Water From the Moon (7 page)

Acasia slumped forward in her chair. "Where’s he been?" She felt the urge to place the blame somewhere else, to absolve herself of this guilt without a name. This little sojourn was getting just a bit too tangled up with her past for comfort. "What did I miss? Where didn’t I check?" She lifted her face to Fred. "Why wasn’t I told?"

"He hasn’t been back long. I’d have heard. You would have been told."

"I’m looking for an answer, not an excuse." Abruptly she pushed herself erect and moved toward the kitchen.

"There’s nothing you can do tonight but get some rest," Fred said quietly, barring her way.

Acasia moved past him. "I can plan. I can strategize."

"You can pace. You can dwell," Fred said, interpreting her words.

Acasia picked up the shotgun. "Same difference," she said, and let the screen door slam behind her.

She stood still for a moment, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. I shouldn’t have come, she thought. Why did I come? Cam would be safer with someone else. Anyone else.

I didn’t want to trust him with anyone else, she acknowledged silently.

Guiltily she eyed the end of the clinic that housed the room, the bed, where Cameron waited. Whatever he might feel, however frustrating she might find it, she couldn’t go to him. Already her emotional involvement with him had placed him in jeopardy. And not only him, but Fred, as well. She couldn’t afford to let it go farther. Emotions created too much confusion, scattered her focus, clouded her instincts. Emotions could kill.

Her boots scraped lightly on the floor. Outside the village, the night was dense, the pale moon covered by clouds. In the forest, night creatures stalked unwary prey and caught it. Acasia tried not to listen too hard to the night.

Uneasily she prowled the veranda, the gun slung loosely in the crook of her arm, carried as solid evidence of reality, a hedge against something that wouldn’t happen until well after first light. She knew she should rest. She would need all her energy when Dominic Mansour came back. And he would. When Sanchez purchased men, he purchased their principles, too. Dom would give him his money’s worth.

Acasia stopped pacing and stared into the night. Cam was only in danger from Sanchez and Dominic Mansour as long as he remained in Zaragoza. Or, given that Dom no doubt had a score to settle with her, as long as she remained with him. I never should have come, she thought again, as though second–guessing herself might make a difference.

Don’t be silly, she told herself. Dom’s not a fanatic, only a professional soldier in need of a war.

Think again, sweetheart, a little voice whispered. He thinks you tried to kill him—or barring that, that you left him for dead.

A vivid memory of an explosion blinded her thoughts momentarily. It had been nearly seven years since an odd job she’d picked up for the State Department had first introduced her to the former French intelligence agent named Dominic Mansour, four since he’d led Sanchez’s special squads routing the families of Zaragoza’s rebel leaders out of hiding, killing some and imprisoning others, establishing himself in the role of Sanchez’s trusted right hand. And it had been nearly three since she’d led him into the Zaragozan National Liberation Front trap she’d thought had killed him.

Sweat streaked down her face, soaking her collar. Past sins had a habit of haunting one at the most inopportune times. Life meted out consequences in its own sweet time and left no room for mistakes en route. Acasia only wished she could figure out why all her mistakes had chosen to catch up with her at once.

Why didn’t you stay dead, you bastard?

A jaguar snarled in the night, and she jerked alert, snapped off the gun’s safety and raised it in one reflexive motion. Nothing, it was nothing, only nerves. Trembling, she snapped the safety back in place and dropped into a padded wicker chair by the door, the shotgun across her knees.

Exhaustion moved in as her tension seeped away. The humid air stirred sleepily through her hair, and she leaned her head on the back of the chair, eyes drooping closed. For a minute she would rest; for a moment she would let herself relax….

* * *

Troubled dreams caught her on the edge of sleep, bringing distorted images of Cameron, Dominic, explosions and Zaragoza to disturb her rest. Incidents she’d chosen to forget waltzed around the perimeter of her mind, built to a climax and brought her awake with a loud clap of thunder, choking on a scream. Dreams clung to the fringes of her consciousness, the events they represented as real to her now as when they’d happened.

Lightning sizzled in the sky, and Acasia shivered. She was cold, her skin crawling with sweat, the sinister, comforting length of wood and metal in her lap slippery with it. A past she had thought long over was getting too near.

With trembling hands she wiped the perspiration from her eyes and looked around. It was dark, still nighttime in Fred’s jungle, and Cameron was safe. She went to make sure anyway, padding on silent feet through the inky darkness to his room. The lightning showed her that he was under the mosquito netting, breathing evenly, deeply. She sagged against the wall in relief. He was fine, he was safe. Still…

She slid down until she was sitting on the floor beside him, between the mattress and the door, watching. His breathing lulled her, hypnotized her. Her head lolled forward, and she slept.

T
HE LATE–EVENING SUN stretched long shadows across the pond and left a lacework of light dancing on Acasia’s bare breasts and belly. There was wonder on her face, joy and laughter, shyness and serenity. She touched him, just a fingertip, but it was possessive as it sketched a line down the center of his chest, then traced back up his side.

"I love you," she said. "You make me feel whole—like I’ll always have someplace to come home to. I never knew how much I missed not having that."

"I know," Cameron returned softly, touching her, absorbing the sensation of her skin beneath his fingers, the musky scent of sex and lavender in his nostrils, the taste of honey and salt. He memorized them, storing them away to be taken out whenever he needed them, so he could hold her close even though she was gone. "It’s the same for me, and I’ve lived in one spot all my life. You are home. Mine. Always. God, I love you."

God, I love you. The echo of the words opened Cameron’s eyes, nudged him awake. Sun laced merciless fingers through the trees, the window and the mosquito netting. Heat dotted his skin with beads of sweat. He stretched, and his muscles assaulted him with pain: that left over from yesterday’s tramp and that left unsated in the night.

She didn’t come.

The back of his head hurt, and even the slightest movement pulled at his hair and tore open his wound. Again. She didn’t come again. He blinked at a flicker of wings in the sun and swallowed the irrational taste of disappointment. She had changed her mind; she had been sidetracked by Fred; she had simply elected to break her promise. He wouldn’t be surprised if that were it, given their past history.

He turned onto his side and saw her through the white veil, his personal sentry, asleep beside his bed. She slumped almost upright against the wall, chin on her chest, knees tucked up, hands curled into loose fists, defensive even in repose. He rolled onto his back, shut his eyes and sighed. The small sound brought Acasia instantly awake and to her feet, casting around for the cause of the disturbance. When no threat became immediately apparent, she rubbed her face and neck groggily, raised the mosquito net and looked down at Cameron.

"Get lost?" he queried politely.

Daylight banished the night’s terrors and left embarrassment in their place. She’d meant to be gone before he woke. "You were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you," she said lamely, dropping the net and backing away.

"So you sat guard duty instead." Cameron wrapped a sheet about his hips and rose to fling the mosquito guard aside and advance on her.

"It’s my job."

He pinned her with a look, and Acasia shut her mouth with a gulp. He was not, as she’d imagined, a gentleman, but a man who made his way however he chose. He was dangerous. To her.

She understood that, grasped at it to keep from drowning. It didn’t work. She was still backing up, and Cameron was still coming forward. If only he’d stop looking so damn sexy…

He stared at her, gritting his teeth in exasperation. She was absolutely as infuriating as ever. "There was very little chance I’d fall four inches to the floor and get a splinter in my thumb."

Gorgeous. Pure and simple. It was morning, and Dominic might show up at any moment, but Acasia wanted to think of nothing but how lovely Cameron looked wearing nothing but a sheet. Lord, she was in a lot of trouble.

"I wasn’t worried about splinters. I came in after I talked to Fred. But you were asleep and I must have dropped off myself." Well, it was half of the truth. The only half he’d get.

Cameron shut his eyes and mentally counted to ten. When he opened them, his aggravation was still there. "Why do I get the feeling there’s something you haven’t told me and aren’t about to tell me? Well, here’s a little news I’ve got for you. It took me one hell of a long time to get to sleep last night, and when I did, all I dreamed about was you. I’m fed up with dreaming about you, lady, so we’re going to get that out of the way right now." There was both purpose and the devil in his eyes—two things she’d always been hard–pressed to resist in Cameron.

Hands out, she continued her backward flight, just as he continued his pursuit. "Cam, aren’t you even going to ask me whether I might object?"

She backed into the wall, and Cameron stopped coming. "You won’t object." He sandwiched her between himself and the wall and kissed her, warmly, possessively.

"Sadist," she hissed when he let her breathe, but the sound was halfhearted.

He was making her crazy, and she wanted him inside her right here, right now, regardless of the consequences. The thin sheet around his hips left nothing to her imagination, and she unconsciously arched forward to meet him, stroke him, hold him. Cameron’s eyes darkened, grew hooded, flamed.

Her name became a rasp in his throat when his own was purred back at him against his lips, on his tongue, as she met his bold opening thrust, their mouths clinging briefly, then breaking away. Again and again they tasted, their passion bordering on violence as they endeavored to sate their hunger.

Yesterday’s interrupted madness claimed them, consumed them. Acasia’s shirt tore, and skin touched skin in an electric rhapsody. Cameron’s sheet billowed about their feet as his hand found the small of her back and tucked her forward into him. Her fingers curved around the back of his head and sank into his hair; jerked back when Cameron tore away from her with a growl of pain.

"It’s infected." She was reaching for him, trying to get a look at his wound, furious with him, with herself. "Why didn’t you remind me about it? I would have taken care of it for you last night. You have to watch out for things like this down here, Cameron."

Formal. She was only formal when she was treating him like a child. Well, he was a past master at that game. "It didn’t bother me and, if you’ll recall, I wasn’t thinking much about cuts on my head last night, Acasia." Ignoring him, she probed the cut, and he flinched. "Ouch. Damn it, Casie, watch out, would you?"

"I’m trying. This thing’s deep enough to need stitches, but it’ll have to be disinfected first. I’d better get Fred." She started to walk away, but Cameron caught her wrist and dragged her back with a dry "Like this?" He regarded her torn shirt and open pants. "Let’s not add insult to injury."

"Oh." Momentarily nonplussed, Acasia pulled the edges of her shirt together. "I guess it can wait long enough for us to dress."

"I guess it had better." Cameron chuckled, hugging her. He couched his next comment in his most flippant tone. "I was beginning to wonder if you cared."

"I care." The assurance was fierce, and Cameron felt the seed of an emotion much headier than lust unfurl inside him. Their eyes clung, Acasia’s evasive, Cameron’s probing. Time stretched; the moment became endless. The slightest movement seemed to take forever—Acasia’s tongue flicking nervously along her lips, Cameron’s answering swallow. His thumb grazed her jawline, their heads drew closer….

"Acasia!"

The distant bellow tore them apart like guilty teenagers scrambling for cover.

"Why is it all you ever think about is sex?" Acasia hissed furiously, frustration and embarrassment making her angry. "Oh shit, my shirt…."

"All
I
think about is sex? Here, put this on." Cameron shoved the thin cotton shirt he’d found in the trunk the night before into Acasia’s hands. He stepped into a pair of khaki trousers and tugged them over his hips.

"Oh, sure, blame it on me. Weasel out of it. Help me with this sheet."

Booted feet stamped down the hall toward them.

"Are you always this much fun in the morning?"

"Only when I’ve had two hours sleep propped against a wall."

"Sarcasm is not your best attribute, Acasia."

"Compromising myself with an old flame, who is either engaged or, for all I know, married, is not my idea of a wonderful way to start the day."

"I’m not married or engaged. She walked out on me. Said I never stopped thinking about you long enough to be faithful to her. Not that she knew about you, just that there was a ‘you.’ Your shirt’s buttoned crooked. Here, let me."

Swiftly his fingers corrected the problem, then brushed a fleeting caress along her jaw. Acasia’s eyes filled at the gesture, and she raised a shaking hand to smooth the wild hair off his forehead. Fred’s lanky six–foot–seven–inch frame stooped in the doorway. Eyes that matched Acasia’s peered at them from beneath a thinning shock of silver–blond hair. The uniquely ugly face scowled at the sight of Cameron’s bare chest and Acasia’s love–swollen mouth.

Her eyes on her brother, Acasia pulled nonchalance out of the air, stepped between the two men, stuck her hands deep in her pockets and rocked back on her heels. "Fred, Cam, you remember one another, don’t you?"