Water From the Moon

by Terese Ramin

  Her trust entranced him, made his arousal immediate and violent and undeniable, and he gave himself to her in kind, sinking deep, urging her to the brink and then losing himself, joining her, blending souls.

  "Lord, woman, how do you do that?" Cameron asked fervently when he’d regained some semblance of control.

  Laughter, husky and intimate, washed over him. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

  Cameron turned onto his side and cuddled Acasia from behind.

  "Mmm." She sighed, wiggling nearer, imprinting his warmth on her memory, denying the sluggish disquiet that pricked her conscience. Or perhaps it was the other way around; perhaps she denied conscience, which roused her more cautious second nature, disquiet—

  Cameron was aware of when her mood changed, but uncertain of how to ask why. When he rolled her onto her back and smoothed her cheek and she shut her eyes, he knew that "why" was not the place for this relationship to begin.

  Acasia opened her eyes at the tenderness, then slipped her arms around his neck and raised her head to kiss him.

  "Acasia Jones," called a civil British voice from somewhere beyond the door, "your brother says I’m not to cross the line he’s drawn on the floor. Have I risked life and limb to rescue you while you were, so to speak, having an effing good time?"

  Well, that was certainly one way of putting it. And it deserved a reply in kind.

  "Go ’way, Jules. I’m—" She looked at Cameron, who grinned and kissed the end of her nose. "We're still having an effing good time."

  "Get a move on, Jones. Lift–off on the Zaragozan Liberation Express is at T minus fifteen and counting." The words were light, the meaning explicit: let’s get the hell out of here!

  "Oh, be civilized," Acasia protested.

  "I haven’t peeked, have I?" Julianna pointed out. "Come on, let’s go. I have news flashes, fresh coffee and day–old muffins for in–flight, and Fred would like to know precisely where you were birthing babies yesterday. The sooner we take this show on the road, the sooner you can resume—"

  "Shut up!" Acasia said, and punched Cameron none too gently when he sputtered with laughter over her discomfiture. "Both of you."

  Chuckling, Julianna left, and Acasia and Cameron rose to dress.

  The goodbyes they made a few minutes later were brief.

  "Smith," said Fred.

  "Jones," Cameron returned.

  They didn’t shake hands, didn’t smile, didn’t voice what they were thinking. A curt nod was left to say it all.

  Acasia stepped in to hug her brother. "I said hello to Angelo for you yesterday."

  "Did you now?"

  "He sends his regards."

  "Uh–huh."

  She took a step back and looked up at Fred. "Yeah, so uh… watch your back, okay? I’ll see ya in a few."

  "Let’s not make it too soon, huh?" He reached a hand toward her, dropped it and turned away. "Listen," he said, "take care, would you, Peaches? And for heaven’s sake, if you leaped without looking last night, just watch where you land." Then, hands in his pockets, he ambled away to get on with his day.

  Acasia did the same. Cameron tried to catch her, but she brushed by him and went on to the waiting helicopter without stopping.

  "Let her go." The cultured British voice was cool, and if Cameron hadn’t been looking at Julianna, he might have mistaken her tone as unfriendly. He looked her up and down. Acasia’s friend was completely unlike her: ice to Acasia’s heat; aloof and elegant where Acasia was solidly graceful; cool and uninvolved where Acasia was passionate. Like Acasia, she was not a woman who took to friendship easily—or lightly. Was not a woman to betray a thought—or a friend.

  He met her pale blue gaze steadily. "I can’t."

  Julianna understood. "Well, then," she said dryly, "I guess you’d best be careful."

  Chapter 10

  WHEN ACASIA HAD been three, Simon Jones had introduced his daughter to his philosophy of life: Keep moving if you want to stay whole and healthy.

  When she asked what that meant, he explained that if you didn’t want problems you had to live alone and travel light, untethered to possessions, without personal ties. He’d also told her that it was when you let emotion clutter up your life that you ran into trouble. And he’d known the moment he’d laid eyes on Moira Dullea, Acasia’s mother, that he was in serious trouble. Then he’d kissed Acasia on top of her head, handed her a tiny suitcase and told her to pack anything that she couldn’t live without, because she, Fred and Moira were moving to Amsterdam, where he would join them in a couple of weeks.

  By the time she was six, she, Fred and Moira had lived in most of the major cities of Western Europe, and she’d learned to pack her suitcase judiciously, already understanding the difference between what was replaceable and what was not. And she knew by the time she was eight that there were only two things you couldn’t regain once you’d lost them: time and opportunity.

  With the regretful sense that last night and this morning had been a childish attempt to recapture both, she watched Cameron climb into the helicopter behind her.

  If you leaped without looking…

  Oh, she’d looked, all right. She simply hadn’t paid attention to what she’d seen.

  "Somebody steal your dog?" Cameron asked. "Or did Fred hand you the opportunity to wallow in second thoughts?"

  Acasia looked at the finger he ran lightly down her arm to take away the sting of his words. "We shouldn’t—"

  "Yes," Cameron told her fiercely, "we should. We did. And we’re not finished with this, with us. Not yet. Not by a long shot. I wasn’t looking for a new playmate last night, Casie, in case you hadn’t noticed—in case I didn’t make myself perfectly clear."

  "There are things… history …. You don’t know…."

  "Keep your history. You’re more important to me than it is."

  "Tell me that again the day after tomorrow, or sometime next week, and maybe I’ll believe it for a while."

  "I love it when you feel sorry for yourself, Casie. No one else has quite your flair for self–pity."

  "Stuff it, Cam!" Acasia said violently. "You’ve been after me for two days to talk, and when I do—you want to talk self–pity? We’re all here because you felt sorry enough for yourself to jump into trouble just to see if you had what it takes to climb out."

  "Are we back to that again? That’s not what this is about." He shoved a hand through his hair in irritation. "Don’t push me away, damn it. Don’t make that choice for me again."

  He was gentle, insistent, but Acasia stared fixedly at anything but him. She didn’t want to push him away; she wanted to hold on for dear life, for the rest of her life. But that wasn’t how the world worked. She’d learned the hard way that sometimes the best way to love was to let go. She’d convinced herself after Lisetta’s death that if she’d walked away from her friend instead of fostering Lisetta’s dependence on her, maybe Lisetta would somehow have learned to fend for herself, learned how to keep herself alive.

  She opened her mouth, but Cameron put a finger to her lips, shushing words she hadn’t spoken.

  "If I’d kept looking for you instead of quitting when Simon told me I should," he told her quietly, "I’d have found you."

  Denial was automatic. "It wouldn’t have changed anything."

  Cameron smiled. "Maybe, but we wouldn’t have spent half our lives wondering, either." He took her hand, stroked the back of it with his thumb. "I’m too old to keep adding possibilities to my collection of things I haven’t tried. I want to find out about us, Casie. Get off that horse you’ve been riding away from me all these years and come home with me. Now."

  Acasia studied the buttons on his shirt, swamped by his nearness and by needs she didn’t want to recognize, seeing dependence lying in wait with love. She’d learned a long time ago that he was crucial to her existence, but after Lisetta died, she’d run from him because she didn’t want to become Lisetta, didn’t want to cling to him in the same paralyzing way Lisetta
had clung to her. It had been the most important thing in the world to her at that time, to know she could survive her nightmares on her own without Cam’s help—without turning him into the center of her universe, the only reason for her existence.

  Now, even though he offered her the two things she wanted most, new opportunities and a chance for a different life, she still hesitated to accept them. The girl she’d been still lived inside her, locked in constant battle with the woman she’d become. One wanted to throw caution to the winds; the other wanted to know at what cost.

  She looked at Cameron and said, "I want to come. I could make some time, but I told you, it’s not that easy."

  He touched her cheek, offering her sanctuary. "I didn’t ask for easy, Casie. I asked for you."

  Her laughter rose, dispelling morbid anticipation. She wanted so much to be with him, even if only for a little while. "I can’t offer you promises…."

  Cameron shook his head. "I don’t want any. I just want a shot. Day by day, moment to moment, to be negotiated as we go, whatever we’ve got."

  "You don’t mind a cloudy future?"

  "I don’t even mind a little rain."

  She couldn’t deny him. It was that simple. With her heart in her eyes, Acasia tossed away her concern over life’s price tags and said yes.

  * * *

  The journey out of Zaragoza to Maracaibo, Venezuela, was quiet and uneventful. In Maracaibo they landed at a private airstrip and traded in the helicopter for the cargo plane that would carry them the final leg to Miami. When they landed again it was late afternoon and the Miami sun was blazing over the tarmac, a huge, fiery ball suspended in a hazy sky.

  "Damn."

  Acasia spit the word out violently when the heat seared her lungs as the plane’s door was opened. The blistering heat only strengthened a mood that was growing lousier with each passing moment. She didn’t relish the confrontation she knew she was about to have with Paolo over Cameron, but unless she told Futures and Securities’ director an outright lie, it couldn’t be helped. If the truth were known, she preferred evasions where her private life was concerned, but not this time, not with Dominic and Angelo sitting in the background. She could be honest with Paolo, for Cameron’s sake, if not her own.

  She licked flecks of sweat from her upper lip and used a hand to shade her eyes against the glare. From across the airfield a veritable tidal wave of people, led by a blue golf cart thundered toward her. A roar of sound preceded the onslaught.

  "Damn!" she said again. This was not the discreet little reception she and Paolo had carefully plotted, the one she’d counted on to let her sneak off into the sunset with Cameron. Somewhere along the line someone had mishandled things and leaked information. Someone whose head was about to roll, had messed up. Royally.

  Already she could distinguish the government officials from the media; the latter were unholstering cameras, brandishing microphones. Cameron moved up behind her, and Acasia spun around, ripping her sunglasses from her pocket, pushing him back inside, snatching up a cap and pulling it over her ears.

  "Sit tight," she muttered tersely. "We’ve got the whole damn Sioux nation coming down on us." She banged on the cockpit door. "Jules. Company."

  Cameron shoved past Acasia, determined to see for himself what was happening. "What’s the matter with you, Casie? You’ve gone melodramatic again. This is Miami, not Custer’s last stand." He stared for a second then whipped back into the cabin even faster than Acasia had. "On the other hand, I thought you said this outfit was discreet."

  "It is. Something’s gone wrong. Jules!"

  The roar drew nearer, becoming a babble of indistinct phrases and barely discernible words.

  "You weren’t expecting this?" Cameron caught Acasia by the shoulders. He was angry at her, but just looking at her was enough to fire his need.

  "No! Paolo, a couple of guys from the State Department, the obligatory reporter or two… not this. This looks international, and it shouldn’t. You weren’t gone long enough for this. This will get in the way, Cam. I can’t… we can’t…"

  "Mr. Smith, Channel Eight News…"

  "Mr. Smith, World Express…"

  "Mr. Smith, XTI Radio. Is it true…"

  They could hear the various news teams beginning to identify themselves, shouting questions, vying with one another for first dibs on Cameron’s answers.

  Cameron pulled Acasia into his arms, touching her mouth with his. "Don’t think about it. We’ll work it out."

  "How?"

  How. A simple word. An equally simple question. The kind for which Cameron simply had no answer.

  The cockpit opened, and Julianna uncoiled her seventy–three–inch frame from its confines at the same moment that the first intruder came through the open door. With a quick push she shoved the newcomer inside, then followed him in and reached around to yank the cabin door shut. "Who left this open?"

  No one answered.

  The intruder shook the creases out of his cream–colored linen suit, and smoothed an olive hand through his disheveled array of curly dark hair.

  "Nice threads," Cameron volunteered, straight–faced.

  Ignoring him, Paolo stretched his neck painfully and turned to cast a pair of baleful brown eyes over his carrot–haired partner and pilot. "Remind me not to run into you alone in a dark alley."

  "You should be so lucky." Julianna jerked a thumb at the door. "It’s cook’s day off, you know. You might have rung ahead to say you were bringing company for tea."

  "Tea? Tea?" Paolo gritted his teeth. Patience was not a virtue available in large quantities among the partners at Futures and Securities, Inc. "Do you have any idea what I’ve dealt with since Monday? Zaragoza reported Smith killed, the wire services said he was kidnapped by a guerrilla band with expensive taste in cars—someone got video of that… that rescue stunt of yours, Jones—and I’ve got reporters up the wazoo because some rookie lunatic from Smith’s office sicced ’em on me." He glared at the three of them, and Julianna patted his arm and made sympathetic clucking noises.

  Acasia rubbed Cameron’s arm nervously. "Trouble," she muttered.

  "Appears so." His arm tightened around her. "I’m sorry, Casie."

  "Me, too, but all this coverage… my work… it could compromise everything I do."

  "You could give it up."

  "Just like that? Be realistic. I can’t quit. I don’t think it would help us right now, anyway."

  "There has to be a way."

  "Think of one. I’m game."

  "You guard bodies, right? Guard mine."

  "Too much exposure."

  "Not from my viewpoint."

  Acasia’s lips curved wryly. "Cute. Too much press."

  Cameron shrugged. "Made you smile."

  His knuckles scraped her jaw, and he drew her forward. Their mouths met, lingered. Then they released each other, withdrawing from such intolerable nearness.

  Dumbfounded, Paolo tried to form words, failed. He looked at Julianna, who blinked expressively. "What went on down there?"

  "The short version?"

  Paolo nodded.

  "Auld Lang Syne." The law according to Julianna: Never use ten words when three will do.

  Paolo bit back his anger. "So this has all been personal." He didn’t even make it a question.

  "Mmm."

  "Swell." He viewed Acasia through the veil of irritation he reserved for people he normally respected. "You generate any other Auld Lang Syne down there I should know about, Jones?"

  Acasia eyed him without a flicker. "What may or may not have happened of a personal nature on this trip is none of your business."

  "The hell it isn’t! Anything that interferes with your edge is my business. Anything."

  "There wasn’t any other choice. You said so yourself."

  "Nuts." Paolo made a gesture of frustration. "Well, I guess it’s a good thing you’re needed in Milan."

  "Milan?" Acasia’s jaw set. She knew that portion of the world rather
better than she liked. Paolo’s family was from Milan. Normally that wouldn’t have registered, but today Lisetta was as close to her as Cameron. "I’ve got a meeting in Costa Rica Friday afternoon."

  "Not anymore. I scrubbed it. The merchant banker’s kid disappeared again, and this time it looks real. DeSantes asked for you by name. And while you’re in the neighborhood, you can look in on the London office for a couple of years… sit at a desk, stay out of trouble. You—" he turned to Cameron "—have a lot of rubble to clear up. We’ve got a press conference to handle—there have been a lot of questions about the mine deal you went down there to set up. The State Department wants to get you debriefed pronto. They’ll start on you here and finish up in Washington."

  A hollow banging from outside drew his attention before he went on. "The press will ask how you got out of Zaragoza. Blame it on anyone but us. No names. I’ll be with you, but I’m a security consultant attached to your office, period."

  Outside, the noise escalated. Acasia carefully separated herself from Cameron.

  "This thing in Milan," Cameron said, and Acasia looked at him. "It’s a kidnapping?"

  She nodded.

  "Anything like mine?"

  "I hope not."

  His mouth tightened. "And what will you do about it?"

  "Work with our negotiator to get the victim home safely. I won’t know how till I get there." She turned to Paolo. "You booked my flight and brought my bag?"

  Paolo nodded. "And the case file. You’ve got an hour. Your flights go New York to Paris to Milan. Goddard will meet you."

  "Fine." Acasia peered blankly at the briefcase Paolo handed her, knowing how Cameron watched her, wishing she’d chosen to do anything else with her life. Wishing there had been another choice.

  "Acasia." There was a wealth of emotion in Cameron’s voice, and she shied away from it, keeping a tight rein on her control.

  "It’s what I do, Cam. I can’t walk away. People depend on me, on this business—and I believe in it. I won’t risk leaving it behind. I can’t. I have to go." She gazed steadily at him, and he returned the look.