A Moonlit Serenade Read online

  “Suits me.” I wrestled with my nervousness as I strolled toward the wall that held the kitchen, needing the space. “Want a drink? I bought beer and wine. It’s white. Supposed to be good with scallops.”

  The concerned look began to fade from his eyes. “Wine, then. Thanks.”

  Pulling out the corkscrew I slid it and the bottle across the counter. “You mind opening? We’ll drink bits of cork if I try to open the bottle.”

  “Sure.” He picked up the corkscrew.

  I pulled down two blown-glass wine glasses Linda gave me last year for my birthday and set them next to him.

  “You have a thing for specs.”

  No. I had a thing for Jake in glasses. Totally different. More of his sensitivity showed through with the glasses. I stuck my head in the fridge, needing to cool my cheeks and collect my thoughts.

  “Your day go well?” I called.

  “Fine. Look, you don’t have to make me dinner. And I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  I pulled out the scallops, busied myself pulling them from their wrapping. “You didn’t. I embarrassed myself.”

  “Ryn.”

  “I bought all these. See? Way more than I could ever eat.”

  “Are you going to ignore me?”

  I gripped the edge of my countertop. “I’m talking to you right now.”

  He ran his hand across the back of his neck, knocking his glasses slightly askew.

  I dropped my face into my hands and moaned. He slid the wine glass toward me so I picked it up and gulped. Setting it down, I forced my eyes back up to his. He waited, relaxed, seemingly patient.

  “Can I be honest?” I asked.

  “I’d hope you always are.”

  The laugh bubbled out. “I try to be. It’s just . . . you make me nervous.”

  “I’m just a bloke, Ryn.”

  “We’ll agree to disagree on that. But that’s not why. I mean, I’m freaking out about your fame. A reporter followed me around today.”

  “Are you all right? He didn’t harass you?”

  He had, but I shook my head, not wanting to complain about the hounding journalist.

  “I’ll deal with it. No worries. Should have thought to after our picture yesterday. Fair dinkum.”

  Jake’s lips pressed downward, and my cheeks burned once again but I kept my gaze steady on his.

  “That’s not what I’m freaking out about. I-I never dated so this…” I pointed at my chest then his. “Is new to me.”

  He set his wine on the counter as his frown deepened. “You were married.”

  I waved my hand, negating Jake’s line of thought. “Dez was there. You know? My next-door neighbor. Everything was easy. Almost scripted.”

  Jake picked up his wine, his large hand cradling the bowl with a delicacy I envied. I wanted him to hold me like that. He waited for me to finish.

  “I don’t know how to act around you. What to say or do. How to tell you I’m interested in your project because then I’m worried you’ll think I want to sleep with you, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that—for anything you might offer, really.” I spread my hands out. “Working on an album, that’s going to be life-altering for me. And pretty much everything in my life changed two years ago for the worse, so the idea of going through something like that again freaks me out.” I picked up my glass and drained it.

  Jake took the glass from my hand. Probably a good thing based on how much it was shaking. Rounding the counter, he cupped my cheeks in those big, callused hands, tilting my head back to meet his eyes through those delectable brown frames.

  “I like you, Ryn.” He paused a long beat, studying my face. “I haven’t said that to a woman in a long time.”

  My diaphragm stuttered.

  “When I stopped in that first time, I knew I wanted to work with you. Now, after lunch, after seeing what you do, I’m compelled to get to know you. Maybe…maybe more. If you’re ready.” He paused again. His hands shook against my cheeks. “Can you live with that?”

  “I-I…yes.” My voice was breathy, so unlike me.

  “As you make dinner, will you tell me more about you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And—maybe—if we agree to it later, will you let me kiss you good night?”

  My cheeks were so warm, they had to be burning Jake’s palms. The heat crept down my neck, over my chest. “Yes.” The word was barely audible. My stomach rolled as my thighs clenched. Jake, taking charge of the situation, made me burn.

  He waited a beat while I tried to regulate my breathing. I didn’t, and the ache between my legs grew.

  “Is there anything else you’d like to add?”

  My gaze dropped to his mouth, flicked back up to his eyes, which gleamed behind those sexy-as-sin frames. Dropped to his lips again. He held his breath, waiting to see what I’d do next. “Yes.”

  “What’s that?” Now his voice was raspy. That meant desire, right? Before I could chicken out, I leaned up onto the balls of my feet and pressed my lips to his—just as I’d fantasized since he walked into my classroom a few days ago.

  His lips were softer than I expected. Firm. I dragged my tongue across the bottom one, shocked by how different the texture was from my own. He gathered me closer, one hand sliding to my lower back and clasping my hip as if he couldn’t stand any space between us. I settled against his chest, one of his thighs between mine, his lips still pressed to mine.

  He dropped his hand farther and cupped my bottom, pressing me tighter to his thigh. He pulled back and hissed a curse. I continued to grip his shirt, unsteady on my feet, as I reached up and touched my lips. They were plump, slick. Tingling with need.

  “I didn’t expect that.” His voice was rougher, his muscles taut—with need?

  My limited experience with men frustrated me now. I wanted Jake to want me with the same desperation I wanted him, but I wasn’t sure that was possible. Or plausible.

  Releasing his shirt, I stepped back. “Me to kiss you?”

  He stepped closer, caging me between the counter and his thick arms. “Yes.”

  “I—it’s the glasses,” I whispered.

  He chuckled. “Well, if I’d known that, I would have started wearing them on stage.”

  My face crumpled at his words. I didn’t want to think of other women kissing him, loving him. Oh, that hurt.

  “Hey, come back.”

  I shook my head, embarrassment lighting my body up hotter than a blow torch.

  “I didn’t mean to…you scrambled my brains with that kiss. That was one of the hottest moments on my life.”

  I blinked up at him. “You thought that was hot?”

  He pressed closer, his thighs bracketing me. “Yeah.”

  “Oh.” My hands drifted from his hips, over his waist, sliding up, up to his chest. He was so muscular. I liked his size because he remained gentle, careful.

  Fine. I liked Jake Etsam. A lot.

  “May I kiss you again?”

  I sucked in a shuddering breath before I managed to nod.

  Liking Jake wouldn’t end well. Which meant I’d just signed my own ticket for a broken heart.

  6

  Jake

  This time, I claimed her mouth. My tongue slid across the seam of her lips and, when she opened for me, I plundered the sweet, warm heat with long strokes that got me hotter with each slick. When Ryn hummed her approval, I tilted my head and delved deeper. She sagged against me. I gathered her closer because I wasn’t done with her yet.

  I used my teeth. Tiny nips that had her making these little gaspy noises deep in her throat. My hand fisted in her hair at the base of her neck as I tipped her head back. Our tongues dueled and danced, and I craved more.

  Her arms wound tighter around my neck as she flattened her delicious breasts against my chest. The kiss sped past passionate straight to wanton. The chemistry I’d sensed when I saved her from the car and then again when I kissed her cheek exploded into a haze of mind-numbing lust.

  I
pulled back in slow increments, needing to hold on to her. Bloody hell, this woman could kiss.

  “We steamed all the windows,” she said.

  She sounded as dazed as I felt. I dipped my head against her damp hair, struggling to fill my lungs. Her scent swirled through me, making me ache for more.

  “I’ve never done that before,” she murmured.

  I pulled back enough to stroke her hair away from her overheated face. “Pash?”

  At her look, I struggled to get my head straight. “Kiss. Make out, you Yanks say.”

  Her lips remained puffy and slightly parted, her eyes gleamed with desire. “Never ‘pashed’ enough to steam up windows.” Her lips curved up in a small smirk. “Maybe it’s just you. All those rock-star pheromones.”

  I snorted. “You’re good for the ego.”

  “Glad to know I have uses.”

  “I’m coming to find you have many. Now, what can I do to help with tea?”

  “Tea?”

  “Dinner.”

  She nodded, disengaging with what seemed like reluctance from my embrace. I liked that—I could pretend she didn’t want to let me go. I sure as hell didn’t want to those soft curves out of my hands. As soon as she slipped away, I fisted my hands to keep from reaching for her again.

  “Sit at the bar. I got this.” I barely heard her mumble I hope. I turned away, not wanting her to see my smile.

  I slid on to the barstool and swiveled back to face her once my lips returned to a neutral position. “You like it here?” Her view was stunning—Christmas trees sat in others’ windows up and down the street, in a range of whites, reds, and silver. In the distance, Lake Union’s placid water flashed with moonlight and, to the left, Christmas lights edged many of the masts in the marina. Her lobby doors were laden with pine wreaths and the fresh scent lingered in the lobby where Alan currently sat, no doubt glaring at every resident.

  “My apartment or in Seattle?”

  I wanted to know if this was the place she’d lived with her ex but wasn’t sure how to ask. “Both, I guess. My brother loves Seattle’s vibe. And Hayden’s pretty settled, but that might be because Briar’s family’s all here. He doesn’t have any now that his mum’s passed on.”

  She dried her hands and pulled out a large cast iron skillet. “It’s weird how casually you talk about people I’ve seen on magazine covers or heard on the radio.”

  Concern crept up my neck like tiny ant feet marching toward my skull. I shivered. “Is that a problem?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so.” But the frown marring her brow deepened. She was as leery of the fame as I was—the journo pestering her today wouldn’t help with that. I couldn’t tell her that without sounding like a whinger. And I didn’t know her well enough to tell her I’d never set out to be in a band let alone one of the biggest names in the business.

  “To answer your question, I’ve always lived in Seattle. Went to Northern. I’m all of twenty minutes from the neighborhood where I grew up.” She tucked the wayward strands of her hair back behind her ear and rubbed her hands over her long tunic. Her hair was mostly dry now, the soft waves from this afternoon fell down her back in a riot of curls. Her hair seemed to have a life of its own, rippling and spiraling about her head in a sexy cloud.

  When I stopped focusing on her hair, I homed in on her nervousness. Or was it sadness?

  “I’ve lived here for about a year. I like the space, but I know it’s small.”

  If her husband died in Iraq two years ago, then he’d never lived here with her. I blew out a breath, relieved not to share a space with a dead man. The memories of him were more than enough.

  “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

  She glanced up from where she was pouring oil into the large stainless steel pan. “You didn’t.” She sighed. “Not much. I had my reasons for staying near home.”

  She sealed her lips as a small frown marred her brow. Not good, whatever ran through her mind right then.

  “It’s just . . . you’ve traveled everywhere.” Her eyes flicked up to meet mine. “That’s pretty intimidating.”

  I scratched a spot behind my ear, unsettling my glasses. Her eyes darkened as they fell on my frames. The specs turned her on. Planned to wear them more often ’round her.

  “I’ve been to heaps of airports and venues, which start looking the same after a while. But I’ve not experienced much of the culture of a place. Even the people who surround us are pretty constant.”

  She placed the scallops into the skillet. A nice sizzle filled the air. She dumped the greens from the bright turquoise colander into a big wooden bowl before squeezing two lemons into a container.

  “You didn’t get to see the Louvre or London Bridge or the Taj Mahal?”

  “No to all three.”

  She flipped the scallops with a narrow spatula and added a liberal amount of garlic, butter and some lemon juice. She added olive oil to the rest of the lemon juice and drizzled it over the greens. Shutting off the burner, she moved the large skillet to the oven. After grinding a pretty pink salt and some fresh pepper to the greens, she tossed them with quick, efficient strokes of her wooden salad tongs. She pulled a large loaf of bread from the oven and started slicing it on the narrow butcher block island.

  “You’re scary with how economical you are in the kitchen.”

  “I like to cook. Just simple things.”

  She smiled, her cheeks deepening to a pretty rose. Probably because of my profession, but it was rare for me to see a woman in such a relaxed state. I loved how Ryn’s hair rioted around her head, her cheeks flushed with natural color, her clothes simple and comfortable, her small feet bare. Her lashes weren’t as long as many of the women I’d met, but I’d bet hers weren’t enhanced.

  I liked her like this. Natural. Easy. Lovely.

  She handed me knives and forks, a couple of embroidered napkins. I laid the settings out and refilled our wine glasses. She brought me another set of glasses and a pitcher of water. I filled those glasses while she pulled down a couple of plates and added a large portion of salad and some scallops. She handed the plate to me.

  My mouth watered and my stomach gurgled with appreciation. “This looks fantastic.”

  She walked to the stool next to me and slid onto it. Offering me the bread basket, she glanced down at her plate, her expression rueful. “It’s one of the few things I can cook well, consistently.”

  “All you need is one dish to make it a signature.” I raised my wine glass. “To a lovely dinner with an even lovelier companion.” Ryn blushed again as she raised her glass.

  I cut a scallop and popped it into my mouth, savoring the bite. “Definitely your signature dish.”

  “Thanks. Tell me more about this project.”

  “Lullabies. The whole album. Some traditional. Some new, like the one you wrote. Asher’s got one. I do, too. We’re working on those now.”

  “And you want it out for Valentine’s Day?”

  I swallowed my bite and blotted my lips with my napkin. Mum would be proud of my manners. “Yep. It’s a fast turn-around.”

  She raised her brows. “No kidding. You only have two months.”

  “We have about half the album completed. I reckon we’re all right.”

  “I won’t sing ‘Rock-a-bye Baby,’” Ryn said, spearing at her lettuce.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Have you listened to the lyrics? They’re horrible.”

  “Then we scratch that one. We’ve already recorded ‘Shenandoah’ and ‘Sleep, Baby, Sleep.’ Now, your tune. ‘A Moonlit Serenade.’ Beautiful title. What made you think of that?”

  She grabbed a piece of bread and sopped up the butter from her scallops. “Nope. Not sharing the reason for the name with you.”

  I settled back in my chair, holding my wine. It was local—I’d checked the label. Washington produced a great Chardonnay. “Fair enough.”

  She toyed with her fork, before setting it down on her half-fin
ished plate. “How many songs?”

  “Minimum of ten, preferably twelve if you’ll sign on.”

  “A full-length album? In two months?”

  She’d fixated on the timeframe, which made me nervous. “Right-o. We’re not writing much for this. Using old standards. Asher’s finished ‘Shenandoah.’ He said his mum used to sing him that one. Preslee Jennings is in the studio next week and the week after if we need her.”

  “That’s quite a lineup. You don’t need me.”

  “I want you.” I rubbed my hand on the back of my neck. “Came out a bit wrong. I mean, I do want you. As a woman. But that’s not what I was talking about just now.” Blimey. My cheeks heated and those ants marched down my spine. I sent this convo to shit awful fast.

  Ryn leaned over and placed her finger on my lips. I stilled, hardly breathing. Her touch exploded magical heat inside me. Like fireworks to my guts. No wonder I craved this woman so much.

  “Can I think about it? I mean…it’s just well…recording albums, hanging out with rock stars…that’s not something I ever imagined in my life.”

  I cupped her hand in my larger one, pressed a kiss to her palm. “Could be. Easy as.”

  Her eyes held anguish and something darker. Guilt or some other self-destructive emotion. “I’m not trying to be a pain. I promise. But…like you said, I sing songs for babies.” Her voice turned tremulous, and I’d bet a lot of her hesitancy revolved around the woman here when I showed up. Sam. Her sister-in-law.

  “You do much more than sing. I’ve heard you, seen how the kids connect with you.”

  She smiled a little, pride pushing her chest out. “You were there maybe fifteen minutes.”

  I leaned in, making sure her gaze locked on to mine so she could see the honesty there. “And you blew me away.”

  She dropped her head and shook it. Right-o. Time to back off. For now. “My mum sang ‘Sleep, Baby, Sleep’ to Murphy and me. I recorded that one first. Do you have a favorite? From childhood, I mean.”