Moonlight Man

by Judy Griffith Gill

  For dessert, she’d taken Zinnie at her word and raided the freezer, coming up with a homemade apple pie that had only to be warmed in the oven after the biscuits had come out. Its spicy goodness filled the small camper with a wonderful aroma, and they all ate until they were stuffed.

  “I don’t know if I can hold this,” she said when Marc set a big mug of hot chocolate in front of her.

  He slid in beside her again and looked into her eyes. I could hold you, they seemed to say, and she shifted an inch or two away, crowding into Roxy, who said, “Mom, can I be excused, please?” Sharon laughed. “Well, sure you can, honey, but I don’t see where you’re going to go.”

  “Up there. Jason and I can go up there and read our comics, can’t we? I’ve finished my chocolate.”

  “Up there” was the double berth over the cab of the truck, and it was Marc who gave permission. Eagerly, the kids scrambled up. Marc leaned in and turned on a light at one end of the bunk. He was good with kids. She had to hand him that.

  Sharon felt more relaxed now that she didn’t have to touch Marc, and finished her chocolate leisurely.

  “You cooked, I’ll clean up.”

  “You wash, I’ll dry. I know where everything goes.”

  She nodded. “In a space like this, I guess everything has to go in exactly the right spot.”

  They worked together harmoniously, bumping into each other now and then, but there didn’t seem to be anything threatening in those gentle touches. They had just finished when Jason said, “Mom, Roxy’s asleep.”

  She pulled a face. “I was afraid of that. Oh, well, I can stuff her into her outdoor clothes and carry her.”

  “No you won’t,” Marc said. Quickly, he got into his own boots and jacket, found a thick blanket, took it up to the front of the camper, and wrapped the sleeping child in it carefully. “You carry her things, and I’ll carry her.”

  “You do that very well,” she whispered, as he rolled Roxy out of the blanket onto her bed without disturbing her.

  “I had some practice once,” he said, reminding her with a sharp pang that he’d been a father and a husband at some time in his life, way back in that past that she knew held the answers to what made Marc Duval the kind of man he was, a drifter with callused hands and smooth manners.

  He stood nearby while she tucked her daughter warmly into the lower of the two bunks in the loft where the children were to sleep. Back downstairs, she found Jason nearly dozing on the couch by the fire. “Up to bed with you, too, my love, if you want some energy to ski tomorrow.”

  He didn’t even try to argue, just said good night to Marc and climbed the stairs, weariness in every step.

  Marc sat looking at her for a long moment, and when he stood, she did the same. They met in the middle of the room, and she walked into his arms as if it had been predestined from the moment they met at the foot of the slopes. They stood not moving, not speaking, just absorbing each other’s warmth, each other’s scent, her cheek on his chest, his on the top of her head. “Sharon,” he said finally, sliding his hands into her hair. “Lord, just to hold you without your fighting it is heaven, but I want to kiss you too.”

  “Yes,” she said, her hands going around his neck, fingers threading through the hair that hung down over his collar. She lifted her face, a smile on her lips. “Kiss me, Marc.”

  It was a gentle kiss, with none of the boiling urgency that had driven them before. This was a kiss of exploration, slow and sweet and almost numbing to her senses. He moved his lips from hers, tracing a line along her jaw with his tongue. She shuddered as a sharp knife of delight stabbed at her, and felt the sucking of his lips against her throat.

  He slid his hands under her sweater and felt her gasp of pleasure when he found her nipples under the silky fabric of a teddy. “Marc …” Her soft whisper held sheer bliss as she moved against him, accepting his touch with such open yearning that his intentions to move slowly, cautiously, were nearly turned to smoke.

  “Yes, I know,” he murmured. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

  “I can’t tell you …”

  “You don’t have to. It feels the same to me. Lord, but I’d like to make love to you tonight, my angel.”

  “Oh, Marc!” She could feel his arousal hard against her stomach, and she wanted to reach down between them, caress him as he was touching her. But she knew what he was saying, agreed with it even while her body cried out that to deny themselves was insane. “I don’t remember ever wanting anything as badly as I want that, but …”

  “I know.” He lifted his head, cradled hers between his hands, and looked into her eyes. “We aren’t in any hurry,” he said reassuringly. “We can wait. We can have this in the meantime.” He joined their mouths again and lifted her sweater. Bending, he took one hard nipple into his mouth along with the soft cloth of her pink teddy.

  She looked down at him, at his dark-gold hair, his gold-tipped lashes, his closed eyes. His face had the look of a man at peace as he suckled her.

  “I need to stop now,” he whispered. “I have to, or …”

  “Yes. Please stop,” she said, sitting up, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “And make me stop, Marc. My kids are just up there.” She glanced at the open loft above them. “I know as well as you do that we can’t.”

  “We will, though,” he said with confidence, smoothing her hair back from her face. “I promise you, we will.”

  She nodded, but tentatively. As hard as waiting was, as much as she ached to join her body with his, rushing this incredible thing that was growing between them would be wrong. And it wasn’t just that her kids were upstairs. There were other bedrooms, any one of which they could have disappeared into. But she knew she couldn’t, not now while she still lacked trust, still lacked the ability to believe in him.

  She stared at the flames behind the glass door of the airtight stove and wondered if that trust would ever come. So much had happened to her, so many hurts, such a great deal of pain. Could she rise above that and accept what this man offered, as limited as it might be?

  Until she knew that about herself, she knew she couldn’t accept the pleasures they could generate together. This time, she had to be certain. A small voice reminded her that she had been certain with Ellis, but she argued back that then she had been young, inexperienced.

  And yet, how experienced was she now? She had known one man in her life. Ellis. What kind of man was he to base all her decisions upon? The question she had to ask was what kind of a man was Marc Duval?

  As he stood and drew her up into the loose circle of his arms, gazing into her eyes with a depth of understanding and longing that stunned her, she knew she was in deeper trouble than she had ever thought. Dimly came the tinkle of golden bangles. Oh, yes, Grandma Margaret had struck again. Sharon just hoped she knew what she was doing.

  “Good night, sweet Sharon,” he said, placing a tiny kiss on her nose.

  “Will you come for breakfast?” she asked, feeling suddenly shy and awkward. What if Grandma Margaret’s magic wasn’t as potent as she thought it was? What if Marc was leaving now because he really didn’t want her all that badly? He could have pushed. One more kiss, another few strokes of his tongue over her rigid nipples, and the overture would have finished; it would have been time for the full symphony to begin. She had been ripe for seduction, and yet … he was leaving. Could he, somehow, sense her inadequacy? “The … the kids would like it.”

  “Would you?” He smiled, his golden eyes agleam with a tenderness that shook her deeply.

  She nodded. “Yes. I’d like it too.”

  “That’s what counts with me. I’ll be here by seven-thirty if that’s not too early.”

  “Okay. See you. Good night.”

  Suddenly, he snatched her into his arms and kissed her with such force that it drove her head back. She, clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as if she couldn’t bear to let him go.

  “Oh, Lord!” he moaned,
lifting his head and setting her away from him. “I must be out of my mind!”

  She knew she was, as she watched him close the door behind him, because suddenly she recognized him for the kind of man he really was: He was the one man in the world who could do what Ellis, for all his cruelty, had failed to do. He was the man who could destroy her utterly.

  Chapter Five

  “HI EVERYBOD—MARC! What a treat!” As Zinnie opened the door to the chalet, she came to a halt, arms laden with bags that Marc leaped up to take. “So Sharon invited you along too. What a great, idea.”

  “No,” he said, setting the bags down on the counter near the stove. “I invited myself along. I saw her and the kids loading skis on their car and decided that this was likely where they were headed. I’ve got my camper set up over in the campgrounds. They invited me for breakfast, though. We’re running late this morning. I guess we were all tired after yesterday’s skiing. Uh, is Harry out there with more stuff to bring in?”

  At Zinnie’s nod, he stuffed his feet into his boots and went out, leaving Sharon feeling as if he’d deserted her, left her open to an interrogation.

  “We had dinner in Marc’s camper last night,” Roxy said, hopping down from her seat at the breakfast table. “And I fell asleep on his bed. I’ve never eaten in a camper before or slept in one. I really, really want to go camping,” she said earnestly. “Marc says sometimes you can even feed squirrels right at your picnic table.”

  “Well, maybe one day you will,” Zinnie told her, then turned to pat Sharon’s cheek, saying softly, “You wear such a pretty blush my dear. Did you think I was thinking things you wouldn’t want me to be thinking?”

  Sharon had to laugh. “Well, actually, yes.”

  Zinnie’s blue eyes danced with amusement. “I’d never believe such a thing about you.”

  That made Sharon stand back and look at the older woman questioningly. “Why not?”

  “Because you told me yourself that you’re too old to go looking for excitement, and I think Marc Duval is probably one of the most exciting men I’ve met in a long time. Not, of course, that I’m interested. At my age, Harry is more than enough for me.” She grinned. “He always has been. I believe Marc Duval is the same kind of guy—more than enough for any woman who’s lucky enough to have him, although I realize you aren’t in the least bit interested in him.”

  Sharon put her hands on her hips. “Zinnie, why do I get the idea that you’re making fun of me?”

  “Because I am, silly!” Leaning closer as she dug several cans of soup out of one of the bags, she whispered, “Did you really make him spend the night alone in his camper?”

  Sharon nodded, knowing her cheeks were growing hotter and pinker at the older woman’s directness. “It was a mutual agreement. He didn’t want it any other way either.”

  At that, Zinnie laughed. “Among all those other trades he’s learned, acting must be included, if he convinced you of that. There now, hand me that other bag, and I’ll get this stuff stowed too.

  “We’re earlier than we’d expected, because we both woke up well before daylight and found ourselves itching to be on the slopes.”

  As she finished speaking, the men came in, both carrying suitcases and more bags of groceries. “Looks like you’re setting up for a siege,” Sharon said, quickly taking the empty grocery bags from the counter to make room for the full ones. She folded one carefully, avoiding Marc’s gaze as he stood nearby folding another.

  “We like to eat,” Harry said, taking packages of hot chocolate mix, marshmallows, and cookies from one of the bags he’d carried in. Winking at Jason, he added, “Besides, we’d hate to have the kids go hungry while we’re together.”

  “Don’t worry, Sharon. We brought lots of real food, too, so it won’t be junk, junk, junk all day long.”

  “I wasn’t worried. Your kids seemed to grow up with fairly straight bones. And their teeth look good to me.”

  “False teeth, both of them,” said Harry. “Sad cases. Now, if we’re all finished in here, how about we hit those slopes?”

  While everyone else changed into ski clothes, Sharon loaded the dishwasher, turned it on, and went to wipe off the table, only to find that Marc had already done so.

  “We work well together,” he commented, taking the cloth from her hand and throwing it into the sink.

  She murmured something noncommittal and said that she was going to go and get into her ski suit. Catching her hand, he swung her to face him, tilting her chin up with one hand. “Hey, it’s okay, you know. I made sure Harry knew I’d spent the night in my own camper.”

  “Don’t be silly. Why would you bother to do that? I have nothing to feel guilty about. Besides, we’re both adults, and if we had wanted to spend the night together, it would have been our decision.” She tried to pull her arm free, but he held her fast.

  “Ahh, but we did want to spend the night together, didn’t we?”

  Just thinking about it started up that deep, heavy throbbing inside her again, tightening her chest, making it difficult to breathe, let alone speak. “Marc, let me go.”

  His amber eyes held her gaze intently. “Answer me, first.”

  “No.”

  “No, you won’t answer me, or no we didn’t both want to spend the night together?”

  “We made a mutual decision not to,” she said, her heart’s thudding making her voice unstable. “It was the right one.”

  He smiled, a rueful look in his eyes. “Was it? The restless night I spent tells me different. Did you sleep well?”

  She wanted to lie but knew he could see the circles under her eyes, feel the tension in her body as it quivered against him. “No,” she whispered.

  “Good.” He let her go. “Get changed. I’ll meet you over at the base of the yellow chair.”

  “You don’t have to ski with me and the kids,” she said. “You’d have more fun on the runs I can’t take them on.”

  He chuckled. “Not a chance. You don’t get away from me that easily. Where you ski, I ski.” And then, with a touch that just barely, grazed her cheek yet left her feeling branded, he was gone. For too many moments she stood there, breathless and giddy and inordinately happy. He really wanted to be where she was?

  “Oh, go on,” Zinnie said. “You deserve a break. I’ve been watching you ski. You’re more than good enough to run the face. Take her, Marc. Let her show you what she can do. Challenge her to a race or something. Sharon, you’re not a woman to turn down a challenge, are you?” Without waiting for a reply, she rushed on: “I’ll come down with the kids, assuming I can keep up with them. I seem to be tiring more easily this year than ever before.”

  “I haven’t noticed,” Harry said dryly, scooping Roxy up under his arm as he backed into the chair that came to sweep them off their feet. Zinnie laughed as she aligned herself beside Jason and caught the next chair.

  “A dead heat,” Marc said, after their race. He was breathing heavily and shoved his headband up into the front of his hair, leaving little tufts sticking up all over the place. His face was red above his tightly curled beard and his eyes shone brightly.

  “That … was … wonderful!” Sharon was puffing even harder than he as they stopped at the bottom of the steep run. “I haven’t had such a good workout in ages!”

  Marc smiled at her, his eyes full of admiration. “You are good,” he said. “Tell me you were part of the national ski team or something. My male ego is bruised.”

  “And you’re being kind to my female ego. I know you held back in order not to beat me.”

  “No way. It was a fair race, and we tied. We’re very well matched, Sharon. The look he gave her was a challenge of another sort, a challenge to deny his words and the real meaning behind them.

  She accepted it by speaking only to his more obvious meaning. “Hardly. You outweigh me by probably ninety pounds, are nearly a foot taller, and are a lot stronger. You could have won the race if you’d wanted to.”

  “You’re not a mo
dern woman who thinks that anything a man can do a woman can do just as well?”

  “Of course I am, if what we’re talking about is anything that takes brains. If I want muscle, I can rent a forklift.”

  He laughed and swung an arm around her, nearly upsetting her because she wasn’t expecting it. He steadied her until she got her skis back under her securely. “Want to go again?” he asked.

  “I’m game. But let’s do the Westerly this time.”

  By the time Sharon had to leave, she was all skied out but feeling exhilarated and yet at peace. A two-day break had been just what she needed after the pressures of preparing not only for Christmas, but a wedding as well.

  “I’ll drive you down to the parking lot,” Marc offered, after she’d kissed her kids good-bye and given them a list of instructions regarding behavior. “It’ll save you lugging all your gear aboard the bus.”

  “No, no. I don’t mind the bus. You stay and enjoy the skiing.”

  “Enjoy? Without you? You have to be kidding. I’m heading back now too. I just wish you didn’t have your car here. Then you could ride home with me.”

  “Well,” she said, struggling not to let her suddenly choked breathing reflect in her speech, “I do have my car, and I’m afraid I need it for work tomorrow.” She was glad, though, of the ride down the steep, crooked hill to the parking area.

  As he turned on the ignition, the radio came on, and he immediately switched it off with a sheepish grin in her direction. “You’d probably hate my favorite station. I’m forty-one and like golden oldies.”

  She turned the radio back on, saying, “And I’m nearly thirty-eight and like golden oldies too,” then proved it by singing along with the Everly Brothers. Marc joined her, and she had to smile. He did sound like an old crow!

  At the bottom of the hill, Marc put her skis on top of her car for her, waited to be sure her engine was warmed up and running properly, and then said, “Okay, you lead out, I’ll follow.”