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Moonlight Man

Moonlight Man by Gill Judy
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Sharon and Marc are both survivors, but that fact divides them just as it unites them. Can music bridge the gap?
Awe-Struck Publishing; November 2003
93 pages; ISBN 9781587494055
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Title: Moonlight Man
Author: Gill Judy
When the gentle rapping came on her back door, Sharon's heart stopped. She knew who was there, and she knew why he had come. She stepped to the door and opened it, watching Marc's expression as his gaze swept over her brief satin robe, her bare legs and feet, then back up to lock with hers.

He didn't smile, and she noticed dimly that there were lines of tension drawn from his nose to his mouth. He had changed out of his suit and tie, was wearing a flannel shirt, tight jeans, and grubby sneakers. He looked so virile, she thought briefly of slamming the door and running for her life, but knew it was ages too late for that. She stood there, lost in his gaze. She felt a newfound confidence in herself that she'd lacked before, a sureness of her own ability to cope with whatever came of this attraction she and Marc had for each other, one she had been fighting for months. Now, she no longer wanted to fight it. She just wanted . . . him.

His gaze never strayed from hers, yet she felt he was totally aware of her naked body under her robe.

"Your date didn't come in," Marc said finally. His voice was taut, low, throaty.

"He wasn't invited." Hers was thin and breathless.

There was a pause. Again, she watched his Adam's apple move in his throat. "Am I?"

After only a brief hesitation, she stepped back, giving him room to enter. As he kicked the door shut behind him, he reached out and gathered her close, holding her fully against him. He groaned, a deep sound of satisfaction, pulling her closer. She sighed, a long, tremulous sound of rapture, and burrowed into his incredible heat.

No, warm and comfortable she would wait for. Those were for when she was old. Right now, she could do with a whole lot of hot and wild and exciting. Right now, she could do with a whole lot of Marc Duval, and the devil with the consequences. Lifting her hands, she drew his face down and parted her lips as his covered them.

Moments later, he lifted his head and whispered, "What's the matter? Didn't he buy you dessert? You still seem mighty hungry."

"I didn't want the kind he was offering."

"Do you want what I'm offering?"

"How do I know, until you tell me what it is?"

He bent and murmured in her ear, his words so erotic they made her squirm, and she knew her face was aflame even as she looked at him. "I want what you're offering. Oh, Marc, I want it so bad!" she said tremulously.

Lifting her in his arms, he held her high against his chest. "Then come and get it, little one. I'm hungry, too.

Something jangled musically just at the periphery of her hearing as he swung her around and carried her toward the stairs, and into her mind floated the image of golden bangles sliding along a dark, slender arm as it lifted to encircle a man's neck. Yes, she said silently and with gratitude. Oh, yes. Now I understand.

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