Page 53 of Marked By Moonlight

His pale green eyes deepened to a darker shade, reminding her of a forest after rain. Her skin grew warm where his hand rested.

His fingers flexed over her knee. “We really should get up.”

She slid down on the bed. He came over her, the smooth expanse of muscled chest irresistible to her hands. Her fingers rounded over his firm shoulders, curling around the bulge of his biceps. He moved his hand from her knee and up over her thigh.

“We should,” she agreed, gasping when he came to the juncture of her thighs. His fingers rubbed her moist folds through the thin cotton sheets, dampening the fabric with her desire.

“Later,” he growled against her mouth, wrenching the sheets free and sinking into her with one thrust, filling her completely.

Gideon was still smiling when he stepped from the shower. Not until he wiped the mirror with his towel and stared at himself did the fool grin slip from his face. He swept his wet hair back from his forehead and stared starkly at himself, wondering just what the hell he was doing grinning like a love-struck fool over a woman under a death sentence.

If Claire was going to have a chance, he had to end this thing between them now. He couldn’t languish away the time in bed with her, no matter how good she made him feel. For the first time in his life he could forget.Shemade him forget. The ugliness of his parents’ deaths, the long years of killing, the blood. He had killed so much that when he closed his eyes he saw nothing but blood. With Claire, all that vanished. He saw only her. He felt only peace.

But any peace he found would be lost forever if he had to destroy her. Determined to keep her at arm’s length, he sighed and secured the towel about his waist. Opening the bathroom door, he braced himself as though walking into battle. Facing Claire and keeping his hands to himself would require more strength than even he was accustomed to.

He froze at the sight of her. Humming softly, she stretched over the bed, pulling the covers the last of the way up and plumping the pillows. It was a purely domestic scene. The kind of task one’s wife performed. The kind of thing his mother had done.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

She looked up and bestowed a bright smile on him. At his glower, her smile grew hesitant. “Making the bed.”

Turning, he marched into his closet and proceeded to dress.

“Is something wrong? Gideon?” He heard the confusion in hervoice and fought back his impulse to reassure her, to take her in his arms and kiss her until he forgot what she was, what he had to save her from becoming.

“Nothing,” he replied, strapping on his holster and gun. “We have a lot of ground to cover today. Let’s get going.”

CHAPTERTWELVE

Dogs are proud creatures and often find it difficult to back down from a challenge.

—Man’s Best Friend: An Essential Guide to Dogs

With his bleary eyes and slurred speech, Lenny’s foster father was undeniably human. A sorry excuse, but human nonetheless. No way could he be the lycan responsible for infecting Lenny. Claire had hoped, at the very least, that he might have some information, some clue to send them in the right direction. The two friends of Lenny’s they had visited earlier that morning—boys she had often seen him talking to at school—had been of no help either.

But the foster father knew even less of Lenny’s habits than his friends had.

“Where’s your wife?” Gideon demanded, shaking him by the shirtfront when it looked like the guy might pass out.

“She took off with some guy. Weeks ago.”

Gideon let go of his shirt. The man slumped back into the couch, his bloodshot eyes drifting to Claire.The Price Is Rightblared loudly behind them from the tiny television. His head swayed side to side as he asked, “You that teacher Lenny always talked about? Miss Whatsit?”

“Miss Morgan, yes.”

“Coulda jammed my fist in that kid’s mouth for all his yapping about you.” He took a swig from a can of beer. Several other crushed cans littered the chipped and stained coffee table. “Miss Morgan this, Miss Morgan that. Had a real hard-on for you. Coulda puked the number of times that kid tossed your name out. Stupid kid,” he mumbled, shaking his head in disgust as he fished the remote control from under a couch cushion.

“Come on, Claire.” Gideon grabbed her hand. “Let’s go.”

But she couldn’t move. His slurred words rooted her to the floor.

“Len thought you were gonna save ’im.” Throwing his arms wide, his voice cracked with harsh laughter. “Take ’im away from all this and turn ’im into a college boy. Well, how’s he doing now, teacher lady?”

Claire took a deep, shuddering breath, willing her feet to move, to walk out the door.

“Let’s go. Don’t listen to this jackass.” Gideon tugged on her hand, finally managing to pull her out the door. It slammed behind them, stinging her ears.

Claire barely registered walking, much less climbing into the Jeep. She gazed blindly through the windshield, gnawing her thumbnail to the quick before she realized the Jeep sat parked, motor silent and still.

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