Heat: An Alpha Male Criminal Romance (A Hotter Than Hell Novel Book 1) (16 page)

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

MOON LEADS ME THROUGH
his oasis in the desert. We left by an outside door off the kitchen. We walk around to the front of the house first so he can show me the fountain, which is lit up with multi-colored lights. It’s beautiful, and we stand and admire it for several minutes. Moon holds my hand the entire time.

“Come on, I’ll show you the rest.”

The sprinkler system comes on when we reach the side of the house. Water sprays the flowers and shrubs, circulating the amazing natural smells of the Arizona outdoors. I feel like I could be strolling through the Botanical Gardens right now, making it easy to forget why I’m here. The colorful accent lights add a bewitching quality to the trails. Yes, I said trails. There are several. The one we’re on is paved with flagstone. The others appear to be fine rock or possibly shale. The outside temperature is hot, but not sun-beating-down-on-you hot. I’d say the upper eighties or low nineties. With the low humidity it’s downright comfortable.

We walk silently past an Olympic-sized pool that looked almost too inviting to resist. About five minutes into our walk, we cross paths with one of Moon’s men, who is walking the inside perimeter about twenty feet from us. He nods and continues his patrol. I notice a slight bulge on his hip and know that he’s armed. What surprises me is that he’s not carrying a semi-automatic rifle or light machine gun. Those weapons seem more in tune with Moon’s lifestyle.

“How many acres do you own?” I ask to take my mind off why he needs guards in the first place. My voice is loud in the quiet night.

“A little over twenty. There’s a hundred-yard perimeter outside the fence.”

I store that info in the cop slot of my brain. “I’ve driven past here a thousand times and always thought of it as a compound. Something like Warren Jeffs’ place in Texas.”

That earns me a chuckle. His arm sweeps up and he gestures around the area. “Hmm. No school houses or churches, so I don’t think my home qualifies.”

“I can’t help my thoughts,” I chide gently. “You were the subject of one of my police academy classes. I pictured you as a villain with retractable horns and a spiked tail.”

His laughter fills the night, causing tingles to run across my skin. He squeezes my hand a little tighter, and I want him to stop walking, take me in his arms, and kiss me. To my disappointment, we continue our stroll. “I’m the soul of propriety—every woman’s dream and I have no idea how those thoughts entered your pretty little, thumb twiddling, brain.”

“Modest too,” I tease. This conversation is so… normal.

My teasing earns a reward. In one fluid move, he stops and pulls me into his chest. We’re in the shadows and even though I know he has guards, I feel that we’re the only two people inside his walled paradise. His lips are gentle. His hands go to my ribcage beside my breasts while he licks and tastes my lips. His thumbs glide across the material of my shirt in a soft caress over my breasts, though not quite touching my nipples. The kiss remains playful and I want sensual. I try to angle my head, but he moves with me and keeps things light and flirty. I moan into his mouth and receive a small answering groan.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask throatily after he releases my lips and places light kisses along my jaw.

“Because you always taste so damn good,” he says on a slow breath. His teeth scrape where his lips left a burning trail of fire. “Here too.” He bites down on the tendon of my neck and my body heads into the danger zone. The zone that says,
Fuck me and please make it good
.

I lift my hands to his jaw and run my fingers over the sexy scruff. It sidetracks me from what he’s doing until he slides his hands between us and cups my breasts. Now, his thumbs rub across my nipples, tightening the stiff peaks. My entire body is at attention. He moves one leg between mine and pulls me closer so my crotch is riding his thigh.