Moonstruck. Джулия Кеннер
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SILENT DESIRES
THE PERFECT SCORE
STARSTRUCK
NOBODY DOES IT BETTER
NIGHT MOVES
MAKING WAVES
UNDERCOVER LOVERS
Moonstruck
J. Kenner
MILLS & BOON
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J. KENNER has always loved stories—reading them, watching them on television and on the silver screen, and making them up herself. She studied film before attending law school, but knew that her real vocation lay in writing the kind of books she loves to read. She lives in Texas with her husband, two daughters and several cats.
To old friends and new ones.
Happy New Year!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
1
CLAIRE DANIELS glanced around Decadent’s crowded dance floor, with its pulsating colored lights and equally pulsating bass beat, and wondered what the devil she was doing there.
Okay, so she didn’t actually wonder. Instead, she blamed her best friend, Alyssa, for dragging her there, dateless, on New Year’s Eve.
“Blow toy?” An Adonis of a guy in a tight black T-shirt with Decadent stamped across it in cracked, white ghetto-style letters held something out to her, a suggestive smile on his mouth.
“Excuse me?” Claire lifted a single eyebrow in the haughty gesture that she’d perfected at the age of eight, after spending too much time watching Star Trek reruns, and then camping out in her bathroom until she’d been able to convince her facial muscles to move in such a way.
“For midnight,” the guy said, his half-smile suggesting that he knew exactly how far into the gutter her thoughts had been. “A noisemaker.”
“Oh. Right. Sure. Thanks.” She snatched the gizmo, gave it an experimental toot and then smiled up at the Adonis. “Great. Thanks. This’ll be fun.” Her words were clipped and rushed, designed to get him to go away so that she could get back to her originally scheduled misery at being alone, in a bar, on New Year’s Eve. The date night to rival all date nights.
Honestly, she shouldn’t have come.
Adonis-boy melted into the crowd, and Claire scanned the room, looking for Alyssa so that she could tell her friend she’d had enough and she was going to go home. At least at home she could cuddle under a blanket and get all comfy in sweatpants. At least at home, she wouldn’t feel like an idiot come midnight when everyone else was locked in a passionate kiss, and she was standing around twiddling her thumbs.
Alyssa, however, was nowhere to be found. But, frankly, that wasn’t terribly troubling. Because what Claire’s gaze lighted upon could only be described as eye candy of the most decadent sort. Tall and lean, and decked out in Texas formal, his jeans just tight enough to give a woman a serious appreciation for the man underneath, and his starched white button-down still perfectly crisp despite the heat generated by the crush of bodies in the room.
Even from where she stood, she could tell that his eyes were blue, and at the moment, they were scoping out the club, as if he was a monarch surveying his kingdom. And, oh, yeah, he looked like royalty. From the way he held himself, to the rogueish, I’m-the-dude-in-charge stubble that graced his strong jawline, he was so perfect that if he were a picture Claire would swear that he’d been digitally enhanced. The man was the visual equivalent of a Ben & Jerry’s overdose, rich and wonderful and utterly bad for you.
Down, girl.
Then again, why?
The guy was hot. He was looking her way. And she was single and, at the moment, very, very available.
She took a step in his direction only to be stymied in her quest to go after what she wanted with gusto when a burly guy in a Decadent T-shirt approached Mr. Texas Royalty. They spoke for a few minutes, and then her gorgeous fantasy of a man followed the burly guy in the opposite direction, his expression stern.
Security, she assumed. Which meant that Texas Royalty was either working security, too, or he’d just been kicked out of the club.
Either way, it did her no good. If he was security, he was working. And if he was kicked out…Well, she was primed for a wild night with a hot man, but she was hoping to keep her crazy fling on the semi-responsible side. Hooking up with guys who got kicked out of dance clubs was not on her list of top ten smart things to do.
Too bad. Mr. Texas Royalty was seriously easy on the eyes. And right then, dammit, yes, she wanted a man. Wanted to get up close and personal. Wanted to work off some of the sexual frustration that had been building and building since she’d broken up with Joe. It had been months and months since she’d gotten naked with anyone other than her handheld shower-head, and she was really craving a man’s touch right now.
You could have had one, Claire.
She grabbed a Jell-O shot from a passing waitress, then snarfed it back, snorting. Oh, yeah. She could have had a man, all right. Joe. Her ex. The man who’d dumped her after almost a year of dating, and then—when she’d foolishly called and suggested they have a drink, just to see if there was any way back for the two of them—he’d suddenly decided that sex was a great little reconciliation tool.
And stupid her, she’d almost—almost—fallen into bed with him. Then her self-respect had kicked in, and she’d marched out, not even bothering to slam the door behind her, leaving Joe looking baffled, his pants down around his ankles.
Yeah, well, buddy. Next time think about that before you dump me.
On the morally superior side of the equation, she was feeling pretty good about herself. On the sexually primed and then denied side of the equation, she been as taut as a wire ever since and wondering if maybe she hadn’t punished herself as much as she’d punished him.
“You did the right thing.” That from Alyssa, materializing beside her holding a flute of champagne, which she passed to Claire, who took it gratefully, despite being able to still taste the Jell-O from the shot she’d just downed.
“Is it that obvious what I’m thinking?”
Her friend smiled. “Only because I know you so well.”
Claire