“This is yours,” she said finally to Will.
The glass Will accepted was scratched plastic decorated with a pink flamingo—and it held milk.
“Thanks,” he said, smiling at her. She smiled back at him, a wide, beguiling smile that matched the impish twinkle in her eyes. Will felt himself being dazzled, and reminded himself once again that standing before him was a Venus’s-flytrap. Every man on the porch was watching her, enthralled, drinking warm, fizzy Coke from scratched, mismatched plastic glasses with expressions that equated the beverage with crystal goblets of French champagne. And he was no exception. Grimacing at his own folly, Will took a sip of milk and switched his attention to the twins’ ongoing football game.
“Does everybody know everybody else?” Molly asked brightly, turning that megawatt smile on the assembled company.
“We haven’t met officially,” Thornton Wyland said to Will with a lazy smile. He stood up, offered his hand. “I’m Thornton Wyland.”
“Will Lyman.” Will shook hands.
“Uh, Molly, are you doing anything for supper tonight?” Jimmy Miller asked in a low voice. Though Will was turned away, he heard. His back stiffened reflexively. It took conscious effort on his part to get his muscles to relax.
“Oh, Jimmy, I’m sorry, but I have plans,” Molly said as quietly, sounding more regretful than Will thought the situation called for. Turning away from Thornton Wyland with a nod, he watched as Molly dealt with yet another swain.
“We could grab a pizza,” Miller continued with dogged determination. He was an earnest-looking guy with freckles, and almost certainly didn’t deserve the wave of dislike Will felt for him. Miller was on his feet now, on the top step, which meant his head did not quite reach as high as Molly’s nose because she was standing on the porch, and his heart was in his eyes as he looked at her. Will thought he had never seen a man so openly lovesick, and felt a spurt of acute annoyance.
The girl was his.
“I can’t …” Molly began.
Will took a sip of milk and came up behind her.
“She’s having dinner with me,” he said to the younger man. Miller looked at him, blinked in surprise, then focused on Molly with wide-eyed disbelief that darkened to reproach. His mouth opened as if he would protest, but he didn’t. From his position behind her, Will couldn’t see Molly’s face, but he imagined what emotion Miller had found there to shut his mouth: compassion.
He hoped like hell Molly never looked that way at him.
“Some other time, then,” Miller managed with creditable composure, then glanced at his watch. “Well, I have to be taking off. Come on, Buddy, I’ll drive you back to the shop.”
With their going, the rest of the fan club took the hint and departed too. Will was left helping Molly gather up dirty glasses as the cars pulled out of the driveway. She was silent, her expression pensive. Will looked at her as she crouched to retrieve a glass from beside the glider. The cream knit dress she wore covered her from her ears to her knees, but it fit like a glove and clung in all the right—or wrong, depending upon your point of view—places. Her legs in their sheer stockings and high heels were every bit as luscious as they had been sheathed in black the day before. Her hair was a loose fall of luxuriant coffee-brown waves that reached past her shoulder blades. She was slender, curvaceous, staggeringly sexy, and—when she straightened with a graceful turn and smiled at him—charming as well.
That smile was an arrow aimed straight at his heart.
“We still on for dinner?” he asked.
“You bet.” Her smile was warm and gay and it bewitched him. Will realized that he had it bad. Maybe worse than the yokel, though he hoped it didn’t show.
The Venus’s-flytrap was getting ready to swallow him whole, and he was too far gone to even want to put up a fight.
28
“So have you always had a problem attracting men?” Will asked dryly halfway through dinner. They were at the Merrick Inn, a small, wood-paneled Lexington eatery that Molly had not even known existed. With oil paintings on the walls, white tablecloths and green votive candles on the tables, the restaurant was the epitome of quiet good taste. Will told her that he had stumbled across it during the course of his investigation. The horse crowd ate there often, and the food was fine old southern cuisine. The prices were out of this world, but Molly tried not to think about that.
Molly swallowed as scrumptious a bite of country ham as she had ever tasted, and looked at him consideringly. The navy suit he wore tonight had subtle pinstripes. His shirt was white and his tie was red. His hair gleamed gold in the candlelight. By contrast, his face was bronzed and hard-planed. And there was something about his eyes as he looked at her that gave her the shivers. Nice shivers. Had she ever not thought him handsome? Molly wondered. She must have been blind.
“Always,” she answered with a saucy smile, and took another bite.
“I bet you had to beat them off with a stick as far back as elementary school.”
“I never carried a stick.” The ham was delicious, but salty. Molly washed it down with a sip of iced tea. Will, of course, was drinking milk, and had ordered a steak. Molly had a feeling she should be thankful they were not eating Italian.
“You just let them swarm all over you, hmm? Like today. I don’t think I’ve ever arrived to pick up a date before and found six other men there ahead of me.”
Molly swallowed a sinfully good bite of green beans flavored with ham and almonds and looked at him with wide-eyed delight.
“You’re jealous,” she said.
Will stopped cutting his steak and met her gaze. For a moment he just stared at her, surprised. Then he gave her a wry little smile.
“You’re right.”
“I like it.”
“I don’t.”
“For your information, the only one of those men I’ve ever been out with is Jimmy Miller.”
“The yokel who gives hickeys.” There was such a caustic note to this that Molly laughed.
“You can blame yourself for that.”
“For what?”
“The hickey,” she whispered, mindful of the other diners who, though intent on their own dinners in the dark, quiet room, might overhear.
“I can blame myself because you let some yokel give you a hickey?” Will didn’t lower his voice. Molly shot a quick glance around, but no one seemed to be paying any attention.
“Shh!” She nodded.
“How do you figure that?”
“I pretended he was you.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Jesus.” Will took a deep breath. “Are you about finished?”
“Not really.” Molly glanced down at her plate with surprise. She still had half her meal to go—and it was good.
“I’ll feed you again later.” Will stood up, signaling for the waitress. Molly took a hasty bite of ham and then a swallow of tea while he waited for the waitress to bring the check. As he glanced at the check and handed the waitress cash, Molly pulled on her sweater—then succumbed to the lure of the ham again.
“Was there something wrong with the food, sir?” the waitress asked, concerned, glancing at their half-eaten meals.
“It was fine. Something just came up, and we have to go,” Will said, reaching for Molly’s hand. With a last, lingering look of regret at the ham, she grabbed her purse and allowed herself to be pulled from the table and hustled toward the door.
“What just came up?” Molly asked when they were outside walking toward the car. It was dark now, and colder than it had been during the day. The brown wraparound sweater she wore over Ashley’s turtleneck dress was welcome. Overhead, stars twinkled like fireflies on a midsummer’s night. The half-moon rode low on the horizon.
Will laughed. “Me. Get in the car, Molly.”
Will opened the door for her. Molly got in, both bemused and unsettled by his admission, and he slammed the door shut behind her. She was reaching for her seat belt when he sli
d into his seat. Molly heard his door shut just as she was dragging the belt across her body. His hand closed over hers and she looked up at him in surprise. He was very close, leaning over her, in fact, his broad shoulders blocking out her view of the night through the windshield, his eyes intent. Molly stared up at him for an instant, at the hard, handsome face she had never thought would be able to make her heart beat so fast.
Without a word Will kissed her. Molly let go of the seat belt, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him back.
After a few minutes he lifted his head and said thickly, “I am too damned old to be making out in cars.”
Molly took a deep, shaken breath and whispered, “I’m not.”
Will gave a ghost of a laugh. “I know.”
“So?”
Will kissed her again, quick and hard, and rested his forehead against hers.
“We’ve got an audience,” he said.
Molly looked, and saw that two well-dressed older couples, having obviously just finished dining inside, were staring at them with disapproval as they walked past the car. Molly’s face heated with embarrassment. The car was parked right by the sidewalk leading to the restaurant, leaving them in full view of anyone who passed.
Will lifted her arms from around his neck and reached for her seat belt. He pulled it around her, fastened it, then kissed her mouth again.
“I have a hotel room,” he said.
Clearly it was decision time, but Molly knew as soon as the thought entered her head that there was no decision to be made. Whatever came of it, this was what she wanted. He was what she wanted.
She nodded.
Will put on his own seat belt, started the car, and pulled out of the lot.
His hotel was close. Molly read the illuminated sign EMBASSY SUITES as he slowed the car and pulled into the parking lot. By the time he had the car parked and was coming around the hood to open her door, Molly’s pulse was racing. She was scared, she was excited, she was out of her head—over Will.
He reached in and took her hand. Molly allowed him to pull her from the car. He kept her hand in his, warm and strong, as he walked her across the parking lot and through the double doors into the brightly lit lobby. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. By the time they did, he had already steered her halfway across the thick gray carpet toward the bank of polished stainless steel elevators in one corner. The two men and one woman at the reception desk, she was relieved to see, paid no attention to their passing. A large TV set played quietly in a sunken sitting area of overstuffed couches and glass tables beside the elevators. The lone occupant of the area never even spared them a glance.
The elevator opened. Molly stepped into the mirror-lined space with Will beside her.
He still held her hand. He raised it to his mouth as the doors closed, and kissed its back. Watching him, and watching their reflections in the mirror as his blond head bent close to her dark one, Molly experienced a feeling of unreality. Was she really going upstairs in a hotel to sleep with the FBI man?
It seemed impossible.
“You look scared to death,” Will said, glancing at her from beneath lowered lids.
“I’m not.” Her answer was about half bravado, because she was scared. But she wasn’t going to admit it—or turn back.
“I can take you home.” He turned her hand over to kiss her palm. Molly felt the heat of his mouth clear down to her toes. She shivered.
“No.”
“Sure?”
Molly nodded just as the elevator pinged to announce its arrival on the third floor. The doors slid open. Will let go of her hand, and Molly stepped out into the gray-carpeted corridor on her own. Will followed. Glancing around, Molly saw that he held a key card in his hand.
The hall was deserted. Will walked ahead of her to a door with the number 318 on a brass plaque set into the wall beside it, and inserted his key into the lock. The tiny light on the door flashed green. Will turned the handle, pushed the door open, and stood back for her to precede him.
Molly held on to the strap of her shoulder bag so tightly that she felt her nails dig into her palm, and walked past him into his hotel room.
The door closed. Pitch blackness descended. Her skin prickled as she sensed him moving through the dark. Molly was so nervous, she felt queasy. Her hands were freezing cold. Her body was freezing cold. It was all she could do to keep her teeth from chattering, though the room was comfortably warm.
Any second now she expected Will’s arms to come around her. She expected him to turn her around and kiss her and …
A soft light illuminated the room. Molly saw that Will was withdrawing his hand from beneath the tasteful beige shade of a floor lamp, which he had turned on. He stood in front of a wall of draperies in an abstract pattern in which gray and beige predominated. On either side of the lamp was one of a pair of gray velour armchairs. To the left was a kitchenette with dark wood cabinets and shiny appliances. In the carpeted area beside the kitchenette, beneath a beige-shaded lamp dangling from a gold chain, were a round table and four chairs. To Molly’s right was the bathroom. Farther into the room, on the same side as the bathroom, were two double beds. They were neatly made up, the bedspreads custom made to match the drapes, the headboards half circles of brass-trimmed dark wood set flush against gray-painted walls.
Will was watching her, Molly discovered as her gaze fled from the beds to him. Legs braced slightly apart, he stood with his hands buried deep in the pockets of his perfectly tailored trousers, his coattails pushed back behind his hips. The expensive navy suit, the pristine white shirt, the elegantly knotted red tie, were so different from the style of her usual run of boyfriends, it seemed impossible that she was there with him. Her uncertainty must have been apparent, because as he looked at her he was unsmiling, almost grim.
“I’ll take you home,” he said.
He would, she knew. All she had to do was nod her head. Suddenly Molly recognized the one essential quality in him that attracted her so strongly: Of all the men she had ever known, he was the one who made her feel safe.
Molly looked at him, at the close-cropped blond hair and bronzed lined face and athlete’s body in the expensive suit, and knew that if she turned tail and ran now, she would kick herself for it for the rest of her life. Whatever happened later, however much she eventually got hurt, right now he was what she wanted, and she wanted him as she had never before wanted anything in her life.
“I don’t want to go home,” she said, and crossed the room toward him.
29
Will’s hands came out of his pockets as Molly approached. He reached for her, caught her elbows through the nubby-textured wool sweater, drew her close. Her bag’s strap slipped sideways. Will removed it from her shoulder and dropped the purse on the chair behind him. When he turned back to her, Molly slipped her arms around his neck, loosely linking her hands at his nape.
“I don’t want to go home,” she repeated.
“You sure?” he asked.
“I’m sure.”
Molly smiled at him. He didn’t smile back, but instead examined her face with a thoughtfulness that worried her a little.
“Why do I feel like I’m cradle-robbing here?” Will’s hands shaped her face. The feel of his warm hands against her cool skin sent a shiver down her spine. His mouth curved in a crooked half smile, but his eyes were dark blue and intent as she met his gaze.
“I’ll be twenty-five in two weeks, Will. I’m all grown up, believe me.”
“You don’t look it.” His gaze flickered down her body. “Well, maybe you do.”
“Thanks. I think.”
Will brushed back the hair that tumbled over her right shoulder, tucking it carefully behind her ear. His hand slid beneath the thick fall of hair, cradling the back of her head, tilting it slightly. His other arm slid around her back, and he pulled her close, so that she was tight up against his chest. She could feel the heat of his body, the steely strength of his muscles, all along her body. His
head bent. His mouth found the soft skin below her ear, as he nudged down the high cotton neck of her dress. It fastened, hard and possessive, against her throat just below her jaw. The sensation was so unbelievably erotic that it was a minute or two before Molly realized what he was doing: replacing Jimmy Miller’s love bite with his own.
“I thought giving hickeys wasn’t your style,” she managed when Will lifted his head at last.
His lips were parted, his eyes hot. “The damned thing’s been driving me nuts,” he said, and pressed his mouth to her throat again. A weakness seemed to afflict her muscles. It was all she could do not to sag against him.
“Has it?” Molly could barely breathe, let alone talk. His chest was hard against her breasts, making them tingle and swell. The arm around her waist was solid, possessive. One hand cradled her head, stroked her cheek, smoothed the hair back from her face.
“Insane.” He slid his mouth along her jawline. Molly shivered, and closed her eyes.
“Really?” she got out, relieved to discover that her voice was relatively normal.
“You don’t have to sound so happy about it.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, and Molly’s lips parted in instinctive response. “At least now when I see it I’ll know it’s mine.”
“Jealous,” she whispered, just before his mouth slid over hers.
“Damn right,” he said into her mouth, and then he was kissing her and she was kissing him and neither of them was talking at all.
She loved the way he kissed, Molly thought as his arms tightened around her and her head fell back against his shoulder. She counted herself something of an expert on kisses. As she had already learned, he was no slouch in that department himself. Actually, she decided as he traced the outline of her lips with his tongue, he was a worthy foe. His mouth was hard and hot, his tongue seductive as it coaxed rather than demanded her response. She kissed him for all she was worth, pressing herself against him, clinging to his neck, wanting to provoke an even greater response in him than he was evoking in her.
Hunter's Moon Page 20