MORE THAN THE MOON

by A Rosendale

  “Thank you for yet another wonderful evening,” he said in that low, sultry voice of his. He leaned down and kissed her tenderly.

  “Would you like to come upstairs?” Alma replied, her hands on his shoulders.

  Dirk accepted the invitation eagerly, paid the cab and took her hand to be led up to her apartment. Coats had hardly been shed before they were embracing and kissing again.

  * * *

  Alma turned the water on scalding hot, let it run a minute, then stepped into the walk-in shower. She let the water massage her skin, eyes closed, relishing in the steaming temperature while imagining the subzero wind chill outside.

  It was while her eyes were closed that she felt warm, soft hands encircle her waist and Dirk set his chin against the back of her shoulder. Her lips curled at the touch, yet her eyes remained closed and a soft hum escaped her throat.

  “Good morning,” he whispered directly into her ear, the air of his breath sending chills down her spine. Her only response was a soft moan that broke waves of pleasure over Dirk.

  She turned in his arms to face him, hot water cascading over them.

  “Kiss me,” he whispered gently, a request rather than a command. It was a request she eagerly answered, her tongue teasing his lips. His arms enveloped her, a secure embrace she relaxed into, that felt more than comfortable.

  Chapter 8

  It was with difficulty that Dirk redirected his mind Monday morning. He was trailing the politician he’d been assigned to recon. The man had chosen to stop in a coffeehouse on the way to work, but Dirk found the scent of fresh ground coffee linked to memories of Alma. He shook his head forcefully, ordering his thoughts to business.

  He submitted a nightly report on the man’s movements and interactions. As bored as he was by the assignment, he was glad it kept him in Boston. If he didn’t see Alma, he at least texted with her every night.

  It wasn’t until Friday that their schedules synced up and Alma invited him over for dinner. ‘Scallops and rice,’ the text read.

  His stomach growling from a day full of observations and empty of meals, he buzzed at the apartment door. A moment later, the door released and he mounted the stairs enthusiastically. The door was already ajar to her apartment and he stepped inside to delicious seafood scents. Alma was at the stove and he crept up to embrace her from behind. Instead of a startled exhalation, she sighed in content and leaned back into him.

  “I’ve missed you,” he breathed into her ear.

  She dropped the tongs she’d been using to manipulate scallops and turned in his arms to greet him with an exuberant kiss.

  “You had a good week?” she asked as they sat down the dinner.

  “Fine,” he answered vaguely. “You?”

  “It was nothing compared to last week on the water, but alright, considering.”

  “Your students must have been interested in your encounter with the blue whales.”

  She shrugged. “Not as enthusiastic as I’d hoped.” A heavy sigh escaped her lips. “I wish I could just spend my time researching rather than cooped up in a classroom.”

  Dirk placed a complacent hand on her knee under the table. “Someday,” he offered.

  She shrugged off the discontent. “How was work for you?”

  “Nothing exciting,” he answered honestly.

  They played cards after dinner until Dirk declared he had to head home. He had yet to provide his daily report on his target. Alma nodded in understanding and showed him out with a tempting kiss. Dirk considered staying, wished he could, then exited the building. He walked down the block, climbed into his car and reached for the ignition.

  “Mr. Travers,” a soft voice from the back seat purred.

  Dirk flinched and reached for the center console.

  “Don’t,” the voice warned and cold metal kissed his temple.

  He clenched his jaw and raised his hands to the steering wheel. “Who are you?” he demanded.

  “Congressman Johnson asked me to look into the gentleman following him. It’s taken me nearly a month to corner you. The girl upstairs must be quite distracting.”

  Dirk’s skin crawled at the mention of Alma. He’d been following Johnson on and off for a month. He was surprised anyone had noted his presence. “Well, what now?”

  “Start the car,” the voice ordered.

  Dirk complied, the cold metal of a gun barrel more than persuasive. They wove through the city streets until the mysterious man ordered him to stop. With the weapon pressed to his back, Dirk entered an apartment building and climbed the stairs to the penthouse, where the man knocked.

  “Ah, Mr. Travers,” the familiar corpulent man greeted as he drew Dirk and his escort inside. He directed his guest to the overstuffed couch and sat across from him with an icy cocktail.

  “Congressman Johnson,” Dirk acknowledged coldly.

  “What’s your interest in me, Travers? Why have you been following me?”

  “I’m only following orders, sir.”

  The sharp rap across his cheek told him that wasn’t an acceptable answer. He felt a drip of blood trail down his skin.

  “Why?” the politician repeated.

  Dirk shrugged. “Maybe because you’re a bloodthirsty anti-American monster,” he supplied casually. Another strike to his face subdued his sarcasm and left a trail of blood to his chin.

  “Whom do you report to?” Johnson demanded.

  Dirk refused to answer, a stubborn glare set on his face. Even another round of blows didn’t dislodge the expression. His subject panting and bleeding, Johnson repeated the question. Dirk spit a glob of blood onto the carpet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Johnson leapt from his seat and took Dirk’s chin in his hand forcefully. “Don’t fool with me, Mr. Travers! What is your interest in me?!”

  Dirk shook his head. “I’m just a reporter, Congressman Johnson.” He resorted to a reliable alias. “Imagine the Herald’s surprise when one of their reporters ends up dead on the front page.”

  Johnson scowled. It was a statement he couldn’t deny. He had no evidence of the intruder’s affiliation. If the man in front of him did turn out to be a Boston Herald reporter, he would be pinned as an inhumane politician.

  “Why are you following me?” Johnson repeated.

  “Election season is approaching, Congressman. I’m just doing my duty for the Boston public,” Dirk asserted.

  The older man grimaced. “Get this asshole out of here.”

  The burly man at Dirk’s shoulder yanked him upright and shoved him toward the door.

  “Stop following me, Travers,” Johnson ordered. “Or that pretty girl of yours might meet an untimely end.”

  The mention of Alma’s fate ground at Dirk’s senses. His stomach turned at having dragged her into a business related matter. He gave Johnson a curt nod and stumbled from the penthouse. Johnson’s bodyguard shoved him forward.

  “Don’t screw with the congressman,” the man muttered as he shoved Dirk onto the snow-covered sidewalk. “Dr. Decker could disappear without a trace.” With that, he kicked Dirk into a snow bank and disappeared into the brick building.

  Dirk spat out snow and shivered in the cold. He was embarrassed and regretful at having involved Alma in his business dealings. Angry at himself, he trudged through the icy streets back to his car.

  Chapter 9

  Alma was perturbed by the lack of communication through the following weeks. She had thoroughly enjoyed her time with Dirk lately and was crestfallen at his sudden lack of contact. Midweek, she shrugged off the sentiment. It wasn’t the first time she’d been discarded mid-relationship.

  Text Message

  Lighthouse tomorrow?

  Dirk Travers

  She frowned as she read the message.

  Okay

  Due to past experience, she hardly allowed her hopes to escalate. But Dirk had managed to navigate those defenses.

  He was already at the coffeehouse when she arrived early th
e next morning. Sensing her cynicism and correctly guessing the reason for it, he refrained from greeting her with a kiss and started instead with an apology.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch lately. I’ve been out of town for a few weeks.” It was true, but wasn’t the whole reason he’d avoided contacting her. His run in with Congressman Johnson had shaken him more than he cared to admit. He’d determined that the cruel man’s knowledge of his affection for Alma was what disconcerted him most about the encounter. As a means of protecting her, he’d decided to distance himself. But as time went on, he found himself far more distracted by thoughts of her than he had been when they’d visited regularly. Vowing to break things off at the first sign of danger, he dared to reinitiate their relationship.

  “They don’t allow cell phones in the Navy?” Alma asked sarcastically.

  He offered her a gentle smile. “As a matter of fact, they don’t. I’m sorry.”

  She frowned, deciding whether to forgive him. While she thought, she noticed a miniscule scar on his cheekbone that she could have sworn wasn’t there a month ago.

  “Can I make it up to you? Dinner at my place Friday?”

  “Your place, huh?”

  “Yes. I was thinking some good ol’ Montana steak as a main course.”

  Alma sighed and her resolve softened. “Okay.”

  Dirk relaxed in relief and he jotted his address onto the side of her white paper cup.

  When he was done, she grasped the cup and stood. “I have to get to work.”

  “Can I walk you with you to campus?”

  She nodded and he fell in beside her. “Where were you working?”

  “San Diego,” he answered automatically. He drew her into light conversation. After a few blocks, he ventured to take her hand. He took it as a good sign when she didn’t pull away, but returned his gentle grasp.

  “I’ll see you this weekend,” he said as they stopped outside Alma’s lecture building. He kissed her on the lips and a sudden wave of desire swept over him. It was with utmost restraint that he stepped away. Alma must have experienced a similar feeling because she hesitated to release his hand.

  “See you this weekend,” she replied quietly and finally went inside.

  * * *

  “Good evening,” Dirk greeted when he answered the door. He planted a welcoming kiss on her lips before inviting her in. “I’m just about to put the steaks in. Make yourself at home.” He returned to the kitchen to wrap bacon around small filet mignon steaks.

  Alma put her bag down and hung her jacket on a coat rack. The apartment building was older than hers. The exterior walls were constructed of dark red brick that provided a cool, mellow environment. She stepped into the living room to peruse the photos affixed to the drywall interior. Whereas her apartment was adorned with pictures of the animals she loved and admired, Dirk’s frames were filled with historic landmarks. She noted the lack of people in the photos.

  “You’ve discovered my secret passion.” Dirk leaned against the kitchen doorframe and watched her study a picture of the Colosseum.

  “You’ve been?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he answered. He unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt and rolled them up.

  “To all of these places?” Alma motioned to photos of the Great Wall, Giza, and the Tower of London.

  Dirk nodded.

  “That’s incredible! I understand your love of historical fiction now.”

  He shrugged. “It’s a hobby.”

  “And this?” She pointed to the ceiling where a hard-shell kayak hung from hooks.

  “Another hobby. Unfortunately, Boston gets a little chilly for kayaking in the winter.”

  “Where did you pick up the interest?” she asked curiously.

  “Montana, believe it or not. We had a large pond on the ranch, which is how I got started. And Fresno Reservoir wasn’t very far away.”

  “Do you river kayak?”

  “I prefer placid waters, but I’ve run the rapids a few times. Do you kayak?”

  “I’ve been out on the Sound a few times in a kayak. I’ve always wanted to do more.”

  “We’ll have to remedy that when it warms up.”

  She smiled at the offer. “I’d like that.” She couldn’t resist looking him up and down, propped against the wall with his ankles crossed. Now she knew why his bare forearms were so muscular. His hands were shoved in his jeans pockets. The light from a ceiling fan brightened his clean-shaven tan face and the coral eyes glittered in comparison to the dark blue of his shirt. Her attraction to him drew her across the living room to place her arms around his neck. He placed his hands on her hips. She stared into his eyes as if searching for something.

  “What?” he finally said.

  “I find you very intriguing,” she said.

  “And I find you exceptionally attractive.” A possessive gleam came to his eye and he kissed her hard on the lips. When he went to move away, she stopped him by placing her hands behind his head and pulling him into another more passionate kiss.

  “Does this mean you’ve forgiven my poor communication skills?” he breathed when they pulled apart.

  Alma shrugged. “I shouldn’t have let it bother me in the first place. I’m sorry.”

  “If this is how you apologize, please feel free to be guilty any time,” he teased.

  She grinned and kissed him once more before freeing him. A rack of CDs caught her eye and she perused the titles while he checked on dinner.

  “What’s your favorite musical?” she asked when he returned, this time with two glasses of red wine.

  “Currently, Hamilton.” They clinked glasses and sipped merlot.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised, what with your fascination of history,” she joked.

  “Have you seen it?”

  “No. I’ve heard it’s excellent, but I haven’t had the chance to go to New York or Chicago to see it.”

  “When does summer break start?” He was pulling his iPhone from a pocket as he spoke.

  “Finals are in a month. Summer starts after that.”

  “Too long,” he muttered, staring at the screen. “How about two weeks from now?”

  “For what?” she said in confusion.

  “To go to New York for the weekend. My treat. What do you say?”

  She took a startled moment to consider before nodding. “Sure.”

  “Excellent.” He tapped the phone a few times. “Done. Train and Hamilton tickets purchased, hotel booked.”

  “That was fast!”

  He shrugged. “I have the box office bookmarked.”

  “You go to New York often, I take it.”

  Another noncommittal shrug. “Broadway is one of my favorite destinations,” he admitted.

  “Not to mention it’s in a city rife with American history,” she added with a sly grin.

  ‘And UN ambassadors,’ he supplied to himself, thinking about the most recent visit he’d paid to the Big Apple.

  A buzzer sounded from the kitchen and he set his glass down to retrieve their dinner.

  After a delicious meal, they moved to the couch with their wine and continued a rapturous debate on the delicacies of seafood versus beef.

  * * *

  Tile chilled Dirk’s bare feet as he pulled ingredients from the fridge. Thinking more about the beautiful woman asleep in his bed than about food, he set a tea kettle to boil and started cracking eggs into a pan. He nearly dropped one when frantic pounding on the door startled him.

  Nerves fired an alarm in his head when he thought of Alma. He hurried through the apartment, closed the bedroom door quickly, and looked cautiously through the front door peephole before opening it.

  A panting young man stumbled into the apartment. Blood dripped from a wound on his forehead.

  “Dirk! I’m sorry! I was on a job in the neighborhood and things went south. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go!”

  “Were you followed?” Dirk demanded with urgency.

  The
man shook his head. “No. I made sure.” He swayed dangerously and Dirk gripped his upper arm to keep him upright.

  “Come in.”

  After steering him to the couch, Dirk stepped into the kitchen to retrieve a dishtowel and an icepack.

  “What happened, Christian?” he asked in a low voice as he pressed the ice into his friend’s hand and dabbed gently at the bloody cut.

  “I was tailing my target, a potential terrorist from Africa. I was ambushed by some goons.”

  Dirk touched the cut again and Christian flinched.

  “A bullet graze,” he muttered, although Dirk had already guessed. Alarm widened Christian’s eyes. “A bullet! That close, Dirk! Man, I could be dead right now! A half an inch-”

  Dirk grabbed his wrist in a vice grip and locked eyes with him. “Stop,” he ordered, an edge to his voice the younger man had rarely heard. The word ceased his panicked rambling and he took a deep breath in an effort to calm down.

  The bedroom door opened quietly and a longhaired woman stepped into the room in socks, black leggings, and a rumpled men’s shirt that fell to mid-thigh.

  “Oh my God, Dirk! I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize-” Crazed alarm returned to Christian’s face and he struggled to stand.

  Dirk placed a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him seated and turned to face Alma.

  “Is everything alright?” she asked hesitantly. Intelligent eyes quickly observed the frantic guest as well as the blood stained towel.

  “Yes,” Dirk answered. “Alma, this is Christian, a friend from work.”

  “Are you okay, Christian?” she asked, sitting on the couch next to the sandy-haired man.

  “I…I’ll be fine,” he muttered, looking down at the icepack melting in his hand.

  “What happened?”

  “He was mugged,” Dirk replied quickly. Christian nodded affirmation.

  “Oh my God!” Despite the blood, she wrapped her arms around the stranger in a comforting embrace. She could feel his pulse racing.