New Moon (15 page)

He stroked his chin. If something weird had happened in that store, the man and woman who had just given him the brush-off were witnesses. At the very least, they were witnesses to the attempted robbery.

So now he'd wait to see if the fingerprints matched. And meanwhile he was keeping an eye on the store to find out if anything else strange happened there.

CLOSING the door firmly behind them, Logan felt Rinna sag against him.

"You did fine," he murmured, turning her in his arms and folding her close. He felt her shaking.

"You said I was your wife," she breathed.

"That's the best cover for you."

"The policeman…"

"That was damn bad luck." His hand tightened on her shoulder. "I thought he was going to ask you for an ID. That's why I rushed you into the house."

"ID?"

He sighed. "In this society, you need identification. A driver's license. A credit card. A card with your name and picture."

"Like the tattoo on my arm?"

"No! Not like that." He gave her a searching look, then lowered his voice. "Not because people belong to other people. But because you need to prove who you are." Before she could ask for more details, he added, "I never asked… do you have a last name?"

"A what?"

He struggled not to let his feelings of frustration bleed into his voice. All he'd been thinking about was getting Rinna home and keeping her safe. He was starting to find out just how complicated that was going to be. Taking a step back so he could look at her, he said, "I'm Logan Marshall. Logan is my first name and Marshall is my last name. Do you have something similar?"

"Slaves have a name and a number," she said in a barely audible voice. "I'm Rinna thirty-eight. But that won't work here, right?"

"No. But we'll get you a last name."

"How?"

"I believe I can buy one." He stopped, thinking about the logistics. "Well, maybe we'll need to use some other name."

She looked down at her hands. "Jandar changed my mother's name from Hester to Lana because he liked it better."

"I would never do that! But I might have to get you an ID for someone who was born in this country."

"How?"

"There are ways to do it. Sometimes people who are switching their identities take a name off the gravestone of a child who died young. Someone around their age." He thought for a moment. "But I need to think about the social security number problem."

"You said you didn't use numbers," she answered.

"Well, not when you give your name. But everybody has a number, for tax purposes. And for a retirement account."

She looked like her head was spinning, and he tried to imagine how overwhelmed she must feel.

"I got into trouble in your world because I didn't know the right thing to do. It's natural," he said.

She remained silent, taking her lower lip between her teeth.

"We'll talk about it later."

He found her hand and led her down the hall to the family room, where she stopped short and dragged in a shaky breath.

"What?"

"You live like this, like a… a… noble?"

"No. A lot of people live like this."

"Your house…'"

"Is nice. But the real value is in the land I own. Ten acres is a lot for this part of the country."

She nodded, but he suspected she really wasn't following him.

Before he could elaborate, she asked another question. "You said to the policeman that I could be expecting. Expecting what?"

"A baby."

She gasped.

"It's okay." He laughed. "We can probably arrange for it to be true."

She let her head drop to his shoulder, and he stroked his hands up and down her arms, thinking of how he'd like to distract her now.

But apparently her mind wasn't exactly running along the same track.

"You said you'd show me how to use the gun. Maybe you'd better do it."

"If you promise not to shoot any cops."

"I promise," she whispered, her tone very serious.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"YOU WANT A gun lesson right now?" Logan asked in a husky voice, since his thoughts had been moving in an entirely different direction.

"Yes," Rinna answered, and he caught the edge of desperation in her voice.

He knew she was feeling like her life was spinning out of control, and she wanted to know she had mastered a skill that seemed important in this universe.

So he swallowed a sigh. "There's a place down the hill where it's safe to practice," he said.

"Thank you."

"But first I want to talk to my cousin Ross."

"About what?" she said, the anxiety back in her voice.

"About getting an ID for you. Is that okay?"

"You said I need it."

"But I'll have to explain a little about you."

She kept her gaze fixed on his face. "You trust him?"

"Yes. But I can't say too much over the phone."

"That thing like the other night. When Terry called Bart and Helen about the game of… bridge?"

"Yes."

"Why can't you talk to him on it about me?"

"Because sometimes other people can be listening."

Rinna studied the lines of his face. "You're getting tired of explaining things, aren't you?"

"No." But it was true. It was a strain explaining the everyday details of modern life.

He pulled out his cell phone, cranked up the volume so Rinna could hear, then punched in the autodial number, wondering exactly how he was going to start the conversation.

"Ross Marshall," his cousin answered.

"This is Logan."

"I take it you're not just calling to say hello."

"No." He swallowed, then plunged ahead. "You remember when we had that problem with Boralas?"

He heard Ross's voice change. "Yes. Is there another problem in that area?"

"Not directly. But we had help from a… friend."

"Uh huh."

"She's here with me now. Unfortunately, she's lost her driver's license. I was hoping you'd know how to get her a replacement."

"I'd like to hear more about that. But probably we should sit down and talk about it."

Logan inclined his head toward Rinna. "When would it be convenient for us to come over?"

"Is tomorrow morning okay?"

"Yes."

"What's her name, by the way?"

Logan glanced toward Rinna. "Rinna. Rinna Marshall."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Then Ross said, "Congratulations."

"Yeah. We'll see you tomorrow."

"Megan and I will be looking forward to it."

When he hung up, he said. "We'll go over in the morning. But now we'll have that gun lesson."

"Thank you. I don't mean just about the gun part."

"I know."

He retrieved the Glock from the car, along with some of the targets he used when he was sharpening his own skills.

They walked past his greenhouses and down the hill into a secluded valley, then set up the targets against the hill, where there was no chance of hitting anything besides the paper and straw—or dirt.

"We should be doing this at a shooting range," he said.

"Why?"

"Because it's always best to learn from a professional. But we'd still have the problem of identifying you. So we'll have to do it here if we do it at all."

After unloading the weapon, he delivered a lecture on gun safety, starting with a warning about never pointing the weapon at anyone unless you intended to kill them.

Next he let her familiarize herself with the feel of the gun in her hand. After that, he gave them both ear protectors and loaded the weapon. First he fired off several rounds at the target. Then he let her have a try.

He knew she had been watching carefully when she imitated his stance and squeezed the trigger, obviously surprised by the recoil. But she gamely tried again. And by the time she'd emptied the clip, she was looking more confident.

After she'd put the weapon down, he retrieved the target and showed her the bullet holes.

She poked her finger into them. "This could go into someone's body."

"And do a lot of damage."

"I see that." She swallowed. "Thank you for the lesson."

"Do you feel more comfortable with the weapon?" he asked.

Her face was very serious. "Not comfortable. But I understand it better."

"We'll decide where to keep it in the house. And where to store the clips. It's dangerous to keep the gun loaded."

"Yes," she answered, her tone so serious that he felt his heart contract. He'd hoped he could make her feel more secure, but he wasn't sure he'd done it.

They walked back to the house and together decided to keep the gun in the top of the bedroom closet. He put the clip in the bottom of a bedroom drawer.

"You've made me see that having a gun is a big responsibility," she murmured.

"That's very perceptive of you. There are a lot of men running around who don't get it."

"You're a good teacher." She turned to face him. "The whole time we were down there, I kept my mind on business."

"Yes."

"But I was also thinking that the gun is very dangerous, and you must trust me very much to let me use it."

"Yes."

"If you can show me how much you trust me, I should do the same."

His throat felt suddenly tight. "There's no
should
."

"Well, maybe I said it wrong. I
want to
show you that I trust you." She took a step toward him and clasped her arms around him. Suddenly he couldn't move.

She held on to him for several seconds, then raised up so that she could press her lips against his.

She had taken him by surprise, but only for a moment. And when she began to move her lips against his, he responded by leaning forward and angling his head to give her better access.

Heat sparked between them—clean and strong and arousing.

She made a small sound as she drank him in and gave him back the passion she tasted on his lips. When he finally raised his head, they were both gasping for breath.

"It doesn't take so long," she whispered.

"What?"

"To get that hot, tingly feeling."

"You're getting used to it."

"I want you to tell me something," she asked shyly.

"Anything."

She took his hand and pressed it directly over her center. "What do I call this? I mean the part of me where the good feeling is the strongest."

"Your clitoris. That's the technical word. But people call it a clit for short."

"My clit," she said, pressing his hand more firmly against her.

She lowered her arms, so that they were slung around his hips. Moving his hand out of the way, he let her pull him toward her, bringing his erection against her abdomen.

She moved against him, driving him wild at the contact. But he heard her make a small sound of frustration.

"You're too tall," she murmured. "I want to feel that against my clit."

"God, yes."

"What should we do?"

"This." He backed up so that his hips were braced against the wall, then splayed his legs so that he could equalize their heights. When he pulled her against his cock, she made a sound of agreement.

"Do you think I'm acting too… forward?" she asked.

"Of course not. You're showing me you feel the same way I do."

She opened her mouth, pressing her teeth against his shoulder. "The hot, needy feeling never went away. I mean, it was there in the background, the whole time since the tent. Well, maybe not when the policeman was asking us question. But the rest of the time."

"Yeah."

He gathered her close, then lowered his head, kissing her with all the greedy urgency that he'd kept in check for the past few hours. While he kissed her, he found the buttons of her shirt, opening them with hands that he couldn't hold steady.

He grinned to himself. Some day, he'd have to tell her that most American women wore bras. But not yet, not when he had such ready access to her wonderful breasts.

He pushed the fabric aside, cupping her in his hands, sighing in pleasure as he felt her tight nipples press into his palms.

"That feels so good."

"Yes. But it will be better when all this clothing isn't in the way."

He pulled his own shirt over his head, then dragged hers off her shoulders so that he could slide her breasts against his chest.

When she made a small strangled sound, his gaze shot to her face, fearful that in his hunger he had pushed her too far, too fast. But he only saw his own pleasure mirrored there.

His movements almost out of control, he unhooked the snap at the front of her waistband, then lowered her zipper so he could shuck off her pants. When he had her naked, he slid his hands over her rounded bottom caressing her there, before reaching lower to slide his fingers between her folds.

"What do you call that part of me?" she murmured.

"What do
you
call it?"

"Down there," she answered in a husky voice.

He laughed. "Not very romantic."

"Tell me something better."

He considered all the alternatives, some of them clinical, some of them straight from the gutter. "There are lots of words we could use. How do you like pussy?"

"Pussy? Like a cat?"

"Yeah. Because I want to stroke you there."

Her hand slid between them and closed around his erection. "And this is your cock."

"Yes," he managed. "And if you keep your hand there, you're going to make me come."

"That's another word for sexual climax… for when the good feelings explode through you?"

"Yeah. But I think the anatomy and physiology lesson is over for the moment." Picking her up in his arms, he carried her to the bed, bending to pull aside the spread and the top sheet before laying her down so that he could climb out of his pants.

Taking her to bed had been a natural impulse. But as he stood over her, naked and ready for sex, he could see the mixture of arousal and worry on her face, and he knew that the symbolism of the bed was quite different for her.

Slowly he eased to the side of the mattress, so that he was sitting beside her.

When he reached to stroke back her hair, he saw her eyes screw shut and her jaw tighten.

"Over by the door, you were aroused. But lying down here scares you."

She didn't answer, but the harsh sound of her breathing told him what he needed to know.

"I think this isn't such a good idea," he muttered.

Her eyes flew open. "I want…"

"So do I. But maybe not in bed."

"How?"

He picked up her hand, carrying it to his mouth so that he could worry the pad of her thumb with his teeth as he looked around the room, then spotted the dining room chair he'd set in the corner to use as a clothes rack.

Climbing off the bed, he turned the chair toward the bed, then came back to reach for her hand again.

"Come over here."

"What are we going to do?"

"You'll see."

She came off the bed, looking at him questioningly as he sat on the chair, the angle of his body thrusting his cock upward.

He saw her gaze flick to his erection, then away.

"Come stand in front of me where I can touch you," he said in a husky voice as he opened his legs.

She did as he asked, and he stroked her hip and across her stomach, then kissed her shoulder as he let his hands drift upward, caressing the under curve of her breasts.

"I'm going to stay in this chair. So anytime you want to stop what we're doing, all you have to do is step away from me."

She stared at him in surprise, then gave a little nod.

As he touched her, he slowly gathered her to him, giving her time to draw back. But she remained in his embrace, swaying a little on unsteady legs.

She leaned forward to clasp her arms around his shoulders, then dragged her hands upward into his hair.

"This is a very nice view I have here," he murmured.

She managed a laugh.

"Very nice," he repeated as he caressed her breasts with his face and mouth, then sucked on one nipple while he teased the other with his thumb and finger.

He felt a shiver go through her.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes," she answered, her voice breathy.

"Good."

His other hand drifted lower, caressing her bottom, then reaching inward to stroke high up between her legs.

"That's nice. So nice," he whispered. "God, I love the feel of you. And you're so hot and slick for me."

"If you want to feel my cock against you, all you have to do is straddle me and bend your knees a little."

He waited with his breath frozen in his lungs.

"Close your legs," she said.

He did and she straddled his lap, dipping down so that his erection barely touched her, then moved a little, stroking herself with his hard shaft.

He ached to plunge into her, but he stayed where he was, letting her get used to the intimate contact.

When she swayed on her feet, he steadied her with one hand, while he used the other hand to stroke his penis against her.

"I'm going to slip my finger inside you," he murmured. "Just my finger. Just a little."

He felt her tense, then relax as he caressed her at the sensitive opening and up to her clit.

"Okay?"

"Yes," she choked out. "But this is going to make me… come."

"That's the idea."

"Not with your hand…"

The broken sound of her voice tore at him.

"You want to feel my cock inside you?"

She answered with a tiny nod.

"If you push down, it will happen," he told her, somehow managing to keep his voice steady.

For a few heartbeats, she didn't move, and he held his breath, preparing himself for the pain of feeling her step away.

But she stayed where she was. Then, in a rush of movement, she came down onto his lap, burying him in her warmth and heat.

At the feel of his body joined to hers, they both cried out.

For a moment, she stared at him in shock. "You're inside me."

"Yeah." He grinned at her. "How is it?"

"It doesn't hurt," she breathed, her expression changing from surprise to triumph.