Page 56 of Marked By Moonlight

Her little mewling sounds drove him wild and he strained against her, hungry to get his hands and mouth on the soft mounds crushing into his chest.

The sound of a horn startled them and sent them flying apart. He looked wildly about, realizing he had caused a minor traffic jam.

A woman in a Cadillac was stopped halfway in the road, halfway in the driveway, honking madly on her horn. A line of cars honked behind her, all unable to move forward.

Ignoring the way his hands shook, he shifted the gear stick and sped off. His tires locked for a moment on the wet road, sending his Jeep into a fishtail. Claire gasped beside him until he gained control of the vehicle.

He didn’t speak until they pulled up in front of her apartment a minute later. “I thought we could dry off and you could get the things you wanted.”

At that precise moment the aroma of melted cheese and rich marinara sauce hit him in full, tantalizing force, reminding him of what he had in the backseat.

“What’s that smell?” Apparently, Claire hadn’t missed it either.

“Our lunch.”

She looked over her shoulder at the bags of food sitting in the back. Taking one bag, he handed her the other. Arms shielding their precious cargo, they darted through the rain to her apartment, which was dark and stale from lack of use. Flipping on the light,she set her bag on the table. He placed his bag on the surface as well. She looked around her apartment, surveying everything with an air of sadness, as if seeing it for the first time. And in many ways it was the first time, he reasoned. She saw it through new eyes. The eyes of a woman who didn’t know how much time she had left.

Damn, there he went again. Connecting with her. Empathizing with her. Wanting to pull her into his arms and kiss her fears away, to bury himself in her heat until both of them forgot the world around them.

He had to keep personal feelings for her at bay. It would only make destroying her harder—if it came down to that.

Her eyes widened as he pulled his sodden shirt out of his jeans and over his head.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting undressed. Got a towel?” he asked.

She nodded jerkily and disappeared into her room, returning seconds later with a towel in her hands. “Why don’t you throw your clothes in the dryer.” She pointed to what looked like a closet tucked behind her kitchen table. “I’m going to change.”

He waited until the bedroom door shut behind her before removing the rest of his clothes. Standing naked in the middle of her living room, he used the towel to rub himself dry. That done, he secured the towel around his waist and dumped his wet clothes in the small dryer. The machine’s rumble soon filled the air, accompanied by the occasional clinking against the metal drum.

By the time she joined him, wearing a pair of gray sweats and a Texas A&M T-shirt, he sat at the kitchen table unloading their food. Her gaze shot to his bare chest, her hungry gaze chipping at his resolve to keep things impersonal between them.

“Do you understand what I was trying to say at the restaurant?” he blurted, compelled to reach an understanding with her… with himself.

She bit her bottom lip and his gaze focused on those small white teeth sinking into the moist pink flesh. Releasing the lip, she replied, “Yes.”

“No more intimacy. From now on, what we have is strictly a working relationship. Our only focus is on getting you out of this mess. It’s the only way.”

“Of course.” She nodded.

They ate in silence. Exactly what Gideon preferred. No more talk of grocery shopping. No more behaving like a couple, like lovers. Silence. Distance. No threats to the walls he struggled to erect between them. She finally understood how it had to be between them.

A heavy weight settled in his chest, part remorse, part resignation.

He was halfway through his spaghetti when Claire gave a small gasp and looked up. “Woody’s,” she blurted, clutching her spoon tightly. “Lenny hung out at a place called Woody’s. A student mentioned seeing him there shortly before he attacked me. She said he was with some creepy older-looking guys.”

“Woody’s? In the Village?” he asked. Instead of relief that they now had a lead, he felt a flash of anger. “Why are you only now telling me this?”

“I just remembered,” she said in defense, shrugging. “It’s not as if I kept it from you on purpose.”

“?’Course not,” he replied in a clipped tone, annoyed all over again and feeling suddenly validated. Maybe she would have remembered sooner if he hadn’t been busy getting her flat on her back. “Anything else you forgot to mention? Any silver-eyed students? A colleague exhibiting uncharacteristic aggression?”

Her eyes shot icy daggers at him. “Very funny.”

“Because it’s only your life on the line here.”

Claire’s voice trembled. “I’ve got more at stake here than you. Next time you’re worried about growing too attached to someoneyou might have to kill, remember that I’m the one needing the killing.”

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