Marked by Moonlight

by Sharie Kohler

  Then he kissed her.

  Claire stifled a moan of pleasure at the hard pressure of his lips on hers, forcing her lips to remain still and lifeless beneath his. His hands moved to her waist, slipping beneath her sundress to caress her back. The rough pads of his fingers feathered along her spine. Her skin broke out in goose bumps.

  The blood pounded in her head, urging her to respond, but she couldn’t give in. Not this time. She no longer had an excuse. There wasn’t a beast within her anymore demanding she obey primitive sexual urges. It was time to think logically and behave rationally.

  She shoved at his solid chest with the heels of her palms, arching her spine. His hands slid around to cup her breasts through the lacy cups of her bra, knocking her hands away. Her nipples hardened and puckered against his palms. His fingers dipped inside the lace, rolling over the tips until her breath quickened. She gripped the edge of the kitchen table behind her for support, gasping when he bent his head and lifted first one breast to his mouth, then the other, laving his velvet tongue over each rigid point before sucking them fully into the warmth of his mouth.

  Nothing could come of this.

  He didn’t really want her.

  Lifting his head, he kissed her again. She sealed her lips tightly against his. Her lips trembled from the effort. She had to stop—

  “Damn it,” he rasped against her mouth, “kiss me.” His fingers tightened on her shoulders. “Kiss me.”

  That broken plea was her undoing. With a strangled cry, she surrendered, looping her arms around his neck and returning his kiss. Just one last time. As the real Claire. Not the lycan.

  One more time, she vowed, and that would sustain her through the years ahead.

  Lips meshing, tongues tangling, he wedged his hands between them. He slid her panties down until they dropped to her ankles. Freeing himself from his jeans, he grabbed her waist and effortlessly lifted her off the floor. With one arm around her waist, he dropped her on the kitchen table, impaling her with one slick thrust.

  She gasped at his sudden fullness inside her, flattening her palms on the table and tilting her hips to meet his thrusts.

  He panted, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips as he thrust into her again and again.

  He dipped his head for another kiss, drinking long and deep from her mouth. Heat spiraled from within her, reaching every nerve ending in her body. They moved against each other wildly and her gasps grew louder, twisting into moans.

  “Come,” he growled into her ear, biting the lobe with his teeth. She shivered. Reaching between their bodies, he found her clit and rubbed. She shrieked, bucking beneath him. His fingers persisted, worked the sensitive spot as he moved in and out.

  The knot of tension within her burst. She collapsed back on the table in a shuddering heap, replete, sated, head spinning.

  Gideon surged inside her one final time before his head dropped against her neck. Neither moved for several moments. Claire wasn’t sure how long she stayed there, Gideon’s moist breath against her throat, the warm, musky scent of him filling her nostrils, him filling her. Her fingers trailed through the silky soft hair that brushed his neck.

  He pulled off the table, taking her with him, his voice a low rumble in her ears. “I know someplace more comfortable.”

  Claire didn’t object as he carried her upstairs. She studied the lines of his profile, the dark fringe of lashes, his square jaw, committing it all to memory. Pulling back the covers on his bed, he placed her in the middle and slid next to her, tucking her against his side.

  For a long time no words passed between them. She smiled dreamily and traced circles on his hard belly, afraid to break the spell. Closing her eyes, she let herself pretend this was permanent, forever, that this was home.

  Suddenly, he moved from her side to flip on the light. Then he was back, looming over her, staring at her so intently she felt her smile slip.

  “What?” She fidgeted nervously, feeling exposed and vulnerable beneath the light.

  “Your eyes.”

  Frowning, she pulled the covers up to her neck. “I know. Boring brown.”

  “No,” he said slowly, studying her eyes closely. “They have tiny flecks of gold around the center.” He pointed as if counting each tiny speck. “Amber,” he pronounced. “You have amber eyes.”

  No one had called her eyes amber before. No one had ever even bothered to look. She felt herself smile. Grabbing his face in her hands, she kissed him soundly.

  When she released him, he tugged her closer, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth as he shoved the covers aside. Cupping her bottom in both hands, he positioned himself between her thighs. She felt him hard and ready, nudging at her entrance.

  “Gideon,” she gasped when he ground himself against her. “Again?”

  Instead of answering, he lowered his head and took her nipple into his mouth. She arched, moaning as he tormented her with his tongue and teeth.

  “Gideon,” she begged, grabbing fistfuls of his hair.

  His hands slid along her thighs, guiding her legs around his waist, opening her wider. Slowly, he sank inside her. Her head flew off the bed with a gasp. He rested his forehead against hers, the searing intensity of his gaze penetrating her as thoroughly as his body did. Her heart swelled.

  This would be enough. This memory, this time with him would be enough. It had to be.

  She savored his body over hers, in hers, as he made love to her. Her hands and mouth caressed him, loving him, worshipping every line and hollow of him until they were both spent, exhausted. He flipped the light off before settling back into bed. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he spooned her.

  Her eyes drifted shut and for several moments she allowed her breathing to match his, the fall and rise of her chest mimicking his. Never in her life had she felt this close, this intimate, with another soul.

  “I love you, Claire.” The words were a whisper against her hair, barely audible, but she heard them, a painful echo of her heart’s sentiments.

  Only he didn’t really love her. How could he when he didn’t know her? He fell in love with the lycan. A wild creature of instinct. Not Claire.

  She waited until his breathing grew even and slow, certain he slept. Cautiously, she crept from the bed, freezing when a spring squeaked. She glanced at his profile. God, he was beautiful.

  When he didn’t stir, she gathered her clothes and left, slipping silently from the house and vanishing into the moonlit night.

  “Cooper,” Gideon greeted, halting his flight down the stairs as he spotted his friend kicked back in his recliner eating the last of his Pringles.

  “You’re out of Cheetos,” Cooper complained.

  Gideon glared at him and forced himself to stroll into the living room like nothing was wrong. Like Claire hadn’t crept off in the middle of the night. Like he hadn’t woken up to a cold, empty bed. “I haven’t been to the store lately.”

  Cooper’s gaze narrowed as he eyed Gideon. “You look like hell.”

  Gideon snorted and plucked the can of Pringles from Cooper’s hands. “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet. You could have waited a little longer before dropping by.”

  Biting into a chip, Gideon dropped down on the couch and tried to pretend as if nothing was wrong, that he wasn’t suffering, that Claire’s leaving didn’t hurt. That he wasn’t dying inside.

  “I suppose wiping out half a pack of lycans in a single evening might zap your strength.”

  Gideon stuck another chip in his mouth, shrugging. “I had some help.”

  “Yeah, your lycan buddies.”

  “Claire’s not a lycan.” Gideon was quick to interject.

  “Yeah, not anymore.” Cooper glanced around the living room. “So, where is the woman of the hour?”

  Again, Gideon shrugged, forcing his eyes to the television. He didn’t want Cooper to glimpse any of the torment that simple question elicited.

  “You don’t know?” Cooper scratched his
head. “After everything you did for her, I thought you two would be setting up house, picking out tea towels, china patterns. That’s actually what brought me here.” Cooper leaned forward in his chair. “You know NODEAL doesn’t allow married agents. No live-in girlfriends. Emotional entanglements can jeopardize security. So let’s clear the air now.” Cooper paused, his look grave. “How serious are you about her?”

  Gideon looked at Cooper blankly, wondering what he would think if he knew Claire had left him already. Instead of directly answering, he said, “I didn’t really think staying an agent was an option. Didn’t you fire me?”

  Cooper shook his head as if it had all been a misunderstanding. “If you want back in just say the word.”

  Gideon mulled over Cooper’s words before saying, “No. I’m finished.”

  Cooper leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Mind telling why?”

  Gideon leaned back on the couch, his stomach churning at the thought of giving up all he had ever known. If not a lycan hunter, then what was he? Vengeance had been his companion for so long now. But a life of destroying lycans left him hollow inside. Helping Claire, falling in love with Claire, had filled him with a purpose. Shit. And now she didn’t even want him.

  “If I were to continue hunting, things would have to change. I couldn’t do things NODEAL’s way anymore. I wouldn’t want to simply destroy. If the chance arose, I’d want to save the infected, too.”

  Cooper leaned forward, punching a button on the remote control. The television snapped off. “What’s really eating you? I’m not surprised about your wanting to quit NODEAL. You’ve broken every code, done everything possible to sabotage your job.” He looked around the room again, this time his tone insistent as he asked, “Where’s Claire?”

  Gideon stared at his bare feet propped on the coffee table, hating the vulnerability gnawing at him as he confessed, “I don’t know. At her apartment, I guess. She left last night.”

  “Uh-oh. What’d you do?”

  Gideon blinked. “Me?” He pointed to his chest. “I didn’t do anything.” At Cooper’s skeptical look, Gideon added, “I told her I love her.”

  “And she took off?”

  “Yeah.”

  Cooper grunted. Shaking his head, he stood up to leave. “You went through a lot of trouble to keep that woman alive.” He paused, his eyes drilling into Gideon relentlessly.

  “Guess she doesn’t want anything to do with me now that the curse is broken,” Gideon said, despising the anguish he heard in his voice.

  Cooper shook his head. “Sure looked like she loved you from where I stood.”

  “Yeah, well, you know about love as much as I do.”

  Cooper approached him and squeezed his shoulder. “Stop being an ass. Love makes people do stupid things, even run from the person they want most. Now go get her.”

  Claire stood in her apartment doorway and stared at the deliveryman in front of her, a heavyset, balding man with a thick Italian accent who pronounced her last name with a silent g. Moron. Sadly appropriate.

  What had she been thinking last night, going to bed with Gideon? She might have fallen in love with him, but he hadn’t fallen in love with her. Not the true her.

  Depressed, Claire took solace in food—even as she knew her days of unlimited eating were over.

  She took a risk ordering delivery from Angelo’s since they never got the order right, but she hadn’t felt like leaving her apartment. Just to be safe, Claire had made the old lady repeat her order over the phone. Maybe this once it would be right.

  As she studied the green paper receipt in her hand and read the scrawling handwriting, her hope died a swift death. Once again, she didn’t get what she had ordered. As in life.

  She wasn’t going to dig into her favorite baked ziti and Caesar salad. Nope. Instead, it was to be veal Parmesan and house salad.

  Claire fumbled inside her wallet, her movements jerky. The telephone started to ring, but she ignored it.

  Suddenly, she paused, fingers tightening on the bills as she looked up at the bored-looking deliveryman holding out the brown paper bag of food to her.

  “You know,” she began slowly, “I ordered baked ziti and a Caesar salad.” She held out the green paper receipt to verify her claim.

  He took it from her and squinted. “Says here you ordered the veal.”

  “Yes, I know what it says,” she drew out her words, “but I know what I ordered. Baked ziti and Caesar salad.”

  He looked from the receipt to her again, asking in his thick accent, “You’re saying you don’t want it?” He held up the bag of food.

  “I want ziti,” she clearly enunciated each word, hoping to get her point across.

  He frowned and grumbled, “What am I going do with the veal?”

  “I don’t know,” she snapped. “Use it to wax your car for all I care. All I know is that I ordered baked ziti. I’ll pay for baked ziti. I’ll eat baked ziti.” She pointed to the bag. “Not that.”

  Maybe it was silly to take a stand over such a trivial thing, but she’d suffered enough disappointments lately. A woman nursing a broken heart had a right to the comfort food of her own choice. And if Claire couldn’t take a stand over something so minor, then she really was the same old mousy Claire.

  “I’m not coming back here again tonight,” he warned, waving the bag of food between them. “Take the veal, lady, or—”

  “I’m not,” Claire said between her teeth, “taking the veal.” That said, she firmly closed the door in his face.

  She stood there a moment, leaning against the door’s solid length, breathing unusually fast, knowing that she had just done a hell of a lot more than take a stand over an incorrect order of food. Staring down at her shaking hands, she felt a smile tug her lips. Suddenly, she was seized with confidence.

  I’m fine. Strong. Not the mouse. But not the beast either.

  For the first time in her life, she was exactly what she should be.

  Herself. The person she was meant to be before she allowed fear to rule her. Maybe turning into a lycan, even for a short time, had been a blessing. She’d been given the gift of herself. She’d been given Gideon.

  That had been the real Claire who shot Cyril, the real Claire conquering the beast that urged her to feed. The lycan had tried to claim her, but she won.

  And she was the woman Gideon wanted. Even loved. At least before she snuck off in the middle of the night like a coward.

  Pushing off the door, she headed for the shower.

  She had just concluded she wasn’t a coward.

  Time to prove it.

  “Claire!” Gideon pounded on her apartment door until his knuckles stung.

  The neighbor across the way cracked open his door to glare at him.

  “What?” Gideon snapped with enough heat to send the neighbor ducking back inside his apartment.

  “You can’t avoid me forever,” he called through the door, hands braced on either side of the frame. “Open the damn door.”

  With a growl, he went around the back and entered her apartment through the sliding glass door—again. The sight of Claire walking out of her bedroom, rubbing her wet hair with a towel, greeted him.

  She spied him just as he slid the door shut. “Gideon!” She hopped in surprise. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. Can’t you knock like a normal person?”

  “I did knock.”

  She blinked those wide amber eyes of hers at him. “You could have waited for me to answer then.”

  He marched toward her, immediately catching a whiff of clean shampoo and raspberry soap. “I’ve been out there for five minutes. I waited long enough.”

  He scanned the terry robe—the same one she wore that first night. God, was that only a month ago? He’d lived a lifetime since then. He’d let go of the past, of his need for solitude, and fallen in love. With Claire. With beautiful, feisty Claire. He couldn’t let her go. He should have known it would come down to this that first night.
His inability to pull the trigger had been the first clue.

  She tugged the towel from her head. “What are you doing here?”

  He focused on her face, resisting the urge to tear the robe off her and do what his body longed. They needed to talk first. Then they could move on to more pleasurable activities and get on with their lives. Together.

  “You didn’t really think we were finished, did you?” At her blank look, he continued. “No good-bye, no note, no phone call. Nothing. I woke up and you were gone.” He hated the hurt and accusation in his voice, hated to reveal his vulnerability.

  She turned away and sank down on the couch, holding her robe carefully together at her shapely knees. With a searching look, she asked, “Why are you here, Gideon? Because I didn’t tell you good-bye?”

  “Claire, I—” He swallowed and tried again. “I—”

  She waved a hand to silence him. “Don’t. You don’t have to say anything. I shouldn’t have taken off like that. It was wrong. Cowardly.” She took a deep breath. “In truth, I was coming to see you.”

  “You were?”

  She stood up and paced the small living room, twisting her fingers. “To apologize,” she explained. Her amber gaze reached inside him and twisted his guts even tighter, bleeding his heart dry. “You’ve done so much for me, you deserved better than me taking off like that.”

  Shit. More gratitude. Gideon thought he might be sick. He didn’t want her damned gratitude. She made it sound like he had provided some kind of service for her. Everything he had done was because he wanted to, because he had to…because he loved her.

  “No,” Gideon pronounced, voice hard and firm. In two long strides he crossed the short distance separating them, grabbed her by the shoulders, and gave her a little shake, “Stop being so goddamned grateful.” He dropped his forehead to hers and inhaled deeply. “I know you, Claire Morgan.”

  Her wide eyes blinked at him, but she didn’t say a word. He gave her another small shake, willing her to speak. “And you’re not getting rid of me.”