Star Quality. Lori Foster

on her way, and honey, she’ll take one look at you and think I’ve been getting you off under the table. Take the napkin, lower your face, and blow.”

      Jenna fumbled to do just that, her hands shaking, her breath coming too fast. She turned awkwardly away and lowered her face just as Marylou set the plates of peach pie on the table.

      “You want me to take some of these dishes?” she asked, hoping for a reason to hang around.

      “That’s all right,” Stan told her. “We’ll be done shortly, and then you can get it all.” He handed her a twenty, which more than covered the bill, and said, “Keep the change.”

      Stan knew she was saving for college, so he always gave her a huge tip. Marylou saw nothing amiss. “Thanks, Stan. See ya later, Jenna.” And off she went.

      Jenna’s forehead hit the table. “Oh, God,” she said, her voice muffled through the napkin still covering her face. “I’ll never be able to come in here again.”

      Stan couldn’t resist touching her hair. He glided his fingers over the warm silk, thinking of it loose and drifting over his body—his chest, his abdomen. His thighs.

      He lifted her face. “So you’re a hot woman with a sexual appetite? It’s nobody’s business—but mine.” He brushed her lips with his thumb. “I’ll keep our secret.”

      Jenna looked at her uneaten croissant and then at the piece of pie. She shook her head. “I can’t eat.”

      “Yes, you can.” Stan picked up her sandwich and handed it to her. “I’ll help. For the rest of our meal, I’ll make sure we talk about something else.”

      Jenna still struggled to get her breathing in order. “Like what?”

      There were times when the nonglamorous job of gardening came in handy. “A new low-maintenance rose shrub that’d look great in that bare spot at the side of The Nook. It’s going to be a big seller, so you need to order it now.”

      Bemused, Jenna listened as he detailed the finer points of the flower, and within minutes, she’d consumed her lunch. Lust, Stan knew, worked up an appetite, so he enjoyed watching Jenna eat.

      After he gave her an evening of mind-blowing sex, he’d feed her a four-course meal. She’d forget about her diet colas and aversion to pie and learn to appreciate her curves as much as he did.

      But for now, he had to get back to work before he forgot his good intentions. He walked Jenna back to the bookstore, gave her a brief kiss on her delicious mouth, and told her he’d see her at five-thirty, at her house.

      Hopefully the lake water would be cold. Because he had a feeling Jenna’s more sumptuous thoughts were going to be hell on his libido, and on his control. Out on the boat, at least he’d be able to dunk himself in the water as necessary.

       Three

      When Jenna got home, rushing so she’d have time to refresh her hair and make-up before Stan showed up, she discovered her daughter still in the bathroom, primping for her date.

      When she knocked, Rachelle said, “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

      Jenna sighed. “Hello to you, too, honey.”

      The door opened. “Hey, Mom. I thought you were Ryan.”

      They exchanged a quick hug, and Jenna asked, “Where is your brother?”

      Wrinkling her nose, Rachelle said, “Out back, digging up worms in the hopes you’ll take him fishing.”

      Because Rachelle still had hot rollers in her long blond hair and only half her make-up on, Jenna knew she’d be busy longer than the predicated “few minutes.” Sharing one bathroom with an eighteen-year-old daughter wasn’t easy.

      But at the same time, Jenna knew she was going to miss her something awful when college started. “I’ll let him know I’m home.” Then she hesitated. “Where are you going tonight?”

      “To the movies, and then the Old Orchard Inn for dinner.”

      Jenna frowned. The theater was located just outside of town, and that was bad enough, but the Old Orchard Inn was also a B&B—meaning there were beds right upstairs. At eighteen, Rachelle was on the verge of being a woman, but she was still Jenna’s little girl. She didn’t want to be smothering, but neither could she be cavalier. “You’re going to be late?”

      Rachelle shrugged. “Maybe midnight or so. Is that okay?”

      “I suppose so.” But as usual, Jenna felt the need to lecture. “Please just remember that as nice as Terrance seems, it’s you I trust, not him. If he tries to buy you alcohol or if anything happens—”

      Rachelle rolled her eyes and headed back into the bathroom. “I know, I know. I’ll call a cab, or call you, or I’ll hit him over the head. Don’t worry, Mom. It’s just dinner and a movie. I promise.”

      Don’t worry? Dear God, Jenna well remembered the raging hormones of youth, how she and her husband had found plenty of inconspicuous places to explore their sexuality. They’d married young and had a wonderful marriage that had lasted until his death three years ago.

      But Jenna wanted so much more for her daughter. . . .

      “Mom!” Ryan came thundering into the house with all the delicacy of a herd of elephants. His untied, dirty sneakers brought him to a skidding halt on the hardwood floor right in front of Jenna. “I’ve dug up a bunch of night crawlers.” He lifted a paper cup filled with dirt and wiggling worms. “Let’s go fishing.”

      Hiding her revulsion, Jenna peered into the cup. “Wow, you do have a bunch. And they’re so . . .” She swallowed hard. “Big.”

      “They’re juicy,” Ryan said. “The fish’ll love ’em.”

      Jenna mentally prepared herself and said a quick prayer that her son would be happy with the change of plans. “I’m sure there’ll be time for some fishing, but guess what? Stan Tucker offered to take us out on his boat.”

      Ryan’s eyes widened. A heartbeat later, the bathroom door opened and Rachelle stuck her head out, her eyebrows raised in comical wonder.

      Dear God, Jenna thought, she’d rendered both kids mute.

      Forging on, she cleared her throat and tried to be casual when she felt nearly frantic instead. “I don’t know what type of boat he has, but he said you could go tubing or swim in the cove. We can take the fishing gear along. Stan might like to fish, too.”

      Still, both children just stared at her. A deep breath, then another, and a bright smile. “You remember Stan, don’t you?”

      They each nodded. Ryan fought a grin. “For real? He’ll take me tubing?”

      “That’s what he said.”

      Rachelle sent Jenna a sly look—and began teasing. In a soft, singsong voice, she said, “Mom’s got a boyfriend, Mom’s got a boyfriend . . .”

      “Rachelle! Of course I don’t. Stan is a—”

      “Stud,” Rachelle said. “And if he’s not a boyfriend, then why are you turning bright red?” Laughing, Rachelle threw her arms around Jenna and squeezed. “I think it’s cool.”

      “Me, too.” Ryan was suddenly beside himself, jiggling, hopping, and antsy with anticipation. “When’s he gettin’ here?”

      Jenna glanced at her watch and gulped. Time slipped by far too fast. “In about ten minutes.”

      “Mom.” Rachelle pulled her into the bathroom. “For heaven’s sake. Why didn’t you say something! It’s all yours. I’ll finish up in my room.” Hands flying, she unplugged her rollers, grabbed no less than three hair-brushes and her assortment of make-up, and said, “Don’t