Water From the Moon

by Terese Ramin

  Cameron staggered after her, willing away his nausea by concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, seeing only the way Acasia went, his eyes focused on her fluid grace. Sweat slithered down his face and neck like something alive. He licked the perspiration from his lips and blinked it from his eyes. The buzz of an insect near his ear was deafening, maddening, and he swatted it away.

  He blinked again, and it seemed to his sweat–hazed eyes that the green forest shimmered, allowing the woman before him to slip sylphlike through the shadows. Everything seemed so much closer to the surface here, reduced to the simply primitive. The curve of Acasia’s neck below her close–cropped hair, the sway of her hips beneath her pack, became tantalizing, hypnotic, disturbing. Heat saturated every nerve of his body with a savage wanting. His step faltered as he made an effort to put reality back in perspective. All he could do was feel.

  The rescue, and Acasia’s unexpected reentry into his life, had taken their toll. Cameron’s shirt, already tight, became suffocating. He gripped the neck of it and ripped it open, his chest heaving with release. Sweat poured off him, and the scents of the jungle overwhelmed him. He could smell hibiscus and orchids, decaying vegetation and heat. And something more, infuriatingly elusive, that came from the woman ahead of him. A low growl left his throat.

  The sound, barely audible, stopped Acasia dead in her tracks. Around them the forest breathed heavily, leaf brushing leaf, small animals rustling through crushed grasses near their feet. She had heard that predatory–male rasp before, but she had never dreamed of it in relation to Cameron. She flicked a glance over her shoulder and froze, sucking in huge lungsful of thick, tepid air. The sight of Cameron stunned her. The beat of the forest was in his veins, and it frightened her. She reached for the canteen attached to her pack.

  Trembling, she opened the canteen and held it out to Cameron. He took it and drank deeply, allowing water to spill out the sides of his mouth and down his chest. Sensuality—blatant, raw, graceful, animalistic—radiated from him. His bare torso glistened, framed by the ragged shirt, rising and falling unevenly with each swallow. Muscles tensed in his arm when he pulled the canteen from his lips, and his eyes slid back to Acasia’s face, telegraphing a primitive message. His mouth was full, sensual, his lips parted.

  No! She was losing herself to an illusion, a memory he couldn’t possibly be sharing.

  Acasia gulped and tried to moisten her dry lips. If this were anyone else she would know how to handle him, but this was Cam, and she’d so often dreamed…

  Overhead, thunder rolled, and with it came Cameron, closer, lids drooping over eyes that held her mute, weaving a torrid spell.

  No! she thought. It’s just the place… the heat… We shouldn’t… We can’t…. Don’t!

  The echoing litany tumbled over and over in Acasia’s head, shrieking danger, but she didn’t, couldn’t, move.

  When he was inches from her, Cameron stopped, raised a hand and let a finger trail along her jaw. Acasia’s T–shirt suddenly felt too small, her breasts thrust forward, nipples pebbled against it, seeking freedom. Hungry now, her eyes traveled the length of him, savoring the molding of fabric to muscle. Drawn upward again, her gaze settled on his face, finding there a feral smile. His hand found her waist and drew her hard against him. Her lower lip pouted in anticipation, and his teeth captured it, tasted, then released it.

  Her mouth opened invitingly, and he met it with his own, his tongue thrusting forward to taste her lips before plunging past her teeth to take part in a molten duel. Her hands rose to his waist, found the torn shirt and finished the job he’d begun. His slipped up to relieve her of the gun, then trailed down her sides as he bent to lay it on the ground.

  What was left of logic vanished completely. His hands traveled back up to outline her breasts, then tensed.

  Acasia’s eyes closed and her breathing grew labored as his roving fingers brought pleasure to her. He lifted the pack away from her, then moved closer again, eye–to–eye with her for an instant before their bodies twined savagely together, mouths fueling fire, teeth and tongues creating madness, fingers urgently tearing shirts from pants to find skin. Desire pounded between them in a new litany; fabric was the enemy; sensation was all.

  They were so close.

  There was a shattering clap of thunder, and the rain deluged them in a sudden torrent. Caught in the forest’s spell, they clung, together but separate, breathing raggedly, foreheads kissing, almost wondering where they were. Long seconds passed before they released each other slowly to gather their clothing together and collect their fallen gear.

  Confusion turned to wariness as their minds sought a way back to an even footing, finding cruelty instead.

  "I hear you have a fiancée," Acasia said, shoving her shirt back into her pants, jealous though she knew she had no rights, horrified by what she’d almost allowed to happen. "Do you cheat on her often?"

  Cameron eyed her coldly, ignoring the emotions rampaging within him. His thoughts flicked quickly back six months to Whitney, the lovely and intelligent Boston socialite to whom he’d been briefly engaged. It had been a socially brilliant match, one he’d been brought up to. If there had never been an Acasia in his life he might have married Whitney—or Janice or Sybil or Brenda before her—and been content, even happy. But Acasia had been in his life, had left him with loose ends to tie up, questions to answer, dreams to resolve. And Whitney, because she cared for him, had felt the distance he kept between them and refused to settle for less than each of them deserved. Now Cameron viewed Acasia without kindness. "I see you still have your death wish."

  Stung, Acasia’s head snapped up, her mouth becoming a long, tight line. Had they really once shared almost everything it was humanly possible to share? "Death wish?" she echoed.

  "What would you call rescuing businessmen at high speed?"

  "Preserving an endangered species."

  Cameron’s lip curled in disdain, and he pulled on the shirt she’d torn. "And what’s this? Part of the service? Some of the thrill? The way you get your kicks?"

  His venom shocked Acasia, bringing the first spurt of tears she’d known in sixteen years. Nothing had ever been quite civilized between them. Anger had been as unbridled as love—and as devastating. Everything and nothing had changed.

  With a jerk, Acasia settled both her emotional armor and the pack in place, hoisted the gun over her shoulder and turned her back on Cameron. They had a long way to go, and he was not yet out of danger. "It’s going to be hard to see in this rain. Don’t get lost."

  The jungle–intensified anger slipped away from Cameron at the sound of the tremor in her voice. He’d hurt her deliberately, judged and accused her for no reason he could fathom—except maybe frustration.

  "I’m sorry. I had no right to say that."

  He tried to touch her, but she stiffened and pulled away. He didn’t belong to her. What she wanted, needed, was entirely different from what she could have. It would be best to remember that.

  "No problem," she said coolly. "Don’t give it another thought."

  She started forward, but he stopped her again. "Casie—"

  "No!" She swung around to face him. "Don’t touch me. Just keep your hands and your recriminations to yourself while you’re my responsibility. What just happened was stupid and unprofessional. I’m here to protect you, not get you killed." She stopped and took three quick breaths, reaching for a calmness she couldn’t find. He’d shaken her again, damn it. "Back in the world we’ll do lunch and suffer old times gladly. We’ll be different there. You won’t be in danger, and I won’t be Macho Mama. We’ll laugh and banter and enjoy snappy repartee. Here… here you’re just another job. Now let’s go."

  She strode away through the rain, proudly erect, without giving Cameron a chance to answer. His surroundings had him at a disadvantage, and he had little choice but to follow. Rain plastered his hair to his forehead, and he brushed it impatiently away. Acasia was so damn smug in her portrayal of the
injured saint that he wanted to strangle her. He smiled grimly. On the other hand…

  It had probably been more than sixteen years since his last really good fight, and that was what he’d come down here wanting, wasn’t it? A confrontation with someone other than himself? The sensation that he was still alive…

  For months, maybe years, he’d been floundering, in need of a challenge. His investments and patent licenses had reached the point where they thrived without his guidance, propelled by inertia. Business was a matter of going through the motions. He’d wanted real conflict instead of the daily battle he fought to interest himself in red tape, legal prattle and paper trading. Face–to–face and hand–to–hand, politics and corruption—anything, just so it was out of his routine. He’d needed a rejuvenating journey along life’s edge, a catalyst for his flagging imagination. And there she was, six paces ahead of him and as cataclysmic as they came, the stuff of his imagination and then some.

  Be careful what you want, he thought dryly. And then, wryly: old habits die hard.

  * * *

  Rain drenched the forest, saturated every pore, ran in rivers from noses, chins and hat brims. Cameron hunched, exhausted, inside the poncho Acasia had passed him. He’d always assumed he was reasonably fit, his stamina more than adequate from the five miles he ran and the weight regimen he practiced daily. But fit in Vermont and fit in Zaragoza were apparently very different things.

  When Acasia had called a brief halt, he’d hunched gladly in the meager shelter of some huge, umbrellalike leaves. Granted the opportunity to grab some of his attention, the wound at the back of his head had again begun to throb. Cameron closed his eyes and let it ache. Nearby, Acasia prowled, catlike, restless and alert. Cameron felt her unease and opened his eyes to see her slide the shotgun off her shoulder, holding it loose but ready at her side.

  "What is it?"

  Acasia flicked a glance his way and shook her head. "Nothing," she said in a voice that gave the lie to her words. "Damn rain." She squatted beside Cameron and touched the hood of his poncho. "How’s your head?"

  Cameron eased a hand inside the hood to finger his wound, shutting his eyes against the mild wooziness that accompanied the touch. "It’s all right. It’s stopped bleeding."

  "Let’s see." Acasia pushed the poncho aside and parted his hair to probe the area around the gash. "I’d like to dress it, but a soggy bandage would probably do more harm than good." She shrugged the backpack off her shoulders and dropped it on the earth between them. "You allergic to penicillin?"

  "Not that I know of."

  "Good, because it’s all I’ve got." She opened a sealed plastic bag and passed a pill to Cameron, along with her canteen. "Best thing to do is get some antibiotics into you, get us moving and—" she glanced at him, and he saw a grin ghost her features and disappear into the rain "—leave the rest for Fred."

  Cameron did his best to stifle his own grin. "Great. Thanks loads, Casie. You sure that’s wise?"

  "Why not? He got his M.D. with honors. He’s a good doctor." She wiped the rain from her face and eyed Cameron innocently. He stared mildly at her without replying. She’d begun this trip down memory lane; she could finish it. Her teeth flashed in a smile reminiscent of the demonic grin she’d always given him just prior to landing them both in trouble. "C’mon, Cam, it’s been ages since he’s seen you. How long can he possibly hold a grudge over what we did more than fifteen years ago?"

  Cameron snorted. "I think your brother’s capable of holding a grudge forever."

  Acasia nodded thoughtfully. "True. I’ve never known anyone as capable of jumping to the wrong conclusions on so little evidence as Fred. He takes being my big brother pretty seriously."

  Cameron cleared his throat. When it came to Fred "big" was putting it mildly. Built like an outsized mule with the disposition to match might be more accurate. "He was overprotective."

  "Mmm. He hasn’t changed."

  "Great," Cameron muttered. "Does he know I’m coming?"

  Acacia shrugged. "No."

  "Coward."

  "Occasionally." Acasia nodded. They peered at each other through the rain, and memory lurked in their eyes, in the smiles tugging at the corners of their mouths. Acasia broke the contact first. "Anyway, I never tell him exactly when I might bring someone through the village, or who it might be. He doesn’t want to know. We have a basic difference in philosophies. I did some time in the army, he’s more of a conscientious objector. We’ve learned to cooperate with each other out of mutual need. When that fails there’s always the principle of family loyalty. And a little healthy respect doesn’t hurt." She straightened restlessly, as though aware of how much she’d said, and stretched. Suddenly she tensed and reached down for the shotgun, watching and listening.

  All Cameron heard was the rain. "What?"

  Acasia shook her head. "I don’t know. Maybe guerrilla or cartel soldiers, maybe nothing. Probably nothing. You rested? We ought to move."

  "You lead, I follow." Cameron straightened and unkinked sore muscles stiffly. "It’ll be like old times."

  "No," Acasia said vehemently. "No," she repeated softly, "This is not like old times, or even new ones. Whatever you were to me, right now you’re my job. Your safety depends on me, and I’m not going to mess that up by tripping over memories at every turn."

  Startled, Cameron stared at her. She stood nose–to–nose with him, a steely, unbending figure whose height nearly matched his own. Cameron doubted very much that anyone ever asked twice to see her credentials.

  "It was an innocent comment, Casie, that’s all. You’re pretty touchy. Is there a reason?"

  Acasia heaved the pack across her shoulders. "Do you ever find yourself frustrated because no matter what you do or how well you do it you’re helpless to control the absolute stupidity of the world around you? When I feel that way I get touchy, so don’t take it personally. I’m like this with everyone I shouldn’t have to rescue."

  He let that go because it was true and he didn’t like it. If they were in danger it was because of him. If she got hurt, it would be because he’d gotten tired of delegating responsibility to people better suited to the task and decided to do the up close and personal himself. "So why do it? What makes it your job? How’d you get here from where we were?"

  "Took a shortcut out of a rut, just like everybody else. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Real life’s never as good as what you imagine, is it?" She jockeyed the sodden visor of her cap around for a better view and peered into the forest, missing Cameron’s start of surprise at her insight. She looked back at him again. "They were good times, weren’t they, the ones we spent together?" Then she hitched the shotgun forward in her hand and moved on into the forest.

  Astounded, Cameron followed slowly, staring at her back, wondering why he’d ever thought he’d known her.

  * * *

  When they reached the settlement, it was dark, and Cameron was exhausted. Though the rain had lessened to a steady drizzle, few of the villagers were around, and Acasia led him straight to the only building not made out of thatch.

  It was a long wooden structure, built up off the ground and surrounded by a roofed veranda. Their boots thudded dully on the wet boards, but no one came to greet them. Acasia opened the door and led Cameron through dark rooms she said were part of Fred’s clinic, infirmary and laboratory.

  At the end of the building she opened another door and snapped on a dim light. Cameron could see that he was in a small bedroom, maybe eight feet by ten, sparsely furnished, housing a mattress—neatly made up and shrouded by a mosquito net—a wooden chest shoved against a wall and a cane–back chair. Rattan mats covered the walls but left bare a window, stark and black, in the center of the far wall.

  "You can sleep here. There are some old clothes in the trunk. Take whatever you need. The only flush toilet in this neck of the woods is down the hall on your left, and if you want a shower, be my guest. The water’s lukewarm. If you’re hungry, I can probably find someth
ing for you."

  She had removed her hat outside and now rubbed her fingers into her hair to rid it of excess water. The half–light played funny tricks with her features, making them gentle, then vulnerable, then unaccountably sad. It was a view of her that Cameron found himself remembering, the tough veneer over the woman’s softness, and it reminded him so much of the first day they’d met that he reached for her instinctively, as though this afternoon and the intervening years had never existed. He relieved her of the pack and the gun, then pulled her close, gathered her in, held her without asking.

  Oh, God, I can’t cry! she thought. I won’t. But the day had gotten the better of her, just as it had that first time, and she buried her face in his neck and sobbed.

  "Shh, Casie, shh."

  He kneaded her back in soothing circles, blanketing her with forgotten warmth, keeping her against his still–moist body, tight within the circle of his arms. After a few minutes she gave a long, quivering sigh and tipped her head back. A hysterical giggle escaped her.

  "I’m sorry, I’ve gotten you all wet."

  Cameron pulled back and stared at her in disbelief for one long moment, then looked down at his rain–soaked clothes. Suddenly he, too, began to laugh. "That’s not even funny," he gasped, taking a deep breath to bring himself under control.

  "No, of course it’s not," Acasia agreed, and exploded again.

  Tears ran down their faces, and they staggered around the room, holding their sides and sobbing with laughter. Hysteria provided relief. They slid to the floor on opposite sides of the room and welcomed it until the seizures passed and they found themselves gazing at each other, seeing the ghosts of the teenagers they’d been.

  "You still don’t listen when you’ve got a whim to satisfy," Acasia said accusingly.

  "You still think you’re the only person in the world capable of handling anything."

  "You scared the hell out of me with your recklessness—"

  "Why is it that when I do something dangerous it’s reckless but when you do something suicidal—like that car stunt—it’s all right?"