Midsummer Madness

“You saw me,” she accused in a teasing manner, as Kemo rose and went to her to be scratched behind the ear.

Cody nodded. “When you came through the gate.”

“The music was so beautiful. I didn’t want to break the mood. So I sneaked up on you, hoping that you wouldn’t stop.” The dog, satisfactorily scratched, went to the end of the porch nearest the front gate. There, he walked in a circle, at last lying down again, all curled into himself.

Juliet came to sit next to Cody, first adjusting her robe where it met on her lap, then wrapping her hands around her knees. “I’ve enjoyed it each time you played, ever since I moved in.”

“You never came over before. How come?”

She glanced off toward the rippling lights of the pool. “I don’t know. I guess I was just never the kind of woman to run across a lawn barefoot in the middle of the night.”

“But now you are?”

Juliet chuckled, considering the question, considering her own lightness of spirit, her boldness, her sense of glowing self-confidence. Tonight, she felt disconnected from her usual self. It was as if her usual self were some other woman, a woman for whom she felt a little sorry. A woman frightened of life, of its sights, scents and sounds, of its sweet and sensual beauty that tonight seemed created for her alone.

“Well?”

“What?” She looked at him.

“I asked if now you were the kind of woman who—”

“I remember. And I don’t know. Tonight is different. I feel different. But we’ll see.”

He smiled again, that slow warm smile that lifted the right side of his mouth a fraction more than the left. Juliet thought, as he did that, that it was fully understandable why the women went wild for him.

Lord, he was one beautiful hunk of man. Much too much man for someone like Juliet—she knew that. But absolutely splendid nonetheless.

“Believe it or not,” she went on, in an effort to distract herself from the surplus of masculine splendor before her—from the hard, broad chest, the corded neck, the gleaming eyes and the right-sided smile, “I did come over here with a specific purpose in mind.”

“And that was?”

“To ask you a favor.”

He was watching her mouth. “A favor?” He repeated the word right after her, as if he’d caught it from her lips and then playfully tossed it back her way.

“Yes,” she confirmed, surprised at the steadiness of her own voice. Inside, she was drowning in the most wonderful yearning sort of feeling, an utterly delicious feeling, one she was sure she should restrain, but one to which she wanted to give free rein.

“Well?”

She recollected her supposed purposed. “It’s about the revue.”

“The Midsummer Madness Revue?”

“Yes.”

“What about it?”

“Well, I was thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“I was hoping, actually….”

“You were thinking and hoping what?”

She went ahead and said it right out at last. “I would really appreciate it if you would agree to sing a song or two in the revue this year.”

He said nothing for a moment. Then he murmured her name in a regretful tone, and she knew that next he’d be telling her how busy he was.

In a gesture that seemed perfectly natural, she put a finger on his lips. “Shh. Don’t answer now. Just think about it. Okay?”

“I don’t think so,” he told her. His lips were firm, his breath warm on her skin. It was a lovely sensation, touching his mouth, feeling the movement beneath her fingers each time he spoke.

Juliet shook herself, remembering that, no matter how good his lips felt, they were getting dangerously close to saying “no” to her request. She shushed him again. “Didn’t I ask you not to answer now?”

He smiled, which she felt as a brushing softness on the pads of her fingers. “All right. I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” She gave a satisfied little nod, and then realized she couldn’t go on touching his lips forever, no matter how good it felt. She pulled her hand away and faced the pool again. He didn’t move. She could feel his eyes on her.

A little silence happened, one that had a peculiar edge to it. A precipitous edge, Juliet thought.

She turned to him. “I, um, suppose I should go back to my house now.”

“Why?” He seemed to be looking at her mouth. And then her neck, and the little V that was formed where her pajamas buttoned up and the facings of her robe met.

“Well, I…I did what I came out here to do. I asked you to be in the revue.”

“That’s all you came out here for? To ask me to be in the revue?”

She nodded.

He didn’t seem to believe that. “You sure?”

When she’d touched his mouth to hush him, she’d scooted right up next to him. And then, even when she’d looked off at the pool, she hadn’t actually moved away. So now she was seeing him at very close range.

It was an enthralling experience. So near, his male beauty was absolutely mesmerizing. She stared at him, forgetting to even try to talk, marveling at the perfection of his firm mouth, his symmetrical nose, his shiny brown hair.

Goodness—the realization caused her to hitch in a quick breath—why, she wanted to kiss him! Her lips were practically twitching with the longing to be pressed to his.

He looked back at her, and it was as if he knew her forbidden wish, because the impossible happened. He shifted forward just a fraction and her wish came true.

They were kissing.

It couldn’t be happening—but it was.

And it felt wonderful. He made a lovely, rough sound in his throat, and his hard, naked arms went around her. She heard the harmonica clatter on the porch boards as he pulled her up against him.

Ah, how utterly delightful. Juliet didn’t want to pull away. So she didn’t.