Star Quality. Lori Foster

accepted the invitation of her parted lips, dipping his tongue inside, still gentle, exploring with a leisureliness that belied the bulge in his shorts and the tightness of his muscles.

      When her breath grew choppy and her hands clutched at him, Stan ended the kiss and glanced at Ryan. The boy snored, affording him more opportunity to ease her into the idea of his gift.

      With his fingertips exploring the delicate texture of her cheekbone, Stan whispered, “Although Full Moon happens every month at a specific date and time, it seems full for several nights in a row. If the sky’s clear, the effect can be the same.”

      “What effect?”

      He touched his mouth to her bottom lip, licked, sucked carefully. “Any that might occur,” he explained.

      “Some people feel unsettled, some get heightened emotions. There are suicides and, on the opposite scale, a lot of lovemaking.”

      “I hope you’re thinking more of the latter.”

      Smiling, Stan continued to educate her. The more she knew, the easier it’d be for her to accept when he told her everything. And he would tell her. She had a right to know that he could read her thoughts. It was the worst invasion of privacy, but it was also something he couldn’t always control.

      His ex-wife had hated it, but then, she’d had secrets better left concealed. He already knew Jenna would never cheat. She was as loyal, as moral, as any person he’d ever met. If she took a vow, she’d mean it—till death do us part.

      The thought excited him more, because he wanted her as his own, now and forever. He wanted more days like today, with better nights to follow. He wanted it all.

      “The percentage of the moon’s disk that’s illuminated changes slowly around the time of Full Moon, so most people won’t notice the difference. Even two days from Full Moon, people can still be suffering the Lunar Effect.”

      Her small hand came up to his jaw, her brow drawn in a slight frown. “Stan, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      “You’ve been thinking about me a lot lately. Sexually explicit thoughts.”

      She ducked her face and touched her fingertips to his chest hair. “Yes.”

      “Have you always?”

      One shoulder lifted. “I’ve always been aware of you. I’ve always been attracted to you. And, yes, I’ve thought of you that way plenty of times.”

      He felt her thoughts skittering this way and that, and said, “But?”

      “But lately, I don’t know. It’s been different. Stronger. Even . . . powerful. I thought maybe it was because I’m turning forty soon.” Her smile went crooked, creating that small dimple he adored. “Maybe old age is catching up with me, turning me into a lech.”

      The admission made her uneasy, leaving her embarrassed and uncertain. Stan didn’t want her to ever be ashamed of her sexuality. He slid his hand under her hair, kneading her nape, turning her face up to his. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting me, Jenna.” And with grave sincerity, “For a night, or for more than a night.”

      He posed it as a statement—but waited to see how she’d react, where her personal thoughts would take her.

      His chest expanded on a deep breath, and relief filled him. Yeah, Jenna wanted him forever, never mind that she considered that a farfetched fantasy. He could get around that, but he didn’t want to pressure her for things she didn’t want.

      She wanted him, and he’d show her just how possible that could be.

      To better his odds of winning her over, Stan absorbed every nuance of her feelings for him. Her logical mind shied away from the idea of pinning him down, because she didn’t think he could be satisfied with one woman. She’d had fidelity and loyalty and commitment from her first husband, and that’s what she wanted again.

      She would never settle for less—but then, neither would he.

      Stan didn’t like it that she saw him as a playboy, a mature man with too much money, too much recognition, and too many women at his disposal. True, he’d spent a few years wallowing in the celebrity status of his newfound popularity. And women had come easy over the years. But that didn’t mean he wanted to remain a bachelor forever.

      His healthy bank account could be an asset to her, a way to send Rachelle to the college of her choice, enough money to reinstate the missed family vacations, the boat, the comfort of financial security.

      But Jenna wouldn’t care about the benefits he could bring if she thought she couldn’t trust him. Stan cursed softly, making Jenna press back in puzzlement. “What is it?” she asked.

      “Can we talk seriously for a few minutes?”

      She stared at him, looked at her hand on his chest, then at his mouth. She blinked. “Sure, Stan. Talking is just what I had in mind.”

      Laughing, he pulled her closer so that her cheek nestled on his shoulder. It felt good to hold her. Almost as nice as kissing her. “Don’t be a tease, woman. You know damn good and well you weren’t going to do anything with Ryan so close.”

      “Of course I wouldn’t. But a few more kisses would have been nice.”

      His hand opened on her waist, and he squeezed. She was rounded in all the right places, full of curves and soft like a woman should be. He couldn’t wait to feel her under him, all that softness cushioning his harder frame.

      Stan swallowed a growl, knowing he had to keep on track. “I’ll kiss you silly tonight,” he promised in a raw, dark whisper, “after you tuck Ryan into bed.”

      Her thoughts were too naked, too vulnerable and anxious, and Stan felt like a bastard for being privy to them. But he had to make her understand that he wasn’t a cheat, that ten easy women meant nothing compared to a woman he could love.

      Nothing meant more to him than Jenna did.

      She was close, wanting him, confused by her feelings but determined to do what was right for her children and for herself. She didn’t want her kids hurt, and she feared that involving him in their lives, only to say goodbye when he grew bored and left, would leave her kids unhappy.

      Stan listened to the knocking of his heart, but that became a primal beat, urging him on, heightening his awareness of her as a gentle woman, sexy as hell and damp in all the right places. Her thoughts veered, picturing him naked, her hands all over him, her mouth following . . .

      Abruptly, Stan pushed away from her. Bending forward, his elbows on his knees, he tapped his fisted hands against his chin. She tortured him without even knowing it.

      Not looking at Jenna, determined to get her mind off sex so he could think straight, he asked, “How much do you know about my past?”

      Her confusion warred with her instinctive need to offer comfort. “I know what the press has shared.” Her hand touched his back, resting on his shoulder blade. “I know that you got in trouble a few times when you were younger.”

      Feeling dangerous, Stan twisted to face her. “I’ve been convicted of assault and battery.”

      Her fingers stilled. “You beat someone up?”

      “The creep was going to jump a guy we worked with. He and his girlfriend had broken up, and she’d chosen this other guy . . .” Stan ran a hand through his hair. “He was going to wait for him by his car one night and use a tire iron on him. So I stopped him.”

      Her comforting fingers again drifted over his back. “And they convicted you for that?”

      Stan could understand her astonishment. Under normal circumstances, he’d be considered a hero.

      Only there was nothing normal about the way he got his information.

      “I got a year’s suspended sentence.”

      “But