"No thanks. I've had enough." He looked her up and down. "You okay?"
"Yes."
"No problems?"
"No."
"I don't believe you. If you were okay, you'd be asleep."
She came farther into the room. Her nightgown had been one of the purchases she'd made in the dry goods store. It was sleeveless, had a tucked-and-pleated lace-trimmed bodice, and was modest enough for a nun. Although a nun probably wouldn't have worn a nightgown made of cotton that was so soft and sheer that light could shine through it.
Unaware that her body was silhouetted against the fabric, she extended her arms at her sides.
"See? I'm fine."
"Well, I'm not," he muttered grouchily. "Sit down and keep me company for a while."
She glanced around. "There's no place to sit."
"Sure there is." He swiveled his legs from beneath the table, reached for her hand and pulled her onto his lap.
She felt his bare thighs against the backs of hers. The contrast was so thrilling she uttered a soft cry. "Judd!"
Nuzzling her neck, he snarled, "Did I ever tell you that white cotton nighties make me as horny as hell?"
"No!"
"Well, they don't. I just wondered if I ever told you that."
"Oh, you!" she remonstrated, giving his shoulder a push.
Chuckling, he raised his head, but loosely linked his hands around her waist. His eyes moved over her. "I couldn't seduce you now even if you'd let me.
"Why?"
"Because you look about twelve-years-old, that's why. With your hair down and wearing your sweet, prim nightie."
Smiling, he ran his index finger down the row of tiny buttons until it came up against a neatly tied satin bow between her breasts. By then, he was no longer smiling. He lifted his eyes to hers.
Their gaze melded.
Stevie's pulse was pounding in her ears. He had already teased her once about her rapidly beating heart, and she wondered if he could feel it now. She could scarcely breathe.
Before things got out of hand, she had to bring the subject back around to his writing. "Is it terribly hard?"
"It's getting there," re replied roughly "How long will it be?"
"Long enough, baby.
"What's it about?"
"Huh?" 'It's getting there," he replied roughly.
'How long will it be?'
'Long enough, baby."
What's it about?"
"Huh?"
"Your book."
"Book? Oh, my book. We're talking about my book."
He dropped his head forward and blew out a pent-up breath. For several moments he breathed deeply with his eyes shut. When he raised his head again, there were lines of strain around his mouth.
"'Book' is a polite euphemism for 'pile of crap.'" He nodded toward the pages turned facedown on the table.
"I'll bet it's not crap at all. You've been working so diligently, it can't be all bad."
"Hopefully not." He took her hand in his and studied it. Turning it palm up, he ran his thumb across the calluses left by her tennis racquet. His touch was a further aggravation to her already chaotic system and increased her awareness of the warmth emanating from his lap up through her thighs.
Hastily she withdrew her hand and made to stand. His arms tightened around her. "Where are you going?"
"Back to bed."
"I thought you were going to talk to me."
"You're not talking."
"You want to know what the book is about?" he asked moodily. "Alright, I'll tell you."
"Hush. You keep bugging me to know, so now you'll know. Be quiet and listen."
Ordinarily Stevie would have protested this gross inaccuracy. Since she had first asked him about his novel and he'd told her that writers didn't discuss their current projects, she had refrained from asking specific questions about it.
She usually referred to what he did in the vacant dining room, as his "work."
Now, however, she could tell that he was bursting to discuss certain aspects of it. Obediently she sat silently on his lap and listened.
"It starts out when the protagonist is just a kid, see?"
"Male or female?"
"Male."
"Figures."
"He had a very ordinary-"
"Does he have a name?"
"Not yet. Are you going to keep interrupting?
Because if you are-"
"I won't say another word."
"Thank you." He took a deep breath, opened his mouth, then looked at her blankly. "Where was I?"
"May I speak?" His glare threatened murder.
She quoted, " 'He had a very ordinary…'"
"Oh, yeah. He had a very ordinary childhood.
Mom, Dad, typical suburban-America upbringing. He'd always been good at sports.
All sports. But in high school, he concentrated on baseball. By his senior year, he'd won the attention of many notable universities, all vying for him. He picked one and got a scholarship in exchange for playing baseball on the varsity team."
"During his sophomore year of college, a minor league talent scout approached him and offered him a contract to go pro. It was as tempting as hell. Although his coaches, everybody, had told him that he had what it took to make the major leagues, he decided that he had better decline -much as he wanted to play-and go ahead and finish college, just in case this career in baseball didn't pan out."
"So he stayed in school, which, as the story progresses, turned out to be one of the wisest decisions he ever made. Since he wasn't particularly interested in any other field, he tried to find the path of least resistance to get through college.
He'd never been much of a scholar, too busy with athletics, you see."
"Science and math courses were a hassle for him, and he barely squeaked by. But he aced classes like English and history where he could b.s. his way through an exam. Friends told him that he had a way with words and a knack for turning a clever phrase. So, it seemed logical that he major in English and minor in journalism."
"By the time he graduated from college, he had an agent negotiating with three major-league teams. Under the misconception that he was invulnerable, he behaved recklessly, thinking that his future was one big bright solar system that revolved around him, its sun. He partied a lot.
There were lots of women, good times, fun and frolic."
Judd fell silent for a moment and stared reflectively at the blank sheet of paper in the typewriter.
"One of those seven-figure, five-year deals that dreams are made of came through for this clown. He was celebrating it with a group of friends. They decided to spend a weekend waterskiing."
Stevie rolled her lips inward, wishing she didn't have to listen to the rest of the story. But dynamite couldn't have blasted her off Judd's lap.
Apparently he desperately needed this catharsis.
He had listened on several occasions when she had poured her heart out. It was time she returned the favor.
"The lake had been formed by a new dam and hadn't completely filled up yet. Those kids were stupid to be skiing there in the first place. This fool was even laughing his head off when the boat approached the stump sticking above the surface of the water."
"Hell, he was invincible. Nothing could touch him. Or so he thought," he said in a flat, empty voice. "He decided that he could swerve around the stump without any trouble at all." After a moment, he added, "He couldn't."
The resulting silence was broken only by distant thunder. It rumbled ominously. The sky flickered with lightning; the breeze picked up.