A touch of light is shining through the shutters when the top half of me is partially lifted and pills are placed at my lips. I’m awake enough to know that everything hurts.
“Drink,” Moon whispers in my ear.
I drink. A few minutes later, I drift off again. Moon wakes me up several times that I remember. My bladder is what wakes me this time. I need to pee, badly. Moon isn’t in bed and the area leading into the bathroom is dark. The shutters still block most of the sun, but I can tell it’s no longer morning. I stand up and wobble so much I place my hand on the bed for balance. I use the bed as a crutch and walk around it. Taking a breath, I stand straight to be sure I can. My back, arms, shoulder, and face ache. I guess it’s to be expected.
Moon’s bedroom is massive. It takes exactly eighteen steps to reach the bathroom. Three sinks are around the corner. I used one last night, or I guess it was very early this morning. The sinks are beautiful with custom faucets and dried flowers in beautifully decorated large urns. I barely noticed them last night. There’s a shower and the separate jetted tub. His bathroom is larger than my entire living room. I hold the wall as I walk into the small room with the toilet and do my business. I look into the mirror after washing my hands and try not to break down in tears. I have two black eyes, a black and blue nose, and a forehead that’s several colors in between. My nose is swollen and the damn thing hurts when I touch it. Note to self: Don’t touch nose. I suck in several breaths while rotating my shoulder. Sore I can handle, and I’m lucky that the pain is in the acceptable scale. Of one to ten, it’s a four. I lift the long dress shirt and see a bruise on my hip. It looks worse than it feels. If I take my entire body into account, I’m at about a five.
I return to the bedroom on steadier feet. My clothes are nowhere to be found, so I head to the closet. It’s massive just like everything else in the room. Built-in cabinets separate his dress clothes from his casual attire. Even his ironed T-shirts are hung up. I don’t see a hamper for dirty laundry. I’m turning in a circle to decide what I should commandeer when Moon walks in so quietly I don’t hear him.
My heart skips a beat when he sighs. “You should be in bed. Doctor’s orders.” He’s so large and his quick stride in my direction makes me panic. I wrap my arms around my middle and take a step back. It’s usually hard to intimidate me, so I’m not sure why I’m reacting this way. At my retreat, he stops and places his hands in his pockets.
“You okay?” he asks in a gentler voice.
I would swear he tames lions for a living. He reads the small nuances of body language that most people miss. Is it because, like a cop, he lives on the edge? He’s about three feet away and his musky cologne drifts over me. I noticed the scent when I first entered the closet. I almost grabbed some of his clothes and buried my nose in them. With him so close, the fragrance is stronger, and I fill my lungs.
“Madison?”
I scramble for something to say. “I need clothes.” I also need to take control of this situation. It sucks that my defenses are completely down.
His voice lowers. “You need to be in bed recuperating. Let me help you.”
He’s giving me space and asking instead of demanding. I draw in a breath and exhale slowly to calm myself. I’m being ridiculous. I drop my gaze and notice the rolled up sleeves that display his forearms. His size alone is intimidating, but his casual stance says I won’t hurt you. I glance up and his eyes quiet my fear. They speak a thousand words—I came when you needed me. I won’t hurt you. Trust me.
How can I resist his eyes? “I…I’m sorry,” I stammer.
He steps closer and places his hands on my cheeks. They’re warm and non-threatening. He tilts my head back, and I remember how horrible I look. He leans in and kisses the top of my forehead at my hairline directly above the stitches. My stomach flip-flops. I fight not to grab the front of his shirt and hang on for dear life. He smells delicious, looks like a dark God, and I want to lick the pulse of his throat before I bite it.
Can he read my thoughts? He gives nothing away. The gentleness he shows me is at complete odds with what I know of him. What happened last night swirls through my head. I want to forget the bad things—being forced off the road, my vulnerability, Penny’s death. It’s too much right now.
“Come on, I’m putting you back to bed.” He hooks his arm around my back and guides me in that direction. I’m weak when I need to be strong. “Besides clothes, what do you need?” he asks while pulling the sheet over me.
I need answers about what happened to Penny. I need to grow a set of balls and insist on talking to the police. I need to place Moon back in the tidy little box that’s labeled, Criminal, don’t touch. Even after sleeping most of the day, I’m too tired to say any of these things. “Toothbrush, food, and a drink of water.” My eyes feel so heavy. My jumbled thoughts are exhausting me.
Moon reaches for the bedside phone, picks it up, and speaks to someone in Spanish. I watch dreamily as he walks away from the bed, enters the bathroom, and returns a few minutes later. He’s carrying a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a cup. He rests them on the nightstand beside the bed.
He helps me sit and places an extra pillow behind my back. After putting a small amount of toothpaste on the toothbrush, he hands it to me. I don’t look at him while I brush my teeth. He’s too close, and even though we shared a bath last night, this seems somehow more personal. I eventually look up and he hands me the cup to spit. After he takes the item back to the bathroom, he returns and nudges me over with his hip so he can sit.
He pushes my hair behind my shoulders. “How are you feeling?”
The words spill out before I can stop them. “Sore, ugly… dirty,” I add. So very, very dirty. My actions caused the death of an innocent person, and I’m lying in the bed of a criminal trying to keep my sexual thoughts at bay. If that isn’t dirty, I don’t know what is.
Moon rubs the back of his neck in agitation. His eyes go darker and his jaw tightens. “Sore is to be expected,” he finally says. “Gabriella will bring pain medicine with lunch.” His fingers glide up my arm, over my collarbone, and to my throat. I receive a ghost of a grin. “You’re beautiful even with two black eyes.” He stares at me for a long moment before continuing. “Dirty? Never,” he says softly. I want to believe him. His thumb skims my lower lip, and he stares into my eyes.
A snapshot of him running his soapy hands over my body forms in my mind and I blush. He leans in and touches his lips to mine. Short and sweet. He pulls away and I want more. He sits back and appraises me while I notice that his eyes have changed subtly. They’re darker and if possible, sexier.
“My hair is dirty,” I lie. “I need to wash it.” So stupid. I just can’t tell him that the dirt is in my soul.
Moon gives me an exasperated look. He doesn’t believe me, and I’m surprised when he allows my lie to pass. “Tomorrow, we’ll wash your hair. Carlo said you were to keep the sutures dry. We can most likely use the sink and not give him a reason to yell at me.”
I so badly want him to smile. It’s as if his smiles change me physically. After two knocks on the door, Moon stands and walks toward it. Before he reaches it, Gomez enters followed by an older woman. Her slightly stooped shoulders, gray hair, and small frame make her appear frail. Then I see her eyes. They’re dark, practically black. I can tell that she dislikes that I’m here. It’s more than evident by the angry look she throws me. She’s carrying a food tray and makes an unpleasant noise in her throat when Gomez walks over and kisses my cheek. He straightens and rolls his eyes at the woman’s obvious distress. I’m so surprised that he kissed me with Moon standing so close that I’m speechless. Gomez smiles and heat rises in my cheeks. He’s wearing a white dress shirt minus his suit jacket. A shoulder holster is strapped on his chest, which is something you don’t often see in Arizona. The only time I’ve seen one is when two detectives visited from back east. In the West, we carry our guns on our hips. It’s like the law.
Gomez gives me a sexy, killer smile when he sees my a
ppraisal. The heat in my face goes up several degrees. The woman says something in Spanish, and Gomez turns and takes the tray from her. She removes a pitcher of water and what turns out to be my pills. She carries them toward the bed and rests them on the nightstand. She fills my nighttime glass with water, but she doesn’t hand these things to me. She gives them to Moon. She’s closer to me now and examines my face. I’m at a loss when she makes the sign of the cross on her chest while speaking rapid Spanish to Moon. He responds, and she shakes her head and crosses herself again. She throws up her hands, says something angrily, and then leaves the room.
Moon’s lips quirk and I almost get a smile. “Gabriella wants you to take your medicine, eat all your food, and rest so you can leave as soon as possible.”
“That bad?”
“She thinks you look like a raccoon. For Gabriella, that’s a compliment.”
I look toward Gomez, who is still holding the tray. His lips are compressed so he doesn’t laugh.
“I give raccoons a bad name, and she shouldn’t be insulting them,” I growl softly.
Gomez laughs outright and carries the tray closer.
Moon hands me the pills and water, which I swallow without argument. I’ve been through recuperation on my shoulder and learned to stay on top of the pain. Like most good lessons, I learned the hard way.
Moon removes an orange stoneware bowl from the tray. Whatever it is, it smells heavenly.
“Soup,” he informs me. “And crackers,” he adds.
I take a long draw from the water, emptying the glass. He hands me the bowl and then takes the entire tray from Gomez. He gives his friend a look that I can’t decipher.
“Thank you, Alex. I’ll be down when Madison finishes her lunch.”
Gomez nods and leaves the room without looking at me again.
“Eat,” Moon commands.
“Yes, sir,” I clip back. This gains me not so much as a semi-grin. He’s so intense right now.
He places the tray next to my hip and picks up a cracker, nibbling it while I dig into the soup. “It’s good,” I say between bites. Nope, I will not watch his lips move over that cracker or think about licking the small crumb at the edge of his mouth.
The soup is absolutely delicious. I glance up and watch Moon lick the crumb from his lips. My inner thighs tingle. I’m banged up and not feeling well, and I still want to run my hands across the stubbly line of his jaw and lick his mouth.
“Albondigas,” he says. I have no idea what he’s talking about and give him a confused look. “The soup. It’s albondigas,” he offers.
Just his mouth saying the word “albondigas” is more than my over-sexed thoughts can handle. Soup dribbles from my chin, and before I can stop him, Moon wipes it with a napkin. He’s close, so close, and it makes me nervous. I want him so very badly. “I’ve heard of albondigas but never realized it was soup.”
He pulls away. “Such a white girl thing to say. You don’t speak Spanish either, do you?”
His eyes are mesmerizing. I swear the silver streaks come and go with his moods. “Only English. I took French in school and I can’t speak a word of it.”
“En outre, nous sommes des hommes, et après tout c'est notre affaire à risquer notre vie,” he recites in better French than my instructor used. Is there anything this man cannot do?
“I have no idea what you just said.” I’ve stopped eating, and I’m completely fixated on his mouth.
“It’s a quote from The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas. ‘Besides we are men, and after all it is our business to risk our lives.’ I enjoy his books.”
I’m caught off guard. He fucking quotes Dumas in French. “You read?”
And it happens. His head tilts back and he laughs. I can see his perfectly white teeth and the wide expanse of his neck. The reserve he controls so tightly is gone.
I once asked my mother what first attracted her to my father. She said it was his eyes—the kindness in his eyes. Moon has intense eyes—blue and mystic, treacherous and deadly, sensual and all-knowing. His eyes alone draw me in. Then, he laughs. It’s more than a sexy sound. It’s sex that punches between my thighs so I’m riding the vibration. It’s deep and uncontrolled; a veritable thrust of sound that heats my blood.
That’s not all I’m aware of as I watch him surrender to a side I’m sure few people see. To understand the complexity that is Moon, you need to appreciate the entire package. His mind is sharp and he reads people easily. I swear he sees inside my brain and plucks out my thoughts. His skin is smoke; it’s the only way to describe it now that I’ve had time to examine him. If I knew nothing about Moon and saw him on the street, I would think Hawaiian or Samoan. He’s exotic, and his eyes grab you first. Blue eyes have never been my thing, but his have changed my mind. And the word “kind” can’t be used in conjunction with Moon’s eyes. Then, sometimes, when he looks at me, they go steamy hot. The kind of hot that says I want to lick you from the bottom to the top and then eat you slowly. So slowly, you won’t stop screaming until you’re completely undone. But even with all that, it’s his magical laughter that captivates me. I think I fall the tiniest bit in love with his laugh.
The world is a cruel place. I’m an ex-cop with a cop’s superior attitude. Moon is a criminal and controls a criminal empire. Wanting him as badly as I do is playing havoc with my soul.
Chapter Sixteen