Blame It on the Moon Read online

  Stop that! You don’t have time for a relationship, and the last one screwed up your life forever, so forget women, particularly women who lease the space you want to acquire.

  He turned back to face Kit and sniffed the air. He couldn’t seem to help himself. She smelled surprised and…annoyed. What had he done to annoy her, other than imply she was young? Their conversation had been brief. He knew he hadn’t impressed her with his repartee, but he didn’t think he’d said anything to make her angry, either.

  “Well, I’ll have to get a membership,” Haden said, to break the growing awkwardness. He felt a heaviness in his cock that could lead to an embarrassing situation. He needed to rein in his senses and act like a businessman again. “Once the pub is open, since I’ll be close by.”

  “You do that,” she said. Her smile seemed less than genuine. “When will you be opening?”

  “This weekend.”

  Now the frown and annoyance were clear in her look and tone. “So soon? I’m surprised the other shop owners didn’t get notice.”

  He’d purposely talked Kyle and Linda out of notifying the shop owners. “I wanted to keep it hush-hush until I had everything in place, so I could make a splash.” He’d also wanted to avoid any ruckus the other owners might cause, and he could tell by Kitty’s reaction that he’d made the right decision. “And I wanted to go around and tell everyone in person.”

  “But how could you get everything ready over there without me hearing?” Hand on her hip, she nibbled her bottom lip, and he found himself unable to look away. He imagined those glossy lips would taste like cinnamon or cherry.

  “I’m very nocturnal. I’ve been here working in the wee hours so I wouldn’t disturb anyone.” He spoke normally, but her musk perfumed the air, catching in his throat. She smelled like she was ready to go to bed with him in the middle of the store in the middle of the day.

  And he wanted to take her up on that.

  But she shook her head, as if denying whatever she was feeling. “It took me three months of constant effort to get this place ready. Delivery vans, workers. Everyone in the whole strip knew my store was opening. What are you? Magic?”

  He grinned, tucking his thumb through his belt loop and giving her a wink. “Don’t worry. This week I’ll make up for lost time.”

  Blame It on the Moon

  Chapter Two

  And he did. Every single day, starting with that Monday afternoon, Kitty saw delivery vans parked in front of her store. New stainless steel appliances were delivered, followed by cases and cases of beer in bottles and kegs, ale, stout, and lager. Haden himself made trek after trek to the ABC alcohol store, which was just a few doors down in the shopping center, coming back with crates of tequila, rum, whiskey, and assorted cordials. Kit enjoyed watching his muscular arms strain with the effort of carrying those heavy crates. She indulged in creative daydreams about those arms straining to keep his body perched above her as he drove his cock, a large and hard cock, into her vagina. Sometimes she imagined him laying her down on the carpet behind the cash wrap, just hidden from view of the sidewalk. Then he’d tug her pants down and lift her thighs over his shoulders as he tasted her clit with what she fantasized was a very talented tongue. If she got too wrapped up in her fantasy, she’d find herself squirming as she put movies away.

  Then food started arriving. Hammering, power saws, and God knew what else created a nonstop racket. Kit’s customers all complained, so she concentrated on pleasing them, reading their desires in their minds, so that she seemed more helpful and efficient than the average employee. At first, when she was growing accustomed to her “gift,” she’d considered this cheating, but now it was second nature and one of the truly useful aspects of her talent.

  During lulls, her mind wandered back to the thoughts she’d read in Haden’s mind. They’d felt different, much more real. The man himself was quite a distraction, with his Irish brogue and sexy masculinity, but his thoughts had come to her in pictures and sensations with only a couple of words thrown in. There’d been no context to them, no accompanying monologue, nothing to let her know if the woman was a wife or girlfriend.

  Instead, her other senses had been involved in a way she’d never experienced before. Weird. At first, she’d wondered if her gift had evolved, but several customers had come in later that day, and her ability had gone back to normal. Only Haden’s thoughts seemed able to transport her into his mind fully. And when he wasn’t around, she found herself dwelling constantly on his intensity when he’d gone down on the blonde, his enthusiasm. He’d been thinking about her musky scent and the odd sweetness of her cream. What would it be like for him to do that to her? Would he like her smell and taste as much?

  Not that she wanted him to. Ahem…of course not. Fantasies were far simpler than real relationships. She didn’t mind imagining his tongue roving over her thighs while she restocked DVDs in the “adult” room in the back corner of the store. Beyond the door marked 18 AND OVER ONLY, the naked bodies on the box covers enticed her to mentally paste Haden into the male positions. That was safe, uncomplicated, and ever since she’d received her “gift,” she was all about uncomplicated.

  Thankfully, Kit’s customers provided some distraction from her growing obsession with both the pub and its owner. For example, the man in the Bostonian loafers was cheating with his secretary ‑‑ how clichéd! ‑‑ and wishing he could break it off, since his wife was suspicious. He rented 9½ Weeks. Kit guessed that was for the secretary and not the wife, especially when he pictured making the lady crawl across his office with her bare bottom sticking up in the air.

  Kit’s problem, she supposed, besides being a freak, was that she always felt conflicted about her ability to read minds. She knew she was invading the customers’ privacy, but it wasn’t like there was an “off” switch. She wasn’t doing it with malicious intent, though she was sure she had plenty of blackmail fodder. It could be her backup profession if Haden ran her store into the ground, which seemed more and more possible once she started seeing the ads everywhere. “Blackie’s Irish Pub, the hot spot in Richmond. Enjoy a pint on us during our grand opening weekend.” She might as well close down, since every souse in the city would come to roost for the free beer. But, hey, maybe some of the drunks would want movies to go with their inebriation.

  Kit already had Matt and Gina, her two part-time employees, scheduled for the evening hours on Friday and Saturday. That should cover any overflow business from the pub.

  She heard the whistling just before Haden’s masculine form filled her doorway. He was dressed in tight jeans and a cotton work shirt that emphasized his broad chest. This time the pictures in his head were of his inventory database, but that changed the moment he walked through the door, caught her eyes, and smiled. Immediately the image in his mind was of her behind the counter, reflecting his smile. For a moment, he stuck with reality, but then he visualized her slowly unbuttoning her polo shirt and lifting it over her head. The sound of her heartbeat magnified as the number of beats increased, and she could hear her own breath as if through a stethoscope. But all of this was in Haden’s mind, not her own.

  Yeah, right, buddy. Not going to happen. She narrowed her eyes, but she couldn’t stop her traitorous nipples from hardening against the lace of her bra. Yes, this time she wore a black lace bra ‑‑ the power of suggestion.

  He smiled. “So how’s it going?” His voice never failed to send shivers up her spine.

  “Well, gee, nonstop hammering, continual questions and complaints from customers, noisy trucks idling out front…what do you think?”

  “You tell it like it is, don’t you?”

  She plunked her hands on her hips. If she could focus on her grievances, maybe she’d stop thinking about having sex with him. Yeah, right. How could she when he was even now worrying about getting an erection just from being near her? “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “No reason at all.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “So let me make it up to you. How ab
out a late dinner to get you over hump day?”

  Dinner sounded way too dangerous, but “hump day” had interesting connotations. “I don’t close up ’til eleven.”

  “I know, but I’ve finally acquired some food, utensils, and a stove next door, so I thought I could cook you something once you’re through here. And I have some chilled wine and to-die-for chocolate cake.”

  “Chocolate cake…” Her stomach rumbled on cue. Yes, she could use some chocolate cake. Well, her hips couldn’t, but she needed some endorphins, and certainly the antioxidants wouldn’t hurt either. Chocolate was a health food now, right?

  The man’s mind flooded with images of rare cuts of beef and lamb hanging in his newly installed walk-in refrigerator. Yuck. Think about the cake, man. I want to see what that looks like. She just couldn’t get used to not “hearing” this guy’s thoughts in words. She wanted more details about him. Beyond the fact that he had to be, like, the sexiest man alive, in Richmond at least.

  “Okay, sure. I’ll have dinner with you. It’s the least you can do.” She paused, almost slapping her hand over her mouth. Why had she agreed? “You’re not married, are you?” She at least had to know that much about him.

  “No. Are you?”

  “No.”

  His grin changed to show teeth, and she caught the phrase Wolfish…good thing she can’t read minds coming from him. Well, she could read minds, just not some as well as others apparently.

  The whole mind-reading thing had started a couple of years ago. She’d been intent on joining in her neighbors’ obsession with those cute pineapple and holiday flags. She didn’t really get the whole flag thing, but since she’d finally bought a house of her own, the ultimate symbol of her spinsterhood, she was determined to complete the image with an ornamental flag. She’d gone outside, black L-shaped pole in hand, when her yard was mushy from a recent rain, figuring the dirt would be more pliable then. She’d had a hammer to bang the pole in place when she finally decided on its position. But she’d forgotten about the cord her father had buried in the ground at Christmas so she could plug in the lights on her azalea bush. The lights were long gone, but the cord was still beneath the soil when she drove the spike through the soft dirt. She heard a squish from ground water, then felt the shock of her life as the metal pole struck the still-plugged-in cord and sliced it in half.

  Had she blacked out for a moment? She never remembered quite clearly. She’d remained on her feet, though, her head ringed by spiky hair. Every cell in her body felt like it had been torched, but five minutes later, she’d shaken it off, placed the pineapple flag on the pole arm, and walked back inside. She hadn’t gone to the hospital that day. But she had later…much later…when she’d checked herself into the psychiatric ward.

  Haden waved a hand in front of her face, which she found terribly annoying, although it did bring her back to the present. “Thought I’d lost you for a minute.”

  “You did,” she said. According to her dad, her plain speaking was the reason she was still a spinster. Luckily no one used that term anymore, except in the Regency romances she loved to read. Besides, it wasn’t her plain speaking that kept her single nowadays. It was the wee problem of knowing too much about the person she was dating, like whether he picked his nose in private or had a shoe fetish.

  No lingering visions of shoes from Haden so far.

  “So just knock on the wall when you’re ready to come over tonight, okay?”

  Was she really agreeing to this plan? Was he going to expect something in return? You betcha, judging by his pornographic thoughts. Maybe getting a little would be good for her. It didn’t have to be anything complicated, like an actual relationship, right?

  “Gotcha.” Biting her lip, she watched as he walked back to the door, admiring, once again, the most fantabulous ass she’d ever seen! Michelangelo could not have created such a perfect ass.

  That woman has the most perfect scent. Haden liked her breasts too, but it was much harder to judge their perfection through the coarse fabric of her polo shirt, just the relative size ‑‑ plump palmfuls. Kitty’s enticing scent lingered in his brain as he walked the short distance to the pub. He was already counting the hours until she would knock on the wall and come over to enjoy dinner…and maybe other things. The other things bombarded his brain whenever he was within five feet of her.

  Honestly, Haden, you don’t need to screw around with a woman right now, no matter how horny you are. It’s just going to complicate things, and things are already too complicated.

  He’d risked coming back to the States, to Virginia, because he’d wanted to investigate more. He’d done as much as he could from afar, but he wasn’t ready to be found yet, not by a long shot. The pub needed to be open, established, raking in the bucks. But would the money be enough to find the answers he needed? He also craved a bit of normalcy. He’d missed Virginia, the mountains, the cherry blossoms and stately homes. He was tired of living like a fugitive.

  Dammit, he’d sworn to himself that he wouldn’t obsess about this shit anymore. He’d made his choices, and he had a bar to open. He looked around the dim interior with pride. The counters and tables gleamed, as did the tap fixtures. This was his hope for the future. They wouldn’t find him until he was ready. He’d covered his tracks perfectly, both when he’d left the country and when he’d reentered. He had to believe that.

  In the back kitchen area, workmen rushed to finish various tasks, like the plumbing under the deep sinks and dishwasher and the gas fixtures leading into the stove. He’d hired an excellent cook, both on the recommendation of a colleague in the Chamber of Commerce, and because of the man’s fish and chips. Greasy, crispy, and flavorful, they were just the thing to keep the customers coming back for more. That and the pub’s selection of beers and ales.

  “Hey, Phil,” Haden said to the foreman. “Will you lock up for me when you all finish for the night? I need to run home for a bit.”

  “Sure thing, boss.” Phil hefted his paunch off his belt and grinned. He was an honest fellow, without the least trace of nervousness, someone Haden could trust ‑‑ with the construction at least.

  Haden pushed through the back door into the rear parking lot. Since the clocks had just changed, it remained light at seven p.m. but grew cooler by the minute. The weatherman predicted a cooler-than-usual snap for the next few days. The thing the weatherman hadn’t noted was the waxing of the moon. Haden had tried to time the opening of Blackie’s as soon after the full moon as possible. He wasn’t ready to hand his duties over to an employee he barely knew before the sun went down each night, but in a couple weeks he wouldn’t have a choice. God, how that galled him.

  Stow it, man. That’s your lot in life. Deal with it.

  He paused as he felt a tingle along the back of his neck. He sniffed the air automatically, animal instincts for self-preservation coming into play. Sometimes he didn’t even have words for the things he sensed, because a normal man couldn’t smell the currents in the air or the nuances of emotion. For just a moment he caught a whiff of something sour and familiar, but then it was gone. The tingle remained, though, a feeling of being watched. He scoured the area with his gaze, but saw nothing other than Dumpsters, crates, and vehicles, a million places to hide unobserved.

  He walked steadily to his Jaguar and pressed the button on his keychain to unlock the doors. A chirp signaled the freeing of the locks, so he opened the door and slid inside. Supple leather encased his backside. He turned the key in the ignition, and the satellite radio came to life. He flipped through the stations, trying to stifle the low growl that rumbled in his throat. Whatever he’d thought he’d smelled was gone. It was probably nothing.

  No matter how many times he reminded himself to “deal with it,” he still resented whoever had created him. He knew he was adopted. What he didn’t know was if there were others like him or if he was a genetic anomaly. And even if his mother or father had passed this curse onto him, were they still alive? Did they have famil
y? Most important, and the reason he believed he was the only one of his kind, if they were like him, why in the world would they give him up? Why would they ever risk strangers’ lives by giving them a baby werewolf?

  No, he couldn’t reconcile the idea that his parents would knowingly give a baby werewolf to a young couple without any instructions or warning. That would be the ultimate cruelty.

  But if it wasn’t an inherited thing, how had he gotten this? Was it a disease? A mutation? And could he ever get rid of it?

  * * * * *

  Kitty could not deal with herself that evening. She was like a little girl, humming, smiling at nothing. Even grumbling customers couldn’t take away the buzz of excitement in her stomach.

  This man wants your store, so no hanky-panky tonight. Get a grip!

  But she wanted the hanky-panky, to hell with convention and getting to know Haden and meeting his family and not giving him milk for free and all that. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this horny with all her nerves on fire, where she could sense the tiniest brush on her skin. She was ready to close early, bang on the wall, and go over and jump his bones. It was crazy!

  Around eight-thirty, Kit’s best friend, Marsha Peretsky, sporting teased orange hair with ponytails, wandered in with her boyfriend Brad, a tall scarecrow with shagged black hair. Marsha, even without the ability to read minds, immediately honed in on Kit’s excitement. She’d already heard the whole story about the obnoxious guy who wanted to take over the store ‑‑ though Kit had carefully skirted around how she’d obtained that information ‑‑ but she didn’t know about Kit’s dinner date.