Blue Moon Over Bliss Lake

by Cate Masters

  “We weren’t kids. I was old enough to have your….” She went mum. Don’t bring up babies! Back then, she’d dreamed of it, having at least three of his children. Not right away, of course, but if he hadn’t gone off to college, she probably would’ve given in, had sex with him—amazing, mind-blowing sex, most likely—and with her luck, gotten pregnant.

  Then you’d be a mom now. The pang of regret ping-ponged through her.

  Barefoot—when did he take off his shoes?—Carter sidled up to her, and caught hold of her hips. “Yeah, you were old enough to get pregnant. And I was more than willing to give it a try. Once or twice a day.”

  She’d thought about it. If he only knew how close she’d come to taking that leap, so many times. “We were too young.”

  He tilted his head as if readying to kiss her. “We’re not now.”

  The pang deepened, and she turned away, unable to face him. “Right. We’re not kids, we’re adults with obligations.”

  A deep sigh. “What if I told you—”

  “Stop. Don’t go there.” Panic welled and nearly choked her. God, he looked so sexy. What was wrong with his wife? How could she say he wasn’t a real man? His black hair fell across his forehead. The black sweater he wore accented his ebony eyes and clung to his chest. She wanted to peel it off him to run her hands all over him. Earlier, she’d almost given in to those urges.

  His mouth twisted, tightened, then released. “All right. But can I go here?” He leaned in to nip her ear.

  A groan escaped. “Carter.” She’d meant it as a warning, but it sounded like a plea. For more.

  “How about here?” He planted a trail of slow, soft kisses down her neck.

  Heated shivers coursed through her. She tried to say his name again, but groaned instead. His arms had wound around her and she felt safe. The safety zone unleashed her wild side. She could do anything she wanted, and it would be all right.

  When his teeth dug into her shoulder, desire bit into her. Inhaling sharply, she said, “It’s late.” She had to finish baking. Update the blog. She had to—

  He drew back to look at her. “It’s not too late for us, Sierra. We belong together.”

  How did he always say exactly what she needed to hear?

  ***

  Sierra blinked against the bright sunshine as the doorbell chimed, rousing her from a sleep deeper than she’d had in a long time. Carter spooned her, his arm slung lazily around her, his leg entwined with hers.

  Easing from his embrace, she put on her robe. The doorbell rang again. Who’d be so insistent on Saturday morning? Maybe it’s an emergency.

  Without checking, she yanked it open.

  A legion of flashes blinded her.

  “Sierra O’Brien?” A woman thrust a microphone into her face. “Or is it Thomas?”

  She wasn’t sure which anymore. “Yes. Why?”

  “Is Carter Grove here?” someone asked.

  “Are you sleeping with him?” asked another, and shoved the microphone toward her.

  Oh, God. Reporters. She slammed the door. She should have known better than to open up without looking first, but she’d assumed someone she knew stood on the other side. This was Bliss, for goodness sakes, not a freaking reality show.

  A shadow passed in front of the window. How rude! She jerked the curtains closed.

  Carter rushed in, holding a sheet around him. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s a nightmare.”

  He peered out between the curtains. “Ah, hell.”

  “And other expletives.” Worse ones.

  A smile smoothed his worry lines.

  “You think it’s funny?” Oops, she hadn’t meant to screech that last bit.

  “No. I always loved that you have trouble saying curse words.”

  “My language might rival a sailor’s very soon.”

  “I doubt it.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Good morning.”

  The long, warm kiss they shared swept away all her worries. For now. “Good morning. But what are we going to do?”

  He arched a brow. “Keep ourselves occupied until they go away?”

  She pulled him closer. Tempting. “That might take days. Or longer.”

  “Sounds good to me.” He smiled.

  She touched her lips to his. “Me, too. But I can’t stand the thought of them lurking outside. And my parents are expecting me later at the shop.”

  He rubbed his nose against hers with a slow shake of his head. “Those reporters will hound you if they see you go.”

  “Why are they here?” Why now? It made no sense.

  “They probably got wind of the divorce proceedings. And….” He winced.

  “And what?” Oh, God, please don’t drop a bomb on me now.

  He exhaled. “I’m selling my company.”

  Her mind blanked. “You are?”

  With a nod, he pressed his lips together. “It’s time to try something new.” His brows flicked up with mischief as his caresses moved down her back, past her rear.

  Oh yeah. She couldn’t wait to experiment with him. “What should we do about them?” She glanced toward the window.

  “I’ll leave, and hopefully they’ll follow me.”

  She groaned. “I’m terrible at subterfuge and lying.”

  “Another thing I love about you.” He eased in to kiss her.

  Love? Her stomach clenched. She slipped from his embrace. “I guess we should get dressed.”

  “Already?”

  The disappointment in his voice pricked at her, but she headed for the bedroom. “I can’t stand them surrounding my house. I feel like slime.”

  He strode after her. “You know you’re not.”

  After sleeping with a married guy? “That’s what they’ll make me out to be. I hate it.” Taking no chances, she closed the blinds, and then the curtains.

  He sobered. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.”

  “No, it’s mine. I should never have—”

  “Don’t say that. Don’t feel that way.” He caught her in his arms again. “Look, I can’t promise they won’t bother us anymore. It’s just the way the world works. They might print something about us, or not, if they track down some actual celebrity news.”

  She relaxed into his embrace. “Guess it’s part of the territory.” His territory, unfamiliar to her. At least his easy strokes along her back helped her forget them and remember that being with him was worth a little discomfort. She wanted to kiss away his lopsided wince.

  “The thing is, once they’re used to seeing us together, they’ll disappear.” His eyes searched hers. “Do you trust me?”

  God, the way he looked at her—so sincere, so open and loving. How could she not? “Always.”

  “Good.” He eased in for a long kiss. “Then I’ll see you tonight?”

  “I can’t wait.” After a squeeze, she released him. “And Rosalie’s promised a hell of a show. Her words.” Her attempt to lighten the mood sure fell flat. Why did he suddenly look so nervous?

  “Yeah. It should be.” He tossed away the robe and avoided her gaze as he reached for his jeans.

  Good thing or she might have stopped him from zipping up and taken him into the shower with her instead.

  Fully dressed, he grabbed his jacket, gave her a quick kiss, and rushed outside.

  Flashes went off like mini fireworks and three crews swarmed after him. Damn reporters. If it weren’t for them, she could hold him in her arms for days, like he’d said. The night before had been so wonderful, sweeter than she’d imagined. Each time she remembered one of his kisses, a whisper, the mind-blowing way he made love to her, she fell into a dreamy bliss.

  Damn the media for breaking it. She wouldn’t let anything interfere from now on. But she couldn’t help wondering about the way he seemed to be hiding something. What are you up to, Carter Grove?

  Whatever it was, it gave her a good feeling. She wouldn’t doubt him again.

  ***

  Thank God for 300 hor
sepower. After he’d hopped inside, the BMW responded to Carter’s demand for speed with ease and, in seconds, the media vans trailed off and disappeared from his rearview mirror. Definitely time for the car to go. He couldn’t wait until CeCe picked it up that weekend. Then he’d get something less pretentious. Something that complemented jeans and running shoes.

  He sped to his parents’ home and ran in through the side door. At the kitchen island, his parents set down their coffee cups in unison.

  “Garage,” he puffed. “I need to put the car in.” Hell, when had he last been so nervous? And not about the reporters who’d scrambled to their vans to chase him. He had to make that night one that Sierra would remember forever.

  His father hit a button in the hall leading to the garage. The door creaked open. “I’ll move the truck, and you pull in.”

  Thank God, too, for parents who asked no questions. Yet. Eventually, they would. But he’d have no problem answering when the time came.

  In minutes, they’d switched parking spaces and stood inside the kitchen again.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “We’re going to the market soon,” his mom said. “Anything you need?”

  “A divorce.” Long ago.

  His father shrugged on his coat. “I thought you were going to sign the papers.”

  “Barbara began demanding more money, claiming abandonment, mental distress, a whole slew of other nonsense.”

  “But she’s been begging for a divorce?” His mother punched her arms into her coat.

  “Who knows? Maybe the Unhappy Housewives producers want more drama.”

  She tugged on a hat. “Or she’s just a greedy witch.”

  He grinned. “Mom, I’m surprised at you.”

  Winding a scarf around her neck, she said, “That woman gave me a bad feeling from day one.”

  “I was hoping for a clean, quick end but she forced me to pull a few aces from my sleeve. Barb should have gotten the new papers yesterday.” It couldn’t end soon enough.

  “Aces?” Dad asked.

  “The guy I found her with in my bed agreed to testify about their affair in all its sordid detail. It seems his male modeling career hit a dead end so he’s soaking me for cash but, at this point, it’s worth it.”

  “Isn’t it his word against hers?”

  “Not with the dated photos he sent. Seems Barb loves to expose herself in all sorts of ways.” The pictures hadn’t surprised him. Nor even upset him.

  His mother’s eyes narrowed. “Were they…sexting?”

  He couldn’t help but laugh at her disgust at even uttering the word. “Among other things, yes.” Which reminded him to check his cell. Not wanting any interruptions the night before, he’d turned it off.

  Switching the phone back on, he found six missed calls, all from his soon-to-be ex-wife. Three voice mails from her, none worth listening to, he’d bet. He preferred a more direct approach. “Let’s see if she’s had a change of heart.” He pressed the call button.

  His parents waved on their way out.

  Barbara picked up on the first ring. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Busy.” As if she cared.

  “Let me guess. Little Suzy Homemaker has tied your briefs in a love knot.”

  He heaved a sigh. “Did you get the papers?”

  “Yes.” Her voice broke on the single word. “You’re trying to ruin me.”

  “Stop it. You couldn’t wait to divorce me until you realized I wanted out, too.”

  “They’ll fire me, you know.” Her voice grew shrill. “I can’t be part of the cast of Unhappy Housewives if I’m not married.”

  Ah, so that was the real reason for the delay. “Guess you’ll have to get a new job.”

  “I can’t believe how cruel you are,” she shrieked.

  Her response forced him to hold the phone away from his ear until the noise subsided. “It’s hardly cruel to give you what you’ve repeatedly asked for. Sign the papers, or I hand the photos of you and Alejandro over to my attorney. And I’ll ask for compensation for mental anguish, which the judge will grant when he sees you two in my own bed.”

  “Bastard prick.” Her vehemence snarled through the cell.

  Leave it to Barb to reduce a conversation to ridiculous insults. “Remember that old saying about reaping what you sow?”

  “You didn’t exactly cultivate a garden of love, baby.”

  The truth hit him and it hurt. She was right. He’d given up long ago, and let their marriage coast until they’d drifted completely apart. And then she’d capitalized on it by signing on to that idiotic reality show, crucifying him on every episode. Of course they’d ended up separated. Not that he’d admit it to her; she was probably taping the conversation, hoping he’d say something she could use against him.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt you, Barb. Sign the papers. I’ll give you a fair settlement, but I want my life back. No more negotiating, no more arguing. If I don’t receive the signed copy this afternoon, those photos go public.” He ended the call.

  Bastard prick? Maybe he really had become one. He wouldn’t have to be if she’d be reasonable.

  But it was time for him to start sowing again. This time, he’d do it right.

  His cell rang again. His assistant, Karen, thanked him for her son’s gift. “He’s played it nonstop since he opened it,” she said. “You really shouldn’t have.”

  “It’s to make up for all the holidays I missed.”

  “Are you all right, Mr. Grove?”

  “Fine,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

  “The gifts, for one thing. Thank you, but they’re too extravagant.”

  “You’re welcome, but is something else wrong?”

  She sighed. “The past few days, your wife’s called about twenty times.”

  Hearing his assistant refer to Barbara as his wife grated his nerves. “Next time Barbara calls, remind her that she’s soon to be my ex-wife and hang up on her. I’ll tell her attorney to advise her not to bother you again.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Grove.”

  She sounded so relieved, he hated to bring up the next subject. “Karen, I have some news.” Hopefully she’d take it well.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m selling the company and staying in Bliss.” It felt good to say it out loud, to finally admit it, especially to himself.

  Her silence was worse than a scream. Finally, she asked, “What about the office?”

  “A condition of the sale is that the new owners keep you on, plus give you a generous raise. Carl had no problem with that.”

  “Thank you. But are you sure you’re all right, Mr. Grove?”

  “Never better. Why do you ask?”

  “You’re different.”

  How had his assistant picked up on that, but not his wife? “Yes, I am. And I intend to stay this way.”

  “I’m glad. I can hear you smile. If you don’t mind my saying so, I haven’t heard that since, well, never.”

  Had he been such a bastard? Or just oblivious? Is there a difference? “Happy New Year, Karen.”

  After disconnecting, he picked up the guitar. Luckily, his parents had put up with the constant practicing, though he’d kept his singing at the lowest volume, just barely audible.

  After last night, how could he still be nervous as hell? It’ll work. It has to. The lyrics fit perfectly—The Who’s, Love Reign O’er Me. He’d waited for Sierra for too long, and that night he would throw his heart out to her. Was it possible for them to have what they had before? Could it feel as real as it had when they were kids? No, it will be better. He’d work at it this time, make sure of it, invest his time and energy in their relationship.

  His cell buzzed with a text message. He opened it, checked the graphic and smiled at the single word: Done.

  Tonight, when he sang he’d send her a subliminal message. If she loved him, she’d understand.

  ***

  In the bathroom of The Sweet Spot, Sierra changed from her pink polo
into a fuzzy red sweater. Why had she agreed to stay until the end of Rosalie’s show tonight?

  She frowned at her image in the mirror and plucked at the newly layered hairdo, a last-minute indulgence, but felt like the right thing to do. She’d finally learned to go with those instincts. Going against them had only brought her grief and loneliness for the past ten years.

  With renewed intent, she strode out into the shop, past where Rosalie adjusted the stool at the microphone.

  “You’re still on my crap list,” she teased.

  Rosalie flashed a brilliant smile. “I’m already on Santa’s naughty list for next year, too. But you’ll be so glad you’re staying tonight. It’s a special holiday show.”

  “For a little while.” She stole a glance outside, half expecting to see Carter on the other side of the window, smiling back at her.

  “No,” Rosalie said. “I need you here till the end. The finale’s the best part.”

  She held back a grin. “You’re up to something.”

  Rosalie feigned indignance. “You’re my best friend, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” Thankfully, the years away hadn’t changed that much.

  “Then you’ll stay?”

  “Of course. Knock ’em dead.” She settled at a table near the Christmas tree. Where’s Carter? She thought he’d show up by then.

  Throughout two sets, Rosalie mixed Christmas classics with Christmas rock, and the audience devoured it like holiday candy.

  Entering the shop, Shotsie waved, shuffled through the crowd and sat beside her. “Rosalie’s wonderful, isn’t she?”

  “Amazing,” she agreed, then faced Shotsie. “Hey, do you remember the day Oren and Jack left town?”

  “Of course.” She sighed wistfully. “I still miss them.”

  Her chance had arrived, but she felt like a spy for asking, “Did Carter come to your store that day?”

  Shotsie pressed her lips together, and barely opened them enough to say, “Yes.”

  Abrupt response. Why did she look so suspicious? “You’re sure?”

  Shotsie patted her arm. “I wouldn’t say so if I weren’t. What’s troubling you, hon?”