Seducing the Moon

by Sherrill Quinn

  He gave a shrug. “The publisher who’s expressed an interest actually wants some photos with people in them, so…” Another shrug. “I’m not going to quibble about it, not when I get to stay on this beautiful island with such a charming and gorgeous woman.” He smiled and lifted his wineglass, giving her a small toast.

  She clicked her glass against his then took a sip of wine. She and Neal spent a few minutes in comfortable silence, eating their meal. “Where are you planning to go tomorrow?” she asked once she’d taken the edge off her hunger. It had been a long time since breakfast. Between being on the phone with insurance people and worrying about the damage to her house—and trying to shake off the low hum of arousal she always felt whenever Declan was around—she hadn’t gotten around to eating lunch.

  “I thought I’d rent a boat and motor around some of the uninhabited islands. You know, get a real picture of the wild beauty here.” He stabbed up his last bite of potato. “Any specific place you’d recommend?”

  She shook her head. “They’re all equally beautiful.” However, not all of them were open to tourists. Especially the one with a resident werewolf. “But be careful—a couple of them have private owners who don’t take kindly to trespassers.”

  Neal pulled a map out of his notebook and put it on the table between them. “Why don’t you show me which ones those are, and I’ll be sure to steer clear.”

  “Sure.” Pelicia scooted her chair a little closer and pointed to Phelan’s Keep. It would be best to make sure the photojournalist stayed away from werewolf central. “This one is privately owned, as is this one.” She pointed to another small island. “Other than that, as far as I know, they’re all uninhabited and open for exploring.”

  “Excellent.” Putting down his fork, he brought out a nub of a pencil and circled the two islands. She noticed for the first time that he was left handed. He then put both pencil and map away. “I’ll get started at first light so I can have the entire day. Must take advantage of natural light.” He smiled, showing off the deep dimples in his cheeks.

  He was a handsome man. Tall, blond, built like an American football player—all big, hard muscles. And those dimples….He was someone any woman would love to date.

  It really was too bad she preferred the dark-haired, bad-assed lean and mean former commando type. No matter how much she tried not to.

  Feeling more charitable than she could afford, Pelicia offered, “I can put together some sandwiches for you to take. No charge.” She wiped her mouth. As she stood she scooped up her plate. “Are you finished?” she asked. At his nod, she picked up his plate and went into the adjoining kitchen.

  Neal followed her, carrying the platter that held the leftover meal. “I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

  She gave him a smile over one shoulder. “It’s no trouble, really. I don’t want my favorite guest to be overcome by hunger.”

  He sighed and leaned one hip against the counter, watching her put the leftovers into containers. “I don’t want to sound callous, but I’m usually your only guest, luv. How do you stay in business like this?”

  She stifled a sigh. He was a good guest and had become a friend, but she still didn’t really know him all that well and wasn’t ready to discuss her financial difficulties with him. “I have a married couple who are supposed to check in tomorrow.” She smiled. “I’m confident I’ll have more guests as the season progresses. It takes time to build up a reputation.”

  And to tear down the old one.

  Pelicia crossed her fingers behind her back. She wouldn’t admit to a guest—and probably not to very many other people, either—but running this bed and breakfast wasn’t turning out to be as much fun as she’d hoped. While she loved getting to meet people and enjoyed making them feel pampered, there were too many ghosts here. Too many people who knew her life story. That was one of the things she’d enjoyed about London—the anonymity of a big city.

  Sometimes, in the quiet of the middle of the night, she wished she could go somewhere and start over. Begin anew in a place where no one would care about what happened in London and who didn’t know anything about her grandfather.

  But that took money and contacts and, right now, she didn’t have enough of either.

  “Well, I won’t keep you.” Neal turned to leave but paused. “Unless you want help cleaning up?”

  She frowned at him and made a shooing motion. “Guests don’t help clean up. Go on with you.”

  He grinned and left the room. Pelicia watched him until he turned the corner to go up the stairs to the second floor and wondered again why she couldn’t be more attracted to him. He was easygoing, charming, and intelligent.

  While Declan was certainly also charming and intelligent, he was not easygoing. Not by a long shot. He was intense, obstinate, and so wickedly sensual she got wet just thinking about him. Her mind played back over his kiss from that morning, and she pressed her thighs together to try to stem the flood of arousal.

  “Stop it,” she muttered. She didn’t want to think about Declan, because thinking about him only made her desire him. And she didn’t want to desire him because that was what had gotten her into trouble to begin with.

  She busied herself with cleaning up the kitchen, purposefully making her mind go blank. Better not to think. At least about that.

  She had lots of things to keep her mind occupied. Tomorrow morning she had to deal with the insurance adjuster and make arrangements for stonemasons and other workmen to begin repairs on the house. And she had to figure out an inexpensive way to get at least one more boarder. Once the married couple registered, she would still have a vacant room. One more person would give her a full house and would also provide the additional income she needed.

  Pelicia inhaled and held her breath a moment, then slowly exhaled. Turning, she opened the refrigerator and pulled out the ingredients she’d need to put together a picnic lunch for Neal. If she kept her hands busy, her mind would hopefully not wander.

  It was something her father had impressed upon her early on. “Idle hands are the devil’s playground,” he used to say. And he was right. If she didn’t keep busy she’d just stand around and fret about things over which she had no control.

  She’d worry about tomorrow…tomorrow.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, Declan paused in front of the Nola. The big two-story house with its heavy stone blocks and dormers could have looked intimidating but for the cheery flowers Pelicia had planted in the narrow front garden. Bright yellows and blues drew the eye and made the gray granite seem not so dismal.

  He stepped onto the small portico and drew in a breath, then knocked on the white door. Hopefully Pelicia had had a good night’s sleep and would be more amenable to seeing him this morning. He glanced at the side of the house where he’d tried—accidentally—to make her bed and breakfast a drive-through. He winced.

  His hope for a warm greeting would probably not be realized.

  The door swung open and there she was, blond hair pulled back into a simple ponytail, looking fresh and so lovely his cock burgeoned to life. Even the unwelcoming scowl that curled her lips downward didn’t detract from his erection.

  “Come to finish what you started yesterday?” she asked with a gesture toward the damaged part of the house. She leaned one shoulder against the doorway.

  He started to reply but stopped when a piece of the lintel near her head suddenly splintered, exploding toward her face. She screamed at the same time the sound of a gunshot echoed in the calm morning air.

  Declan was already moving. He curled one arm around Pelicia and swung her back inside, dropping them both to the floor, his body curved over hers, his hands covering her head. He rolled them once, twice, then twice more until he was sure they were out of the open doorway. Another shot sounded. Then silence.

  He waited another minute, ignoring Pelicia as she struggled beneath him. That is, he tried to ignore her, though her wriggling was having an obvious effect on his
body even in the midst of danger. His flesh thickened, pressing against the zipper of his jeans. He bit back a groan and fought the urge to shove his erection against the soft V of her thighs.

  A musky scent wafted from her, and he lifted his head to stare down at her. She was aroused. She fought it, but there was no mistaking that aroma. It was all that was needed to send his cock into full-blown rigidity.

  He grimaced at his thoughts. Full-blown made him think of having her mouth wrapped around his shaft, taking him deep as he fucked between those luscious lips.

  “Get off me,” she muttered, bucking against him, driving her softness into his hardness. She obviously wasn’t having the same fantasy as he was. “And stop that.”

  “Sorry, darlin’.” He didn’t budge at first, but after she managed to poke him in the ribs with her elbow, he decided now was really not the time to follow through on this interesting development. Damn it. He rolled off her onto his knees. “Stay down,” he cautioned.

  In a low crouch he made his way to the door, making sure to stay to one side. He cautiously peered through the open doorway. As before, he could see nothing out of the ordinary. After several more minutes he stood, still searching the area for whoever it was that had shot at them.

  At Pelicia.

  Various locals and tourists alike were starting to gather, heads turning this way and that, trying to figure out what was going on. Someone gestured and the words “call the police” came clearly to him.

  Didn’t look like this time they’d get out of talking to the cops.

  He heard movement from behind him and turned his head to see Pelicia walking toward him. “Goddamnit.” He shoved the door closed. Grabbing her by one hand, he dragged her deeper into the house. Once they got to the kitchen he muttered, “I told you to stay down.”

  She jerked away from him. “I highly doubt I’m the one he’s shooting at.” She pressed her lips together for a moment. “If it is a he. With you, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a she.” She looked him up and down. “God knows I’ve been tempted.”

  He clenched his jaw. Christ, she was stubborn. A trait she’d inherited from her father. “Just…stay inside, all right? I’m going to take a look around outside.”

  She scowled. “And if the guy was shooting at you?”

  “Then he’ll get another chance to put me out of your misery, won’t he?” He grinned at her gasp and the widening of her eyes.

  Keep her off balance. That was the only way he’d win her back. Give her too much time to think and she’d keep coming up with excuses.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  As he had the morning before, Declan scouted around the house and found nothing. The local police constable arrived just as Declan was heading back into the Nola.

  Declan pulled the door closed behind him and met the man on the walkway. “Constable.”

  “PC Charles Tremwith,” he said by way of introduction. “I was told there’s been a shooting.” He glanced at the damaged corner of the building then looked back at Declan. “You’re O’Connell, right? You do that?” He jerked his head toward the site of the accident.

  If he was asking, then he already damn well knew Declan had been the one to cause the damage. “Aye. My back tire blew.”

  “Hmm.” The constable looked at the Nola. “And the shooting?” He brought his sharp green gaze back to Declan’s face.

  Declan gave a nonchalant shrug. He had nothing against the local constabulary, but he was more than capable of looking after Pelicia. Besides, with his newly acquired werewolf senses, there wasn’t anything the constable could learn that Declan couldn’t. “Just happened. Maybe a tourist?”

  Tremwith’s thin, dark moustache twitched with his frown. “Not too many tourists bring guns with them.” His eyes narrowed. “Actually, I can’t imagine why any of them would. And the number of residents with firearms is limited to those of us wearing police uniforms. Which is a total of three.”

  “That you know of.” Declan didn’t want the man poking around. Were his condition to be discovered, it would lead right back to Ryder, and that wasn’t his secret to tell.

  A slight lifting of his eyebrows was the constable’s only response. He pulled out a small notebook and jotted down a few words then looked toward the Nola again. “I need to speak with Ms. Cobb.”

  “She’s a bit shaken up,” Declan said. “As you can imagine. Bein’ shot at—even if it was a stray bullet—isn’t somethin’ she has a lot of experience with.”

  “But you do, don’t you?” The other man lifted his chin. “Are you so sure the shooter wasn’t aiming at you?”

  There was no reason to prevaricate here. Obviously the man knew Declan’s background. “No, I’m not sure. And, as a matter of fact, he probably was shootin’ at me rather than Pel. Unless you know somethin’ about her that I don’t, PC Tremwith?”

  Tremwith shook his head. In a hard voice he said, “Pelicia Cobb is as straight-arrow as they come, regardless of her ne’er do well grandfather.” His gaze bored into Declan. “But of course you know that, right?”

  “Aye, I do.” Declan held onto the irritated response he itched to give. So the constable wanted to take a dig or two at him—that was his prerogative. He tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and shrugged. “But I can’t tell you anythin’ except that someone took a shot at us. Or me. And Pel can tell you the same thing, if you still want to talk to her. Tomorrow.”

  Tremwith studied him then nodded. “Fine. I’ll stop by first thing in the morning.”

  Declan watched the constable walk back to his vehicle. Once the man had climbed behind the wheel and driven off, Declan went through the front door of the Nola, closing it behind him. He stopped still. As focused on protecting Pelicia as he’d been earlier, scents he hadn’t noticed before wafted to his nostrils.

  The clovelike smell of hatred. He tilted his head. A sugary aroma of fondness.

  The faint odor of spent gunpowder.

  The mixed signals confused him, but one thing was clear. The sniper had been in Pelicia’s house after he’d fired the gun and gotten gun powder residue on his clothes. As recently as this morning, since the scents were still fresh to Declan’s enhanced sense of smell. Yet she was obviously unhurt, so it seemed likely that Declan was the target.

  Or the bastard was having some fun before settling down to business.

  Damn, which was it? Declan hated the uncertainty—and the thought that Pelicia was the intended victim for any reason. If the bastard was after him, fine. But Declan just wasn’t sure, and he couldn’t very well tell Pelicia that he smelled the sniper in her house—she’d want to know how, and he wasn’t prepared to tell her that. Not yet. So for now he’d keep that bit of information to himself.

  Scowling, he walked down the hallway and entered the kitchen. The scents were here, too, telling him the sniper had had the run of the downstairs. He wondered briefly about the upstairs, but the sight of Pelicia stopped him short.

  She stood beside the sink, her slender arms wrapped around herself, looking heartbreakingly young and forlorn. Worried despite her obvious effort not to be. “Did you find anything?” she asked.

  He shook his head and continued into the kitchen. “No. Either the bastard’s a lousy shot or…”

  “Or what?” she asked when he trailed off.

  “Or he’s playing with me.” He stared at her. “Or you.” He wasn’t entirely ready to give up the idea that this had something to do with her grandfather.

  She made an aggravated noise deep in her throat. Worry changed to irritation and darkened her blue eyes. “How many times do I have to say this? He’s not shooting at me.”

  “Are you so sure of that?” Declan stared at her, trying to keep calm. God, but she drove him crazy faster than any other woman ever had. “Your granddad—”

  “My grandfather,” she interrupted, “is in prison. His clients would have come looking for their belongings a long time ago. Or if they’d wanted
revenge, don’t you think they would have done so two years ago?”

  “Not if they’ve been in prison for the last two years.” Declan paused, turning his earlier thought over in his mind.

  What if it didn’t have anything to do with Pelicia’s past? What if it had everything to do with his present? Perhaps Miles was doing to Declan what he’d tried to do to Ryder—do damage to Declan through someone he loved.

  He went cold and stared hard at Pelicia. God. He couldn’t let anything happen to her because of him.

  “What?” She rubbed one cheek with her fingers. “Do I have something on my face?”

  He walked up to her and cupped her face. “No. And it’s the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen.”

  She shrugged away from him with a frown. “Don’t start that again, O’Connell. I’m not falling for your shit this time.”

  Declan grimaced. Her language was getting bluer—she’d progressed from using bloody. It was only a matter of time before she ended up telling him to fuck off.

  He’d rather fuck her. He was a firm believer that if he wanted something badly enough, if he worked hard enough to get it, eventually he would. So he would proceed with that in mind.

  He cleared his throat. “Listen to me. For just a minute,” he added when she seemed about to interrupt. “There is a possibility that someone might be tryin’ to get to me through you.”

  She crossed her arms. “What the bloody hell are you talking about? You and I aren’t together.” He could almost hear her added Thank God. “Why should anyone think you’d even care?”

  “No, we aren’t together.” He stared at her, willing her to believe him. “But you are important to me.”

  “Oh, I don’t believe this,” Pelicia muttered under her breath. “You use me, get me arrested, then ignore me for two years, and have the gall to tell me I’m important to you?” She threw up her hands. “Are you deliberately trying to make me insane?”