Seeing Stars (16 page)

Tim and Jake carried the telescope from Claire's car, placing it in the spot Claire chose, a few feet from the barbecue. Then Blake turned off the yard light, and Claire adjusted the scope.

"Venus or Jupiter?" she asked the boys.

"Jupiter."

"Venus."

"Show them your comet," said Blake. "Did you know that Claire discovered her own comet?"

"Where is it?" demanded Jake. "Is it really yours?"

Claire shook her head. "It doesn't belong to anyone."

"It's named after her. Welland's comet. It's in Orion."

"Orion?" said Tim. "As in Orion's belt?"

"Yes," agreed Claire. "The comet I found is under Orion's belt, near a smudge in his sword called Orion's nebula. You won't be able to see it very clearly—the moon's still up, and it won't set until about one-thirty."

She'd been prepared to discuss her comet with other astronomers at the symposium next week, but here, in Blake's backyard in Port Townsend, she felt oddly embarrassed talking about it. Then Jake asked a question and she sighted the telescope on Orion to show him the answer, forgetting her self-consciousness in the boy's fascination with the heavens.

"How could you know it was a new comet?" asked Jake, and when she saw his intensity as he listened to her answer, she thought Blake must have a sixth sense about his boys, to guess that Jake would take to astronomy. The other boys were interested, as was Blake, but in Jake's eyes she read a deep fascination, a yearning to know.

She showed them the white blur that was barely distinguishable from the smudge of Orion's nebula. Then she found Venus, and Jupiter, and finally Blake called a halt.

"Tomorrow," said Jake, "can we—"

"It'll be overcast tomorrow," said Blake. "There's a storm coming, and this morning you promised Ellie you'd help her paint the kitchen."

"Damn," said Jake. "It's two night's work, and Claire's leaving Friday."

"I'm not busy tomorrow night," offered Tim. "What about you, Joe? If we all help, maybe we can get it done in one night. Then, Claire, can you help us start building the scope Tuesday afternoon after work?"

"Of course," said Claire. "We'll need materials, though."

Blake said, "Jake, if you get on the Internet tonight, you can print out that materials list Claire told you about for the telescope. We'll work on the boat until three tomorrow, then take an hour to buy some supplies before you have to be at the group home. If you want to come by at three, Joe, you can come along."

"I'll be there," promised Joe.

"What time is it now?" demanded Jake. "I better get back before curfew, or I won't be able to get any computer time. Claire, can I take that drawing you did? Where is it?"

They left in a rush, flooding out the front gate, leaving Claire standing at the gate with her hand caught in Blake's.

Quiet, so quiet. The party had ended an hour ago, people flooding out of Blake's gate, shouting back thanks, the sound of cars starting in unison. Claire had felt like running then, and had fully expected Lydia to stay behind, claiming her rightful place beside Blake.

Except, if it
was
her rightful place, if it was true that Blake really loved Lydia, wouldn't he be watching her? Wouldn't he be with Lydia more than just a couple of minutes in passing? If he loved Lydia, he wouldn't be here with Claire, would he?

Not that it mattered to Claire whether Blake loved Lydia. In a few days she'd be gone, and even if she—even if they—well, that was the whole point of a fling, wasn't it? That afterward, there would be no regrets and no looking back.

There she went again, letting that romance novel contaminate her thoughts, when she'd decided—well, had
almost
decided that she didn't want an affair with Blake. She'd planned to slip out with the boys when they left, but they were gone and her telescope still sat in Blake's backyard.

"My telescope. I'd better get it and... I should go."

"Do you have a cover for it?" He turned and caught her other hand in his, facing her, holding both her hands. "In a couple of hours the moon will be set, and you can show me your comet again."

She tried to laugh, but couldn't. "You already saw it."

"I'd like to see it again. Later."

She swallowed. Did he think... did he expect that now, right now, she would... that they would...

"How did you know my comet was in Orion?"

His fingers tightened on hers. "I figured you were the sort of person who would have written articles for academic journals. I went into the library and did some research."

"Why?"

"I wanted to know you better."

She didn't know what to say, stared at his hands holding hers. "I should go home. I mean—not home, back to the condo."

"Come inside instead."

"I think that's a bad idea."

"Why?"

"I don't know." God, she sounded like a complete idiot. "I'm nervous. I really should go."

"You've done it before."

"Not like this," she wailed.

"Like what?" He drew her up onto the veranda, but she pulled back when he moved toward the old swing.

"Blake—"

"What's different this time?"

The way her nerves were jumping, the way he had only to look at her and her flesh heated, the way she felt, inside.

"It was a long time ago. It seems like forever, and I didn't... it was different. I didn't know what I was doing."

And he didn't matter, the way you do.

"And now you do know?" he asked softly.

"Now the chemistry is... it's overwhelming."

"Yeah." He stood staring at her, though surely it was too dark to see her face clearly.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, breathing the words.

In the silence before Blake answered, she heard a car drive past, the sound muted by the trees. She imagined that he reached for her, to touch her, felt her body melt toward him as if the touch were real. It took her long seconds to realize he had not moved. He stood an arm's reach away, watching her through the shadows, and she stared back as if she could see deep into his eyes.

"What?" she breathed. "What are you thinking?"

"How much I want you in my arms. How empty this house will be tonight if you don't stay."

Her breath piled up in her chest, but he hadn't finished speaking.

"I'm wondering if my hands will stop shaking when I touch you. You're not the only one who's nervous, Claire."

She realized her hands were pressed hard against her thighs, and forced them to relax. "Why would you be nervous?"

"Maybe the same reason as you. It's been a long time, and I didn't think much about what it meant, but right now... right now, I want you so badly I'm shaking with it. I've never wanted a woman like this before. I'm not sure I like it."

"I don't want to get hurt." She hadn't known she was going to say the words and wished them unspoken.

"If you want guarantees, you'd better go back to your mountain."

She wondered how long she could bear to hover on the brink between running and going into his arms. "Do you love Lydia?"

"Lydia's my past, Claire. She's neither my present nor my future."

She swallowed and said, "Grace told me you belonged together, that you were meant for each other and that I... She's right. I don't belong here."

"You're here. I want you here. Come inside. Dance with me."

He held out his hand and she gave him hers. She thought he would kiss her, draw her into his arms. She ached to be held, but instead he led her slowly into the house, closing the door behind them.

"Something to drink?" he asked.

Silently, she shook her head.

He moved to a wall filled with books and did something, filling the room with slow, dreamy music. Then he reached for a lamp, turned it low, and shadows played over his face as he came to her.

"This couldn't have been the most popular tune of our senior year," she said breathlessly. "It's not nearly loud enough."

"This is for us, not the past. Dance with me, Claire."

She stepped into his arms and they moved together slowly. If his hands were trembling, she couldn't feel it as he placed one at the back of her waist and captured her hand with the other.

She wanted to ask him to kiss her, and knew that if he did, this uncomfortable self-consciousness would flee. But he didn't kiss her, didn't pull her close as he moved slowly with the music she didn't recognize.

"Tell me about finding the comet."

"What do you want to know?" Why now? Didn't he want her after all? Would they talk, then he'd urge her to leave, then...

"Everything. I want to know everything. Were you alone when you found it? Where were you? When?"

She closed her eyes and tried to pretend she wasn't standing in his arms. "At first I wasn't really sure I'd found it at all. It was an image on the computer screen, a distortion. I thought it was part of the Great Orion Nebula, or atmospheric interference. I went back to the previous day's images, couldn't find it there. It was a week before I was certain it was a comet, before I knew its heading. I dug through every record I could find, looking for old comets that might turn up in Orion, but nothing matched this one. I couldn't believe someone else hadn't found it, kept expecting to open my E-mail and find a message from an observatory in Chile or Australia, identifying it. When I realized it was mine..."

"When you realized it was yours?" he asked, his voice warm against her cheek. Somehow, as she talked, she'd relaxed closer into his arms.

"Mine. It sounds so possessive. Tonight I told the boys it belonged to nobody."

"You're entitled. Tell me what you felt?"

"Magic, like the first time I looked through a telescope. It was hard to believe in it until I could actually see it with my own scope—the observatory telescope isn't the same, doesn't feel the same. Looking at the heavens on a monitor, not
being
out there under the sky. But I felt the magic that night, and I felt... sad, because I couldn't share it with my father. He always said I'd have a comet named after me."

"Afterward, will you show it to me again?"

Afterward, alone under the night sky with Blake. "Yes," she whispered, and she offered her lips without thinking, leaving herself vulnerable for an instant, fearful he wouldn't take what she offered.

Then he covered her mouth with his and she felt only the slow movements of his lips over hers, the drug of awareness seeping into her veins.

"No," he said raggedly, "not here."

He took her hand and led her outside, under the big oak tree where the music reached from the house. There, he slowly unraveled her braid, running his fingers through her hair, spreading it over her shoulders, then tilting her head back and staring down into her face.

"Look up," he said in a low, husky voice. "Do you see the stars?"

"Yes," she breathed. Stars everywhere. Stars around Blake's head, through the branches of the old tree.

His lips touched her exposed throat, seeking the pulse at its base. Fire, she thought, her eyes heavy as her pulse hammered. He pulled her close with one hard arm and she wanted more, closer. She gripped his shirt with both hands and turned her head, seeking his mouth.

"You taste like honey," he said huskily, sliding his mouth over hers, tugging on her lower lip with his teeth, drawing a sound from her, perhaps a plea.

She twisted against him and suddenly his body turned harsh, demanding, drawing fire from deep inside, a pulsing ache in her breasts.

"Claire... I need to taste you." His mouth was on her lips, her eyes, her throat.

Her breasts swelled, throbbing, and she burned restless in his arms.

"Tell me," he urged, "tell me what you want."

She whimpered once, as if speaking would break the fragile thread that held him against her, then his hand slid around to cup her breast through her blouse and she gasped.

"Is this what you want?" he demanded in a husky, hot voice. His thumb brushed the peak of her breast, sending sensation shafting to her groin.

She wanted more than she could say, wanted his mouth, now hot against her throat, to cover the swollen peak of her breast, to suckle her.

"Tell me. Tell me exactly what you want."

"I can't." Suddenly she was fighting him, her arms tangled in his. "I can't tell you. I can't!"

He trapped both her hands behind her back with one of his, then covered her mouth. She dove into the kiss, losing herself in his lips, the heat of his tongue thrusting, her body shuddering deep inside with each thrust, as if it were his manhood, deep inside her. When he lifted his head, she saw only his eyes, two blazing stars in her universe, and felt only hunger.

"Shall I kiss you again?" he asked, his breath ragged through the words.

Her mouth found his and the world spun out of control until he jerked his head back, staring down at her, his breath tangled with hers. Then, slowly, his hand released hers and slid down to cup her buttocks, and he pulled her tight against his erection. She moaned and heard his groan, felt his response hard against her belly.

"Madness," he whispered. "You drive me to madness." He took her lips, her throat, slid his hands over her breasts in a shattering caress. "Talk to me, Claire," he urged in a husky voice, stroking her nipples through her shirt with his thumbs.

She shook her head, tangled in the barrier between her words and her voice. If he kept touching her like this, she'd melt into a pool. Her legs would give way and they'd be on the grass, and she wished, oh she wished, that he would strip her blouse away, get rid of the horrible constriction of her bra, and put his mouth on her breasts.

He took her lower lip between his teeth again, and she sought the dark places of his mouth with her tongue, the hunger boiling painfully now, making her restless and wild in his arms.

He dragged his lips over hers. "Tell me," he whispered, and she writhed in his arms. Couldn't he just
do
it, undress her, touch her, kiss...

"Claire... tell me, sweetheart."

"My blouse."

His hands settled on the buttons and the world stilled, except for the harshness of her breathing and his, as he fumbled with her buttons. Then her blouse was hanging open and his fingers slipped under the front clasp of her bra, and she felt him tremble as the clasp sprung free, felt the air on her breasts and his need and hers twisted together, between them, although right now, in this moment, he touched nothing but the open edge of her blouse.