Harvest Moon

by Sharon Struth

  She dabbed her favorite amber scent behind each ear and lifted the strand of dainty pearls Marc had given her for her twenty-fourth birthday. After their break-up, she’d stored them away, like everything else that happened during her life with him, and immediately afterward.

  Afterward. The PartyTime invitation. Gary’s face. The possibility she’d see him again. All threatened to take her down, ruin her perfectly good mood about tonight.

  She closed her eyes, thought about the e-mail she’d sent to Ry and her admission about how she wanted her life to be different. The self-help book made her conscious of the dust settling on the years of doubt and mistrust. Time she took out the feather duster! Her eyes popped open. A slightly more confident woman stared back from the mirror. She looked away before her usual wary self could resurface.

  The clock on her nightstand showed if she left now, she’d have time for a glass of wine at the country club bar. Although she rarely did this, tonight a liquid confidence booster couldn’t hurt. Jim needed to close the pharmacy, but said he’d meet her there at half past seven. She’d welcome him with open arms to make up for her aloof behavior at Bernadette’s party.

  She locked the house, got into her car, and followed the lake road. Fifteen minutes later, she reached the long driveway leading to the Southbridge Country Club. After parking in the near empty lot, she entered the large, old home now owned by the private club and went to the bar. The only patrons sat on the patio, watching the setting sun, while a golf match played on a small television positioned in one corner. She shimmied onto a tall stool and smiled at the bartender.

  The young man stopped talking to a waitress and came over. “What can I get you?”

  “A glass of merlot, please.”

  An unusual sensation surrounded her, a sensual glow she didn’t normally possess. Was it from her dress, the sexier than usual shoes, or maybe the dim golden lights of this room? An urgency to see Jim made her shift in the seat. Oh yes, she planned to kiss him with a passion she’d been afraid to use for so long. She’d toss the reins of control and forget about the predictable, safe way they usually touched each other.

  The bartender left her drink. She took a long sip to kick-start her courage. The alcohol burned to the center of her core and emotions she’d guarded for too long struggled for release. Where they’d lead, though, was anybody’s guess.

  * * * *

  Trent followed the sign into the country club driveway and passed the golf course. At the crest of a hill, he faced the large colonial house, with perfectly groomed shrubbery and what looked like a fresh coat of white paint on the clapboard siding. He pulled into the guest lot and was one of three cars. As he stepped out, he paused to take in the view of Blue Moon Lake, the sun on its westward descent while a few motorboats still darted around the water.

  Entering through the front door, he spotted an easel holding a sign for the Jamieson party and followed the arrow. He started past the bar and paused. Angie must’ve left early.

  He stood quietly at the doorway and studied her while she watched a golf match on a television over the bar. Hell, leggy brunettes were his kryptonite, most capable of making him fall to his knees. She sure fit the bill. Shoulder-length, dark curls fell softly against her neck—a new style he’d be sure to compliment later. A V-dip exposed her bare back, where the golden hue of her skin begged for his touch. He wanted to slip off the dress’s shoulder, press his lips to her soft skin, and… Okay, he’d better stop. They’d never get to the first course of dinner.

  Any concerns he had about dating her faded, especially when he feasted on her slender calves and high heels. Tonight she’d dressed classy—sexy classy—a surprise given her usual tastes didn’t leave much to the imagination.

  The bartender disappeared through a doorway, and Trent noted nobody else in the room. He quietly slipped behind her, running his hands along her waist, then taking a path to her flat abdomen. Leaning close to her ear, pausing to breathe in an intoxicating whiff of her exotic scent, he whispered, “Hey, sexy, you’re early.”

  She tensed and her fingers slid over his, right where they rested on her abdomen, as if about to remove them. Instead, though, she leaned against his chest and smoothed her palm along his forearm.

  He closed his eyes, nestled into her soft curls. Using the tip of his thumb, he caressed the smooth dress fabric and a small sound of pleasure escaped her lips. He cupped her cheek in his palm, gently turning her head to meet his lips. As he covered her mouth with his, she let out a small gasp, then a second later her slim fingers grazed his cheeks and guided him closer.

  Trent kissed her with slow and gentle care, the sweet red wine on her tongue adding fire to his gut. He deepened the kiss, and she moaned into his mouth, igniting a fire in his belly for so much more. This kiss, so different than any they’d shared, affected him deeply and unexpectedly.

  * * * *

  This kiss. Oh, this heavenly kiss. Veronica patted herself on the back for pushing aside her first instinct to remove Jim’s hands from her waist in a public place. The way he’d whispered “sexy” drove a warm blast straight to the core of her belly.

  This time when they kissed, his mouth molded perfectly to hers, not his usual awkward preamble. He was strong and demanding, yet not too pushy. His relaxed lips lulled her into a quick surrender, a surrender she strangely didn’t mind at all. His hand slipped to the back of her head, and she sighed into his mouth, wishing this kiss would never end. Slowly and surely, however, he pulled away, but she kept her eyes closed, clinging to the sensation a few seconds longer as his breath landed near her ear.

  “God, baby,” he said, low and husky. “I can’t wait to get out of here with you later.”

  Not. Jim’s. Voice.

  Her eyes flashed open. She slapped her palms to the stranger’s chest, pushed him away. “What the hell!”

  He stumbled back a few steps, his mouth agape and brows furrowed. “You’re not Angie.”

  “Well, you’re not Jim! How dare you touch—”

  “Calm down. I thought you were my date.” He blinked a few times. “Hey, I know you. From—”

  “The elevator.” Her head spun as she stared into his crystal blue eyes. His gaze swept her from head to toe, making his dark lashes flutter. “Thank God you kept your lips to yourself then.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” His smiled dropped. “I’d never do that to a stranger.” With a slight cock of his head, a grin creased his cheeks and he lowered his voice. “Although I’m pretty sure we both enjoyed what just happened.”

  Her face burned, as if set on fire. “How dare you suggest that I—”

  “Hey! You guys are early.” Sophie entered the bar area, Duncan in tow.

  Veronica tried to speak but found herself more flabbergasted when Sophie walked right up to Hotlips and they hugged. “Hi, Trent.”

  Veronica pinched herself in a bid to wake from this surreal dream. Before she could gather her bearings, Duncan surrounded her in one of his big bear hugs. “Ronnie, you look beautiful. New dress?”

  She blinked, nodded.

  Sophie came over and hugged Veronica. “You okay?” she whispered in Veronica’s ear.

  “I’m fine. Happy birthday.” From over Sophie’s shoulder, Trent watched them. Veronica narrowed her gaze, but he only grinned, like the devil might if he learned your biggest secret.

  Duncan slung an arm around Trent’s shoulders. “I see you’ve met my brother.”

  “Yes. I have.” The heat of her cheeks still simmered.

  Trent winked in her direction, and a sizzling blast assaulted every inch of her skin. “Pearls made me feel right at home.”

  “Pearl? That’s not my name.”

  “Pearls,” he corrected, an extra emphasis on the s. “Like your necklace.”

  She reached up and touched the smooth, hard jewels near her collarbone. A few other guests arrived and snagged Sophie and Duncan’s attention. While she clutched the hard
beads and tried to digest what just went down, she glanced at Trent. He watched her closely, but a playful twinkle in his eyes suggested the case-of-mistaken-identity kiss hadn’t upset him a bit.

  Trent inched closer and she braced herself, but for what, she wasn’t certain. He quietly said, “You wore pearls the first time we met, too.” He arched a single brow and tipped his head toward the doorway. “Come on. We’re heading to the banquet room.”

  Chapter 6

  On move-in day during Veronica’s senior year at the University of New Hampshire, her new roommate had hung a glamorous poster of Mae West with the caption, “A man’s kiss is his signature.”

  If Mae’s words rang true, then Trent Jamieson had perfect penmanship.

  Veronica pretended to hang on every word of Jim’s remarks about the high price of prescription drugs. Her real attention, however, anchored across the busy banquet room, to Trent and his date, Angie…the woman he’d meant to kiss.

  The pair stood close, Trent’s arm snaked around her slender waist. Veronica squinted and eyed the beauty from the top of her flowing sable hair to the bottom of her slinky sandals. How could he mistake her for Angie? Angie’s gentle sloped nose, thick dark brows, and high cheekbones, combined with generous size-D cups might land her a spot on the Victoria’s Secret runway or as a Cosmopolitan cover model. Veronica’s barely-C cups paled next to the other woman, and her pert nose was more Ladies Home Journal. They did have similar hair coloring and height. From behind, if Angie cut and curled hers, confusion seemed plausible.

  They spoke to his parents, Frank and Norma Jamieson. Veronica had met them once when they’d visited Duncan and Sophie in the spring. Norma’s repeated glances at the low-cut front of Angie’s dress and her ample cleavage—the opposite of Norma’s elegant, chest-covering attire—screamed of displeasure. Trent and his father occasionally passed glances at Angie, too, but with thoroughly pleased expressions, much like the other men in the room.

  Veronica lifted her fingers to her throat and fiddled with her pearls. Pearls. Her cheeks flushed and her gaze automatically shifted to Trent, just at the moment before his eyes found hers across the sea of bodies. Her trembling hand fell from her necklace, but his grin spoke the word for him. Pearls. Clear as day.

  “In fact,” Jim said, his tone more suitable for a college lecture than a party, “Tuesday’s Washington Post had a piece about two drugs curing the same illness, made by the same manufacturer, and one sells for forty times more.”

  “One of my parishioners posted the story on Facebook.” Dave Felton frowned, making his warm brown eyes and sweet face look almost pitifully sad. “It’s always about the almighty dollar these days.”

  “It always is.” Bernadette tugged up the neckline of her summer print dress, showing more cleavage than she usually allowed. “Right?”

  Jim nodded. He stood taller than the rest of their group, his hair short and tidy, his blue suit proper and appropriate for a country club. Appropriate summed up Jim nicely.

  He glanced at Veronica with raised brows. “Did you read it? I sent you an e-mail with the article.”

  “Sorry. It’s been a busy week.”

  A wave of guilt washed over her. She’d found plenty of time to talk to Ry online, though. Oh, and kiss a man she didn’t even know.

  Agony grew, silent chaos that stirred gentle panic. In less than thirty seconds, Trent Jamieson had violated her personal space. He’d melted invisible barriers nearly as fast as a lit match to wax, exposing desire Veronica had buried decades earlier. For so long, she had blamed herself for what happened on that horrible night. If she hadn’t found Gary attractive, joined him for a few beers and chatted, and then let him walk her home… She sighed. Too many “ifs.”

  “Did you read it, Ronnie?” Bernadette studied her with a curious expression.

  “Read what? The article?”

  “No. The latest Oprah Book Club selection.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  She almost mentioned the self-help book, but kept her lips tightly sealed. Only Ry knew about it and her fragile goal to face the past. Thoughts of him soothed her just enough to maintain her composure.

  “Yoo-hoo, ladies!” Meg stood with her husband near the entrance and waved to them. “Be right there.”

  Meg detoured to the bar, not far from Trent. Veronica dared to let her vision casually drift toward him and nearly jumped. He still watched her, a subtle smile curling the corners of his lips.

  Gentle piano chords played in the background, the beat shifting to a livelier number and reminding Veronica of her promise to Sophie she’d sing tonight. How would she ever get through the song with Trent in the audience?

  She inched closer to Jim and slipped a hand through his arm. He stiffened slightly at her touch, considered her with a raised brow for a split second, then continued his conversation with Dave.

  Trent’s kiss teased her thoughts, even in hindsight still capable of making her knees buckle. Jim’s perfunctory peck on the cheek upon arrival was like unwrapping a paperback as a gift after receiving diamonds.

  Veronica took Jim’s hand, although he’d probably question why. She’d never been the clingy type.

  The day she’d walked into the neighboring town’s pharmacy and met him, she’d thought, Perfect. Neatly trimmed reddish-brown hair, a dab of gray around the edges, tall, lean shape, and a cute dimple on his chin. They’d met for coffee, and she’d summed him up as a perfectly decent guy.

  Jim glanced down at her and smiled. Sometimes she wished he’d put an arm around her and brush his hand against her bottom, maybe work harder to pull her from her own shell, where public displays of affection didn’t come easily. Even in private, though, Jim didn’t display the romantic bravado Trent had shown at the bar. The qualities she’d admired in Jim a short hour ago suddenly didn’t seem as desirable.

  When Bernadette chimed in on the discussion, Jim leaned close to Veronica’s ear. “You look nice tonight. New dress?”

  “It is.” She smiled, very aware it wasn’t the sexy whisperings of Trent, but attention nonetheless. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “I’m going to get another glass of wine. Can I get you one?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “I’ll join you.” Dave turned to Bernadette. “Hon, you want anything?”

  “Sure. Another chardonnay, with ice.” Bernadette handed him her glass. “Don’t tell Sophie. She hates when I put ice in my wine.”

  The two men walked off, and Bernadette stepped closer to Veronica and dropped her voice. “What the hell is wrong with you tonight?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re distracted.” Bernadette fanned herself and puffed out her lower lip, blowing aside her bangs. “Is it hot in here or is it me?”

  “It’s you. I am distracted. I got here early and met Duncan’s brother.”

  “Ooh, the world famous Trent. His date tonight meets all my expectations.”

  “What expectations?”

  “His reputation as a ladies’ man.” Bernadette shrugged. “At least, Duncan’s hinted at that. Besides, just look at him. His whole body screams sex. So, you two talked?”

  “A little.” Heat rushed her core, the kiss still so fresh, but she quelled the awareness. “We’d met once before. Remember the guy stuck with me in the elevator at RGI?”

  Bernadette shed her white linen jacket, tossed it onto a nearby chair, and let out a hearty laugh. “So it was Trent in the elevator? Now the story is even funnier.” Bernadette lifted her arms, almost like a monkey and fanned under each armpit. “Geesh, I think I’m in perimenopause.”

  “You might want to cool it on the armpit thing. The Jamiesons mix with a pretty pretentious crowd. Sophie says they already act like Northbridge has some strange characters living here.”

  “We kind of do.” Bernadette stopped fanning herself as Sophie neared.

  She eyed them skeptically, flicking a tendril of chocol
ate hair away from her eyes while the rest stacked on top of her head in a neat bun, a hairdo befitting the classy red party dress she wore, not her usual casual style. “What are you two whispering about?”

  “About how jealous we are that you’re going to marry Mr. Moneybags and get to have a birthday bash like this.” Bernadette grinned.

  “I’d have been happy with a backyard barbecue. Duncan was so excited to do this, how could I refuse?” She glanced over her shoulder and leaned close, lowering her voice. “Want some dirt?”

  Meg pushed her way into the group, a wine glass in her hand. “Dirt?” Her large green eyes brightened. “Do tell.”

  “Trent cornered me earlier. Asked details about a certain eligible librarian.” Sophie’s Cheshire cat grin aimed at Veronica.

  Veronica’s cheeks warmed. “Who? Me? Like what?”

  “Like how long I’ve known you, were you and Jim serious, where you work—”

  “I hope you didn’t answer him.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because he’s not my type. Not even close. On the spectrum of types, he’s on another chart.”

  “Not so sure I agree with you on that one.” Sophie cut a glance to the others who nodded their agreement. “If you ask me, meeting on the elevator was fate.” She slipped an arm around Veronica’s shoulders. “You’re exactly what he needs. Not another Angie, who—I swear—could be BFF’s with the last girlfriend he had. Lilly or Lola or something. He performs and meets these band groupies. Nice, but not long term material.”

  “He’s in a band?”

  Sophie nodded. “A small group of guys who play acoustic music. They’ve played at some clubs in New York City, Westchester, and around Connecticut. You know, I think he’s ready for a real woman. Maybe it really is fate you two met.”

  Everything about men like Trent scared the hell out of Veronica. Warning lights flashed in her mind, a screaming reminder to listen to her gut. She’d trusted a smooth operator like him once before. She wasn’t stupid enough to do it twice.