LITMIR.BIZ

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her lips parting, and Stan used just the tip of his tongue to taste her, just inside her lips, over her teeth, touching against her own tongue—and retreating.

      Jesus. Heart thumping hard, thighs tense, Stan pulled back. He’d meant to tease her, to make her understand what he wanted from her. But while Jenna did look more heated than ever, Stan felt ready to self-combust. Hell, at his age he’d done his fair share of necking. It shouldn’t have been any big deal.

      But not once could he remember enjoying the feel and taste of a woman’s mouth quite so much. He wasn’t a sweaty-palmed, hair-triggered kid anymore, not by a long shot, but damn if he didn’t want to drag Jenna out of the booth and rush her to the nearest form of privacy they could find.

      A simple kiss had him primed, and he knew it was the woman responsible, not the kiss itself.

      As he settled back in his seat, a little disconcerted by her effect on him, Jenna touched her lips. Voice faint, gaze searching, she whispered, “What was that?”

      Stan made a sound of disgust. Her confusion mirrored his but probably for different reasons. “I thought it was a kiss.”

      Her gaze dropped, and she looked around the tabletop, at her hands, at his. “Yes.” Her green eyes lifted. “A kiss, but . . .”

      Stan flattened his mouth. “I know. A punch in the gut, huh? Kissing is nice, but kissing you flattens me. It makes me think of a hell of a lot more than mouth on mouth, that’s for damn sure.”

      Her hand went to her stomach, and she nodded. “I don’t understand, Stan. What are we doing?”

      Marylou reappeared, her expression filled with titillated nosiness. “Got your sandwiches and stuff.” Wide-eyed, she looked between the two of them, plopping down the plates and glasses without the attention necessary to the task.

      Stan scooted his plate back a little so it didn’t end up in his lap. “Thanks.”

      Jenna wouldn’t look at Marylou, and that bothered him.

      Marylou lingered, and that bothered him even more.

      “That’s all we need for now, Marylou. But save me a piece of pie, okay?”

      “Oh.”

      At least the girl knew a dismissal when she heard one.

      Wearing a smile, she nodded. “Yeah, ’kay, sure. No problem, Stan.” With a lot of reluctance, she eased herself out of hearing range.

      Jenna moaned and put her face in her hands. “It’s starting already.”

      It had started the moment he stepped into her shop and knew she pictured him naked. Over her. With her naked, under him, anxious and ready to come.

      It was Stan’s turn to groan. “When do you get off today?”

      Her head shot up. “Why?”

      Rolling his eyes, Stan said, “Honey, something’s happening between us. You know that as much as I do. I want to see you. I damn sure intend to kiss you again.” He shifted his booted feet under the table until they caged her smaller feet in. “So tell me, when do you get off ?”

      Her regret bombarded him before she answered. “At five, but I have to get home to Ryan because Rachelle has a date.”

      Her son Ryan was a rambunctious ten-year-old, and her daughter Rachelle was a beautiful eighteen-year-old young lady. Stan had met them both several times now. Jenna sometimes kept Ryan at the bookstore with her, and with the town so small, you eventually ran into everyone at one time or another. He’d seen them in the grocery, at the fountain in front of the town square, and at the diner.

      She had nice kids, polite and happy and healthy.

      A family get-together wasn’t quite what Stan had in mind, but he knew he’d go nuts wondering about things if he went home alone. “Why don’t you let me take you both out on the boat?”

      Turbulent puzzlement warred with buoyant desire. Stan’s heart wanted to melt. How long had it been since a guy asked her out? Had the fact of her kids been a deterrent? Hell, as a divorced bachelor with no close family, the idea of her children pleased him. He liked kids—always had.

      Jenna was a terrific mom, and that appealed to him as much as everything else. It emphasized her loving nature, her sense of responsibility, and the loyalty she had for those she loved. Important qualities. More important than her sexy good looks—which he appreciated, too.

      Filled with wariness, she licked her lips and said, “Ryan would love that, I’m sure.”

      Stan leaned one elbow on the table and cupped her face with his right hand. “I’m glad. But what about you?”

      “What about me?”

      “You enjoy boating?” His fingertips brushed over her cheek, down to her throat and across the very top of her chest. “You’re so fair. You don’t get out in the sun much, do you?”

      Her eyes sank closed. “Stan, you have to stop touching me.”

      “But I don’t want to stop.” And if she’d be truthful, she wanted more touches, not less.

      She drew an unsteady breath. “I don’t really want you to stop.”

      Stan stared in amazement.

      “But I can’t think when you touch me.”

      Her honesty astounded him. And left him shaken. He thought of his ex-wife, of the lies he’d learned during a blue moon—no, forget that. He’d gotten over her and her deceptions ages ago, and he wouldn’t mar his time with Jenna by thinking of that.

      “All right.” Stan dropped his hand, but said, “I like it that you tell me what you’re feeling.”

      Horrified, she gave a shaky laugh. “Oh, no, never that. Well, maybe some of what I’m thinking, but not all.”

      A predator’s delight curled through him. Too late, sweetheart, he could have told her, but she wasn’t ready to hear about his whacky relationship with the moon. He didn’t want to send her running from him with truths she couldn’t handle.

      “Why not?” he asked, just to tease her. “What is it you’re thinking, Jenna?”

      “I’m thinking that this is happening awfully fast.”

      “We’ve known each other six months.”

      “I know. So . . . Why now?”

      Deliberately dragging things along, Stan took a bite of his croissant and contemplated her while chewing. Flustered, Jenna nibbled on her own sandwich while she waited.

      “Tomorrow night, there’ll be a full moon,” Stan finally told her, deciding it might be best to ease her into the idea of his lunar-inspired intuition.

      “And so you’re going to change into a lycanthrope?”

      “A werewolf ?” He hated that stupid legend. Whenever he researched the moon, he invariably ran into the myths.

      She grinned. “I remember the whole wolf transformation really ramped up Jack Nicholson’s libido in the movie.” She toyed with her sandwich. “Are you telling me you’re the same? Should I expect you to sprout hair on your back and start howling at the moon?”

      Stan gave her a long look. “I might howl, strictly out of sexual frustration, you understand. But I won’t actually turn into an animal.” He ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “Hell, I’m hairy enough as it is. Any more would be overkill.”

      Her gaze went to his chest, then his forearms. Her voice again grew quiet, a sure sign of her mood. “You’re just hairy enough. It’s sexy. Very manly.” Then she shook her head. “So tell me, what does a full moon have to do with you kissing me twice, when in six months, you’ve never given me a second look?”

      Disbelief left him speechless, but he could tell

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