Once in a Blue Moon by Kristin James

letting her face convey a subtle combination of controlled anger and determination.
    The doorbell rang and she walked across the room to open it, casting a last glance of inspection down at her sexy dress and giving the neckline a little tug to make it lower. Then she wiped all the anger from her face, replacing it with a faint, almost teasing smile, and opened the door.
    “Jessica.” Michael stood outside, looking puzzled and impatient. “I’m here. What was so important that you couldn’t discuss it on the phone?”
    “Curtis...come in. Let me have your coat.”
    He looked for a moment as if he would refuse, then sighed and shrugged out of the overcoat, handing it to her. His eyes swept down her body, taking in the dress. “Rather...elegant for a fireside chat, aren’t you?”
    Heat flickered through Isabelle at the touch of Michael’s gaze, and she felt a moment’s panic that she was going to forget her line again. She was unaware that the inner heat showed in a softening of her lips and darkening of her mouth that was subtly seductive. When she spoke, the line coming instinctively to her mouth, her voice was slightly husky.
    “Like it?” she asked, smoothing a hand over her hip and upper thigh, every curve revealed by the tight material.
    “What man wouldn’t?” Michael countered lightly, turning away. “But it seems a trifle formal for a chat with your future brother-in-law, that’s all.”
    “I just got back from a party,” Isabelle explained. Then she added, “Would you rather I changed into...something more comfortable?” She cocked an eyebrow and braced one hand on her hip, shooting him a challenging look.
    Michael glanced at her sharply, his brows drawing together, his blue eyes hard. “No. I really haven’t the time. Why don’t you tell me why you asked me to come here?”
    “Oh, Curtis.” Isabelle pouted prettily. “You’re always in such a rush. Sit down.” She gave him a playful push onto the couch. “Put your feet up.” She grabbed his legs and lifted them to prop his feet on the coffee table. She didn’t like touching Michael, didn’t like being this close. It made her feel too jumpy, too vulnerable.
    He promptly put his feet back on the floor and said, irritated, “I would like to go home and get some rest. It’s been a long day. Could you please get to the point?”
    Ignoring his words, Isabelle walked in her signature Jessica catwalk, sleek and smooth and sexy, to a serving table where the wine and glasses stood. “Relax a little, why don’t you? Have a glass of wine.” She pulled the cork from the bottle and began to pour.
    “I don’t want any wine,” he protested, but she poured it anyway and returned with the glasses.
    Looking exasperated, Michael took the glass and sipped. Isabelle took a small taste of it, too, and set her glass on the coffee table, then sat down on the couch beside Michael, facing him, with her legs curled beneath her. She laid her arm along the back of the couch, her hand almost touching him. He looked at her suspiciously and shifted away from her, but was stopped by the arm of the couch.
    “What is it you want?” he demanded gruffly.
    “Why, Curtis, I want us to be friends.”
    His brows shot up. “What? That’s what you called me over here for? Honestly, Jessica...”
    He started to rise, but she planted a firm palm on his chest and pushed him back down. She did not remove her hand. Michael glanced down at her hand, then up at her, suspicion and confusion on his face.
    Isabelle was very aware of the warmth of Michael’s chest beneath her hand, even through his shirt. It sent strange tingles through her to touch him. Her heart was skittering, and her palms were damp. He stared at her in that long gaze so typical of soaps.
    She wondered if he felt anything. It was hard to tell from the actor’s mask of his face, which reflected nothing but what his character felt. But Isabelle noticed that she could feel the thud of his heart through