Moonlight on Monterey Bay

by Sally Goldenbaum

  “Hey, Sam, I didn’t order this fog. It just happened. And it’s not that big a deal, is it?” She looked at him intently, and then the reason for his anger dawned on her—he had someone waiting for him. At this very moment there was probably a voluptuous woman curled up on a wide, silk-sheeted bed in an elegant condo, waiting for the sound of his key in the lock. And here Sam was, fogged in with her. A soft laugh escaped her lips.

  The sound curled up inside of Sam, squeezing the air from his lungs. “Don’t do that!” he said.

  Maddie’s head tilted slightly. “I was laughing, for heaven’s sake! Listen, I’m sorry about this. And I can see how it would upset you, especially with someone waiting for you. But it’s the way it is. You can use my phone to call her, and if this fog goes away as fast as I expect it will, you can be there before she wakes up in the morning.”

  “Maddie—” His voice was low, nearly a growl. “Be quiet. There’s no one waiting for me.”

  “Well, good. There’s no problem, then.” Maddie turned and walked back inside. She buried the instant pleasure she felt at the information by rummaging through the hall closet for sheets.

  Sam came up behind her. “Three miles isn’t far,” he said. “Maybe I could walk—”

  Sam stood close to her in the small hallway and Maddie could feel his breath on the bare skin of her neck. She shivered at the unexpected rush of feeling, then turned quickly and thrust a blanket and pillow into his arms. “I don’t think so, Sam. You’d probably be run over by a truck and Joseph and I need this job too much to chance losing it that way.” She forced a smile and took a step away, pointing into the living room. “That’s where you’ll sleep. It’s a little lumpy, but you’ll live. My room is upstairs. If there’s anything else you need, just holler.”

  Sam shoved his hands into his pockets, then looked over at his hostess, her oval face shadowed by the small light in the hall. She looked tired, but her eyes were still bright … luminous, dancing. “Do you have any Scotch?” he asked abruptly.

  “Not a drop.” She smiled up into his unsmiling face. “But you don’t need Scotch, Sam. Just listen to the ocean.” She wrapped her arms around herself. Where had the chill come from?

  Sam glanced out the window, then back to Maddie. He managed a half smile. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this, don’t we? Someone’s bound to talk.”

  Maddie smiled, her throat tight. She nodded. Lord, he was handsome. His sandy hair, usually combed neatly in place, fell across his forehead. She clenched her fist to keep from touching it, pushing it back. “ ’Night, Sam,” she finally managed to say, though the words sounded strange and hollow. And then she escaped, up the stairs and through the dark hallway to her tiny bedroom, where she closed the door tightly and commanded her heart to continue to pump. There was something in the air tonight, something carried on the fog maybe, that was making her feel as if she had swallowed a fleet of butterflies. Or maybe it was simply a natural thing, she thought as she stripped off her clothes and slipped beneath the sheets. She hadn’t been with a man for a very long time. Not since Philip. And that was a whole lifetime ago. Maybe her body was simply longing for the closeness she had denied it. Maybe that was it.

  But when she forced her lids closed, it wasn’t a nameless body that surged through Technicolor dreams; it was a tall, tanned body with a face … and a name … and eyes so blue they blinded her.

  For Sam, sleep was impossible. It wasn’t his feet sticking out over the end of the couch; it wasn’t the mournful wail of the foghorn; it was Maddie, lying in her bed upstairs. He folded his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, seeing her through the floor and the wooden joists. And it wasn’t the Maddie who had rushed up the stairs that he saw. It was the Maddie who had appeared out of nowhere, walking silently up from the beach, her naked body warmed by moonlight.

  Sam squirmed. Damn. He felt eighteen again, horny, frustrated.

  He had wanted Maddie to stay up awhile and talk to him. He wanted to learn more about her, to find out what stirred that spirit that lit her eyes. It was probably the unknown that caused the intrigue, the attraction, the desire, he told himself. He’d erase it all with information.

  His mind went back over the evening once, and then replayed it yet again. The astonishing fact that he had enjoyed it was a little like getting a new computer program, something to be looked at from all sides, to be turned slowly in one’s hand and admired, then probed for the secret to its uniqueness. But unlike his programs, he couldn’t figure this thing out. Not even at dawn, when he stood on the porch and watched the sun climb slowly over the eastern mountain and burn away the thick blanket of fog. And not when he finally went back inside, threw himself onto the couch, and finally, blessedly, fell asleep.

  Eeyore wasn’t at her door when she slipped out of bed a little after six, and for a brief moment Maddie was frightened. Then memory slowly uncurled in her still-sleep-drowsed mind, and she slipped into shorts, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes and walked quietly downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs she paused, peering through the shadows into the living room. She bit down on her bottom lip and smiled.

  Eeyore, her large, shaggy protector! On the rug beside the couch, he slept as soundly as Sam, his large hairy paw stretched out over Sam’s shoes. She took a few steps closer, carefully skipping the floorboards that creaked. In sleep the creases in Sam’s forehead were less pronounced, his tanned skin and burnished hair more striking. His lips, relaxed, were slightly apart. Maddie’s eyes traveled down to his chest, bare now except for the thick thatch of dark blond hair that shadowed it. A small sigh escaped her lips, but Sam didn’t move. He was incredibly handsome in sleep, so … so unadorned, so natural. This was the Sam she had dreamed about.

  Eeyore, sensing her presence, stirred and wagged his tail, then sleepily lifted his heavy body from the rug and padded over to her side. “Shhh, Eeyore,” she whispered. “Let’s not wake our friend.”

  Eeyore thumped his tail and followed her outside. “Ready?” Maddie asked, her heart strangely light. Then they were off, the dark-haired young woman with the long thick braid bouncing rhythmically between her shoulder blades and the large golden dog, running down the damp quiet street toward Rebecca’s Mighty Muffins, where Rebecca herself was overseeing the baking of some of the fluffiest, sweetest muffins in town.

  The sweet, tantalizing odor of fresh lemon poppy-seed muffins was what finally nudged Sam from sleep.

  He lifted his head from the pillows, shook out the cramps in his neck and shoulders, and looked around. Sunlight streamed across the living-room rugs and spread out across his legs in narrow bands. His pants were a mess, rumpled and pulled uncomfortably across his thighs, and his shirt was a heap on the floor.

  “Hi,” Maddie said softly.

  Sam looked toward the voice. Maddie stood in the arched entrance, her hair damp and perspiration dotting her forehead. An oversized T-shirt dipped to her knees, making it look as if that was all she wore. At her side, panting, was Eeyore.

  “Did you sleep all right?” she asked.

  Sam reached for his shirt. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

  “It’s morning. Coffee, muffins, and homemade granola are waiting. That and an absolutely gorgeous day.”

  Sam lifted his long legs over the side of the couch. Once his feet hit the floor and he was upright, he felt better, more in charge anyway. Talking to Maddie in a semireclining position had definite drawbacks. “What day is it?” He forked his fingers through his tangled hair. “Sunday, right?” Maddie’s answering laughter was low and throaty. Laughter, muffins, a beautiful sun. Hell, where was he, Oz? Sam shook his head.

  “Yes, it’s Sunday,” Maddie said, coming farther into the room and sitting down on the edge of a chair opposite the couch. “You spent the night here because of the fog, and no, you’re not late for work, unless, of course, you work on Sundays.”

  Sam glanced at his wristwatch. “As a matter of fact, I do. But it’s okay. It’s early enough.”


  “You shouldn’t work on Sundays,” she said softly.

  “No? Is it a religious thing with you?”

  “No, it’s a sensible thing. Everyone needs some time away from work.” She leaned forward, her face intense. “It’s like composting a garden or … or like my herb garden—”

  “Herb garden?”

  “I grow these wonderful little plants. Basil and dill and cilantro,” Maddie said. “And I pick back the leaves to use in cooking. But if I pick them all off, the plant will die. So I pick just so far, then let the plant rest and soak up the sunlight and moisture and replenish itself, sprout new leaves.” She sat back, smiling.

  “That’s it?”

  “It’s a metaphor, Sam. Sit back once in a while and let your mind and soul fill up again, or you’ll burn up all that creative energy. No one can work all the time. It’s destructive.”

  Yes, it was that all right. He was a self-acknowledged expert on it. But it wasn’t creative energy it destroyed—he seemed to have an endless supply of that these days—it was marriages.

  Maddie saw the shadow fall across his face. She’d done it again, stepped over some line that Sam had drawn across his life. “Enough about herbs,” she said quickly. “It’s time for food, and then you can be on your way.”

  Sam looked at her and his slow smile came without great effort. “Food sounds great, Maddie.”

  While Maddie fixed breakfast Sam showered in the narrow stall upstairs, then joined her on the front porch.

  “Won’t the neighbors talk?” he asked as he settled himself in a large wicker chair opposite her and took from her hands a large bowl of fruit with raisins, granola, and a heaping mound of yogurt. Maddie’s spoon stopped in midair. “About what?” Tiny flecks of granola floated to the ground and were eagerly lapped up by Eeyore. And then realization hit her and she laughed, a slightly husky laugh from way back in her throat. “They might talk about your car,” she said simply. “Not many Jags park here for the night.”

  “But other cars do?”

  “Oh, sure. If people spend the night, they usually leave their cars at the curb.”

  Her evasive answer made Sam wonder if she had someone special in her life, some man who got farther than the couch in the living room. Before he could ask, Maddie spoke.

  “Smell that,” she said suddenly, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. Sam frowned at the abrupt change in conversation, then noticed that even Eeyore had seemed to comply with her directives. He, too, closed his eyes and smelled.

  The heady scent of eucalyptus, clean, pure, sensual, made him relax. “Nice,” he murmured.

  “When the wind is right, it fills your whole head. It’s an aphrodisiac and a spiritual tonic, all mixed up in one. Can you feel it opening everything up, your body, your mind?”

  Maddie leaned forward, watching him, waiting for an answer.

  He gave a short laugh, took a spoonful of cereal, and nodded. “Sure, I guess. It smells great, Maddie.”

  She smiled, pleased.

  “Even this, much to my surprise, isn’t bad,” he said, taking a second bite of granola.

  “Isn’t bad?” Maddie said, lifting one brow. “It’s fantastic! I make it myself. It took me forever to get just the right balance of grains and fruit.”

  “I guess I’m used to bacon and eggs—”

  “Shame on you!”

  The teasing reprimand rolled across him easily and he smiled in response. It actually felt okay, having someone care about what he ate. And the cereal really was okay. Actually it was pretty good, in spite of his early impression that she had bought it at a feed store. He set the empty bowl on the table and, with the back of his hand, wiped a stray sunflower seed from the corner of his mouth. “You’re right about this stuff. I like it.” His gaze drifted beyond the porch. There were signs of life now in the neighborhood, a couple of little kids down the block kicking a soccer ball back and forth, some college types climbing onto thick-wheeled bicycles, runners catching early-morning breezes.

  There was an awkward silence. The food was eaten, the fog had long ago disappeared, and there was no reason for Sam to stick around. He had a stack of work waiting back in San Jose, and the next line was written: I need to be going now. But the words seemed to be lodged somewhere deep in his throat. He smiled at Maddie and finally managed to rise from the chair.

  “Thanks for rescuing me last night,” he said. “The ride back wouldn’t have been much fun.”

  “You’ve allowed me to spend the night in your home. No reason not to return the favor.”

  “And we got through the whole thing without an argument.”

  “So we did.” And thank heaven, without a kiss, without a touch, Maddie thought. Immediately tiny goose bumps popped up on her arms and she rubbed them away, wondering if Sam noticed. Maybe she’d hit on something here—avoid arguing with this man, because arguing encouraged desire.

  But as she watched Sam saunter down the flower-lined walkway, his hands shoved in the pockets of his expensive, rumpled pants, she wasn’t so sure she had discovered anything of the kind.

  SIX

  He intended to stay away.

  Several restless nights and a dangerous game of racquetball with his weekly partner, Chuck Larson, had brought Sam to the decision.

  “You look like a bull too long out of the ring,” Chuck told him as they walked down the health-club hallway.

  “Nothing a little exercise won’t take care of,” Sam snapped back, walking onto the racquetball court.

  With a slam that jarred Chuck into action, Sam whipped the small rubber ball against the wall. And then he pounded it, again and again, venting his frustration in the echoing chamber. Maddie was there when he went to sleep, when he woke up, when he made important business decisions. He’d look up, and there she’d be, that damn hat on her head, her long unstylish dress floating around her legs. Or worse, stepping up out of the ocean … And her laughter, that was there, too, that soft throaty laugh that curled up inside of him, twisting around, making him wild.

  Whomp! He struck the ball harder, spinning it through the air. Sweat poured down his face and dark circles widened on his T-shirt, but he kept up at a frantic pace, purging himself until his lungs burned and he realized he was alone, crouched in the middle of the court, slamming the small rubber ball brutally against the wall. He stopped short, stood there, ran his fingers roughly through his dripping hair.

  “Nice exhibition, Sam,” Chuck said from the back. He was leaning up against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, laughter in his eyes.

  “Sorry. I got carried away.”

  “Is that what you call it? I value my life or I would have stayed in the fray.”

  “It’s been a long week.”

  “So I see. I see your problem, too, Sam. But it isn’t racquetball you need. You need a good lay.”

  The crude words stayed with Sam, bounced around in his head like the small rubber ball on the court. He had been unreasonably angry when Chuck said it, and he didn’t know why. But hours later, in the middle of a long tedious board meeting at the museum, he knew. There was no question he wanted Maddie, yearned to take her to bed, to make passionate, earthshaking love to her. He wanted it when he was with her, and now when he wasn’t with her. But the coarse words, spoken half in jest, brought it all into perspective. Maddie wasn’t about casual sex or short-term affairs. Everything about her spoke of other things, of sensibilities and sensitivities and passion—even the way she looked at him, a look that went down deep inside of him. A relationship with Maddie Ames, as unlikely as it would be, would require all the things Sam Eastland wasn’t about, the emotional things he had failed at and had vowed to steer clear of: commitment, care, responsibility.

  So he had stayed away for a long, frustrating week. And maybe would have stuck it out, if it hadn’t been a slow Friday, or Eleanor hadn’t brought the message to him, or he hadn’t been tired, or it hadn’t been a nice day for a drive. Maybe.

  “The fir
st delivery of furniture for the beach house is coming this afternoon,” Eleanor said. “Maddie says it’s wonderful stuff, made by local craftsmen. Why don’t you go take a look? I’d go myself,” Eleanor added, “but Joseph is coming here to take me to the theater.” She smiled sweetly.

  “You think I need to see it?”

  “Absolutely,” she said, and began cleaning off his desk.

  It was a good day for a drive, he rationalized as he stopped briefly at his condo to change clothes. He’d clear his head, and discussing business with Maddie would clear things up, put things back into perspective. That was why he was going to see her again. To put things into perspective.

  Maddie noticed the needle wobbling around empty when she started her car. She frowned, briefly considered getting gas, then decided against it. The deliverymen would be at the beach house any minute, and besides, empty didn’t really mean empty, it meant get gas soon.

  But halfway between the beach house and her office, empty meant empty, and the bright yellow VW Bug failed its faithful owner of six years and chugged to a stop.

  “Shame on you!” Maddie scolded as she coasted to the curb.

  The nearest gas station was six blocks away. Maddie was out of breath when she called Joseph from the pay phone inside.

  “I won’t say I told—”

  “Good,” Maddie said. “Now, what I need, Joseph, is for you to take the extra key to the beach house and meet the delivery truck. It should be there any minute. I’ll be there soon.”

  “Okay,” Joseph said, “but I’ll have to leave them a note if they’re late. I’m picking Eleanor up in San Jose in an hour.”

  “Joseph, are you letting your heart get in the way of business?”

  “Absolutely! And may I suggest you consider the same, Madeline? It does wonders for one’s outlook.”

  Maddie laughed too loudly, and then turned her attention to pleading with Gus, the station owner, for a line of instant credit that would cover half a tank of gas.

  Sam peeled the note off the front door and read the scrawled message from the movers: