Seducing the Moon

by Sherrill Quinn

  “No.” Declan clenched his fists to keep from reaching out for her. He knew she wouldn’t want him touching her right now, not in the mood she was in. And he didn’t blame her—he blamed himself. But…“I didn’t have a lot of choices two years ago, Pel. You have to know that. But whatever else happened durin’ the investigation, what happened between us was real.”

  “Was it? Was it really?” She shook her head. “I didn’t see you going to any effort to keep me from getting arrested. You knew I didn’t know he was using me for something illegal.” She turned away from him. “But I guess that’s beside the point.”

  “Pel—”

  She whirled around. “Why would someone be trying to hurt you, O’Connell? Someone besides me, I mean.” She gave him a patently false smile.

  He grimaced. She was not going to make this easy. Fine. He could do things the hard way when necessary. He usually preferred not to.

  Although sometimes there was nothing quite like a good fight to work off tension.

  “It’s complicated.”

  She gave an inelegant snort. “You’d better do better than that.”

  He still wasn’t ready to tell her about his tendency to go furry once a month. “It’s really that someone’s after Ryder.”

  Pelicia scowled. “Would you make up your mind? Is someone after you or are they after Ryder?” She shook her head. “And why would someone be after Ryder, anyway?”

  “You’ve no doubt heard him or your dad talk about Ryder’s cousin?” Declan watched her, saw the confusion in her eyes. “Miles Hampston,” he prompted.

  She shrugged. “I may have heard mention of him before, but I honestly don’t remember.” She stared at him, lines furrowing her brow. “You’re saying he wants to hurt Ryder? His own cousin.”

  “Aye.” Declan chose his words carefully. “He wants what Ryder has and has already sent someone after me.”

  Her eyes widened. “But he failed, right? I mean, you look fine.”

  “I am fine,” he responded evenly. If you discount the fangs, claws, and fur that sprout once a month. “He…hired someone to do his dirty work. The bastard turned his sights on a friend of mine instead, with the primary purpose of gettin’ her and me to Phelan’s Keep so he could show Ryder how powerful he was.” He couldn’t help but grin at the outcome. “Instead Ryder and Taite fell in love, and the bad guy lost all the way ’round.”

  “Yes, I know. Well, at least the part about Ryder and Taite falling in love.” She gave a small frown. “I was at the wedding, remember?”

  How could he forget? She’d stood in as maid of honor for Taite, who’d been so far from home, and Declan had been Ryder’s best man. It had made Declan think about his and Pelicia’s own wedding, though that future might never play out.

  He clenched his jaw. He refused to believe that, refused to accept that he wouldn’t be able to turn Pelicia around. Win her back. Any other outcome was inconceivable.

  Unacceptable.

  “I never asked her, but I assume she knows that Ryder’s a…” Pelicia trailed off. Uncertainty clouded her eyes as she must have realized that it was possible Declan didn’t know the full story about Ryder, even if Ryder’s new wife did.

  “We both found out about Ryder’s…condition,” he said. “Neither of us was particularly happy about it.”

  “No, I imagine not.” She pulled one of the chairs away from the small kitchen table and sat down. She clasped her hands, resting them on the table, and said, “Although from what I remember, Ryder was never very happy about being a werewolf, either.”

  At least she wasn’t running away from him. Declan pulled out the chair at the end of the table—the one closest to her—and sat down. “No, he wasn’t,” he agreed quietly. “But he’s come to finally accept that the wolf is part of who he is.”

  She looked up at him. “He has?” A genuine smile tilted her lips. “Dad said he had, but it’s nice to hear it confirmed. I’m glad. It hurt to see him so unhappy.”

  Her compassionate nature was one of the things that had made Declan fall in love with her. But while she seemed to be able to feel sympathy for Ryder, it was apparent her quota of compassion was used up where Declan was concerned.

  Yet another reason to hold off on telling her that he’d joined the ranks of the fanged and furry. He needed to score some major points with her first.

  “So he is happy, then? With Taite?” She propped her chin on one fist. “I’ve only talked to her a few times.” Pelicia tilted her head to one side. “She seems nice. Dad really likes her and tells me all the time how glad he is that she’s there.”

  Declan raised his brows. While he agreed with Cobb, he was surprised that the little man would speak so highly of Taite—he always seemed to keep his opinions about people to himself.

  Well, except for where Declan was concerned. Cobb had no qualms at all about letting Declan know what he thought of him.

  “Aye,” he said in answer to her question. “In the last four months I think I’ve seen Ryder laugh more than I have in the last twenty years.” He grinned. “Well, except for the six weeks Taite was back in the States wrapping up her life there. Then he was a real…” His grin widened. “Well, I was goin’ to say bear, but maybe ‘rabid wolf’ would be a more apt description.”

  Her brows knit in a frown. “Just why have you been staying with them the last four months, anyway? I mean, they are newlyweds. I’d think they’d want some privacy instead of a…houseguest.”

  His lips twisted. She’d obviously been about to use another word, maybe something along the lines of “leech” or “hanger-on” instead of “houseguest.” And if he hadn’t needed Ryder’s guidance on being a werewolf, he would have left them alone.

  But, there it was. Declan had made the transition three times already, not pushing his luck by trying to transform at will but rather waiting until the rising of the full moon triggered the change. And always Ryder had been at his side, helping him, guiding him.

  Declan had never felt an urge to hurt anyone on the island, though some of the indigenous animals hadn’t fared so well. But Ryder had told him there might come a time, under the influence of heightened emotions, when Declan might have less control of the wolf inside.

  Declan couldn’t see that happening. If there was one thing he could control, it was his emotions.

  Seeing that she waited for his answer, he said, “While Miles is up to his tricks, I’m stayin’ to help protect both Ryder and Taite.” Which wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the entire truth.

  Pelicia nodded. She stared at him a moment, then stood and walked to the counter, turning on a hot plate beneath the teakettle. He heard her sigh before she turned to look at him. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  At last. An olive branch.

  “Aye. Thank you.”

  She gave a brief nod and turned back to the counter, putting cups and a sugar bowl on a small tray. After she placed a ceramic teapot on the tray, she pulled a canister from the cupboard in front of her.

  “How did you fare with the insurance adjuster?” Declan asked, as much from curiosity as to fill the silence. “He came today, I assume?”

  “Yes.” She took the kettle off the hot plate, tipped some water into the teapot, and placed the kettle on a nearby iron trivet. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”

  He heard the note of grudging admission in her voice, as well as a spark of embarrassment. No doubt she was remembering how she’d acted toward him and was regretting it.

  Sweet Pel. Even when she’d been wronged, she still tried to act the lady.

  She finished putting the tea things together and carried the tray over to the table. Once seated, she poured him a cup and passed it to him, taking care, he noticed, to make sure their fingers didn’t touch. Then she poured herself a cup, stirred in two teaspoons of sugar, and lifted the cup to her lips.

  Pelicia took a sip of her tea and mentally kicked herself for softening toward Declan. She wanted nothing more t
o do with him, right? Yet here she sat, having a polite cup of tea and acting like they were friends.

  It had been his concern for Ryder, his genuine—or what appeared to be genuine—satisfaction over Ryder’s happiness that had lowered her defenses. That and his desire to protect his friend.

  Of course, she’d never doubted Declan’s ability or willingness to safeguard the physical well-being of those he cared about. Her fingers began to tremble, and she set her cup down onto the table with a thunk.

  They’d been so much more than friends once upon a time. Earlier, when he’d forced her to the floor and covered her with his body to protect her from bullets, she’d felt every solid muscle where he rested against her. And she’d felt the hard ridge of his erection pressed between her thighs. Her sex had immediately swelled, the folds becoming slick with desire.

  He’d known. Somehow he’d known she’d gotten aroused. She’d felt him go absolutely still above her, not unlike a predator that’s spotted its prey and doesn’t want to do anything to scare it. He’d moved off her without comment, other than to order her to stay where she was.

  But she’d seen the knowledge in his eyes.

  Now, watching him handle the teacup—a cup that looked tiny in his broad hand—Pelicia found herself wishing things were different. She wanted those hands on her again, wanted to feel him on top of her, inside her.

  Yet, she didn’t trust him. Couldn’t trust him. But she still wanted him.

  She swallowed and traced the rim of her cup with one finger. Say something. Thinking it would be a safe subject, she glanced up at him and asked, “So, how is it you know Ryder’s new wife?”

  “Taite and I met just over five years ago when we crossed paths on a case I was workin’ on. She used to be an investigator for a county attorney’s office in Arizona.” His fondness for the other woman was reflected in his eyes. “Taite the Terrier, they called her. And it’s a true enough nickname—she’s downright tenacious.” He grinned and shook his head.

  She tried not to notice how cute he was when he smiled. He was handsome enough when his expression was sober, but when he smiled, his entire face lit up, his eyes sparkled, and he looked like a mischievous boy.

  It was one of the things that had first attracted her to him.

  Of course, looking at him sitting there with a navy polo shirt showcasing his biceps and the strong column of his neck, molding the hard muscles of his chest and showing dark chest hair at the base of his throat, she acknowledged there was nothing remotely boyish about him.

  “As a matter of fact,” he went on, “Taite’s one of the toughest women I know.” He looked at her, his dark eyes glinting.

  Pelicia stared down into her teacup. She knew what he was thinking. That she was tough, too.

  But she wasn’t. If she were, she would have stayed in London, muscled her way through finding a job. She wouldn’t have been so devastated by his betrayal.

  She was the farthest thing from tough one could get.

  Picking up her cup, she curled her hands around it, trying to warm suddenly cold fingers. Ignoring what he’d implied, she looked up. “And Ryder’s happy, you say?”

  “Oh, aye. Taite’s the best thing that could have happened to him.” Declan tipped his cup to his lips.

  Her gaze centered on his throat, the muscles flexing with his swallow. As he started to lower the cup, she dropped her gaze to the amber liquid in her own mug. She couldn’t do this anymore—sit here drinking tea and pretending to be unaffected by his presence.

  But she’d be damned if she gave in to her desire. He’d had his chance, and he’d blown it.

  Pelicia pushed away from the table and stood. She put her cup on the tray and carried the tray over to the sink. Turning around, she went still, her breath hitching in her throat.

  Declan stood less than an arm’s length away, so close she could feel the heat emanating from his big body. He reached toward her, and she tensed, but all he did was place his cup on the counter behind her.

  Except he remained in that position, resting his hand on the edge of the counter. He loomed over her, so close she could see amber flecks in the dark brown of his eyes. Even as she wondered about that—his eyes used to be so dark they were almost black—he leaned even closer.

  With his mouth a breath away, he murmured, “Are you so sure you hate me, Pel?” He pressed a soft kiss against the corner of her mouth. “’Cause I have to tell you, darlin’, this doesn’t feel like hate to me.”

  Before she could form a response, his mouth covered hers and for the second time in two days her rational mind was overwhelmed by the reality of being in his arms again.

  Chapter 4

  The watcher stood at the corner of the window on the east side of the kitchen and peered carefully inside the house, taking care to remain hidden from both those inside as well as the work crew that had just pulled up in front.

  He’d deliberately missed each time he’d shot at Pelicia, because he wanted to make O’Connell sweat. As far as that Irish bastard knew, twice now bullets had come close to striking her.

  Or had they?

  Let O’Connell worry about his lady, let him wonder if the bullets were truly meant for her or, perhaps, were they meant for him?

  The watcher had decided to use a gun to throw O’Connell off the scent. When he made his move for real—when he decided it was time to fulfill his mission and not before—it would be up close and personal, not through the use of such an impersonal tool as a high-powered sniper’s rifle.

  The watcher had been too far away to hear the conversation O’Connell had had with the police constable, but it was interesting that he’d sent the man away without letting him speak to Pelicia. He wondered what had been going through the big man’s head then.

  Now he knew what O’Connell was thinking and with which head he was thinking it. The Irishman had his hands cupped on either side of Pelicia’s face, holding her still as he plundered her mouth. Her hands at first rested against his chest but soon slid down to curl around his sides, then up his back to clutch handfuls of his shirt.

  But suddenly she pushed him away, a look of dismay on her face. The watcher couldn’t hear what she said, but O’Connell gave a response that must not have set well, because her lovely features darkened. She said something else and pointed toward the front of the house. O’Connell looked at her for a long moment and then turned and left the room.

  The watcher stood still, listening. He heard the front door open and close and, after several minutes, heard O’Connell get into his car and start it up. He waited until O’Connell drove off before he left his hiding place from behind a large camellia bush.

  He walked around the corner of the house and peered through the glass panes of the back door. Pelicia was sitting once again at the table, her hands pressed to her face. As he watched, she wiped her fingers under her eyes.

  Swiping away tears?

  He fought against feeling sympathy for her. She was a means to an end. Nothing more. Just because she was lovely and…

  He scowled. Stay focused. A means to an end was what she was, and that was all.

  A means to O’Connell’s end.

  Chapter 5

  Declan strode down the cobbled path toward the back door of Ryder’s house, his thoughts racing. The twenty-minute boat ride from St. Mary’s had done little to calm him—if anything it had given him even more time to think.

  Walking away from Pelicia had been difficult. She had responded so sweetly, her tongue meeting his, her lush curves resting against him. Then she’d seemed to remember she was supposed to be angry with him, and she’d pushed him away.

  He’d protested, but she’d been adamant. And so, with an erection that could’ve drilled through stone, he’d left. He’d checked out the stonemasons getting ready to repair the Nola—it was a father and son team who lived on the island. Their scents were unfamiliar, telling Declan they hadn’t been in the house. He’d felt secure leaving Pelicia alone for a short amount
of time. Since the two men were there it seemed unlikely the sniper would try again.

  Now, back on Phelan’s Keep, Declan had a plan. Well, part of a plan, anyway, and one that should keep Pelicia safe until he could figure out what the hell was going on.

  Declan keyed in his code on the newly installed alarm keypad and pushed open the back door. He went into the house, shoving the door closed with one foot. Force of habit had him toeing off his boots, leaving them on the rug beside the door.

  Hearing movement, he looked up to see Cobb walk into the kitchen.

  “Oh, good morning, Mr. O’Connell.” Cobb glanced at the clock hanging above the refrigerator. “Almost good afternoon, I see.”

  “Aye.” Declan padded across the room, his socks making him slip a little on the tiled floor.

  “Will you be staying for lunch?” Cobb picked up a dish towel and began wiping down the already spotless counter.

  “Ah, no.” Declan paused in the doorway and looked back at the houseman. “But if you could put together somethin’ I could take with me—maybe a couple of sandwiches?”

  Cobb gave a nod.

  “Thanks.” Declan started to say more, thinking to fill Cobb in on what was happening to his daughter, but decided against it. Best not worry the little man until Declan had his facts straight.

  Besides, Cobb, at least, seemed to have softened toward him—probably felt sorry for him now that he was a werewolf. Whatever the reason, Declan would take the change. He’d been getting tired of all the dirty looks Cobb sent his way when no one else was looking.

  Not that they were completely undeserved or that Declan didn’t understand where they were coming from. Cobb obviously knew the story of what happened between Declan and Pelicia, and he was bristling over the treatment his daughter had suffered at Declan’s hands. But for the moment, at least, he seemed to be giving Declan a bit of a break.

  He’d take it.

  Declan went on through the house, taking the stairs to the next floor two at a time. The next set, leading to the third story, he took four at a time.