The Colors of Love

by Grant, Vanessa

  "What?" Sometime in the last few minutes he seemed to have covered her hand with his, and she pulled hers away now, pulled herself back. He'd said he wanted help with a child, but then he'd started asking her about the stars and she'd forgotten. "I don't know anything about children."

  "You know about the stars. You're an astronomer, and I've got a delinquent kid with an excess of brainpower and a shortage of sense. I need a way to hook him."

  "Hook him? A delinquent...?" She sipped the wine again. "Your son? He can't be more than fourteen, even if..."

  Even if the mother got pregnant back on graduation night.

  Graduation night. Claire had only been at the dance because her father insisted. She'd worn a white dress with a full skirt, and she'd felt embarrassed because all the other girls had partners. She'd crowded back into a hidden corner of the gymnasium where the dance was being held, trying to hide. Instead, she'd stumbled on Blake McKenzie and Lydia, their mouths entangled in passion and Blake's hand caressing Lydia's full breast.

  Lydia had moaned.

  Claire couldn't meet Blake's too-intent eyes, not with that scene still vivid. The way she'd fled, stumbling in her hurry to get away. The way she'd dreamed, later, alone in her narrow bed with the stars shining through her open window.

  She lifted her glass again, sipped the wine, which was almost gone now. "I don't know anything about teenagers. Maybe a social worker—"

  "Jake's had social workers up the wazoo. He needs you."

  "You can't know that. You don't know me. The only kid I've ever had close contact with is my neighbor's five-month-old baby." She picked up her glass again although it was empty. She needed something to do with her hands. "Your son doesn't know me, and I wouldn't have a clue what to say to him."

  He set his beer aside and put his elbows on the table. "Jake isn't my son. I'm not married, don't have kids." His grin flashed. "Despite what you might have seen back in high school, I don't spend all my time making out with women. All I'm asking for is a few hours of your time."

  She opened her mouth with no idea what she planned to say, then the waiter delivered a massive plate of nachos covered with melted cheese and poured her a second glass of wine she hadn't ordered.

  "Back in our senior year, it seemed every time I saw you, you had your arms around a girl."

  "I've slowed down in the last fifteen years."

  "And haven't married? I used to think you and Lydia would marry."

  "Lydia went to Europe, a graduation present from her parents. She married a Swiss ski instructor, and I soon had more important things on my mind than marriage."

  "What things?"

  "My mother and stepfather died in a private plane crash in '98. I came back from UW to be with my brother and sisters."

  "I'm sorry." She hadn't known he had siblings. Hadn't known his mother had remarried, that he'd gone to college. She supposed she'd pictured him perpetually nineteen, romancing Lydia.

  She really knew nothing of this man.

  "It was a long time ago." He covered her hand with his, warm fingers curled over hers. "Claire, what can I do to persuade you to help Jake?"

  She hadn't enough breath. Fifteen years—wasn't that long enough to get rid of a stupid, adolescent crush? She didn't know him, had never known him. It was just hormones, perhaps pheromones.

  "Blake, I can't—"

  "What can it hurt? A couple of hours with a surly kid, then you can go back to Arizona knowing you did your bit for troubled youth."

  She wanted to clear her throat, and knew she should pull her hand away. She stared at their linked hands, addressed her words to them. "I'm not good with kids."

  "Maybe you need practice." His voice was as sober as hers, though she thought she saw amusement in the shadows around his eyes.

  "You're doing this for Jake. Bringing me here, spending your time. He must mean a lot to you."

  "Jake matters, but it's not a hardship sitting across the table enjoying those impossible eyes of yours."

  She pulled her hand away. "You're flirting."

  "It's not a crime, Claire."

  "No." She felt so inept, so ridiculously uncomfortable sitting across from him with her imagination feeding fantasies she'd thought long dead while she stared at a darkening eastern sky tinged with the pink of reflected sun.

  "You said you were hungry. You should eat those nachos." She thought her voice would come out strangled, but it sounded husky to her own ears. The man was dangerous.

  Flirting with her. Did that mean that if she...

  He separated one of the nachos from the heap and held it out to her. She told herself not to, but her lips parted and she bit into the salty treat, her lips closing over the tang of melted cheese.

  Find the town bad boy and have a flaming affair.

  She picked up her wine and lifted it to her mouth. Of course she wasn't tempted, but... a flaming affair. Kevin, her only lover, had been tame, certainly not dangerous. But Blake...

  He'd taken on the magnitude of an archetype in her teenage world. The tempting boy who would never want her because she didn't belong to the world of groping in back seats and back corners. She'd been a serious student, a good girl.

  "Will you think about Jake, Claire?"

  She lifted the glass again, deliberately this time. She needed a long, cool sip of the wine, and then she needed a heavy dose of fresh air, courage for the words.

  "Can we go for a walk?" she asked.

  Seeing Stars

  by

  Vanessa Grant

  available at your favorite ebook Retailer

  ~~

  Page forward for an excerpt

  from Vanessa Grant's next title

  If You Loved Me

  Excerpt from

  If You Loved Me

  by

  Vanessa Grant

  Prologue

  He left her alone in the car, ten miles outside town with darkness all around. She was seventeen years old and it was the first time in her life she'd ever been alone, no walls around her and not a building in sight.

  "There's a light up there," he said. "A house. I'll phone for help."

  After he'd gone, Emma sat in the car and shivered. She wished she had insisted on going with him, but he'd been so impatient.

  "You think your dad will kill you for being late?" he'd asked. "Mine's going to flip when he learns I've blown up the damned car."

  After he left, she realized how lonely it was out here. She fought off fantasies of all the things that could happen to a girl alone in a car.

  She wished she could turn on the lights, but Paul had warned her not to, muttering that he didn't need a dead battery on top of everything else. So she sat in the dark, feeling the way she had when she'd been lying alone in a hospital bed the night before surgery. When she heard a sound from outside, she rummaged in her purse for her glasses, and then put them on so she could see the shadows better.

  She was reciting a long soliloquy from Shakespeare when she saw car lights up ahead—maybe someone going to the dance she and Paul had left half an hour ago. Or maybe Paul, returning with help. Or—

  The headlights swung away into the trees as the car crossed to her side of the road, spreading a halo of light. Wheels crunched on the gravel road, then the driver's door opened.

  A man got out. A big man.

  Someone else got out the passenger side of the car and Emma rolled down the window a couple of inches.

  "Paul? Is that you?"

  "Stay in the car, Emma."

  It was Paul. She let out a sigh of relief.

  "In the trunk," said the stranger, his voice was deep and gravelly. "I'll get them."

  Emma pushed open the door and stumbled out onto the gravel shoulder. She couldn't see the man with Paul, just his shape standing in front of the headlights, all glare and shadows and broad shoulders.

  "Why don't you get into my car and stay warm?" the stranger said. "My heater's on."

  "I have to get home." She hug
ged herself as a breeze penetrated her thin dress. "I'm already late."

  "For Pete's sake, Emma!" Paul's long shadow swam out of the darkness. "What the hell do you expect me to do? The car's trashed. You'll get home when you get there."

  "I'll get tools," the stranger said.

  She followed his shadow with her eyes until it disappeared behind the other car. A trunk opened, then closed. Shadows shifted around the two cars. Emma hugged herself tighter and wondered why she hadn't had the sense to bring a jacket.

  The stranger lifted Paul's hood. From their conversation, she decided he knew about engines.

  "So that's that," Paul said in a truculent voice.

  She cleared her throat. "If I'm late, my dad's likely to call the police."

  "Emma, give it a rest!"

  "I could give you a ride," said the stranger.

  As she pushed her long hair behind one ear, the light from his headlights in her eyes.

  The stranger said, "I'll leave the tools and the work light with you, Paul, then drop your girlfriend off and come back. I'll pick up some oil while I'm gone."

  Emma was swallowed by sensation, as if she were already alone in a car with the stranger. Being alone with Paul had never felt intimate. Exciting, yes, because it was new having a boyfriend when she was seventeen and had only recently been permitted to date. But this, the thought of a car surrounding two people and shutting out the world, looking across the length of the front seat and finding him staring back at her...

  She didn't even know what he looked like, only his shape with the light behind, and his deep, take-charge voice.

  "Let's go," he said. "I'm taking you home."

  "Who are you?"

  Paul made an impatient sound. "For God's sake, Emma! You wanted to go!"

  "I'm Gray MacKenzie."

  So this was Paul's best friend, the one who had spent the summer prospecting up north in Canada. She pushed her glasses up on her nose.

  "I'm Emma Jennings."

  "I know."

  * * *

  It was quiet inside his Chevy. She studied Gray's broad jaw, frowning mouth, and wavy brushed-back hair that looked as dark as the forest outside. As he drove, his heavy brows cast shadows where his eyes should be. He didn't speak until they arrived at the junction with the highway.

  "Where do you live?"

  "Oak Street." She twisted strands of her hair around one uneasy finger. "Across from Connaught School. I—thanks for driving me home."

  He turned and looked at her. She stared back. From Paul, she knew Graham MacKenzie was in his second year at the community college, taking science courses for transfer to the University of Washington next year. She also knew he shared an apartment with a father who spent most of his time prospecting for gold up north.

  You had to be determined to do what Graham MacKenzie had done. He'd won scholarships to pay his way through two years at the local college, was heading for university next year with nothing behind him but brains and determination—because according to Paul, Graham MacKenzie's father was perpetually broke.

  When he broke their locked gazes and pulled his car out on the highway, she felt the shock of withdrawal.

  "You're not what I expected," she announced in a husky voice.

  "Has Paul been giving me bad press?"

  "No."

  When he laughed, she stole another look. Gray's shoulders made her feel crowded even though they weren't touching. She had only a hazy idea what prospecting might be like. Paul had talked as if it were a game, but hard muscles flexed in Gray's forearms as he turned the wheel to take a sharp corner.

  "Paul's jealous of you."

  He laughed as if he didn't believe her. "What time were you expected home?"

  "Ten o'clock."

  "Will you be in trouble?"

  When she grimaced, it turned into a laugh that he shared. He threw her another one of those quick glances, assessing her in fast snapshots. When he looked away, she realized her heart was pounding uncomfortably.

  "My dad's pretty strict. He worries."

  "Dr. Jennings?"

  "You know Dad?"

  "I went to him for a broken leg last year."

  He kept glancing at her and she wanted to take her glasses off, but was afraid he'd realize she wanted him to think she looked pretty.

  "We had a difference of opinion," said Gray.

  "Over your leg?"

  "Yeah."

  "How did you break it? Is it okay now?"

  "Just fine. Why does your father worry about you?"

  She shifted uncomfortably. "I'm trying for scholarships this year. He's strict about my getting home early."

  "What are you planning to study?"

  "Medicine. I'm going to be a doctor." She pushed her hair back again and shoved her glasses up. She felt fiercely self-conscious. "I don't usually tell people."

  If he stopped now they would be in the middle of nowhere. If he turned to her and pulled her close and pressed his mouth to hers, would his lips be cool the way they looked, or hot like the flush she felt on her cheeks?

  She pressed her palm against the side of her face and bit her lip hard. Thank heaven he couldn't know her thoughts. There was no way he could know she felt naked in the silence between them. She could feel the purr of his car engine in her veins. She stared at the trees whipping past outside, then closed her eyes and saw the breadth of his shoulders, felt the way his size made her feel restless and uncomfortable. She thought of the heated lovemaking in the pages of the romance novel beside her bed at home and her body flushed.

  Of course he wouldn't touch her. Why was she even thinking it?

  "Why don't you tell people you want to be a doctor?"

  "My father says I'm too weak."

  "Are you?"

  "No!"

  "I believe you."

  The unexpected gentleness of his voice startled her.

  "I was sick when I was younger." She didn't want him to think of her as sick, but couldn't seem to stop herself telling him. "I had this thing—my leg. I was on crutches for a long time. Then I had operations."

  "Does this thing have a name?"

  She smiled shyly toward him. "Legg-Calve-Perthes disease. I'm fine now."

  She'd been in and out of hospitals; twice to Seattle for surgery. All that was in the past. The only thing left was the slight limp if she let herself get tired, but her father watched her like a hawk.

  "I want to help children who can't walk properly." She clenched her hands together in her lap. "I'll take a science degree at the University of Washington. Then, if my dad won't help me go on to the University's School of Medicine, I'll find a way on my own."

  "If you want something enough, there's always a way."

  "I hope you're right."

  The miles slipped away as they talked, and she forgot to glance at her watch or think of the angry father waiting for her until they reached the outskirts of the city and lights flickered through the interior of the car.

  "I've been talking too much."

  "I asked the questions."

  They were almost at her house. In a minute she'd be inside and he would be gone. She might see him when she was with Paul, but that would be public. Tonight they were friends driving through the dark. She could tell him anything and he would listen. She studied his face, harsh in the glow from the dash lights. She felt as if she'd known him forever, deeply and in secret.

  "I want to know about you," she whispered.

  "You're almost home."

  She saw her corner, her house.

  "Don't pull in the driveway!"

  He made an impatient sound. "You want me to hide around the corner?"

  "You must think I'm juvenile."

  "I think you're afraid of your father."

  She liked the way he smiled and wondered if his smile would show in his eyes. What color were his eyes? She didn't even know what color his hair was. It could be anything from light brown to dead black and she wouldn't know. He was all shadows
and silhouettes.

  She scrambled out of the car.

  He got out, too, and she opened her mouth to tell him not to, but couldn't get any words out. Somehow she was standing in front of him, staring up at him, her heart pounding with a fierce desire to kiss him.

  The feeling from inside the car was gone. This was no intimate friend. He was a stranger and her blood was heavy with pulsing suspense. His lips would be hard. His body...

  She jerked and stepped back with a gasp.

  "What about Paul?" he demanded harshly.

  Warm panic crawled along her veins. If her father looked out, she'd be in trouble, leaving with one boy and coming back late with Graham MacKenzie.

  Gray's gaze dropped to her throat. When his fingers touched her chin, her heart went crazy and his face turned even harsher.

  "Are you serious about Paul?"

  She shook her head mutely.

  "Then stop seeing him."

  "Are you saying I'm not good enough for—"

  The husky whisper of her voice broke when his thumb brushed the underside of her chin. "Don't be stupid, Emma. You know damned well I want you."

  "Graham?"

  "It's Gray. Not Graham." He released her and turned away. She saw him put one hand on the hood of his car, then her glasses slipped down her nose and she couldn't seem to move to push them up.

  "Gray... will I see you?" Her own voice sounded frail on the night air.

  "Paul's my best friend."

  From the house, her father called out, "Emma! Get inside right now!"

  Graham MacKenzie wanted her, and he meant more than dancing and Friday theater dates. He meant touching, things she'd never let any other boy do. She was still standing there when his car turned the corner, leaving behind the echo of his engine revving too high.

  If she was going to be a doctor she had to remember every minute that she had a purpose, that he wasn't the kind of boy a girl let near if she wanted to keep control of her own life. She'd be crazy to let herself become involved with Graham MacKenzie.

  Crazy or not, she broke up with Paul the next weekend.

  Chapter 1

  Twenty years later...