Moon Shadows (5 page)

“That's rough.”

There was sympathy in his voice, but not the maudlin, pitying sort. Just as there was comfort, but not intrusion, in the light touch of his hand to her arm.

“Very. I moved to Saint Paul to live with my aunt and uncle. They were very strict and not all that thrilled to have a child thrust on them, but too worried about image to shirk their duty. Which is all I was to them. They had a daughter close to my age, the detestable and perfect Patty. We were never even close to being friends. She, and my aunt and uncle, made certain I remembered who the daughter was, who the displaced orphan was. They were never abusive, and they were never loving.”

“I've always thought the withholding of love is a kind of abuse.”

She looked over at him as she began to arrange the lilies in the vase. “You have a kind heart. Not everyone does. I was provided for, and I did what I was told, for six years, because the alternative was foster care.”

“Better the devil you know?”

“Yes, exactly. I bided my time. When I was eighteen, I left. There was insurance money that came to me then, and a small trust fund from the sale of our house in Saint Louis. I planned to go to college. I had no idea what I wanted to do or be, so I decided to take a year off first and do something my parents had always talked of doing. To tour Europe.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, alone.” She sipped her wine now, leaning back on the counter. Had she ever told anyone even this much before? Since the night everything changed for her?

No, no one. What would have been the point?

“I was thrilled to be alone, to have no schedule, no one telling me what to do. It was both an adventure and a pilgrimage for me. I backpacked through Italy.”

She lifted her glass in salute. “This is very good. Anyway, when I came home, I developed an interest in herbs. I studied them, experimented, and started a little Internet business, selling skin and hair care products, that sort of thing. I expanded it, eventually moved here and opened the store. And here I am.”

“There's a big chunk of stuff between backpacking in Italy and here I am.”

“A very big chunk,” she agreed, and took out fresh vegetables for a salad.

“Where else did you go besides Italy?”

“Circumstances made it necessary for me to cut my trip short. But I did see a bit of Italy and France before I came back home.”

“What circumstances?”

“Personal ones.”

“Okay, speaking of personal circumstances, have you ever been in love?”

“No. Superficially involved a few times. Sexually involved a few times. But I've never been in love. Until maybe now.”

She continued to slice mushrooms, very thin, until his hands came to her shoulders. “Me, either,” he murmured.

“It's probably not love. It doesn't really happen at first sight.”

“What do you know?” He turned her to face him. “You've never been there before.”

“I know it takes more than this.” This leap of the heart, this yearning. “It takes trust and respect and honesty. And time.”

“Let's take some time.” He lowered his head to rub his lips over hers. “And see if we get the rest.”

“Time.” She pried a hand between them to ease him back. “That's a problem for me.”

“Why?”

“To tell you that, I'd have to trust you, and be very honest.”
She managed a smile. “And I haven't had enough time to know you to do that.”

“We can start with tonight.”

“That's what we'll do.”

He lifted her hand from between them, kissed it. “Then we'll work on tomorrow.”

“Maybe we will.”

I
T
was extraordinary to relax in her own home over dinner with a man who not only attracted her on so many levels, but who also made her feel as if it were something they'd done before, and could do again, whenever she liked.

Someone who made her feel normal. Just a woman, eating pasta and drinking wine with a man.

For a few hours, she could put the waxing moon out of her mind and imagine what it could be like if her life was ordinary again.

“How'd you find this house?” he asked her. “This spot in Maine?”

“I like space, and it had what I was looking for.”

“You lived in Montana.” He watched her as he twirled spaghetti onto his fork. “They've got boatloads of space out there.”

“Maybe too much.” She shrugged a shoulder. “I liked it there, and I enjoyed the . . . I guess you could say the texture of the land. But it was too easy to cut myself off, and I reached a point where I understood the difference between being
self-sufficient and private and isolation. Have you ever been out West?”

“I spent a wild week in San Diego on spring break once.”

Her lips curved. “That doesn't count.”

“You wouldn't say that if you'd been there. Anyway, I'm glad you decided on the East Coast, on here. Then again, if you'd stuck a pin in a map and ended up in Duluth, I'd've found you.”

“Duluth?”

“Wherever. It wouldn't matter.” He reached over, laid a hand on hers. “Do you believe in fate, Simone?”

She looked down at his hand, strong fingers over hers. “Obsessively.”

“Me, too. My mother's always after me. Gabriel, when are you going to settle down with a nice girl and give me grandchildren? When my grandmother hears her, she tells her to leave me alone. Leave the boy be, she says, he's already in love. He just hasn't met her yet. Now that I have, I know exactly what she means.”

“It's a long way from a spaghetti dinner to settling down. And you don't know that I'm a nice girl.”

“Okay, tell me the meanest thing you've ever done.”

Blood, spurting warm into her mouth, devouring prey while the mad hunger, the wild thrill of the hunt burned through her like black fire.

She only shook her head. “I can guarantee it tops cheating on a history test. My trip to Europe . . .” she said slowly. “Things happened there that changed me. I've spent a long time dealing with that, and trying to . . . find my way back.”

“A mad affair with a slick Italian who happened to be married with five children?”

“Oh. If only. No adulterous affairs. No affairs that mattered.”

“Something makes you sad under it all. Who hurt you?”

“I never knew him. But the good that came out of it is, once I dealt with it, I swore I'd never hurt anyone in the same way. Never.” She rose to begin clearing. “Which brings me to you.”

“Are you afraid I'll hurt you?”

“You'd be the first who could, because you're the first who matters. But—”

“Hold that a minute.” He got to his feet, crossed to her. With his eyes on hers, he took the plates out of her hand, set them aside. “I can't promise not to do something stupid, or screw up. Life's full of stupidity and screwups, and I've got my share. But Simone . . .” He took her face in his hands. “I'll do the best I can. And my best isn't half bad.”

“I'm afraid of you,” she murmured. “And for you. And I can't explain.”

“I'll take the risk. How about you?”

He leaned in until his mouth found hers, until he found the answer.

That punch of need, a stunning blow to the system, left him shaken and reeling. It was as if he'd waited all his life for this one kiss, that everything that had gone on before was just a prelude to this single meeting of lips. As the ache followed, he drew her closer, delved deeper. Dark and dangerous and heady, the taste of her invaded him. Conquered.

“Simone.”

“Not yet, not yet.”

She needed more, for what she drew from him was hope. It was light. Bright strong beams that vanquished the shadows she lived with, day after day. Strength and heart and sweetness, the essence of him streamed into her. And soothed.

“I need you too much.” She pressed her face into his shoulder, memorizing his scent. “It can't be real. It can't be right.”

“Nothing's ever felt more real, more right, to me. Let me be with you.” His mouth moved along her jaw, taking small, tantalizing bites. “Let me love you. I want to feel what it's like to be inside you.”

She let out a half laugh. “You have no idea.”

Take him, her mind murmured as his hands moved over her. Be taken. What harm could it do? Maybe love was the answer. How could that be any more irrational than the rest?

Here and now, she thought, while his scent was buzzing through her senses, while she could hear the urgent beat of his heart, feel the heat of his blood swimming just under his skin.

And what then? How could it be love, how could it answer anything when it was a lie?

“Gabe.”

“Don't think. Let's not think. We'll just . . . oh,
hell
.” Cursing, he drew back, dug his phone out of his pocket. “Sorry. Don't move. Don't think. Yeah, Gabe Kirby,” he said into the phone.

She saw his face change, that light of lust and humor clicking off into concern. “Where? Okay. No, calm down. I'll be there in ten minutes. Keep him warm, keep him still. Ten minutes.”

He shoved the phone back in his pocket even as he reached for his jacket. “Sorry, emergency. I've got to go. German shepherd, clipped by a car. They're waiting outside my office with him. I don't know how bad, or how long. I could—”

“Don't worry.” She hurried with him to the door. “Just go. Take care of him.”

“See me tomorrow.” He turned at the door, pulled her into him for one quick, hard kiss. “For God's sake, see me tomorrow.”

“Yes. Tomorrow. Go. Good luck.”

“I'll call you.” And he was already running to his car.

She watched him pull out, speed away, then sagged against the doorjamb. The dog was in good hands, she thought. Caring ones. And it was best he'd been called away. Best for him, and for her.

He gave her hope, she thought, and what could she give him but shock and pain? Unless, she told herself and ran her fingers over her silver cross, she found the cure.

“Let's get back to work, Amico.”

She worked through the night, and just before dawn curled up with Amico on his bed for a few hours sleep. The wolf dreams came, as they often did when the moon was nearly full and her system too tired to resist. So she dreamed of running through the night, power pulsing through her, hunger gnawing at her belly. She dreamed of hunting, following the scent, her eyes so keen they cut through the dark.

In the dream she had only one purpose, and no restrictions of conscience to bind her. She flew through the night, free to take what she willed with fang and claw.

Tracking, stalking the one she wanted. In that last leap, she saw his face, the terror, the revulsion in his eyes. And when she bit into his flesh, she knew nothing but pleasure.

She woke with Gabe's scent on her skin, and her own tears on her cheeks.

 

S
HE
sought him out. To do otherwise would be cowardly. No dream, no matter how horrid, would make her a coward now. Before she went by his office, she swung into Luna with fresh stock.

She'd timed it to arrive just shy of opening. Though she heard Shelley wandering around in the front, Simone moved quietly, working in the storeroom.

The music came on, the New Age–type of instrumentals Shelley seemed to think went best with the tone of the products. It didn't matter to Simone if she played Enya or Iron Maiden, as long as the products moved.

She needed more equipment for her lab, more of the drugs she could only get, and at a vicious cost, through the black market.

And if the risk she was preparing to take with Gabe turned around to slap her, she'd need running money.

She heard the footsteps approach, then Shelley's startled yelp when her manager opened the storeroom door.

“God! I didn't know you were back here. You scared the life out of me. Amico! You sweetie.” Shelley crouched down to exchange friendly greetings with the dog.

Shelley was five-feet-nothing. All dramatically streaked brown hair and energy, with a pretty freckled face and a flair for drama. She wore bright colors. Today's choice was grass green cropped pants and a fitted jacket, and lots of clattering bracelets.

Even without her heightened senses, Simone figured she'd have heard the woman coming from a block away.

She was the open, chatty, cheerful sort Simone thought she'd have enjoyed being friends with, if she allowed herself friends. Someone she'd be able to sit down with, over drinks
and a lot of laughs. As it was, they got along well enough, and Shelley, with her vivacious personality and organized soul, was an ideal choice to manage the shop.

“Didn't expect you to come by until next week,” Shelley said.

“I finished some stock, and since I had a couple of errands in town, I thought I'd bring it by now.”

“Great. Hope you made more of that new potpourri. Autumn Forest? It's already flying out the door, and we're running low on the eye pillows. Simone, I love the new hand cream—the seaweed stuff. It's like magic, and I've been—har har—hand-selling it like mad. I was going to send you an inventory list today.”

“I'll take care of it.”

“You look fabulous.” Cocking her head, Shelley studied Simone's face. “Charged up, I'd say. Got some other new magic cream you're not sharing with the rest of us yet?”

Did love show, like it did in storybooks and novels? Put stars in your eyes, roses in your cheeks? “No, but I'm working on a few things.”

“When you've got it bottled, I'll be happy to try it out, whatever it is. Want some tea? I'm making some of our Lemon Twist.”

“No, thanks. I have a couple of errands, like I said, then I need to get back.” She hooked on Amico's leash. She started out, then hesitated. “Shelley, let me ask you a hypothetical.”

“Fire away.”

“If you were interested in someone, a man—”

“I'm always interested in a man.”

“So when you are, very interested, and there's something about you that you've made a strict policy to keep private, do you feel you have to open that door, to be completely honest?”

“Pretty heavy hypothetical.”

“I guess it is.”

“I'd say it would depend on the private thing. If it's like I did ten years in the federal pen, then I'd probably spill it. If it's more like I had liposuction, well, I'm entitled to my little secrets.”

“So the more important it is, the more necessary it is to be honest.”

“Well, if I'd had lipo, I'd consider that pretty damn important, but yeah. But I'd say it hinges on just how deep the interest is, on both sides.”

“That's what I thought. Thanks.”

She'd have to judge it, Simone ruminated as she walked Amico toward the vet's office. She'd have to be sure her own feelings, needs, hopes, weren't coloring her perception of his.

If he loved her, she had to tell him before things went any further. Not only because it was right, but for his own protection.

If it was just infatuation on both their parts, she could live with that. She'd lived with less. Then she would keep her secret and enjoy him within her own safety zone.

Outside the door, she crouched to reassure the dog. “Just a visit, that's all. Quick in and out, and no exam for you.”

She walked in just as Gabe walked out of the exam room beside an enormous, bearded man holding a tiny yellow kitten in his massive hands.

Their eyes met, and she knew infatuation, on her part at least, didn't come close.

“Trudy's all set,” Gabe said, giving the kitten a scratch behind the ears. “No more table scraps, even if she begs.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

As he moved toward the desk, the kitten arched her back, hissed at Simone.

“Jeez, lady, sorry. She's a little upset, is all.” He gathered the kitten close to the barrel of his chest as she spat and arched. “Your dog probably made her nervous.”

“No problem.” Simone moved aside, knowing it wasn't Amico that made the cat nervous.

“Come on back. Five minutes,” he told Eileen, then grabbed Simone's hand to pull her into the exam room.

“I was just—” But he stopped her words with his mouth, had her sliding into the kiss, dropping the leash so her arms could lock around him.

“Me, too,” Gabe murmured. “All night. If you were about to say thinking about you.”

“Actually, I was going to tell you . . . Now my brain's fuzzy.”

“While it is, let's escape out the back door, run off to the woods, and make love like rabbits.”