Once in a Blue Moon (11 page)

Please let it be true,
she found herself thinking now and then throughout the meal. There had been other men who had pretended an interest in Jenny, who had seemed to be pleased to act “like ordinary people,” but who had really been interested only in getting into bed with Isabelle. The passion was there with Michael; there was no doubt about that. She could see it each time he looked at her, feel it whenever he touched her arm or her hand. But along with the banked desire, there was also a certain easiness, a sense of being natural and right.

After supper, they sat in the family room, feet up on the coffee table, hands clasped, and they talked while Jenny watched TV. They talked about the years since they had parted and the things that had happened to them. Michael listened, his thumb rubbing Isabelle’s hand soothingly, as she told him about Jenny’s birth and the long months of hope and fear afterward. Tears sparkled in her eyes, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him. Isabelle leaned against his chest, breathing in his scent, luxuriating in the comfort of his arms around her. She was falling in love with him, she thought, and she hoped it wasn’t foolish. But she sensed that, whether is was wise or not, she couldn’t stop herself.

Later in the evening, Isabelle put Jenny to bed, despite Jenny’s reluctance. Jenny insisted on giving Michael a hug and a kiss before she went. When Isabelle returned, Michael stretched up a hand and took Isabelle’s wrist, pulling her down onto his lap. She snuggled up against him, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her back. He nuzzled her hair, and a shiver ran down Isabelle’s spine. She was very aware of his hard chest and the heat of his body. Isabelle smoothed a hand across his shoulder and down his arm.

She thought about her bedroom, which lay on the other side of the house from Jenny’s. She had always thought that she would never let a man spend the night here. It had been an easy decision, she realized now, because she had never before found a man who tempted her to anything else. But now she found herself thinking that Jenny would never know, as long as Michael left before she got up the next morning.

Still, she stirred uneasily and sat up, leaning away from Michael and shaking her head. “Michael, I...”

“I know.” He cupped her chin and kissed her, firmly but without passion. “I understand. You feel uneasy with your daughter so close. I’m not pushing you. Let’s just sit here and talk for a while.”

So they did, talking some of the time and the rest of the time just sitting in warm, silent, closeness. Desire hummed deliciously beneath the surface, and now and then they kissed or caressed, but they did not allow their passion to break through and carry them away. There was something sweetly exciting about postponing their lovemaking, a certain fulfillment in simply being with one another.

Later Isabelle made them coffee and they talked some more, this time sitting mundanely in the kitchen. Finally, reluctantly, they parted, barely able to keep their eyes open, yet hating to let the other one go. Isabelle could remember many nights like that ten years ago, when they had said long goodbyes on the front porch of her boardinghouse, reluctant to part even after being together for hours.

“I feel like a teenager again,” Isabelle murmured as she walked with Michael to the front door, their hands linked together.

He smiled and raised her hand to his lips. “You look like one, too.”

They stopped at the door, and he turned, leaning back against it, and pulled Isabelle into his arms. He kissed her face, methodically moving from forehead to cheeks to nose to chin and finally settling lovingly on her mouth. They kissed until she was breathless; then Michael tore his mouth away and rested his head against hers.

“I could almost believe that being with you is enough,” he murmured, “but it’s not.” He kissed her ear, his teeth and lips teasing at the fleshy lobe. “I want you so much.”

His breath tickled her ear, stirring her even more, and Isabelle moved her body restlessly against his. “I want you, too.”

“Can I see you tomorrow night?” He grinned. “We can practice our scene for Monday.”

He referred to the big love scene they would film on Monday, in which Jessica and Curtis finally made love in a supposed cave in the jungle. Heat twisted in Isabelle’s abdomen at just the thought of it.

“All right,” she whispered, laying a soft kiss on his chin.

“At my place.” He kissed the side of her neck.

Isabelle drew in her breath sharply. “Yes.”

She pulled back, her eyes glittering in the dim light of the entry. “You better go now.”

“I will.” He pulled her to him for another deep, long kiss, then with a muffled curse, pulled away from her and went out the door.

Isabelle closed the door behind him and turned, leaning against the door as he had done. She closed her eyes, indulging herself in all the wonderful sensations that were coursing through her. Tomorrow couldn’t get here soon enough, she thought and, smiling, she walked through the house to her bedroom, turning off the lights.

* * *

“I like Michael,” Jenny announced the next morning, slathering peach jelly on her toast.

“Do you? I’m glad. So do I.” Isabelle stood at the sink, scraping off her own breakfast plate.

“Are you going to marry him?”

Isabelle whirled and stared at her daughter. “Jenny! Whatever made you think such a thing?”

Jenny shrugged. “I don’t know. Brandon’s dad got married.”

“Oh, he did?” Isabelle relaxed a little.

Jenny nodded in her emphatic way. “Yeah. And he got to...got to...sit. There, in front. He didn’t snort.”

“Well, good.”

“He was not supposed to. His dad said, he said, ‘No snorting.’” She turned her hands up in a quizzical gesture. “And he said he didn’t. The lady wore, you know...” She stood and gestured in sweeping motions down her legs.

“A wedding dress?” Isabelle guessed.

“Yes. And her head was all...” She made circular motions. “You’d look pretty with it.”

“Thank you, Jenny, but I don’t have any plans to get married anytime soon.”

“I like Michael,” Jenny reiterated.

“I know. He likes you, too.” Isabelle came over and sat down across the table from her daughter. “I have to go to Michael’s this afternoon. Mrs. Pena will be here in a little while to take care of you.”

“Can I come?”

“Not today. Michael and I are going to run lines for our scene tomorrow. So we have to be alone.”

“Oh.” Jenny paused, then went on, apparently captivated by her previous topic. “You’d be prettier than Brandon’s new mom.”

“Thank you, but let’s not talk about a wedding or a bride for a while, okay? Let’s talk about what you and I are going to do before Mrs. Pena comes. What would you like to do?”

“Plant flowers,” Jenny replied promptly. “I couldn’t help the man. Mrs. Pena said, ‘No, don’t talk.’ I can dig good, though.”

“I know you can. Let’s do that, then.”

They spent the rest of the morning digging in the garden, planting flowers, as Jenny had wanted. Afterward, Isabelle showered and dressed, more careful than she usually was about her makeup and clothes. She still dressed casually—her wardrobe consisted of little besides jeans, shorts and tops, since after her usual day spent in glamorous dresses, jewelry, hose and torturous high heels, she favored casual wear. But today she spent fifteen minutes trying on jeans and tops until she found exactly the combination that she wanted.

She drove to Michael’s condo, feeling a little nervous. It was silly, she knew, but somehow she couldn’t help but feel that last night had been merely a dream, her imagination, and that this afternoon they would once more be at odds.

But Michael opened the door before she got to it, almost as soon as she parked and got out of her car, and the smile on his face was enough to light up a room. Isabelle hurried the last few steps to him and, as he opened his arms to her, she almost jumped into them. They came together in a blazing kiss. Michael’s arms went around Isabelle, lifting her up against his chest until her feet dangled off the ground and, never breaking their kiss, he walked with her inside the apartment and shut the door.

T
hey undressed with frantic haste, making their way blindly through the apartment, unable to cease their kisses long enough to finish taking off a garment or take more than a few steps. Their mouths clung, tongues twining around one another in a dance of passion, and their hands roamed over each other almost desperately. Isabelle backed into a chair, and Michael reached around her to shove it out of the way.

Then they came up hard against a wall, but they didn’t seem to mind it. Michael pressed his body into Isabelle’s, his forearms braced upon the wall, and he tore his mouth from hers to trail kisses down her neck. His breathing was hard and labored, as if he had been running, and the sound of it sent a tremor of desire streaking down into Isabelle’s abdomen.

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” Michael murmured huskily. “I kept thinking about today, about this.”

Isabelle felt as if her bones were melting. She clung to him, digging her fingers into the muscles of his back. “Michael,” she whispered dazedly. “Please...”

“Oh, I will.” He paused long enough to look into her face, a grin of sexual anticipation curving his mouth. “I guarantee I will please you.”

“Will you?” She smiled hazily, her mouth soft and faintly swollen from their kisses. “I’d like that.”

A groan escaped him, and he kissed her again, his hand coming up her front and sliding under the blouse he had already unbuttoned. His hand spread over her breast, caressing it through the delicate satin and lace of her bra. Pushing apart the sides of her shirt, he bent and took her breast in his mouth, suckling it through the flimsy material. When he raised his head, the damp cloth was molded to her nipple; it stood out dark and pointing. Michael gazed at it, desire flushing his face, then bent and brushed his lips across the swollen bud, making it tighten and prickle even more, thrusting eagerly toward his mouth.

He teased at her nipple until Isabelle was panting, her head twisting restlessly against the wall and her fingers clawing at his shoulders. Michael blew softly upon the damp center, and at Isabelle’s quick, indrawn breath, he smiled. “Does that please you?”

Isabelle pushed against him with her pelvis in answer, circling her hips slowly, and Michael shuddered violently. There were no questions after that, no words except the brief, incoherent murmurings of passion. He ripped the blouse back and down her arms and fumbled frantically with the clasp of her brassiere. Finally he got it, and her breasts tumbled free. He cupped them in his hands and bent his head to kiss them, gently kneading the soft orbs as his mouth and tongue tasted every inch.

He pulled back, and they tore at the remaining pieces of their clothing, flinging them to the ground. They came back together, in too great a frenzy to seek the comfort of his bed, and sank down upon the floor, kissing and caressing. Michael traced the line of her body with his lips, moving with velvety kisses down from her shoulder, over her breast and onto the flat plain of her stomach, then to the sensitive soft skin of her abdomen. He skimmed across the point of her hipbone, onto her thigh and downward to her foot. Isabelle twisted and stretched in a pleasure so great, it was almost agony. Everywhere he touched, fever exploded in her; she wanted him to go on forever, yet she wanted him to stop immediately and give her the satisfaction she craved.

He made his way back up her leg, this time his lips tracking up the inside of her calf and thigh. Isabelle quivered, whispering his name and twining her hands urgently in his hair. As his tongue traced whorls upon her inner thigh, his hand came up and touched the nest of hair between her legs. Gently he separated the folds of flesh, exploring them and finding the little nub that was the center of her pleasure. He moved his thumb over the button softly, delighting in the slick wetness that was proof of her passion for him.

Isabelle stiffened and groaned as his hand stoked her desire, bringing her nearer and nearer to her peak. Then his hand was gone and his mouth was upon her. She felt herself spinning away into a maelstrom of passion.

“Please,” she murmured. “I want you inside me.”

Her plea was too much for him to resist. Quickly Michael positioned himself between her opened legs and thrust into her, groaning at the exquisite pleasure of being embedded deep within her soft, tight flesh. He began to move with long, slow strokes, but desire lashed him forward, and he thrust more quickly. Isabelle tightened her arms and legs around him, feeling the storm gather within her and then explode. She shuddered, clinging tightly to Michael, and the tiny movements of her body sent him hurtling forward into his own explosion. He groaned, burying himself within her, and bucked wildly. They clung together, lost in the wild, dark world of their united passion, transported for that moment into a place of joy so vibrant, so strong that memories of it were invariably only pale copies.

At last they relaxed with long sighs of fulfillment, and Michael rolled off her, pulling her into his arms and cradling her. They lay in stunned exhaustion.

“Well,” Michael said lightly, “if we do this often enough today, perhaps I won’t embarrass myself again tomorrow by turning hard as a rock in front of the camera.”

Isabelle chuckled. “And maybe we’ll be able to rehearse this afternoon without interruption.”

But it was some time before they got to their rehearsal, for they arose after long, lazy minutes of idle talking and repleted kisses. Then they went into the bathroom to shower. Since they took the shower together, it was not long before their bodies were tingling with excitement again.

Michael washed Isabelle carefully, not missing an inch. Isabelle took her time rubbing lather all over his chest and stomach and down his long legs and back up. Then she picked up the soap and worked up the lather again and set to work on his buttocks and then his abdomen. Careful to reach every bit of him, her soapy hand even delved gently between his legs. Michael sucked in a breath and dug his hands into her hair, but Isabelle merely gave him a smile full of sexual teasing and proceeded to rinse off his body with equal thoroughness.

When his skin was squeaky clean, he turned off the water and started to get out, but Isabelle stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Wait, it’s still my turn. You made love to me last time. Let me make love to you.”

She began her exploration of his body with her mouth. Taking her time about it, she kissed her way over his chest to the small masculine nipples. Her mouth fastened on each of them in turn, her lips rubbing them into tight, hard buttons until Michael was gasping with delight. Then she circled each one with her tongue, lightly flicking them into even greater tautness, and finally settled her mouth firmly on one and began to suck.

Michael’s fingers dug into her buttocks, lifting her almost off her feet in his paroxysm of pleasure. Isabelle lifted her face up to him, eyes innocently wide. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” he groaned. “Please, no, don’t stop.”

She went back to minister to the other tight bud, and her hand slipped down his wet body. She curled her fingers around his engorged manhood, smiling as she felt it surge and pulse against her hand.

“Mmm, you’re not wasting any time, are you?” she murmured.

“I can’t do anything else with you,” he replied, reaching out to push open the shower door.

“No. Not yet,” she admonished. “I’m not finished.”

He groaned again, but his hand dropped to his side and he waited, his skin taut and trembling with eagerness as she went back to her ministrations. Standing back a little and watching him, Isabelle moved her hands freely over his slick body, sliding down his chest and abdomen and around to his buttocks. She kneaded the muscled flesh and slid her fingers farther down onto his thighs. Her hands came back up and slipped between his legs, lightly cupping him.

Michael bit his lip with his teeth, letting out a muffled curse. She began to kiss her way down his abdomen, drawing ever closer to the thickened, throbbing seat of his passion.

He muttered something thickly and reached down, lifting her with his hands beneath her buttocks. He kissed her deeply, his tongue thrusting into her mouth as he parted her legs and thrust into her. Isabelle wrapped her legs around him and began to circle her hips, as frenzied as he to complete their passion. Pressing her against the tile wall of the shower, he moved inside her, thrusting with hard, desperate strokes, as if he sought to bury himself in the very center of her soul. They moved wildly, gasping and uttering unintelligible sounds, until at last they reached the wild burst of pleasure that they sought.

Hoarsely, Michael let out a cry, burying it against Isabelle’s mouth as they erupted into a white-hot explosion.

They drifted down from the peak of pleasure, falling by slow degrees into their separate selves again. They stood, leaning against the shower wall, hazy and numbed.

Finally Michael let out a soft chuckle and rested his forehead against Isabelle’s. “You know, I’m beginning to think that we’re never going to make love in the comfort of a real bed.”

“I don’t know,” Isabelle replied, sliding down to stand again and smiling impishly up at him. “Somehow I suspect that we’ll get another chance to do that before I leave here today.”

She was right, for they made love again after they rehearsed, as excited and stirred as if they had not already come together twice in passion that day. They made love in his bed this time, slowly and leisurely stoking the fires of their ardor until they melted into a warm union, as sweet and gentle as their previous ones had been frenzied and explosive.

Afterward, they lay together on the bed, lazily talking about Jenny, the cast of their show, the costumes, L.A., New York—whatever drifted into their minds. They ate cheese and fruit, sitting cross-legged on his bed, accompanying it with a delicate white wine. Isabelle wished that the afternoon would go on forever, that she did not have to leave. But she had to, she knew; Jenny was waiting for her.

Isabelle dressed, and Michael pulled on his clothes, too, so that he could walk her out to her car. She got in, and he bent down to kiss her through the open window. Tears caught in her throat. She thought that she would never experience anything again as sweet and wild and utterly wonderful as this afternoon. The words
I love you
rose unexpectedly to her lips, but she bit them back.
It was too soon, far too soon for that, no matter what her impulsive heart told her.

She said only, “Goodbye,” and drove away.

* * *

Isabelle couldn’t remember a time when she had been so happy. She had been wrong to think that that particular afternoon at Michael’s apartment could never be equaled. It was never exactly the same, of course, but there were many more times that were just as full of happiness or pleasure.

The show was a delight now that she no longer had to dread her scenes with Michael. It was fun to work with him, and the chemistry between them was electrifying. As soon as the jungle scenes began to air, the “Tomorrows” ratings soared. When the big love scene in the cave aired, the show shoved “Eden Crossing” out of the number-one spot in the ratings. Danny and Carol were ecstatic, and they were even more so when “All Our Tomorrows” remained in that position.

The fan mail poured in. Everyone either loved or hated the pairing of the wicked Jessica and the saintly Curtis. Either way, it meant people were watching devotedly.

But work was only a small part of Isabelle’s delight that summer. Far more wonderful was the time she and Michael spent together outside the studio. He took her out on romantic evenings, and other times they stayed home, comfortable, lazy and happy just to be with each other. Their lovemaking was passionate, but equally important to Isabelle were their long evenings spent talking and enjoying each other’s company.

They often took Jenny with them on an afternoon’s ramble through the park or out for a burger and children’s movie or to Disneyland or the beach. Even the silly disguises Michael and Isabelle sometimes had to adopt to keep from being recognized and mobbed were a source of amusement. Michael was wonderful with Jenny, accepting her limitations calmly, but never patronizing her. Jenny, in return, was crazy about him. Whenever he wasn’t around, she asked about him, and when he was there, she was stuck like glue to his side, talking, and holding his hand, showing him what she had made or learned.

Watching them together, Isabelle’s heart swelled with love and pride. She did not speak of love to Michael; she felt a superstitious fear that she would somehow spoil it all if she told him that she had fallen madly, deeply in love with him again. If the truth were told, she knew, she loved him more now than she had ten years ago, for she loved him, not with the giddy, easy crush of a teenager, but with the heart of a woman, deepened by pain and experience.

But then one day at the beach, as they sat on the sand watching Jenny build a sand castle, with Isabelle sitting snugly between Michael’s legs, her back against his chest and his arms around her, he bent and kissed her shoulder, murmuring, “I love you.”

Suddenly it became the easiest thing in the world for her to reply, “I love you, too.”

Isabelle turned her head to look at him, her eyes sparkling with tears. His eyebrows rose a little. “What? That makes you cry?”

She swallowed back her tears, smiling, and shook her head. “Just with happiness.”

“Surely you must have guessed.”

“I hoped. I knew I loved you, but I was afraid to say it. Like it would break the spell.”

He grinned. “Nothing’s going to break it. Don’t worry.” He kissed the tip of her nose playfully and squeezed her to him.

But Isabelle, turning back to gaze out at Jenny and the ocean beyond her, could not be as sure as he was. There was a dark worm of doubt that nibbled away at her happiness, for she had not told him that Jenny was his daughter.

She should have revealed it long ago, she knew. Nancy had told her so in no uncertain terms a couple of weeks earlier when Isabelle had confided her problem to her. But Isabelle had not been able to bring herself to do it. Though her fears that Michael would reject Jenny or not be a good father for her were obviously unfounded, she had been unable to shake the fear that he would eventually leave them. His departure would be even more crushing to Jenny, she thought, if she knew that Michael was her father.