The Colors of Love (32 page)

"Hey, no 'fense," slurred the man.

"Where's your purse, Claire?"

"Back at the table." She'd go with him, she decided, and take advantage of his invitation—whatever sort of invitation it was—to get out of here. Then, outside, with the stars overhead, she'd say good-bye and thanks for the dance.

They'd almost reached the stairs when Lydia appeared in front of them and put her hand on Blake's arm.

"Mac, where are you going?"

"Slipping out. You remember Lydia, Claire?"

"Yes, of course." Claire was very aware of Blake's hand at her back, his fingers burning through the blue dress. Lydia looked furious and Claire realized the affair between these two was far from over.

Then they were past Lydia, a vague nausea crawling in Claire's throat.

"Blake, I don't think—" She stopped at the top of the stairs and he stopped too. "I don't think this is a good idea. Why don't you go back to Lydia? I was about to leave anyway, and I don't—"

Someone shouted out, "Mac!" and he waved a hand absently.

Was the man friends with
everyone?

"We can't possibly talk here," he said.

She shook her head, pulled away from his hand, and walked down the stairs ahead of him, but he caught up with her at the bottom.

"Are you staying here?" His low voice vibrated along her veins.

"No." Did he want her to invite him to her room? What
did
he want? She'd had just one drink... only one, unless that punch Barry gave her was spiked, but her head was spinning.

She didn't stop, just kept walking through the lobby.

The woman behind the desk greeted Blake and Claire kept walking. When she got to the door, he held it for her.

She stopped on the step outside and turned to face him.

"Look," she said, sliding her hands into her pockets, except the blue dress didn't have pockets, so her fingers just curled into fists and pressed against her thighs. She felt disoriented because she'd expected darkness outside. Summer in the northwest, and the sun lingered unexpectedly late.

"Blake, it's been nice talking with you, dancing with you." She smiled, because she'd remember that part, and maybe she'd remember the way Lydia had looked at her so jealously. That had to be good for a woman's ego, even if she wasn't interested in the man.

The lines of his face seemed oddly harsh in twilight.

"Wee need to talk. Where would you like to go? A walk on the floats down at the waterfront? A drive along the coast? Somewhere quiet we could have a drink?"

"No thanks. I... you should probably go back inside. Lydia's upset."

He touched her chin with the side of his index finger and all she could do was stare up at him. This was not her scene, certainly not her sort of man. She had no idea why he wanted to spend time with her, perhaps to make Lydia jealous. If so, the strategy had already paid off.

"I'm not hitting on you, Claire, although I do have ulterior motives. Let me take you somewhere we can talk." His lips curved in that dangerous half smile, and she forced herself to smile back. She didn't know what he wanted, but she had enough sense to know she'd better get away from him before she made a real fool of herself.

"Look, Blake, I'm tired and I'm heading back to my unit. I'll just—"

"No one's called me Blake since my mom died."

"I didn't know she'd died. I'm sorry."

He brushed his thumb against her chin. If he wasn't hitting on her, why did he keep touching her? Why did she let him?

"It was a long time ago. I'm sorry about your dad. I know you lost him last summer. He was a good guy."

"I didn't know you... did you have him for physics class?"

"We didn't get on too well back then." He grinned, that bad-boy smile designed to set hearts out of rhythm. "We got to know each other a bit in recent years. He was pretty good about coaching my kids when they needed it."

His kids. Of course he'd be married, despite Jennifer's prediction that he'd be divorced or single.

"Listen, I—" She realized she'd put one hand on his chest, could feel his heart, a steady beat against her palm, and her old fantasies threw her off balance.

She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry. I used you as an excuse to get out of that party. I had a king-sized crush on you back in high school, so it was nice to talk to you, to dance, but this is making me uncomfortable. I've never been much on parties. I really don't belong here at this reunion."

He led her down the sidewalk toward the parked vehicles. "You can't tell a guy you had a crush on him, then drive off and leave him hanging. You had the biggest damned blue eyes I ever saw, hidden behind those glasses. They're not hidden now. Contact lenses?"

"Yeah." He'd thought of her eyes? She wasn't sure she believed him, but she seemed to be taking on his speech mannerisms. "I really—"

"I do want to talk to you. I'm hoping you can help one of my kids."

He
was
married. Of course he was, though heaven knew where his wife could be. One thing was for sure, if he were married to her, Claire wouldn't send him off alone to a reunion where Lydia would be present.

Maybe Lydia
was
his wife.

"You want me to do something for one of your children?"

He guided her to the left. "Why don't we take my truck, go somewhere I can tell you about it? I'll drop you back here afterward." He opened the passenger door on a red pickup truck and held out a hand to help her in.

Why not?

Did she really imagine he would drive her somewhere and attack her? He wanted her to do something for one of his children. So he'd admitted to having kids, and any minute he'd start telling her about his wife. She was perfectly safe, and it wasn't as if she had pressing plans for what was left of the night. Orion wouldn't be clearly visible until the moon set.

She took his hand and stepped up into the truck.

He drove down the hill into the town, along the waterfront. She didn't know what to talk about, so she said nothing. At school, he'd ridden a motorcycle, generally with a girl tucked in behind him, usually Lydia. She wondered what it would be like to sit behind him on a motorcycle, clinging to his body with the highway whipping past underneath them.

Damn Jenn, she thought wryly. None of this would be happening if her friend hadn't arranged the condo, hadn't made those comments about having an affair with the town bad boy.

"Tell me about your wife," she forced herself to say, because this wasn't high school and he wasn't her big fantasy. She was a woman with a life she valued, and he was a man with ties, commitments, children. Whatever images her crazy imagination came up with, he'd told her clearly that he wasn't hitting on her.

And she didn't want him to. Of course she didn't.

He turned into a small parking lot and parked against an old brick building. "It'll be noisy inside," he said, "but if we can get one of the tables outside, we should be able to talk."

She got out of the truck quickly, because she didn't want him coming around to open the door, didn't want to slide down out of the truck with him standing so close. Jenn was right, it was past time for her to have an affair. Somehow, without knowing it, she'd let herself get to a state where she couldn't seem to think of anything but... men and women.

Sex
, she told herself bluntly.
It's only hormones, and you'd better get it under control right now.

He took her arm and led her toward the sound of music. She was too aware of his hand at her back as they followed the server into the crowded lounge, through an archway and out onto a wooden deck. The server showed them to a table at the edge of the deck, looking over the harbor and the reddening sky. Blake held a chair for her.

Clouds, she thought. The setting sun threw its warmth and color over cumulus puffs that hadn't been there an hour ago.

"You won't see any stars tonight," said Blake, sitting across from her.

"No," she agreed, surprised.

When a waiter appeared, she ordered wine. He ordered beer.

"What about food. Do you want something to eat?"

"No, thanks. The banquet was more than enough."

"I missed it. I need something." He ordered a large plate of nachos and when the waiter left them alone with only one other couple on far side of the patio, he leaned toward her, his arms on the table.

"It's too bad you missed dinner," she said nervously. "Rosemary chicken, rice, baby asparagus spears."

"Let's talk about something other than food. I haven't eaten since breakfast. Tell me about astronomy."

"I study the sky. There's nothing exciting I can tell you." She wished he'd stop watching her with such intensity. It did strange things to her insides.

The waiter appeared with her wine and she curled her fingers around the glass and sipped slowly, focusing on the sweet taste, willing her attention away from the lazy way his eyes narrowed as they studied her.

"Doesn't it excite you?" he asked.

She felt the heat in her face and blessed the fading daylight. He
couldn't
know her thoughts. "Doesn't what excite me?"

"Astronomy."

"Yes, of course, but—"

"Why?" He was still leaning forward, watching her, listening. It didn't make sense that he was interested, but she found herself answering.

"When the sun's gone, and there's no moon, I look up and the sky is filled with pinpoints of light. Filled with patterns, clusters, symbols. Humans have been watching the stars since the first man looked up, wondering what they are, what they mean. Wondering if heaven looked back through the darkness, or God. When we understood more, we began to wonder if there were other worlds like ours, other men—or beings who weren't men: ET, Klingons, Alpha Centaurians. Wherever you are in the world, if you go up on a mountaintop after dark and look up, the sky is filled with mystery. And the magic thing about it is that the more we learn, the more we explore with telescopes and space probes, and the more questions we answer—" She spread her hands. "The more we know, the more questions we have."

In the silence, she wished she'd said something more conventional, less revealing.

"How many of those questions have you answered, Claire?"

"Not many. I found a comet back in May."

"That must have been satisfying."

"Yes," she agreed, lifting her wine to sip it again. "If the sky were clear tonight, and if we drove away from the city lights, I could show it to you with a telescope."

"I don't have a telescope."

"I do, in the back of my car."

He laughed, and then he reached across to brush a wisp of hair back from her cheek. "Your eyes sparkle when you talk about your comet. More than satisfying. It was exciting, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was. What excites you, Blake?"

Her face flamed when she realized what she'd said.

"Running my hands over a perfect piece of wood," he said. "Watching a boat I've built race through the water, sailing hard in a storm."

Her heart was beating too fast. He'd said he wasn't hitting on her, and she had to believe him because why would he? But her pulse—

"Sailing in a storm? Isn't that dangerous."

That smile curved his lips again. "Tell me more about your job. How did you get interested in astronomy. Did you watch stars when you were a kid in high school? You've got a telescope in your car. Do you always take it with you?"

She felt dizzy, and she was beginning to believe the punch at the banquet had been spiked. She put the glass down carefully. She needed to get out of here.

"Why are we sitting here drinking and talking about astronomy? You and I aren't exactly a natural pairing. We don't have anything in common. You build ships to sail the ocean and I work on a mountaintop in Arizona, studying the sky. You like fast cars and girls and parties, and I like solitude. There are at least thirty people back at Manresa Castle who have more in common with you than I do. What are we doing here?"

"I'm trying to soften you up so you'll agree to work with a delinquent kid, talk to him about astronomy."

"What?" Sometime in the last few minutes he seemed to have covered her hand with his, and she pulled hers away now, pulled herself back. He'd said he wanted help with a child, but then he'd started asking her about the stars and she'd forgotten. "I don't know anything about children."

"You know about the stars. You're an astronomer, and I've got a delinquent kid with an excess of brainpower and a shortage of sense. I need a way to hook him."

"Hook him? A delinquent...?" She sipped the wine again. "Your son? He can't be more than fourteen, even if..."

Even if the mother got pregnant back on graduation night.

Graduation night. Claire had only been at the dance because her father insisted. She'd worn a white dress with a full skirt, and she'd felt embarrassed because all the other girls had partners. She'd crowded back into a hidden corner of the gymnasium where the dance was being held, trying to hide. Instead, she'd stumbled on Blake McKenzie and Lydia, their mouths entangled in passion and Blake's hand caressing Lydia's full breast.

Lydia had moaned.

Claire couldn't meet Blake's too-intent eyes, not with that scene still vivid. The way she'd fled, stumbling in her hurry to get away. The way she'd dreamed, later, alone in her narrow bed with the stars shining through her open window.

She lifted her glass again, sipped the wine, which was almost gone now. "I don't know anything about teenagers. Maybe a social worker—"

"Jake's had social workers up the wazoo. He needs you."

"You can't know that. You don't know me. The only kid I've ever had close contact with is my neighbor's five-month-old baby." She picked up her glass again although it was empty. She needed something to do with her hands. "Your son doesn't know me, and I wouldn't have a clue what to say to him."

He set his beer aside and put his elbows on the table. "Jake isn't my son. I'm not married, don't have kids." His grin flashed. "Despite what you might have seen back in high school, I don't spend all my time making out with women. All I'm asking for is a few hours of your time."