Seducing the Moon

by Sherrill Quinn

  God, he wondered what Pelicia’s sweet pussy would taste like. He couldn’t wait to get between her thighs and drive her to distraction with lips and tongue. His cock jumped in agreement, and Declan shifted on the sofa, trying to make his suddenly too-tight jeans a bit more comfortable.

  “So, what’re you saying?” Ryder asked, drawing Declan’s attention back to the conversation.

  “Everythin’ I try to do just makes it worse.” Declan looked over in time to see the smirk on his friend’s face.

  “Oh, so I presume barreling into the corner of her house was supposed to be a good thing? Hmm. I wonder why she didn’t see it that way?” Ryder swiveled back and forth in the chair behind his massive desk and raised one dark eyebrow.

  Declan raised a lone finger in return.

  Ryder grinned and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His cobalt blue eyes twinkled with merriment that hadn’t been there when Declan had first arrived all those months ago. “You should be so lucky,” Ryder said. “But I don’t swing that way.” Sobering, he added, “You knew it wasn’t going to be easy, Declan. And it’s much more complicated now that you’re…” He trailed off with a shrug.

  Declan sighed. “Now that my ass turns furry once a month?” He rolled his head against the back of the sofa. “Maybe she wouldn’t have to know,” he muttered almost to himself. “I could always take a business trip at the time of the full moon.”

  Even as he said it he knew it would never work. First, because Pelicia wasn’t that dense and, second, because he couldn’t build a life with her based upon a foundation of deceit.

  Ryder snorted. “And you think Pelicia would settle for that? Or that she wouldn’t eventually start adding things up? She’s not stupid.” He tapped two fingers on his desk. “She did spend a lot of time here on the Keep when she was young, so she knows all about werewolves. She’d recognize the signs—eventually. She might not be looking for them at first, but she’s not slow by any means.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. “Anyway, dishonesty is what got you into this mess to begin with, my friend. Remember? Failure to give full disclosure will only impede your mission.”

  “You sound like my old commander.” Declan shot to his feet and began to pace from the sofa to the bookshelves and back again. He sent a scowl his friend’s way. “Anyway, it’s not a mission.”

  It was his life.

  “No?” Ryder lifted his eyebrows. “Seems to me that’s the way you’ve approached it. Target acquired. Damn the torpedoes and full steam ahead.” He rocked back in his chair.

  His serious gaze made Declan squirm just a bit.

  “Or is that ‘damn the consequences’?” Ryder went on, his tone musing.

  Declan stood still. Ryder was wrong. Wasn’t he? Declan stared with unseeing eyes at the rows of books in front of him. What would happen if he did tell Pelicia what had transpired four months ago? Just because she knew about werewolves didn’t necessarily mean she liked them. It sure as hell didn’t mean she wanted one as a lover. Though he’d never heard her speak ill of Ryder or his family, she and Declan hadn’t really talked about them. It might simply be that the subject had never come up.

  He frowned. They hadn’t really done a lot of talking about anything, really. Other than what he needed to learn about her grandfather and the goings on at the hotel, he’d been too busy loving her to waste time in speech.

  It wasn’t in his nature to share information that wasn’t on a need-to-know basis. It was part of who he was, beyond his Special Ops training. And as far as he was concerned, Pelicia—at this particular moment—didn’t need to know he was much more of a monster than she already thought he was.

  He had to have time to convince her that his love two years ago had been real, that their relationship had been more to him than just a means to an end. If she knew he was a werewolf, he might not get that chance.

  He was much more comfortable with taking action than having conversations. And sitting still, unable to do anything at all, was worst of all.

  Declan looked at Ryder and shook his head. “The timin’ has to be right. I can’t tell her yet.” He threw Ryder a hard look. “And don’t you tell her, either.”

  Ryder’s new wife Taite, Declan’s good friend, walked into the room and asked, “Tell who what?” Her American accent gave more of an international flavor to the conversation—not that Declan needed more people wading in to tell him what a putz he’d been.

  She went to Ryder and leaned over him, planting a kiss on his lips. He put both feet on the floor and pulled her down onto his lap, making her laugh. She wrapped one arm around his shoulder and looked at Declan. “Tell who what?” she asked again. Without waiting for a response from either man, she went on, “Oh, you’re talking about Cobb’s daughter, aren’t you? I gotcha.” As she stared at Declan, her eyebrows drew down. “What did you do now?”

  He propped his hands on his hips. “An’ just what makes you think I did somethin’?”

  She knew him too well, of course. Almost six years of friendship and trial-by-werewolf brought people together like nothing else.

  With her head tipped to one side, she pursed her lips for a moment. “You barrel people over, Declan. You’re charming—too charming for your own good sometimes, if you wanna know the truth—but in the end your absolute focus on the goal can be a bit…one-track.” She gave a shrug. “You don’t always look at both sides of the picture.”

  He scowled. “Just whose side are you on here, darlin’?”

  “Yours, of course.” She wiggled a bit on Ryder’s lap, apparently trying to get comfortable, which had the opposite effect on her husband if his darkening expression was anything to go by.

  Declan had a feeling it wouldn’t be too much longer before the two of them excused themselves to their bedroom. His scowl deepened. They should have been able to spend their first few months as a married couple alone, not babysitting a fledgling werewolf. As soon as this was all over, he’d head back to the States—providing he could get Pelicia to join him—and let the newlyweds be newlyweds.

  “Besides,” Taite went on, “if your friends can’t be honest with you, who can? I know you’re a man who appreciates honesty.”

  Ryder let out a snort of laughter that he tried to pass off as a cough.

  “That’s right, furball,” Declan muttered. “Laugh it up.” He rubbed his forehead with his middle finger and ignored the laugh Ryder didn’t bother to hide this time. “Just remember, not all that long ago it was you who wasn’t exactly bein’ forthcomin’ about things.”

  “That was different.” Ryder shifted in his chair, his expression showing his emotional discomfort with the direction the conversation had taken. His fingers linked together around Taite’s waist. “I didn’t think either of you would be around that long, and you didn’t need to know…” When Taite and Declan both looked at him in disbelief, he trailed off with a sheepish shrug.

  “Aye. Exactly.” Declan went back to the sofa and plopped down with a sigh. He stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. “You didn’t think we needed to know. Even after we did need to know you were reluctant to tell us, so don’t be preachin’ to me about how important it is that I tell Pel what I am.”

  “Point taken.” Ryder stroked one hand up Taite’s arm, settling his broad palm against her nape. “What about the car?”

  Taite looked at Declan, curiosity swirling in her eyes. “What about what car? Dang, I hate coming into the middle of a conversation.”

  Ryder gave her a little shake, grinning like a love-sotted fool. Declan couldn’t help but smile as well. His two best friends in the world—that they had found each other because of a werewolf, and that Taite had been able to love Ryder despite his own tendencies to howl at the moon—gave Declan hope for his future.

  “Declan ran his car into Pelicia’s bed and breakfast this morning, after someone shot out the back tire.” Ryder sifted his fingers through her dark hair.

  She twi
sted around to stare at her husband. “No! Really?” She shifted on Ryder’s lap to look back at Declan. “Someone shot at you? Are you all right?”

  “Sweetheart, would you please be still?”

  Declan could see a muscle in Ryder’s jaw flex as his friend struggled against the arousal he knew Taite’s squirming caused. He pressed his lips together against a grin.

  Ryder glanced at him and scowled. “Yeah, laugh it up, furball,” he muttered, tossing Declan’s earlier words back at him.

  “Sorry,” he said at the same time that Taite did. They grinned at each other, but Taite quickly sobered and asked again, “You’re all right, though?” Her gaze danced over Declan, obviously seeking signs of injury. “The bullet didn’t hit you? You didn’t get hurt when you crashed?”

  “I’m fine, darlin”. Had a wee bump on my forehead that was gone in less than a minute.” He grimaced. “Can’t say the same for the Nola. Poor ol’ girl has some structural damage, though I don’t know how much.” He met her gaze and tried not to let his misery show. “Pel isn’t very happy with me.”

  “No, I imagine not. What did the police say?”

  He shrugged. “Didn’t call ’em.”

  “Why not?” Taite’s brows drew down in a frown.

  “Pel didn’t want me to—said it would be bad for business.” Declan shrugged again. “Besides, I did some, ah, sniffin’ around after I left the Nola. I wasn’t able to get the scent of the shooter”—he tapped his nose—“because of the rain, but now I know he’s out there. If I do get a whiff of someone with gunpowder residue on him, the bastard’s mine.” He glanced at Ryder. “And I know someone at Scotland Yard. I’m thinkin’ maybe I’ll call him.”

  Ryder’s brows rose. “You want to call Sully?”

  “Why not? He owes me one.” Declan shifted on the sofa, settling deeper into the plump cushions. “Anyway, he’s due to leave for his annual holiday soon enough. I think they’ll let him take time off early. And he’ll get to stay at a charmin’ bed and breakfast in the beautiful Isles of Scilly.” He met Taite’s gaze. “Whether Pel likes it or not.”

  Taite rose from Ryder’s lap and walked over to the sofa. Sitting down beside Declan, she put her arm around his shoulders and hugged him. “I’m sorry this is so hard, Declan. I know how much you love her. Tell me how I can help.”

  Not the “Can I do anything?” that most people would have asked with the hopeful undertone that there was nothing to be done. Just a simple statement of her readiness to support him.

  He returned the hug, raising an eyebrow when he heard a low rumble from Ryder. Declan looked at the other man. “Ease off there, boyo. I’m not poachin’ on your territory.”

  Taite removed her arm from around his shoulders and sat back, crossing her legs Indian style. “He doesn’t like other men touching me,” she whispered in a voice just loud enough for her husband’s sensitive werewolf ears to hear. “He about chewed poor Cobb’s arm off the other day when he gave me a hug.”

  “What?” Declan straightened and pasted a look of exaggerated shock on his face. “Cobb hugged you?” He looked at Ryder and caught the pained expression on his face. “What’s this world comin’ to?”

  “Smartass.” Ryder leaned back in his chair, hands clasped over his stomach. “You’ve been here the last four months, too. The house has been much brighter of late. As have those in it.” He glanced at his wife as he said that, his dark blue eyes sparkling with love.

  They shared a look that filled Declan with envy. That was what he wanted with Pelicia. A look that had no need for words.

  It had to work out between them. It had to. He’d accept nothing less than success.

  As much to lighten his own mood as to turn the conversation, he said, “Aye. I’d hoped you’d noticed what a positive influence I was havin’ on you.”

  Ryder groaned and rolled his eyes. “I was talking about Taite.”

  Declan just grinned.

  “Back to this car thing,” Taite said, as usual drawing them back on topic when they drifted off. “You don’t think…” She glanced at her husband. “Could it have been Miles?”

  Miles Edward Hampston, Ryder’s cousin and the man ultimately responsible for Declan becoming a werewolf. Oh, he hadn’t delivered the fateful bite himself, but the werewolf he’d sent to do his dirty work had. Taite had been terrorized and Ryder and Declan both injured, but in the end only the bad guy—someone whose help Miles had enlisted—had bit the dust.

  “I suppose, but it seems a bit too indirect for him.” Declan crossed his legs, resting one ankle on the opposite knee. Hunching forward, he scrubbed his hands over his face. He raked hair off his forehead and said, “If it were Miles—or even another one of his little minion bastards—I don’t think they’d have gone for the tire. I think they’d have been shootin’ at me.” He shook his head. “No, actually, they’d have come after me in their werewolf form.” He drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I’m afraid it was directed at Pel, though the bloke’s aim was off. Maybe he was startled by somethin’ and jerked.”

  “Why on earth would someone be shooting at Pelicia?” Taite stretched one arm out along the back of the sofa. “And aren’t ordinary people prohibited from having guns here?”

  “If you want one badly enough, you can put your hands on a gun.” Declan sighed. “The shootin’ could have somethin’ to do with the case from two years ago.” He stood and stretched, then rotated his head, trying to work the kinks out of his neck. “Forged passports, birth certificates, and the like just might have stranded some of her granddad’s clients. They wouldn’t be too happy about it.”

  Taite frowned. “But Pelicia didn’t have anything to do with that. The charges were dropped.” Her frown deepened. “Weren’t they?”

  “Aye.” Declan ignored the sense of guilt that always flared whenever he thought about Pelicia’s arrest. “But someone might not know that. Or care.”

  Ryder stood and came around his desk to rest his buttocks against the front edge. “You think someone would be mean enough to try to kill her because of something her grandfather may or may not have done? That doesn’t make much sense.”

  Declan blew out a sigh. “I know,” he agreed. “Now that I’ve thought on it more—and said it out loud—it doesn’t make a lot of sense. But it doesn’t track that it was Miles, either.”

  “Maybe it was just an errant shot,” Taite offered, standing and crossing the room to be enfolded in her husband’s embrace. “A duck hunter or something.”

  “A duck hunter?” Declan raised his brows.

  She scowled. “You know what I mean.”

  “The slug was fired from a high-powered rifle. The kind a sniper uses.” He shook his head. “Not somethin’ an ordinary hunter would have.” He clenched his jaw. “Unless he’s huntin’ humans.”

  Pelicia set the platter of lamb and roasted vegetables on the heavy oak table in the formal dining room and took her seat at the head of the table. Her guests had opted to pay extra in order to be served an evening meal, and she was happy to provide it because it meant a nice increase in revenue.

  Though truth be told, she was also glad of the company. It grew tiresome always eating alone. “Thank you for staying, Neal. Although I’m not sure it’s the most prudent thing to do.”

  Neal White looked up from the notebook he’d been perusing. “I should leave this lovely house just because some drunken tourist stupidly fired off a gun?” At her raised eyebrows he gave a shrug. “Or whoever it was. I can’t believe someone was actually aiming for you. I won’t believe it.”

  She smiled. “Well, thank you for that. And, truly, thank you for staying.”

  He returned her smile, showing off his white, straight teeth.

  Must have cost him a fortune in cosmetic dentistry came the unbidden and quite unkind thought. Pelicia reprimanded herself and paid attention to what he was saying.

  “I know how much you need this season to be a success. I’m happy to stay. And Andrew
had much the same response as me, you know.”

  She nodded. She had only Neal’s word on that—she hadn’t had a chance to speak to Andrew herself, as he was proving to be quite elusive. “Well, I’m happy to have the company.” She glanced at the empty place setting. “I’m sorry we had to start without Andrew. I wonder where he is.”

  Neal gave an unconcerned grunt and looked back down at his notebook, apparently re-engrossed in his work.

  Obviously he didn’t know and didn’t care. It was entirely possible that Andrew had stopped off at one of the pubs for a bite—many tourists wanted as much to sample the local ambience as they did the local food. But if he didn’t come back tonight to sleep, she’d start to worry.

  Changing the subject, she asked her photojournalist guest, “Were you able to take some good pictures today?” She passed him a bowl of salad.

  “Mmm?” He looked up with a start, then took the bowl from her with his right hand. As the bowl wobbled, he placed his left hand beneath it to steady it. “Oh, aye. I was. Thank you.” His accent was difficult to place—a blur between Scottish and something one might hear in the East End of London. She’d asked him once where he was from, and he’d given a rather vague response that hadn’t really answered the question. But she wasn’t a prying person by nature and decided that if he didn’t want to talk about his past, she’d respect that.

  God knew she had no desire to talk about her past.

  He served himself, sprinkling oil and vinegar on the salad, and topped it off with some fresh lemon juice. “I finally had to stop when I lost the light.”

  “Not too many tourists blundered into your shots, then?” Pelicia forked up some of her salad and munched away, curious for his answer. He’d made a point, when he’d first arrived two years ago, of saying that he wanted to be on the island during the off-season so he wouldn’t have his photos mucked up by a lot of people. Tourist season was now in full swing, which made his recent stay rather surprising. But not unwelcome.