A Moonlit Serenade Read online

  “Now you’ve had a taste for performing live. That’s why you weren’t angrier with Murphy. It’s a rush like no other.”

  “Better than I thought it’d be. But I like what I do. Most days, I love it. Can’t imagine doing something else.”

  Ryn thrived around infants. She was made for mothering. I’d seen enough for that knowledge to seep into my bones. And Ryn…she was the marrying kind. Her first husband knew that and married her whilst she was still a teen.

  Maybe dropping the us before we became a couple would save us both later heartache.

  If that was true, why did my chest hurt to consider that move? Still, I needed to be honest.

  “You love spending time with bubs and…I’m not ready for a baby. Don’t know if I ever will be.”

  “Where did this come from?”

  “Murph and I were remembering our dad at lunch.”

  “When you got so quiet.”

  “He beat the shit out of my mum till she miscarried my baby brother.”

  No. She mouthed the word, like her vocal cords were frozen with the shock.

  I squeezed the steering wheel so hard, my fingertips numbed. “I can’t lie to you. I don’t want that between us. But if it’s a deal breaker, I get it.” I dropped my head back between my shoulders and my hands to my lap. “You have no idea how much that rat bastard broke us. I look just like him, Mum says,” I thought to add. If his features sat on my face, seemed likely I inherited his behaviors.

  She dipped her head, her hair falling forward. “Thank you for telling me.”

  My mouth twisted downward as I eyed her hands clenched in her lap.

  “It’s a deal breaker, isn’t it?”

  “I-I don’t know.” She sounded dazed. Her eyes filled with tears. “You said…you said that about children before, but I thought you just didn’t know me…I—I need to think. Please, Jake. This is all so fast.” Her voice was quiet, too low.

  “You and I, or the album?”

  “All of it. I told you, I’ve never dated. And you’re…well, you’re an amazing man, but you’re also Jake Etsam of Jackaroo, and your goals are so different from mine. You have bodyguards and don’t even blink at singing a song on stage you’ve never practiced.”

  Bloody hell. We were. As in, complete opposites.

  Silence permeated the space. I hated the distance expanding between us. Hated I’d caused the tear that spilled over her lashes. Hated how much I wanted to comfort her, hold her, make it better—because I knew I couldn’t. I couldn’t because my dad’s genes lived in me.

  She blew out a breath, gazing out the window. “Reporters keep calling me at work and on my cell,” she said as we came up on her block. She twisted her fingers together. “They’ve asked me what it’s like to be a widow, what I think about the wars.” She looked up, her eyes tormented. “I don’t know if I can be a…a famous person and offer opinions on something as personal as Dez’s choice to go in the service—or the fallout of him dying because of that choice.”

  I parked the SUV in front of her building and cupped her chin and tilted her head toward me. “Does it matter that I don’t want that responsibility either? I never did. I like playing in a band, sure, but this was never supposed to be my life.”

  She disengaged from my hold, her face tense and her eyes dark. “You dumped a lot on me just now, Jake. I’ve wanted a baby since I was in first grade. In fact, my mother, even Sam, say that’s my primary reason for living.”

  “Can’t you just…”

  “No!” She swiped at her lashes. “My lullaby that you like so much? That was my attempt to give up the dream, but I-I can’t. Since meeting you…” She huffed, then sniffled. “You’ve overwhelmed me with your generosity and your bodyguards. But you don’t want a baby.” She bit her lip but the quaver in her voice gave away the depth of her pain. “To be honest, I want a house full of kids.”

  Closing my eyes, I nodded. She needed space and time to figure out if she could see a path forward for us—that I understood because I needed the same when I was overloaded by new emotional stimuli.

  I might give in to her needs but didn’t mean I enjoyed the process. “May I call you?”

  She tugged on one of her curls, more riotous thanks to the moisture. It stretched long before bouncing back into a tight kink that reminded me too clearly that I wanted to wrap my fist in her hair, tip her face back and kiss the bloody resistance out of this woman.

  For better or worse, I wanted Ryn: her voice but also her. The sexy hair, the knowing brown eyes, lush breasts and bum. If only I could get her to see what I did.

  Ryn hesitated, her hand on the seatbelt buckle. She popped the button, and my grumpiness surged. I didn’t want Ryn to leave the car—not without telling me when I’d see her again.

  “I don’t think that’s smart.” Regret spilled from each word. “For what it’s worth, I really like you,” she said, her voice remained quiet. She swallowed hard. “That’s part of why I’m not sure I can do the album. I . . . I want things with you, Jake. Maybe—no, definitely too much. Because…because the no-kids thing might well be a deal breaker.”

  I expected her to jump out of my SUV, but instead, she leaned in and cupped my cheek, pressing her lips to mine.

  I pulled her in closer, hands splayed through her hair, as I devoured her mouth. I memorized the way she tasted, breathed, whimpered, and responded. I wanted the kiss to last forever—as I had with each of the kisses we’d shared.

  Ryn pulled out of my arms and hopped from the SUV. She ran into the building, never looking back to see Isaac head into the building behind her. I texted him, asking him to be discreet since Ryn didn’t want him ’round. He shot me a thumbs-up as he hung back, letting Ryn step through the large, glass door.

  As she disappeared inside, my mood blackened further.

  I hated every second of the next ten days to the point even Murphy—the cheeky arse—commented on how irritable I’d become.

  “Shove it,” I’d growled into the phone six days after I’d last seen Ryn, placing a check mark next to Call Back Detective Davenport to ensure SPD is working on Ryn’s case. She mightn’t want to see me, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t take care of her, keep her safe—find out if Sam had a license plate to match the one that tried to mow Ryn down.

  The detective, who worked Mila’s stalker case, was the only law enforcement person I knew in Seattle. He’d promised to review the matter, even though such work was below his paygrade. I put another check next to Send Detective D an edible bouquet. The man liked his fruit. Not like I planned to begrudge him his five-to-nine.

  “Mila says you can’t come over till you play nice.”

  Much as I loved Mila, I had no intention of spending more time with her and my lovesick brother. Blimey, even their bird liked snuggles and long walks on the beach.

  I had a woman to win over. Because this sickness in my guts? Wasn’t getting better. In fact, with each day that passed, my innards ached worse.

  “I wouldn’t be in this bloody position if you hadn’t stuffed my chances with your stupid ‘join-me-on-stage’ bullshit.” I would, too, because I blurted out my deep-seated fear in the worst possible way, but I didn’t plan to tell Murphy that.

  “You reckon she’s upset over that?” Murphy grunted then huffed. “Fuck that! We leave for Sydney this Friday. I’ll go up there and talk to her. Make it right before we go.”

  “You can’t, you arse. I told her I’d give her space. And I will. Because she bloody asked for it.”

  But Murphy, being Murphy, never did bother to listen. He took Mila to the same Monday class I attended the week before—on the pretext of showing Mila the program.

  When I saw the picture on social media later that day, rage and despair filled me, so I changed into my workout clothes and pumped iron until my muscles quivered and sweat ran in thick runnels down my chest and back—my new daily routine since Ryn cut me out of her life. I might not have stopped even then, but Alan threatened
to punch if I didn’t stop abusing my body.

  Smart call, but I still hated Alan. And Murphy And my bloody sense of chivalry and decency that required me to wait for Ryn to let me back into her life.

  Not that we hadn’t spoken—we had because I couldn’t not text her. But I hadn’t heard her voice—a voice I craved—and I missed her.

  Like last Thursday, I ordered ramen from a street vendor and texted her the picture. She responded that place was her favorite. I asked Ryn her student’s favorite tonal pattern that class and she sent me a recording of the kids’ singing “This Little Light of Mine.” I found one of her mittens in my car, and she admitted she’d knitted that pair.

  One night as we lay in our separate beds, she told me via text of her love for tulips and black-and-white movies. As of this morning, I knew she liked to go blackberry picking.

  The more we shared, the more I wanted to share.

  But Ryn didn’t ask me over. In fact, she completed each text with It’s probably best for us to stop talking.

  Today, ten days after Ryn fled my vehicle, I scowled as Mila and Murphy headed into the airport, heads close together, looking forward to their three weeks with my mum back in Oz. I shoved the car into gear and headed toward Asher’s studio, determined to work around my anger and my need—to finish the bloody album on schedule and budget.

  Because I couldn’t sit around and pine for Ryn any longer.

  11

  Ryn

  No doubt left in my mind—I missed Jake. Missed those intense hazel eyes and his strong shoulder made for my cheek. I missed his warmth and his clean, woodsy scent. But most of all, I missed Jake’s comments, insights, thoughtful gestures. I missed him.

  Was this what falling in love felt like? I’d never done this…whatever it was. My love for Dez grew out of our friendship and proximity and…expectations—both his parents’ and mine.

  But what I felt for Jake brewed bigger with each day I refused to let him back into my life. My hands jittered. My face flushed and my body tightened with need when I recalled our kisses. The past two nights, I’d lain awake as my body ached for him.

  I settled out front of Linda’s door as soon as my lunch break started, my hands wrapped tight around the to-go cup, the peppermint scent teasing me. No wonder Linda begged me to drink her coffee—I wasn’t sure if I could withstand the delicious smell much longer.

  “Hey, Ryn! Whatcha doing here this afternoon? I thought you’d be out with your rocker hottie.”

  I thrust the cup into her hands. “This is for you. And that’s why I’m here. I-I messed that up. I haven’t seen Jake in days.”

  Linda lifted the cup to her mouth and drew a long gulp. She smacked her lips and hummed. “Heaven. Explains the lack of new photos of you two. Come in. I have an hour before my next class. I’m assuming you wanted to talk about whatever’s running through your mind?” She raised her brows as she took another greedy sip.

  I followed her into her office and collapsed into the hard, wooden chair. “I don’t know where to start, exactly.” I blew out a breath. “Actually, I do. I don’t think I was ever in love with Dez. I mean, I loved him and I miss him, but I wasn’t in love with him—like you read about or see in movies or whatever. And . . . and I think he knew it because he felt the same way. That’s why he didn’t want to have a baby with me. Maybe he did that last tour because he didn’t want to hurt me by telling me no again…” I swiveled my jaw, trying to get the thoughts and words to mesh. “I think that’s why he joined the Army in the first place. Because he knew we weren’t going to last.”

  Linda settled into her chair, crossing her ankles over the corner of her desk as she nursed the rest of her drink.

  When she didn’t say anything, I blurted out, “Sam might have been behind the attempted hit-and-run and destroying the guitar Dez gave me. I think…I think if I move on now, she’ll have to accept Dez is dead, and she isn’t ready.”

  Linda dropped her feet and leaned forward, setting the cup on the edge of her desk. “Let me ask you something. Who cares?”

  I blinked, leaning back away from Linda’s harsh voice and narrowed eyes.

  She thumped her fist on her desk. “Who cares what Sam thinks or feels? Besides Sam, I mean. She’s not your problem—especially if she’s trying to scare you or hurt you, which she has.”

  I twisted my fingers together. “He doesn’t want kids.”

  “You’ve known Jake all of two, three weeks or whatever, and you’ve already brought children into the conversation?”

  “He told me. He looked at my face when I held one of the infants in my room and he knew.” I dropped my gaze, my heart still heavy over the loss of the dream I’d begun to spin in my head with Jake. “I think I’m falling in love with him.”

  Linda rolled her eyes. “You didn’t need my advice, hon. You just needed to admit it to yourself. The kids, the family part, that all comes after.” She raised an eyebrow. “At least I assume sex and kids come after feelings, but what do I know?”

  I smiled. Linda might be abrasive at times, but she was also almost always right. “You are wise. Thanks. I’ll bring you another coffee next week.”

  “You will not! My metabolism is slowing down now that I’m middle-aged.” Her eyes took on a sly glint. “If you want to help me out, you’ll bring me a shirtless picture of your boyfriend.”

  I shook my head but couldn’t stop the chortle as I headed toward the door. “I’ll see what I can do. Thanks, Linda. Have a good weekend.”

  “You, too. Details on Monday!”

  I went by his hotel. Jake never told me where he was staying, but in this case, his being famous finally helped. I still freaked out at the pictures of me eating lunch with Jake and Murphy or holding hands with Jake at the tree-lighting ceremony that continued to pop up online. Since the first picture hit the Internet, bloggers—specifically young women—wrote cruel statements about my looks, age, and widowed status. Yes, those comments played into my reasons for pushing Jake away. Which hurt me more than those mean-spirited bloggers.

  More fool I.

  His fame helped now, though. Or would have, if the desk agent, a tall brunette who stood behind the stacked-stone desk flanked by another large pine tree dripping with large red ornaments, helped me out. She didn’t, even though I’m sure she knew who I was thanks to all the media attention these past two week. She smiled a tight, almost snarly grin and informed me, “Jake Etsam is not on my list.”

  Wow. Dating, even being married to Dez, women coveted him, sending me how’d-you-land-him looks, but until now, I’d never seen jealousy or whatever that was up close. Yet another daunting problem to tackle if Jake and I started dating.

  Were we dating?

  I broke down and texted him as the desk agent—Rebecca—spoke, and Jake responded as I walked across the fancy wood floor, my steps echoing back toward the enormous stone fireplace—its mantle festooned in fresh-cut pine boughs and red ribbons.

  Wanted to talk to you.

  I’m at the studio, finishing up with Pres. May I swing by after I finish up here?

  I smiled at his eager response.

  Please do. I’ve missed you.

  “Thanks, Rebecca.”

  “Happy to assist,” she replied, a small smirk on her face.

  Isaac sauntered up to the desk behind me and tapped the counter. When she met his eyes, hers widened. “I bet,” he said.

  Then, before I had a chance to react, Isaac took my elbow and led me toward the exit.

  “Ms. Hudson!” Rebecca called, her voice vibrating with urgency.

  “I knew she knew who I was,” I muttered at Isaac.

  “Just keep walking. She’s in trouble already and no point in helping her out now.”

  I glanced up at Isaac, whose lips pressed into a firm line. “In trouble why?”

  “’Cause Jake’s not gonna like how this played out.”

  I shivered but it wasn’t so much from the cold as it was from a realization. “You’v
e been with me this whole time, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “Is Jake safe with just Alan?”

  Isaac opened my car door and raised his eyebrow. “Better to have both of us with him, but you’re important. Jake knows that—and wants to protect you.”

  I handed Isaac the keys to my car. “You drive.”

  My head was too full of thoughts of Jake—of what I needed versus what I wanted—to focus on the road.

  Isaac smiled as he ushered me around the passenger side and opened my door.

  After Isaac dropped me off at my door, I took a long shower, used my best leave-in conditioner, smoothed and scrubbed my skin. Next, I heated up some soup I’d made earlier in the week during my Jake-free time and sat at the bar, straining to hear his footfalls in the hall. I’d eaten and cleaned up before he knocked a couple of hours later.

  I flung the door open and stared at him.

  “Hi.” This time, even more than the first, Jake stole my breath. This, my angel-man, I wanted more of these emotions with him.

  He took in my long, beachy waves I’d spent over an hour messing with and my soft makeup as he leaned against the door frame. “You look good.”

  “Not as good as you. I almost forgot how much I like looking at you.”

  His lips curled upward—not quite a smile. More of his humor restored. “Can’t have that, can we?”

  I waved him in, but he didn’t move from the door. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed me. This kiss was deep, and I brought my hands up to his wrists, holding him there as he plundered my mouth.

  Jumping June bugs. I liked Jake kissing me. No, no. I loved kissing him.

  He pulled back in slow increments, his eyes warm but wary. “That’s how I like to greet you. Feel free to greet me the same way.”

  I brushed my fingertips over my swollen lips and nodded.

  He straightened and stepped into my place, closing the door with a finality that caused my heart to flutter faster.

  “Where’s Alan?”