Water From the Moon (13 page)

Didn’t he wish. "No, by yourself."

"You’re no fun."

He urged her upright. "I have no intention of being fun." She was nearly as tall as he was, and it was no easy task getting her inside.

A light went on when the door slammed behind them. "Casie? That you?"

"I’m back!" she called.

"So I hear." Fred appeared in the kitchen, wiping sleep from his eyes, took one look at his sister and accused, "You delivered a baby."

"Two."

"Where?"

Acasia smothered another yawn. "Show you in the morning. Can’t talk now, Cam’s taking me to bed."

Cameron choked. "Cam’s putting you to bed," he said hastily. "Putting. There’s a difference."

"Too bad," Acasia said glumly, and Fred found himself suddenly overcome by the urge to cough and flee. Cameron buried his face in Acasia’s hair and shook violently. She eyed him askance. "What is the matter with you?"

"Not a thing," he chuckled, hugging her. "Not a thing."

"I’m too tired to get undressed," she said a few minutes later when Cameron had pushed her down the hall to the room he’d used the night before. "Will you help me, please?" She blinked wearily at him in the dull light, all at once infinitely vulnerable, and he didn’t have the heart to refuse.

"Come here, lady," he crooned.

Gently he removed the soiled smock she still wore, unbuttoned her pants and slipped them down over her hips, then sat her on the bed. He pulled off her boots, her pants and her socks, and massaged her feet and calves until she groaned with sated gluttony and sank back onto the mattress. A few buttons on the purple camisole popped open, and Cameron resisted the urge to plant a kiss on the exposed flesh, instead placing one on Acasia’s brow. Her eyelids fluttered, and she yawned.

"I’m sorry about today," she said. "I wanted to spend it with you more than anything. But the father came, and Fred was gone, and he was so young and so scared and… and I like delivering babies, you know? It makes things seem better somehow, and these are such pretty babies. I’ll show you tomorrow if there’s time—if you like. Okay?"

"Yes," said Cameron. "I would. Very much." He traced her lower lip with his thumb. "Good night, Casie. Sleep well."

"G’night, Cam." Her eyelashes drifted to her cheeks, and her breathing deepened.

Cameron gazed down at her, slightly bemused, feeling as if he’d spent the day being slammed around on a bumper–car ride that had finally come to a stop. The story Fred had told him had chilled his blood, but now the jubilant woman who liked to deliver babies warmed him clean through. There was a distinct possibility he could become hooked on her. Again.

He draped the mosquito netting over her and settled back against the wall beside the bed. His turn to keep watch while she slept.

* * *

Dark men, laughing, skittered in and out of sleep’s cobweb shadows, and Acasia coiled herself into a tight ball, moaning. Spasmodically, her fingers wound the light sheet beneath her into knots, and her eyelids flickered, but she did not wake. Cameron shimmered before her reaching hands, dissolving before she could touch him. Black vans disgorged multiple Lisettas, all of them begging for life.

Masked men floated in front of her eyes, holding machine guns, and she could hear the weapons’ chatter. Her fists clenched tightly over her ears, whimpers issued from deep in her throat. A nightmare Cameron stood above the scene, a baby in each arm, all of them shaking admonishing fingers at her. Gunfire echoed, then reechoed, as plumes of smoke dotted the Zaragozan skyline.

The terrorists returned, larger than life, brown eyes laughing behind their masks. They rolled the masks up, then pulled them off, heads shaking in unison. Her eyes were filled with black, curly hair and bright, sparkling eyes, all looking at her. A face, dark and frightened, appeared, lips parted in a silent shriek. Disembodied fingers grew out of nothing, becoming Cameron’s, Fred’s, Lisetta’s, Paolo’s, jabbing her in the chest. "It’s you," a voice roared. "Your fault, your fault, your fault!"

The stabbing fingers changed to dull black metal pressing against her breast. Light flashed; an explosion filled her ears. Someone began to scream and went on screaming. She wanted to help, but she couldn’t move, and she had no breath left to scream….

Hands clasped her arms, pulled her upright, slapped her once into a semblance of awareness. Rock–hard arms caught her tightly against a granite chest. Acasia curled like a fetus into the dark womb of the embrace, disoriented.

"Hold me," she sobbed. "Please hold me."

"I’m here, Casie. I’m here. I’m here."

Cameron sat on the bed next to her, murmuring into her hair as he drew her closer, rocking her.

"I can’t feel you. Please hold me."

"I’m holding you, Casie. It’s all right, babe, it’s just a dream." He wanted to murder the bastards who’d instilled this fear in her, but he was afraid the list would be too long, would include Paolo and Fred and himself—and her….

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. Oh, God, I should have stayed. I should have fought. I’m sorry, Lissi, I’m sorry."

"Stop it, Acasia! It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault. Lisetta made the choice, not you. Not you!"

"I should have stayed. I should have been there to help her. I should have stopped her." She struggled away from Cameron wildly. "I could have stopped her!"

"No!"

The single word rocketed through the remainder of Acasia’s fog and brought her wide–awake, blinking at Cameron. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her with each brutal word. "You could not stop her. You are not God. You might have postponed what she did, but that is all. That is all, Acasia. Do you understand?"

Light from the crescent moon illuminated his face, and Acasia stared into his passionate visage for a long moment before the dam burst and she crumpled into him, sobbing. She cried hard, ridding herself of the tears she’d never shed for her friend, for herself, and Cameron’s eyes were moist, too, as he cuddled her into the hollow of his shoulder and felt his shirt grow wet.

The storm slowed gradually, the racking sobs becoming no more than great stuffy gulps, then quivering sighs, then silence. Cameron stroked Acasia’s hair, kissed her ear, held her while his own pain eased. Liquid warmth ran down the side of Acasia’s face, and she sat back to look at Cameron, catching a single tear on her finger.

"You’re crying."

Throat clogged, Cameron nodded.

"For me?"

"For you. And me. And all the time we’ve missed together."

"Oh, Cam." She wrapped her arms around his neck, and Cameron accepted the embrace gladly. "It’s my fault, all that wasted time."

"Pretty selfish of you, assuming full responsibility for both our lives like that."

Acasia rubbed her face in the warmth of his neck, trying to rid her brain of its leftover muzziness, tasting salt, smelling man, feeling comfort… and, hesitantly, a prickle of fire, "I was the one who didn’t show up in London, not you."

"True, but you showed up here. You’re just a little late, is all." A faint tracing of brandy lingered on her breath, and Cameron was tempted to drink the taste from her then and there, but he stopped himself. Not yet.

"Better late than never?" Acasia asked.

Cameron laughed shakily. "Indubitably."

He wiped leftover moisture from her face, and Acasia shut her eyes, letting his touch slake her emptiness and replace it with peace. Darkness silhouetted him, limiting her to flickers of expression, traces of heat. She wanted to absorb him, explore him, his whims, his energy, his humor, his life….

And then walk away before it hurt too much.

Dear Lord, she was so tired.

Her fingers twisted in Cameron’s collar, and a sliver of light painted shadows on her face. He watched her, reading her as he used to. The knowledge that he loved her, and always had, ran deeper than any logic, defied motivation. It simply was. At this moment they couldn’t promise a permanent commitment to one another, but that meant little or nothing to him. Now was what mattered. Now was everything. The future was a distant shape on the horizon without name or consequence, without color or definition. Acasia and Cameron. That was who they were, what they were,
all
they were. He touched Acasia’s cheek.

"Don’t run, Casie," he whispered. "Stay. Nothing will happen that we don’t both want to happen."

Acasia dragged air into her lungs. She couldn’t… "I don’t think you understand how much I want you, or how little I can give in return."

The tip of Cameron’s finger shushed her. "Quit trying to be my mother, Casie. I have one of those. I don’t need another."

"Your mother doesn’t feel about you the way I do. That should scare the hell out of you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, it doesn’t."

Her eyes, bright with exhaustion and euphoria, studied him. "It terrifies me."

"I know." Cameron brushed a butterfly kiss on Acasia’s shoulder, sending the fire deeper into her veins.

"Cam," she whispered. If she let this go on, she would never be able to protect herself. Once joined, she would belong to him, be a part of him, become responsible to him for everything she did. She couldn’t afford to be tied to anyone that way, couldn’t question each decision before she made it…

Couldn’t stop long enough to call each time an emergency arose, couldn’t worry about him worrying about her.

She felt things she shouldn’t feel, things that traditionally did not belong to a woman: duty, honor, wanting, control. Basic things a man would understand, felt by a woman in a profession as simple as life and death. They didn’t make her less of a woman; if anything, they made her more of one. They made her unique; they made her careful. Sometimes they made her take, but they also made her pay for what she took. Whatever she needed, she’d learned to get it for herself. Life didn’t hand out free rides. It was full of consequences. She’d learned to live with that—indeed, had learned, on occasion, to court those consequences with consummate skill. Flirting with the odds didn’t take grit so much as careful planning and the sense never to drop your guard. Flirting with love took nerve and grit, as well, but Acasia wasn’t sure she had what it took to play that game and risk losing. And that made her a coward.

What had begun here had to stop, now, before it reached the point of no return.

She pulled back, and Cameron let her go, shifting to straighten his legs in front of him and lean back on his arms.

Her side felt suddenly cool and lonely; the pain of holding, being held—of touching without consummating—was exquisite, especially when compared to the alternative: breaking apart, letting go, returning to what she’d been before…

Alone.

Instinct butted heads with sense, shouldered it out of the way. Without Acasia knowing it, the point of no return had arrived and gone.

She was half turned toward him, moonlight drifting over her breasts, which pushed out of the shell of cotton covering them. Hovering in the air was the faint taste of lavender, the scent from his dreams. Her heart was in her eyes, and her soul was spilling out of her. She tugged at him, called everything he was out of him, spoke both to his primitive center and his civilized shell. He wanted everything from her.

"You know," he said softly, "I never regretted knowing you, not even when it hurt. And sometimes it hurt a lot." His eyes slipped over her face. "I’d do it all again, every day of it, starting now." His knuckles brushed her thigh, reached up to graze her jaw, paused.

Acasia’s head moved in a small motion of denial. Then her hand opened of its own volition and moved lightly over Cameron’s khaki–covered chest. The corners of her mouth lifted, half in pain, half in recognition. "I want you, but I can’t. It’s wrong. We’re wrong. We’ll suffocate each other, you and I."

"Then we’ll need some form of life–support, won’t we?"

He placed the lightest of kisses on her mouth, and Acasia felt it clear down to her toes. Please don’t, she pleaded silently. "You’re a bastard," she whispered hoarsely, not quite meaning it.

Cameron grinned at her. "You take yourself too seriously."

"You drive me crazy."

"It’s about time."

They gazed at one another, letting moonlight chase uncertainty into the corners of the room, where it couldn’t be seen. Cameron put a finger to Acasia’s lips, then let it drift past her chin to drop to her chest, where it traced its way between her breasts. Then, without effort it bumped from one button to the next, leaving the shirt open in its wake.

Acasia’s breath caught on a sigh.

"I’ve wanted to do this forever." His voice thrummed in her ear, rippled through her hair, caressed her. She made him feel so hot. "Sweet heaven, woman, I want you so bad I hurt."

Me too! Me too! Acasia vowed silently as her hand slid up Cameron’s thigh. He moved it gently away, and she protested, "Cam…"

"Shh… Give us time."

She started to protest, but sighed instead at the first touch of his mouth on her earlobe. Heat scudded through her breasts, nipped them taut, splayed downward into her belly. Her skin tingled, wanting his touch.

"Cam…" Her fingers tangled in his dark hair, urging him on, pressing him to her.

"Shh." His hands slipped inside her shirt, over her breasts, cupping them, and Acasia sat perfectly still for once and felt his smile trace her cheek as he leaned forward, hesitated a fraction, then let his teeth nip the soft skin below her ear. A thrill skimmed down her spine. Sweet heaven, this was better than she had any right to remember—or expect.

She turned to him, joining him at play, tracing his throat with her tongue as his attentions turned to her shoulder. His hands, warm and gentle, pushed her back to part the camisole, sliding the straps off her shoulders and down her arms, until it became nothing more than a piece of cloth to be dropped to the floor.

Cameron gazed at her breasts until her nipples peaked in anticipation. Then he dragged his thumb across each in turn, smiling when they roused even further to greet him. "What you do to me…" he breathed thickly, then gave in to the impulse to taste, to suckle, to nip.