Moonlight Man (8 page)

“Oh, Lord!” he moaned, lifting his head and setting her away from him. “I must be out of my mind!”

She knew she was, as she watched him close the door behind him, because suddenly she recognized him for the kind of man he really was: He was the one man in the world who could do what Ellis, for all his cruelty, had failed to do. He was the man who could destroy her utterly.

“HI EVERYBOD—MARC
! What a treat!” As Zinnie opened the door to the chalet, she came to a halt, arms laden with bags that Marc leaped up to take. “So Sharon invited you along too. What a great, idea.”

“No,” he said, setting the bags down on the counter near the stove. “I invited myself along. I saw her and the kids loading skis on their car and decided that this was likely where they were headed. I’ve got my camper set up over in the campgrounds. They invited me for breakfast, though. We’re running late this morning. I guess we were all tired after yesterday’s skiing. Uh, is Harry out there with more stuff to bring in?”

At Zinnie’s nod, he stuffed his feet into his boots and went out, leaving Sharon feeling as if he’d deserted her, left her open to an interrogation.

“We had dinner in Marc’s camper last night,” Roxy said, hopping down from her seat at the breakfast table. “And I fell asleep on his bed. I’ve never eaten in a camper before or slept in one. I really, really want to go camping,” she said earnestly. “Marc says sometimes you can even feed squirrels right at your picnic table.”

“Well, maybe one day you will,” Zinnie told her, then turned to pat Sharon’s cheek, saying softly, “You wear such a pretty blush my dear. Did you think I was thinking things you wouldn’t want me to be thinking?”

Sharon had to laugh. “Well, actually, yes.”

Zinnie’s blue eyes danced with amusement. “I’d never believe such a thing about you.”

That made Sharon stand back and look at the older woman questioningly. “Why not?”

“Because you told me yourself that you’re too old to go looking for excitement, and I think Marc Duval is probably one of the most exciting men I’ve met in a long time. Not, of course, that I’m interested. At my age, Harry is more than enough for me.” She grinned. “He always has been. I believe Marc Duval is the same kind of guy—more than enough for any woman who’s lucky enough to have him, although I realize you aren’t in the least bit interested in him.”

Sharon put her hands on her hips. “Zinnie, why do I get the idea that you’re making fun of me?”

“Because I am, silly!” Leaning closer as she dug several cans of soup out of one of the bags, she whispered, “Did you really make him spend the night alone in his camper?”

Sharon nodded, knowing her cheeks were growing hotter and pinker at the older woman’s directness. “It was a mutual agreement. He didn’t want it any other way either.”

At that, Zinnie laughed. “Among all those other trades he’s learned, acting must be included, if he convinced you of that. There now, hand me that other bag, and I’ll get this stuff stowed too.

“We’re earlier than we’d expected, because we both woke up well before daylight and found ourselves itching to be on the slopes.”

As she finished speaking, the men came in, both carrying suitcases and more bags of groceries. “Looks like you’re setting up for a siege,” Sharon said, quickly taking the empty grocery bags from the counter to make room for the full ones. She folded one carefully, avoiding Marc’s gaze as he stood nearby folding another.

“We like to eat,” Harry said, taking packages of hot chocolate mix, marshmallows, and cookies from one of the bags he’d carried in. Winking at Jason, he added, “Besides, we’d hate to have the kids go hungry while we’re together.”

“Don’t worry, Sharon. We brought lots of real food, too, so it won’t be junk, junk, junk all day long.”

“I wasn’t worried. Your kids seemed to grow up with fairly straight bones. And their teeth look good to me.”

“False teeth, both of them,” said Harry. “Sad cases. Now, if we’re all finished in here, how about we hit those slopes?”

While everyone else changed into ski clothes, Sharon loaded the dishwasher, turned it on, and went to wipe off the table, only to find that Marc had already done so.

“We work well together,” he commented, taking the cloth from her hand and throwing it into the sink.

She murmured something noncommittal and said that she was going to go and get into her ski suit. Catching her hand, he swung her to face him, tilting her chin up with one hand. “Hey, it’s okay, you know. I made sure Harry knew I’d spent the night in my own camper.”

“Don’t be silly. Why would you bother to do that? I have nothing to feel guilty about. Besides, we’re both adults, and if we had wanted to spend the night together, it would have been our decision.” She tried to pull her arm free, but he held her fast.

“Ahh, but we
did
want to spend the night together, didn’t we?”

Just thinking about it started up that deep, heavy throbbing inside her again, tightening her chest, making it difficult to breathe, let alone speak. “Marc, let me go.”

His amber eyes held her gaze intently. “Answer me, first.”

“No.”

“No, you won’t answer me, or no we didn’t both want to spend the night together?”

“We made a mutual decision not to,” she said, her heart’s thudding making her voice unstable. “It was the right one.”

He smiled, a rueful look in his eyes. “Was it? The restless night I spent tells me different. Did you sleep well?”

She wanted to lie but knew he could see the circles under her eyes, feel the tension in her body as it quivered against him. “No,” she whispered.

“Good.” He let her go. “Get changed. I’ll meet you over at the base of the yellow chair.”

“You don’t have to ski with me and the kids,” she said. “You’d have more fun on the runs I can’t take them on.”

He chuckled. “Not a chance. You don’t get away from me that easily. Where you ski, I ski.” And then, with a touch that just barely, grazed her cheek yet left her feeling branded, he was gone. For too many moments she stood there, breathless and giddy and inordinately happy. He really wanted to be where she was?

“Oh, go on,” Zinnie said. “You deserve a break. I’ve been watching you ski. You’re more than good enough to run the face. Take her, Marc. Let her show you what she can do. Challenge her to a race or something. Sharon, you’re not a woman to turn down a challenge, are you?” Without waiting for a reply, she rushed on: “I’ll come down with the kids, assuming I can keep up with them. I seem to be tiring more easily this year than ever before.”

“I haven’t noticed,” Harry said dryly, scooping Roxy up under his arm as he backed into the chair that came to sweep them off their feet. Zinnie laughed as she aligned herself beside Jason and caught the next chair.

“A dead heat,” Marc said, after their race. He was breathing heavily and shoved his headband up into the front of his hair, leaving little tufts sticking up all over the place. His face was red above his tightly curled beard and his eyes shone brightly.

“That … was … wonderful!” Sharon was puffing even harder than he as they stopped at the bottom of the steep run. “I haven’t had such a good workout in ages!”

Marc smiled at her, his eyes full of admiration. “You are good,” he said. “Tell me you were part of the national ski team or something. My male ego is bruised.”

“And you’re being kind to my female ego. I know you held back in order not to beat me.”

“No way. It was a fair race, and we tied. We’re very well matched, Sharon. The look he gave her was a challenge of another sort, a challenge to deny his words and the real meaning behind them.

She accepted it by speaking only to his more obvious meaning. “Hardly. You outweigh me by probably ninety pounds, are nearly a foot taller, and are a lot stronger. You could have won the race if you’d wanted to.”

“You’re not a modern woman who thinks that anything a man can do a woman can do just as well?”

“Of course I am, if what we’re talking about is anything that takes brains. If I want muscle, I can rent a forklift.”

He laughed and swung an arm around her, nearly upsetting her because she wasn’t expecting it. He steadied her until she got her skis back under her securely. “Want to go again?” he asked.

“I’m game. But let’s do the Westerly this time.”

By the time Sharon had to leave, she was all skied out but feeling exhilarated and yet at peace. A two-day break had been just what she needed after the pressures of preparing not only for Christmas, but a wedding as well.

“I’ll drive you down to the parking lot,” Marc offered, after she’d kissed her kids good-bye and given them a list of instructions regarding behavior. “It’ll save you lugging all your gear aboard the bus.”

“No, no. I don’t mind the bus. You stay and enjoy the skiing.”

“Enjoy? Without you? You have to be kidding. I’m heading back now too. I just wish you didn’t have your car here. Then you could ride home with me.”

“Well,” she said, struggling not to let her suddenly choked breathing reflect in her speech, “I do have my car, and I’m afraid I need it for work tomorrow.” She was glad, though, of the ride down the steep, crooked hill to the parking area.

As he turned on the ignition, the radio came on, and he immediately switched it off with a sheepish grin in her direction. “You’d probably hate my favorite station. I’m forty-one and like golden oldies.”

She turned the radio back on, saying, “And I’m nearly thirty-eight and like golden oldies too,” then proved it by singing along with the Everly Brothers. Marc joined her, and she had to smile. He did sound like an old crow!

At the bottom of the hill, Marc put her skis on top of her car for her, waited to be sure her engine was warmed up and running properly, and then said, “Okay, you lead out, I’ll follow.”

All the way home, she knew that those were his headlights visible in her mirror. It felt odd, being shepherded like that—odd, but sort of nice, as if she had a guardian angel on the road with her. It was not, she told herself, a feeling she wanted to get used to. She could look after herself very well indeed.

It was difficult, though, to be self-reliant, when no sooner had she pulled into her drive than he pulled into his, stepped over the low boxwood hedge that separated their driveways, and brushed her hands aside to undo the brackets that held her skis in place. He carried them and her small suitcase to the back door for her. They both heard the phone ring inside, and she gave him a wave and a mouthed “thanks,” as she unlocked the door and shoved it open.

It was Lorne Cantrell, her banker friend, on the phone. “Have dinner with me tonight, Sharon,” he said.

She was surprised to hear from him. “I … I didn’t expect you back from Disneyland so soon. What about your children? Are you sure you want me there?”

“I didn’t mean here,” he said. “I’ve made reservations at the Roost.” That, she thought, was just a tad presumptuous on his part, unless he had someone else he could call if she refused, or he was willing to dine out alone. “I couldn’t get hold of you all day, so I went ahead anyway, just in case you were back in time. You know what it’s like there; impossible to get a table at the last minute. I’ve even booked a sitter for you,” he added, further startling her.

“That was … thoughtful, but I don’t need one. My kids are up at Mount Washington with friends. But are you certain you want to leave yours tonight? You don’t get to spend a lot of time with them, Lorne.”

“They aren’t here. Marilee caused me a lot of trouble down in California, so I brought them back and dropped them off with their mother before coming home. A sick child needs a mother, don’t you agree?”

Sick? That had cause him trouble?
“I, well, yes. Certainly.” But she didn’t think it was fair to the other two to have their allotted time with their father curtailed simply because eleven-year-old Marilee was ill.

“So dine with me. Okay? I’ll pick you up about seven forty-five.”

She was about to refuse, to plead weariness from two days of hard skiing, but then she remembered with whom she had spent far too much of that time.

“Fine. Thanks, I’ll be ready.”

When a knock came at the door, she thought Lorne had arrived an hour early. She was nowhere near ready, having just come out of the shower.

It was Marc, though. A smile creased his face as his eyes swept over her clinging yellow robe and the dripping hair peeking out from under a pink and white striped towel.

“Hi,” he said. “I wondered if maybe we could find someplace nice and go out for dinner together.” The look in his eyes and the flutter in her stomach made her doubly glad she was able to say, “Oh, I’m sorry, Marc. I can’t. That was my friend Lorne Cantrell on the phone. I’ve already agreed to have dinner with him.”

“I … see.” She watched his Adam’s apple bounce up and down, and then he shrugged. “All right, then. Another time?”

“Thank you. Maybe.”

“Well, good night, Sharon. Enjoy your dinner.”

“Thanks. I imagine I will. The food at the Roost is normally very good. We go there a lot, Lorne and I. We have reservations there for the New Year’s Eve dinner-dance too,” she felt compelled to add. Marc Duval and the things he did to her had to be held at bay. One way or another, she was bound to make sure of that, even if it meant throwing Lorne in his face and pretending that her relationship with the banker was more important to her than it really was. It was the only safe way.

Before she had been at the table long enough to finish one drink, Sharon realized Lorne Cantrell was a bore. Of course, she’d known he wasn’t one for scintillating conversation, and he didn’t have an endless store of interesting tales to tell, but she hadn’t known before just what a dull person he was. She had simply seen him as safe, and safe was what she was looking for. She had thought boring would be nice for a change. It was not. It was simply … well, boring.

However, to her dismay, Lorne made it clear over their coffee and liqueur that he wanted to take their relationship several steps further ahead than she was prepared to consider, and all of a sudden the conversation wasn’t dull. It was downright horrifying.