Heat

I sleep the rest of the day. When I wake up, it’s dark outside, which means it’s after nine at night. Moon enters the room as soon as I exit the bathroom. The only light is the glow from the bathroom because I couldn’t find any other light switch.

  “You’re walking around again,” he says by way of greeting.

  “I’m trying to figure out how to turn on the damn lights,” I respond in frustration.

  He walks back to the bedroom doors, opens a panel that looks like part of the wall, and turns on soft lighting that displays the artwork on the walls. It’s a beautiful way to light a room.

  “I need to walk around,” I say. “My muscles are sore and I need to use them.”

  He moves closer and his voice gentles. “Would you like to take a walk outside?” This caring side of him does indecent things to my sex organs.

  I pull the material at the top of the dress shirt I’m wearing out a bit. Moon’s eyes follow my hand. “This is all I’ve been given to wear.” I don’t mention that I have nothing under the shirt because he already knows.

  His gaze slowly sweeps my body before rising to meet my eyes. “Gabriella placed clothes in the closet for you. Change and I will take you for a short walk.”

  We stand there without moving. I want to unbutton his shirt. I want to see his eyes go dark. I want him to touch me and help me forget about the world outside of the compound walls.

  So many questions have flashed through my mind since waking up a short time ago. How was Penny killed? Where is her body? What’s been going on with Kennedy while I slept the day away? I need to ask and yet I don’t want to know. Hiding is so unlike me and I have no idea why I feel this way.

  Moon takes the last few steps between us and grasps my chin with his fingers. “You need to be well before you worry about all the things going through your mind right now.”

  He’s done it again. “How do you do that? Read my thoughts, I mean.”

  I get his intensity. “You are so very easy to read, Madison. Your face gives everything away.” His thumb glides across my cheek and along my jaw. “Your expression changes with your thoughts.” He rubs the corner of my lips. “And here. Your mouth goes soft or tight. Right now, your lips are pouty.” His thumb sweeps all the way across my mouth. “Your lips… I’m afraid they are my undoing.”

  I don’t think pouty lips are really a compliment—touch says differently. I need him to kiss me and take away my scattered thoughts. Instead, he releases my chin and his fingers skim across my neck, over my shoulder, and down my arm until he weaves his fingers through mine. His touch leaves a trail of fire behind. “Would you like me to help you dress?” His eyes turn smoky blue.

  Undress. Now. With him watching. It’s what I want, though not what I say. “Give me a few minutes.” The corner of his lips quirk. He knows I want him, and somehow I need to guard my expressions from this man. As a cop, I prided myself on my ability to hide emotion.

  He leads me to the closet and touches a softly lit panel twice. It increases the lighting in small increments. He lifts my hand and kisses the back of my fingers. Why is this such a turn on? If a woman told me that a man kissed the backs of her fingers, I’d think it hokey. With Moon, it’s sexy and chivalrous. He releases me, walks to one of the drawers, and opens it slightly.

  “You should have what you need to get started. More items are in the drawers below, shoes are to the side, and some things are hanging.” He walks to the closet entrance. “I have a phone conference at midnight, so we don’t have much time. Dress quickly.”

  I can only nod. He leaves me to dress. There is no clock in his room, and not knowing the time is driving me crazy. I also need to ask about my phone. No, that would be his phone—my phone was lost inside Sally somewhere. And my gun. I cannot forget to ask about my gun.

  I peer into the drawer he opened and blush. It’s filled with intimates. Each is a matching set in different colors—red, dark blue, black, pink, and yellow. I lift one bra and see it’s my exact size. I so hope it was Gabriella who shopped; I can’t help wondering if they had to twist her arm to persuade her to do it. I close the drawer so I can check the next one. Colorful tees fill it. The drawer below holds shorts and cargo pants. The bottom drawer has socks. I glance around the closet and see delicate blouses and several sundresses hanging beside Moon’s casual clothes. The cubbyholes beside the drawers are filled with clear shoeboxes and I pull one out. Strappy red sandals. I slept through Gabriella bringing in an entire wardrobe. I should feel angry that Moon bought all these items. I decide to be angry later and for now just take advantage of the chance to move around.

  I remove Moon’s dress shirt and let it drop to the floor. I very carefully pull a pale blue tee over my head and step into a pair of white shorts. Minus socks, I slip on a pair of white deck shoes and take a minute to look in the full-length wall mirror. You can only describe how I look above the neck as face meets brick wall. I don’t waste time examining what I can’t change. Below the neck, I’m toned and have pale skin, large breasts, and long legs. I work at this body. Not for looks, but for taking care of business. I’m in shape, athletic, and like to think I can kick ass when needed.

  Without saying a word to Moon, I walk into the bathroom. I brush my teeth and then use his hairbrush, but a war with my hair is one I can’t win right now. My hair is a tangled mess and needs deep conditioner and a fine comb. I give up. Hopefully, after our walk, Moon will give me something more substantial to eat than soup and crackers. A side of beef sounds good right now. After one last look and cringe at the mirror, I leave the room.

  Moon is sitting in one of two chairs in a corner grouping when I walk out. He stands and puts his hand out to me. It feels natural when his fingers weave through mine. Moon gives a small tug and leads me from the room.

  “What time is it?” I ask as his other hand grasps my forearm when we walk down the stairs. The house is completely quiet and semi-dark. The soft lights accent the artwork like they do in his bedroom.

  “Ten thirty. I thought we could take a short walk and then make sandwiches if that sounds good.”

  I manage the stairs with no dizziness. I’m doing so much better, though I can feel the after effects of the pain meds. “Eating a five-course meal sounds good right now.”

  “Tomorrow, Gabriella can accommodate you. We’re pushing my cooking limits even with a sandwich.”

  He leads me past the front room and into the back of the house. A pool table is in one room and a huge television and comfortable-looking chairs in another. It looks like a movie screening room, but he is holding my hand and walking me past everything too quickly for me to get a good look. It’s hard not to gawk. We pass a dining room with a table made for more people than I can count before we enter the kitchen. I stop and Moon releases my hand. It’s an incredible room. Oak sliding doors take up one complete wall. The center island has a triple sink and butcher-block countertop. There are two complete cooking ranges on the far wall and two stacked, built-in ovens beside them. Accent lighting shows off the tasteful kitchen art and the small stainless steel appliances on the marble countertops.

  “Would you like to eat before our walk?”

  I’m starving, so it’s an easy answer. There’s an alcove with two chairs on one side, one at either end, and a bench seat in the back, which is where Moon leads me.

  “You sit, I’ll prep.” He walks over to the oak doors and slides them back to reveal a floor-to-ceiling refrigerator. He removes what he needs and places the items on the center island. “I’m a horrible cook, but sandwiches, I can manage. Gabriella keeps me fed or I would be nothing but skin and bones.”

  I watch him work. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, and I wonder what deal he made with the devil to get his flawless skin. He has the perfectly manicured scruff on his jaw, and if I hadn’t touched it already, I would think it painted on. His gray trousers are tailored to give him ease of movement and also complement his physique. I’m jealous of his fucking pants. I want to slide my hands over what’s
underneath.

  He cuts the sub rolls lengthwise with a look of concentration on his face. His features stay that way until he glances over to me and a boyish grin appears. “I’ve never had anyone watch before. Am I doing it right?”

  He’s doing it exactly right. My thighs are clenched tight, my new panties damp, and I have flutters in my belly. “Perfect,” I tell him.

  “Do you have a preference?”

  My eyes slowly travel from his black shoes up to his face.

  “Meat? Vegetables?” he clarifies. His eyes are doing the dark thing again and his boyish grin disappears as he studies me.

  I push aside the fact that my face and hair are a mess. I want one night. One night of not thinking about crime, or death, or doing the right thing. I inhale slowly. It’s a night I can’t afford to take. I know if I do, there will be no going back.

  “Everything,” I tell him. His eyes go dark.

  It’s my turn to qualify. “The sandwich, just put everything on it, please.”

  He finishes making our sandwiches. The entire process is calm and methodical and seems to be a fundamental part of him. He returns the mayo, mustard, and assorted lunch meats to the fridge. He removes two plates from a cabinet and places the sandwiches on top. He fills two glasses of water, snags a bag of chips from another cupboard, and makes two trips to the table to place everything on it.

  “Eat while I clean up. I know you’re hungry.”

  I grab my sandwich with both hands. “I’m surprised you don’t save the dishes for someone else.” The sandwich smells delicious, but then liver would smell good right now and I hate liver.

  “My mother would have had me horsewhipped. She came from a proud Mexican family where boys were revered and girls slaved away all day. She hated every minute of it. From the beginning, she informed my father that he would clean up his own mess. To her family, she was quite the rebel.”

  “Where’s your mother now?” I ask before really thinking about the question.

  He doesn’t pause in wiping up the mess, but his shoulders tense. “That’s not table conversation.” I detect a very slight hitch in his voice and don’t push.

  He puts everything away and joins me. I try to lighten the mood while he attacks his sandwich. “Shame on you for not eating dinner.”

  He has refined manners for a criminal and chews and swallows before answering. It reminds me that his father was a doctor. “I ate a small dinner because I was hoping you’d be hungry when you woke up.”

  His response jumbles my thoughts and my heartbeat accelerates. He wanted to eat with me. “The drugs knocked me out all day,” I manage to say without sounding as breathless as I actually am.

  “Sleep is good. Your body needs to heal. Carlo will swing by tomorrow and check you out. We’ll wash your hair after he leaves.”

  I don’t want to be reminded of my hair. “As long as he comes early.”

  “I’ll be sure to inform him of your calendar,” he teases.

  I’ve taken another bite, and I need to swallow and take a drink of water before I can answer. “Does Dr. Santos have an actual office?” I admit the doctor was kind, I just can’t help thinking that he removes bullets and things like that so the authorities don’t find out.

  Moon surprises me with his answer. “He’s a pediatric oncologist and works at the children’s hospital.”

  If I’d taken another bite, I’d have choked. “You’re serious.”

  “Yes. My father helped him go to medical school, so Carlo helps me out from time to time. I don’t use him often because I won’t take a chance that he loses his medical license.”

  Moon is constantly throwing me off stride. He doesn’t deny that he’s involved in criminal activity, and I’m perplexed. “You never hide who you are from me.”

  He places the remaining half of his sandwich on his plate and steeples his fingers. “If I did, would you see me as someone different? Someone you could be seen in public with?” I sense a touch of bitterness to his tone, and I remember the other night when he got angry.

  I tell him the truth, though it’s difficult because I don’t want him angry again. “No. I would still know who you are.”

  His eyes intensify and his voice turns to the smooth whiskey I heard the first time he spoke to me. “Then I’d prefer to be honest.” He picks up his sandwich and resumes eating it.

  I went into law enforcement thinking that normal people are basically honest. I learned quickly that it’s far from the truth. Or maybe it’s that cops don’t deal with normal people very often. Ten percent of the people do one hundred percent of the crime. Not always true, but close. During my first year of bright-eyed enthusiasm, I caught so many people in lies that I became as jaded as my fellow officers—us and them and learned to expect a lie. It’s sad, really, that most officers go into law enforcement to help society. When you’re knocked over the head day after day with all that’s bad in this world, it’s hard not to become cynical. By the time I served three years in law enforcement, I hated talking to bright-eyed, save the world rookies. They reminded me of who I was. And, still, I miss every minute of wearing blue.

  My mood is somber as I finish my sandwich, have a few chips, and drink my water. “I’ll clear the table,” I say as I start to rise.

  “No, you’ll stay seated while I do it.” Moon’s tone warns me not to argue.

  Too bad I don’t take orders from him. “We’re going for a walk in a few minutes. I’m more than capable of clearing the table of a few dishes.”

  He wipes his mouth on his napkin without releasing my gaze. “I’ll be holding your hand during the walk. I’m worried about your double concussion. If you wish to argue, we can return to my room.”

  He’s accustomed to getting his way. My head is fine and I feel so much better now that I’ve eaten. The last thing I want is to go back to his room. Danger lies in that direction. I want him too damn much and need to stay away from anything remotely resembling a bed. “You clear and I’ll sit here and twiddle my thumbs like a good little invalid.”

  He shakes his head without smiling. I watch as he clears the table and puts our plates in the dishwasher. It’s not so bad, really. I have time to admire his perfect male body doing kitchen duty. So, not a hardship.

  Chapter Seventeen