Wish For The Moon

‘Only another hour until your bedtime, isn’t it?’

Lise’s eyes flashed deeply green at the taunting voice of her cousin’s girlfriend, turning to glare at her. ‘The fact that I’m petite merely gives the illusion of my being young,’ she returned, looking pointedly at the other girl’s height, Terri being almost six feet tall.

Terri’s mouth twisted. ‘Try not to drool all over the poor man,’ she mocked in a bored voice. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t want his shirt wet!’

Lise’s cheeks were flushed at the barb, and she glanced uncomfortably behind them to see if the two men had heard their conversation; they were some way behind, still talking softly together.

Was her fascination with Quinn Taylor that obvious, or was Terri just being her usual bitchy self? Maybe it was a little of both, she realised ruefully, but could she help it if the man made her feel weak at the knees?

She had sat and gazed at one of his album covers last night, a close-up of his face as he smiled warmly into the camera. But the photograph hadn’t been able to do justice to the silky thickness of his hair, or the sensual slumbrousness of those deep-blue eyes. And without the make-up that had obviously needed to be worn beneath the hot lights of the camera his skin was more rugged, his jaw square and firm. In the photograph he had been wearing a thick jumper but tonight he wore a royal-blue shirt unbuttoned at the throat to reveal the start of the dark hair that no doubt covered most of his chest, his denims snug to his hips and thighs; Fergus had obviously warned him there would be no dressing up for dinner in the Morrison household, no matter who their guest was. He looked as if he were more comfortable in his casual clothes than he could ever have been in a formal suit, anyway.

Could she help it if he was much more devastating in the flesh than he was on an album cover or on television? And couldn’t she be excused for staring at him a little? Damn Terri for making her so self-conscious that she was afraid even to glance at him now!

The loft ran the whole length of the cow-barn, the roof reinforced to take the weight of the piano that stood near the floor-length window, the other end of the room converted to a lounge, with a stereo system wired up there.

Quinn grinned at Fergus as he picked up the top three albums in the pile. ‘I can’t fault your taste in music,’ he drawled, all three albums his.

Fergus grinned back, as sandy-haired as his father, although happily neither had the freckles that often went with that colouring. His laughing blue eyes were warm with laughter. ‘All the Quinn Taylor albums you’ll find there are Lise’s,’ he admitted softly. ‘I only became a fan because she played your music so much it was either that or go insane!’

Lise blushed uncomfortably as Quinn turned to her questioningly. ‘Your songs are so—real,’ she said awkwardly. ‘They often make me cry.’

His expression gentled. ‘I’m sorry. I never like to be responsible for making a lovely lady cry.’

She shrugged. ‘I only cry because the songs are so beautiful.’

‘Thank you,’ he accepted huskily.

Lise stared at him, mesmerised. And somehow she knew that not all of the lines beside his eyes had been caused by laughter, that he had known his share of sadness too.

Of course he had known sadness, she mentally rebuked herself, hadn’t his wife often years left him last summer, taking their daughter with her? For a long time there had been rumours of a reconciliation, but now those rumours were suggesting there would in fact be a divorce instead. Considering some of Quinn’s best songs were about the happiness he had known with his family this had to be a deep blow to him.

‘How about we make our own music?’ Fergus lightly cut in on the awkward moment, acknowledging Lise’s grateful smile with a conspiratorial wink. ‘Quinn?’ he indicated the piano as he picked up his guitar for himself.

‘And what do we play?’ Terri drawled as she leant gracefully against the piano.

‘You can use Lise’s guitar.’ He handed it to her with a grin, patting the stool beside his. ‘And Lise can share the piano with Quinn.’

She swallowed hard as Quinn moved accommodatingly along the bench stool, sitting gingerly beside him, her pulse racing at his proximity.

But her awkwardness left her after several minutes, as she struggled to keep up with Fergus as he moved from one sing-along song to another, the sensuously slender hands that moved along the keys beside her own distracting her from paying full attention to what she was doing. Quinn had lovely hands, long and thin, with tiny dark hairs covering the backs of his fingers. He made her own tiny hands look childlike, making her fully aware of how forcefully muscular he was.

And she was fascinated as he sang a rowdy song with Fergus, able to recognise that his voice was as true now as it was on his albums.

Suddenly he turned and once again caught her staring at him, sharing a grin with her before turning back to her cousin. Lise felt as if someone had struck her in the chest.

She was in love! Fully, completely, utterly, in love with Quinn Taylor. And now that he knew she wasn’t a child he seemed to like her too!

She, Lise Morrison, who had never had a boyfriend in her life, was in love with Quinn Taylor, a man who was known worldwide for his wonderful singing talent, who grossed millions every year in revenue from his songs and albums. It was incredible. Wonderful. It was impossible!

She was seventeen, he was thirty-two; he was still married, even if he was getting a divorce.

She felt so deflated she could have cried. As it was she played all the completely wrong notes, breaking off apologetically as Quinn turned to her with gentle enquiry.

Fergus broke off too as he sensed her distress. ‘Terri and I will go over to the house and get some beers,’ he suggested lightly. ‘We need it after all that singing.’ His arm was about Terri’s shoulders as they left to go over to the house.

Lise knew she should move away from Quinn, that her emotions were too vulnerable sitting this close to him.

He turned towards her, leaning his arm on the top of the piano. ‘I’m sorry if I embarrassed you earlier,’ he spoke gruffly. ‘Fergus had mentioned his little cousin to me,’ he shrugged. ‘And I—–’

‘It’s all right,’ she hastily dismissed. ‘I am little.’

His lips curved into a gentle smile. ‘How old are you?’

‘Seventeen,’ she supplied reluctantly,

His eyes widened, and she realised she had surprised him. How old had he thought she was, for goodness’ sake!

‘Two days ago,’ she added heavily.

Again his eyes widened. ‘I had no idea… I should have brought you something,’ he shrugged.

‘Why?’ She blinked up at him, fascinated by how clear a blue his eyes were this close, his lashes thick and dark.

He frowned slightly, staring back at her, both of them suddenly breathing very shallowly. ‘Lise—–’ He began to shake his head.

She moved slightly closer to him on the bench-seat. ‘If you really want to give me a present…’ she prompted breathlessly.

‘Yes?’ The slightly up-and-down movement of his chest as he breathed almost brought him into contact with her breasts.

She blinked once, closer still. ‘You could kiss me,’ she encouraged huskily.

He moved back slightly. ‘No, Lise, I—–’ He couldn’t protest any more because she had launched herself into his arms, her arms about his neck as she kissed him with all the love inside her she had just discovered for him.

It was wonderful, his lips warm and firm beneath her own. She clung to him mindlessly, totally unprepared for the way his hand dug into her nape as he threaded his fingers into her plait there and dragged her painfully away from him.

His eyes glittered down into hers, his mouth a taut line. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he rasped.

Consternation washed over her as she became completely aware of exactly what she had done. This man was here as Fergus’s guest, had shown her politeness but nothing else, and she had just thrown herself at him!

His expression softened as he saw the tears glistening in her eyes. ‘You should have waited for the invitation, little one,’ he told her softly. ‘This is the way I like to kiss.’ He gently parted her lips before lowering his head to hers, the way he kissed so much more than the tight-lipped caress she had given him.

As his lips continued to move against hers she felt as if she had become a part of him, melded to him, following his lead, realising that until this moment she had known nothing about a kiss at all. She felt as if she were being consumed!

He moved back abruptly as Fergus and Terri could be heard returning up the stairs. ‘Happy birthday,’ he murmured gruffly, standing up to move away from her, his hands thrust into his denims pockets as he stared out across the countryside.

‘Think you’ll be able to stand the quiet for another couple of weeks?’ Terri drawled, moving to stand next to him, handing him an open can of beer.

He turned to her slightly. ‘I was brought up in Alberta, on a wheat farm my parents refuse to leave. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being a country boy,’ he added a little wistfully.