Starlight by Debbie Macomber Page B

night she and Rand had met. The stars were shining, but to gaze at them did funny things to her equilibrium.
    Suddenly, Karen had the overpowering desire to dance.
    “Rand,” she whispered seductively, waltzing a few steps ahead of him, “may Ihave the pleasure of this dance?” She curtsied politely.
    “Karen.”
    Was it impatience she heard in his voice? It must be the hiccupping; it was driving her crazy, too. “Then for heaven’s sake, kiss me,” she demanded. “That’ll stop them.”
    “Stop what?”
    Rand was definitely on a different wavelength, Karen mused, and giggled on another hiccup.
    “The taxi’s here,” he told her, his hand gripping her upper arm firmly.
    “But, Rand, I want to dance,” she pleaded. Her lashes fluttered downward suggestively.
    Rand ignored her and directed his attention to the driver. “I need to get some strong coffee into her.”
    The driver laughed as Karen hiccupped again. “Drive-through or restaurant?” he queried.
    “Drive-through … definitely a drive-through.”
    Again, the driver laughed.
    “But, Rand, I don’t want any coffee.” She forced herself to concentrate on him. His eyes were anxious, disturbed. That worried Karen. Was he angry? One arm cupped her shoulder protectively, as if she needed his strength to sit upright. The fingers on his other hand drummed a nervous tempo against the seat.
    Her eyes narrowed. “You think I’m drunk,” she said in an accusing, high-pitched voice that suggested absurdity.
    “My dear Karen, another glass of champagne and I’d have had to carry you from the reception.”
    Karen giggled. “Honestly, Rand, I’m as sober as a”—she couldn’t think of anyone sober—“a judge.” She waved her finger wildly, as if to prove her point.
    Rand snorted, but his mouth deepened into grooves as he suppressed a smile.
    Karen’s fingers crept to his face, caressing his jaw, outlining his mouth with the tips of her fingers. “Please kiss me,” she whispered softly as her hands moved up and over his shoulders, meeting behind his neck, urging his mouth to hers.
    At first, his kiss was slow and gentle, but Karen moaned, seeking deeper contact. She wasn’t disappointed when his lips hardened and parted hers. Desire seared through her blood until Karen thought she would drown in the pleasure of it.
    As he released her, she felt the cold air come between them and rested her head against his shoulder.
    “Either your kisses are more potent than I remember,” she said, smiling lazily, “or else I shouldn’t be closing my eyes, because the whole world goes into a tailspin.”
    She could feel Rand’s smile against her hair. “Then by all means protect Mother Earth and keep your eyes open.”

    Karen groaned when her alarm rang early the next morning. The shrill ring triggered a burst of pain in her head. When she sluggishly sat upright to turn off the offending noise, she thought her head would burst.
    Slouching against the pillow, she groaned again, holding her head. Looking around her, she found her normally neat bedroom in a shambles; clothes littered the floor, and one shoe sat on the windowsill, while the other remained hidden from view. She could vaguely recall singing and dancing around the apartment as she undressed. Taking deep breaths, she calculated the consequences of staying in bed, but the call of responsibility soon moved her into action.
    Once fortified with a cup of strong coffee and two aspirin, Karen showered and dressed. She lifted her eyebrows expressively when she located her second shoe in the bathroom sink.
    Fifteen minutes before she was due to leave for work, Rand phoned.
    “How are you feeling?” His tone was laced with concern.
    “Don’t ask.” She tested her voice for the first time and found her tongue thick and her words husky. “I think I’ll live if my head quits pounding.” Memories of the night remained hazy; she could recall Rand saying something about coffee and a beautiful, sensuous