hair away from her eyes. “And well-deserved ones after all the shit he was trying to pull.”

  Kim didn’t know what to say. No one had ever given her anything so precious, and Imai had gone shopping himself for these things. Including the undergarments that continued to wrap her body so sensually. She took a sip of her champagne and glanced over at Imai, her heart beating wildly.

  Michiko Izumi held him in a deep conversation. In Japanese, Kim noticed. The woman talked a mile a minute, laughing coyly every once in a while when Imai managed to get a word in.

  Crestfallen, Kim looked down at the table and sighed softly. Why did she keep doing this to herself ‑‑ getting her hopes up and then having them crash down around her?

  Kim pushed her champagne glass away. She was getting drunk and thinking foolish things. How else could she explain the silly turn her thoughts had taken? Imai Shimizu was used to buying women things; the way the models had fawned over him was proof enough of that. It was total stupidity on her part to think it meant something. Why, she’d only just met the man.

  She turned toward the salad the waiter set before her and concentrated on that until Koji and Toru began asking her about herself.

  “Have you ever been to a fashion show like this?” Toru asked, brushing back some of the shoulder-length strands of black hair from his eyes. Behind him on the runway, the first set of models took the stage with some of the most glamorous, if not revealing, off-the-shoulder evening gowns.

  “As a member of the audience?” Kim shook her head. “But I’ve done makeup and styling at a couple of shows in L.A.”

  “She’s very talented,” Koji added, pointing with his glass over to Imai. “Look, she’s made him more enjoyable to be around already.”

  Toru laughed, flashing Kim a sweet, crooked smile that was contagious. “Yeah, he’s usually a lot fussier than this,” he said loud enough to get Imai’s attention and grinned wider when the singer gave him a snooty look.

  Putting her professional front forward, Kim waved off the playful comments and sipped at her water. “All right, enough teasing of my patient, boys,” she said.

  “I wanted to ask, Donovan-san.” Toru picked at the salad on his plate. “What made you decide to become a nurse?”

  “And put up with people like Imai-kun for a living,” Koji added in a hushed, joking whisper.

  Kim glanced over at Imai, who was looking at something Izumi had written on the back of her menu card. “Being sick or injured is bound to make people irritable. It’s just something you have to work with.”

  “But why a nurse?” Toru asked again. “Being a stylist and a nurse seem so far apart in careers.”

  “It was my mother,” Kim said quietly. “She was back home in Kentucky ‑‑ across the country from L.A. ‑‑ and she’d been sick a long time but hadn’t told me. She didn’t want me to worry. She had a visiting nurse who finally took it upon herself to contact me and tell me the truth. I was able to take my daughter back home to visit my mom before she died, and I saw how wonderful the nurse, Emma, was with her. She made my mother’s last weeks peaceful, and I wanted to be able to do that for someone else.”

  Kim slowly became aware of the silence on her right hand side. She glanced over and found Imai watching her closely, his conversation with the woman from the studio forgotten. In fact, she was giving Kim a jealous kind of glare.

  Imai moved his leg off her lap and leaned forward, gently tracing his fingertips along the side of her face. “Let’s go,” he breathed so softly she could barely hear him. She felt herself leaning in, drawn by the seductive allure of his voice and the surprisingly gentle look in his eyes. “Just the two of us.”

  When he moved to rise, Izumi started to protest in Japanese. Imai silenced her with only a look, and Kim helped him to stand.

  “Goodnight, I guess.” Toru waved at them, a coy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Koji and the others also said goodnight, but Kim only half heard them. Her entire attention was on Imai as they made their way across the room toward the exit.

  Chapter Eight

  “You’re in pain again, aren’t you?” Kim asked after the person who’d stopped them to chat with Imai left.

  “A little, nothing serious.”

  Kim doubted that, especially when the singer placed his arm around her shoulder for support. “You shouldn’t have done that performance. Those models must have jarred your leg with their ‘playing.’”

  “Are you jealous, Donovan-san?”

  “Certainly not! I’m concerned for my patient is all. Especially after that fall you took.”

  “That fall you broke ‑‑”

  They were interrupted again once they left the main event room. Imai barely heard the magazine publisher rattle on about the jump in circulation thanks to the exclusive coverage his magazine had of ChildsPrey’s American tour. The man was eager to arrange another exclusive, and Imai directed him to Michiko Izumi.

  “Why did you do that?” Imai asked when the man left them.

  “Do what?”

  “Why did you move the way you did and take the worst of the fall?”

  “Instinct?” Kim said as if not quite sure herself. “It happened so fast I just reacted.”

  “There’s much to be said for reaction, isn’t there?” Imai stroked the side of her flushed cheek with his fingertips, but pulled away when he noticed a photographer in the distance.

  Kim bit her lower lip to keep from sighing or making some other frustrated noise. When the photographer asked for a quick picture, she moved out of the way and pretended not to hear Imai call after her.

  Outside, the evening was starting to get nippy. Kim waited at the top of the steps, grateful almost all of the chaos had subsided since the start of the show. Only a few security guards, limo drivers, and valets stood about with a handful of guests who were either coming in late or on their way out early. Kim shivered in the cool air, wishing she had a shawl to ward off the chill.

  “Here.” A jacket draped over her shoulders, and she turned to find Imai standing behind her.

  “I’m fine, really.” Kim looked back out toward the street, but her hands tightened around the jacket.

  “You want to say what’s on your mind, you should,” Imai replied. “You’ve been so good about that already.”

  Kim pressed her lips together. “I don’t understand you,” she finally admitted, her tone sharper than she meant it to be. “One minute you’re charming, the next you’re quick to pull away or say something selfish.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Kim made a dismissive gesture with her hand. What was the point in discussing it anyway?

  The aloof turn Kim’s attitude took bothered Imai, though he was reluctant to acknowledge it. Yet when the driver brought the hired limousine around she was quick to move in close and tell him to let her help support his weight going down the stairs.

  “You could have been hurt badly,” he remarked once they were settled in the back of the car, Kim sitting in the seat facing him. She turned her attention from the window with a questioning look. “Back at Harada’s, when you caught me. You could have been hurt badly.”

  She shrugged it off. “I told you it was just a reaction. I couldn’t let you fall.” She turned back to the window.

  They rode in silence. Imai was tempted to grab a drink from the wet bar, but didn’t, so he began to stare out the opposite window until Kim’s soft voice pulled him around.

  “I’ll take these things back tomorrow,” she said, indicating the gown and jewelry. “The underwear I can’t, but you can deduct the cost of them from my pay. I want you to deduct it from my pa
y.”

  “Did you make them wet?” he asked lightly. He regretted it when she gave him a disgusted look and turned away again.

  “I was teasing, Donovan-san.”

  “It was rude.”

  “But true, ne?”

  She made a tsk, tsk sound but didn’t look over at him.

  “If it’s any consolation, you make me hard.” That made her look, and he smirked when he caught her stopping herself from looking at his crotch.

  He ran his hand down his thigh and softly sang part of the song he’d performed.

  Your secret whispers echo in my ear

  Unseen hands touching, teasing

  The fire takes control

  I spill in the dark

  Into you, without you.

  “I bet I could file sexual harassment charges against you, Shimizu-san,” she said sharply, looking away once more.

  “But you won’t,” he replied as the car pulled to a stop at an intersection.

  “You’re that confident?” She turned back and fixed him with an icy stare.

  “I am.” With a bit of effort he moved to sit beside her only to have her scoot away closer to the window. “There’s a chemistry between us, why deny it?”

  “Because you’re my employer? Because I have ethics, even if you don’t?”

  Imai chuckled under his breath. “I suppose I deserved that.” He leaned back into the leather seat and rested his elbow on the armrest. Thirsty, but once again stopping himself from taking the small bottle of Cointreau from the mini-bar, he took a mineral water instead.

  He noticed Kim staring and held up the bottle of water. “Someone said I shouldn’t drink alcohol while taking medications,” Imai said with a playful smirk.

  “There you go again ‑‑ surprising me,” Kim said softly.

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “It could be either, I suppose.”

  Imai tipped his water bottle in a mini salute. Kim faced the window and he settled back, watching the play of light from passing vehicles and illuminated signs on her ivory skin. She was a stunning mature woman, certainly unlike those who usually attracted his notice. He knew from the file Michiko had faxed to him that Kim was a single mother with a nearly grown daughter. The background check the record company had performed indicated that she hadn’t had a man in at least five years.

  “Did it turn you on?” he asked in a hushed tone.

  She jerked her head around. “What?”

  He leaned toward her. “When you saw me last night in my room. Did it turn you on to see me masturbate?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Licking his lips, Imai shifted in his seat.

  Just remembering the sight of her at the foot of his bed while he climaxed brought the start of a throbbing ache deep in his groin.

  He traced his finger over the zipper at the front of his pants, his cock hardening underneath the leather. “I can do it again,” he breathed. “Or better yet…”

  Imai’s sentence trailed off as he let his body language communicate his desire.

  “I can’t believe you,” Kim said. “You have all sorts of women clamoring for your attention. Why are you doing this to me?”

  “Because I want you?”

  It was Kim’s turn to smirk. “Oh, please. I have no desire to be yet another notch on the back of your belt buckle, Shimizu-san.” She turned back to the window and folded her arms across her middle.

  “That’s not fair.” Imai frowned, sipping at his water. “You’re holding the fact I’m very attracted to you against me.”

  He noticed her swallow, the motion a delicate flutter at her throat. She refused to look in his direction, regardless of the impact his words seemed to have. “Now you can tell me what’s fair or not?” Kim laughed dryly. “Some nerve.”

  “Now you’re trying to ignore what I said.” Imai rested his chin in one hand, absently stroking his other hand along his thigh.

  Kim faced him as the car slowed to a stop. “And I meant what I said ‑‑ I’m not a conquest for you to add to your list.”

  “I see.” Imai looked away, an emotion beyond disappointment sinking in his stomach. The idea started to occur to him that in less than two days he’d fucked things up with the first woman he’d felt anything more than a blind, sexual attraction to. Kim Donovan was someone he wanted to know more about, someone whose company he enjoyed. Used to women throwing themselves at his feet ‑‑ or in between his knees ‑‑ he’d taken it for granted that she would do the same.

  While many didn’t put up with his shit for long, Kim was still here despite his foolish efforts to make her life miserable. Even now, placing the care of her patient over her pride, she helped him out of the car and into the house. She would’ve helped him upstairs, but he refused.

  “Goodnight, Donovan-san.” He turned away and headed up the stairs alone.

  Kim remained at the bottom of the stairs until she heard the bedroom door close, then made her way to the guesthouse. As she took off the evening gown, she thought of how easy this would all be had she been hired by some aging, unattractive rocker instead of one who was young and vibrant and oozed sexuality and desire beyond measure.

  Folding the gown, she placed it in a shallow wooden storage box she’d found in the closet, then set the shoes and handbag in the box next to it. She slipped on the satin robe she’d brought from home and finally removed the beautiful diamond jewelry Imai had given her to complete the ensemble. Before slipping into a pair of flip-flops, Kim glanced at her watch. It wasn’t near midnight, but Cinderella’s time at the ball was definitely over.

  Kim took the clothing back up to the house, planning to leave it on one of the tables in the foyer until she remembered Imai’s pain meds were still in the clutch bag. He’d probably need them tonight or when he woke. Breathing a soft sigh, she took the box upstairs and knocked lightly on his door. Getting no answer, she tried the door and found it open. She heard water running in the bathroom. Well at least she wouldn’t have to face him. She set the box with the clothing on the divan and took the pain meds from the clutch to set on the nightstand.

  The water stopped running, and she froze halfway to the bed. Imai came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but silk boxers. His sharp intake of breath was the only thing to break the sudden stillness of their surroundings. Kim held up the plastic bottle. “I forgot to give you these.” She walked around the far side of the bed and set the bottle on the nightstand. Imai approached the opposite side and stood there watching her.

  Clearing her throat, Kim motioned to the box. “I brought back the gown and jewelry so you can return them whenever.”

  “They’re gifts.”

  “It wouldn’t be right for me to take such expensive things.”

  “You don’t like them. They don’t suit your taste.”

  Kim forced herself to look away from his seductive, dark eyes. “No. They’re beautiful things, the most beautiful I’ve ever worn. It’s just…” She shrugged. “It just doesn’t seem right.”

  “Such commendable high morals, Donovan-san.”

  Kim looked to him again. “Please don’t do that. Don’t try to make me feel like there’s something wrong with me because I’m not like those models falling at your feet to do your bidding.”

  The corners of the singer’s sensual mouth dipped downward. “And please don’t you make unfounded assumptions about me or my motivations.”

  “I…” Kim let the words die away. There wasn’t any point in apologizing for something she wasn’t ashamed of. How could she not make assumptions, especially when his actions reinforced her initial impressions?

  Imai tugged the bedcovers on his side, and she turned down the other side for him as well and fluffed up the pillows. “Do you need me to help you in?”

  “I don’t need you to, but I’d like you to,” he said softly, his gaze fastened on hers.

  Kim took a step back as he came around to her side of the bed. She was conscious of the way he watched
her as she lifted his broken leg so he could situate himself in the middle of the bed. She gasped when he seized her wrist as she moved to pull the blanket up over his legs.

  “What are you afraid of, kimi? Do I look like some rapist you’ve seen on the news?”

  “No, I ‑‑”

  “What then?” he interrupted. “Does my touch excite you?” He slid his fingers to rest over the pulse point in her wrist and smiled. “It does. But then you do the same to me.”

  She followed his gaze as it slid down to his crotch. She jerked her attention away from the danger zone and fought to contain the wild impulse to touch him. “Let’s not go there. I’d like to keep this relationship strictly professional.” Kim tried to move, but Imai kept his hold on her wrist.

  “Your pride speaks eloquently, but your body betrays you, doesn’t it?”

  With his free hand, he reached up and brushed the backs of his fingers across the front of her robe where her nipple clearly protruded. “You shouldn’t,” she whispered.

  “We both want the same thing. You can’t deny that.”

  Imai’s rich voice was like a caress, and when he slid his hand from her breast downward, Kim couldn’t make herself turn from the touch. His long fingers skimmed her torso, sliding down across her hip, then over to work in between the folds of her robe. She trembled when his fingers found skin, and when he slipped them down further to brush over her mound, barely covered by the skimpy thong, she whimpered.

  He grinned and she felt weak in the knees. “I knew you’d made it wet,” he teased, working his index finger beneath the thin silk. “Mmmm, you shave there. Interesting.”

  Kim swallowed even though her mouth was growing drier by the second. “Oh God.” She sighed when Imai’s fingers brushed the length of her wet slit.

  He chuckled and withdrew his hand though that was the last thing she wanted to happen. When he brought his fingers to his lips and licked them a jolt shot through her.