Luna Exposed

by Kristin Leigh

  Gabe plops his head back down and lets out an aggravated huff. “Take out,” he replies grumpily.

  Bubbly little Susan ignores him though, just keeps getting an adorable little table set up, complete with a vase and red rose, her movements so fast and efficient all I can do is watch in awe. “Miss, my name is Susan, and I’m Mr. O’Malley’s cook and housekeeper. My husband Seth is groundskeeper here so you might see him around on occasion…”

  “Susan,” Gabe drags out in warning.

  But I’m impressed as fuck when she ignores him as though he hadn’t spoken at all. “…and if there’s anything you need, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to let us know. It would be my absolute pleasure to see to your every wish while you’re here. And may I also say…”

  “The unemployment line is long, Susan.”

  But she keeps going, bless her cheerful little heart. “…how wonderful it is to have you here, Miss…um…”

  “Luna,” I offer.

  “Miss Luna,” she finishes, turning to beam at me with her hands folded in front of her. The little table is done, sparkling crystal goblets with orange juice sitting by beautiful, shimmering white china and gleaming silverware. A silver carafe sits off to one side, and two very delicate looking coffee cups sit next to it, little bowls of what I assume are cream and sugar right there too. She really brought out all the stops.

  How the hell did she get all that on the tray and open the door?

  “Well, I’ll just let you two enjoy your breakfast.” She flounces back across the room, and I finally realize where the term “ditty-bop” comes from. Because she doesn’t just walk; she ditty-bops. “Don’t hesitate…”

  “We won’t, Susan,” Gabe grinds out.

  “…to let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.” She closes the door behind her with a friendly smile.

  I love her. Bubbly people usually piss me off because they’re pushovers, and as a general rule—with the exception of Brad, since he’s only a pushover for Sierra—I don’t care for people that let themselves be stomped on. It hits a little too close to home. But that glittery little butterfly just railroaded over Gabe as though he’s no more threatening than a gnat. I’m impressed as fuck.

  “Annoying, meddlesome pixie,” Gabe mutters, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He looks down at me and explains, “This is a first for a lot of things, and she recognizes the significance of that. She’s trying to help me out.”

  I turn fully onto my back and stare up at him. He took my bra off last night, and I don’t remember it happening. Hmm. I jerk my mind back to the topic at hand and ask, “What things are a first?” Yeah, I’m fishing. But I’m human. I want to know.

  “Well,” he settles on his side next to me, his elbow on his pillow and his head propped in his hand. He places his other hand on my belly, not moving, just resting. “I’ve never had a woman in my bed, just the guest room. I’ve never stayed the night with a woman in this house. I’ve always left before morning. I’ve never left instructions for privacy before, which is probably what inspired the breakfast tray. I’ve always sent a message to have a woman’s laundry done before dawn, and I just threw yours in with mine last night. And the one that I hope to hell Susan doesn’t know, is that I’ve never slept with a woman I didn’t have sex with.”

  “Wow, that’s a lot of firsts.”

  His voice is low when he responds, “I’m breaking all my rules for you, Luna.”

  The unspoken part of that statement hits me like a freight train. Think you could break a few rules for me? His eyes are intense, piercing all the way into my soul until I have to look away in discomfort.

  “Come on,” he climbs out of bed and holds his hand out to me. He’s shirtless, and sometime last night he traded the gym shorts for a pair of pajama pants. They’re white with blue stripes, and he is so fucking yummy that I can’t help licking my lips, my tongue lingering on my lower lip a moment longer than I should let it. “Anytime, sweetheart,” he rumbles in his sex voice.

  I squeeze my eyes closed and take his hand, my hormones screaming to go back to bed as he pulls me to the breakfast table.

  It’s not as much food as I thought. Just orange juice and coffee to drink, along with a covered plate of scrambled eggs, some grits, a tray of bacon, and a few cinnamon rolls. Gabe digs in, and gives me a strange look when I dump scrambled eggs into my grits and crumble bacon on top. But he doesn’t comment, just keeps eating. We make a significant dent in the food, and I’m stuffed after my eggs/grits combo and one cinnamon roll. I don’t realize how hungry I was until I look up over the edge of my coffee cup to see Gabe watching me while he sips his own coffee, a smile curving one side of his mouth.

  There’s a little smudge of icing right beside that smile, and I want to kiss it off a hell of a lot more than I want to finish my coffee. So I stand and walk around the table and swing a leg over him to settle on his lap, straddling him. He tenses, but wraps an arm around my waist. I frame his face with my hands and murmur, “Don’t move.”

  I hear a clink as he puts his coffee cup down and I very slowly—so as not to spook him—lean down and kiss the smudge of icing off. His thighs are like stone beneath me, and his hands grip my hips, fingers digging in almost to the point of pain.

  “Luna,” he chokes out, turning his head slightly so that his lips brush mine. I don’t push, despite how much I want to. His lips play softly against mine, barely touching as he spreads butterfly kisses from one corner of my mouth to the other. But he doesn’t deepen it.

  His hands slide around to cup my rear end and he stands, tugging me so that his erect penis presses against my clit as he walks us toward the bed. He climbs on the bed on his knees and lays me down in the center, settling himself firmly against me. Every part of us is pressed so tightly together that it’s almost hard to breathe. Except our lips, and that small, barely there contact is electrical.

  “Luna,” he whispers against my mouth, warm, coffee scented breath heating me. He grinds his hips against mine, a stark imitation of sex that has me shuddering and moving against him.

  To hell with the rules. He kissed me. Sort of. It was last night and he thought I was asleep, but it still counts because I felt it. He’s falling for me, and I’m falling for him. So why not fall together?

  “Gabe,” I start, but I’m interrupted by shouts from the hallway. A man’s deep, booming voice is approaching and a woman—presumably bubbly little Susan—is trying to stop him. Gabe shoots off the bed and jerks a T-shirt off the floor to pull over his head.

  He turns back to me with a hard look and commands, “Do not open this door, Luna.”

  I just nod, too bewildered to really do much else. Who the hell is screaming up Gabe’s stairs?

  He leaves the room, pulling the door closed behind him. And though I’m ashamed of what I do next, I still do it. I hop off the bed and tiptoe to the door to eavesdrop.

  I’m not dumb enough to open it when he told me not to. Not because I’m afraid of what he’ll do, but because I’m trying to stay within the boundaries. Unless it’s Dad outside, it’s not really my concern. And Dad would have called me long before barging into Gabe’s house, if he could even find the place. But it’s certainly not my father bellowing loud enough that I’m sure there’s a flock of birds somewhere startled into flight.

  I slide down the wall by the door until I’m sitting and lean my ear as close as I can without actually pressing it to the door.

  “…don’t tell me where he is, so help me God, Gabriel, I will see you ruined.”

  Gabe speaks too softly for me to hear, but I think I catch something along the lines of “…humiliate and degrade your own son…have him hurt.”

  So it’s Sam, come to find out where Dan is. Why does he care, as long as Dan’s not around to embarrass him? A fury begins to burn behind my chest, one that I struggle to push back down before I burst out of the door and give old man Cottrell a piece of my mind.

  His voice lowers a bit and I
can’t hear everything. Probably for the best, but I’m still eavesdropping. Not my business, but damn, I’m curious. “…what I do is outside your realm…just like your mother…”

  Gabe interrupts, his voice so low that I can’t make out anything except, “…ever…my mother…her name.” He sounds furious though, and Sam shuts the hell up and there are footsteps retreating down the stairs.

  I barely have time to hop back on the bed before the door opens and Gabe enters. Rage has tightened every muscle to the point that he’s vibrating with suppressed violence. His eyes burn, but in a far different way that I’ve ever seen. The passion there isn’t a good kind, the kind that makes me cry out when he touches me. The passion burning there now is far darker, far less civilized than I thought was possible from him. It’s anger induced passion, not lust. But when his eyes land on the bed and slide up my bare legs and linger on my breasts, it morphs. He’s suddenly in motion, striding to the bed and pushing me down before I can speak.

  He covers me with his body, and grips my head in both hands. For an instant, he’s going to kiss me. His lips part and he lowers his head, tilting slightly to one side. But I have to stop him.

  “Not like this,” I whisper. I can’t stand for him to give in, to kiss me and make love to me because he’s angry. If I didn’t feel anything for him, it would be easy to just get lost in him. But the thing is, I do feel something. It’s not love, but it could be one day if we nurture it and let it grow and blossom. And if I take advantage of the intense emotions he’s feeling right now, and help him tuck it away with misplaced intimacy, I’ll never know if he would have eventually loved me enough to make it special, wonderful. The chance for beautiful beginnings was lost to me so long ago. This is another chance and I’m not going to pass it up.

  Gabe stops at my whispered plea and rests his forehead against mine. “Moon goddess,” he moans and closes his eyes. He swallows and takes a shuddering breath. “I need to take you home,” he murmurs before pulling away.

  There’s something in his tone, an air of finality that I don’t want to hear, and in my desperation to keep the intimacy we’ve developed over the past few hours alive, I say something that I’m not entirely certain I’m ready for.

  “Make love to me.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I brace myself for the regret. But there’s none, just a nervous anticipation and eagerness to do this, share this intimacy with the man that’s becoming far too important to me for my peace of mind.

  His eyes search mine, darting back and forth in that way people have of trying to look in both eyes at once. “Are you sure?”

  His face could be carved from stone, his features are so tense. And when I nod and whisper, “Yes. Please,” he releases a pent up breath and the tension fades from his form.

  He pushes my hair off my forehead and gives me that smile—god damn, it gets sexier every time—before leaning down to rub his nose against mine. “No, Luna.” Before I have a chance to be insulted, he says, “Not because my stepfather pissed me off and you’re trying to fix it. That’s the wrong reason. Ask me next time, for the right reasons, and I’ll make you come seven ways from Sunday. But right now, I need to take you home.”

  I smile a little, my emotions battling for dominance. Flattered? Insulted? Ecstatic? Disappointed? Relieved? I don’t know which one to latch onto, so I just say, “All right” and pull away.

  Now I’m the one going hot and cold.

  * * * *

  Gabe doesn’t mention Sam Cottrell’s visit, and though I really struggle with it, I don’t ask about it. He drops me off at home before lunch, while Dad and the girls are still at church. A tendril of guilt slithers through my mind as I realize that I haven’t been to a Sunday service in a while, and Dad’s been taking the girls without me. Gabe or no Gabe, I shouldn’t neglect my children or my father that way. I’m relying on him entirely too much, and I have to stop.

  I make an effort throughout the week to spend as much time as possible with the girls away from the house, trying to give Dad as much time to himself as I can. By Wednesday I’m exhausted. Getting up at seven a.m. and spending the day at the library, park, pool, or wherever else we decide to go combined with working until two a.m. topped off with starting and finishing my period has me ready to collapse.

  I actually fall asleep in the break room for my nine o’clock dinner break on Wednesday, and Gretchen makes me leave, telling me to get some sleep. Dad’s waiting for me when I get home, sitting in his recliner flipping back and forth between the History Channel and The Learning Channel.

  “You’re home early,” he remarks, pausing a show about aliens and ancient Egypt.

  “Yeah. Gretchen caught me sleeping and made me leave.” I yawn and stretch, grateful to have a chance to get a little sleep, even though it means losing money.

  “Have a seat. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” He turns the television off and I sit, waiting.

  It’s serious if he turned off the History Channel. I try not to smile.

  “Eluned, I don’t want you to work when the new semester starts.” He holds a hand up when I start to interrupt. “Just so you can concentrate on your last year. There’s no need for you to run yourself ragged. I’ll take care of you and the girls until you’re done. Then you can go back to work and pay me back whatever you think you owe me.”

  I let out an exasperated sigh. “Dad, you won’t take money for rent now. Why should I believe you’ll let me pay you back in a year?” He won’t. I know my dad. If I write him a check he’ll never cash it. If I give him cash, he’ll put it in my bank account. It’s a never ending battle, trying to stand on my own two feet while leaning on my dad.

  And it hits me. Right now, when Dad’s trying to convince me to rely on him even more, I realize I have to break free. I can’t move out until I’m done with school. There’s no one to watch the girls while I’m at work until two a.m., and I can’t leave them here with Dad all the time. But I’ve let myself get in a rut at Sammy’s, trying to just make it until I’m done with school. But that’s not an option any more. I have to find a job that has more reasonable hours and move out. I’ve got enough saved from my attempts to pay rent to make a deposit plus first and last month’s rent on a decent apartment. But I can’t move out until I actually have the job. I realize he’s talking while I’ve been out in la-la land. I catch the tail end of what he’s saying, just enough to get the gist.

  “…as long as you don’t try to give me back more than what’s fair to you.”

  I sigh again and shake my head. “No, Dad. I’m going to start looking for somewhere else to work. Somewhere with dayshift so the girls and I can move out. We’ve imposed long enough.”

  Dad looks startled and a touch hurt. “You’re not imposing, Eluned. I love having you here. It gets lonely here with no one to talk to except myself.”

  “Dad…” I speak quietly, a little hesitant to broach the subject. “Wouldn’t you like to have some time to yourself? Maybe have company over?”

  He flushes and I stare in disbelief. I’ve never seen my father blush. He doesn’t speak for a while, just stares at the dark television with his eyebrows drawn. Finally, he admits, “I would, from time to time.”

  “And I have to be able to make it on my own.”

  He nods and fidgets with the remote, spinning it in his hand. “I understand, even if I don’t like it.” He takes a deep breath and rubs one eye, dislodging his glasses then fixing them. “Doctor Miller in Herbert is looking for a receptionist.” He clears his throat and I get a little excited. Dr. Miller was one of Dad’s first students and sends Christmas cards every year. She loves my father, and has been the only doctor he’ll see since she opened her practice nearby. “I can call her tomorrow if you want.”

  I want to jump up and down and squeal, but I settle for, “Please. I’d appreciate it.”

  “All right then. I’ll give her a call. But no promises.” He looks at me sternly.

  “Thank you, Daddy.�
� I rush him and give him a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek. He never fails me, the king of awesome dads.

  Chapter 19

  Dr. Miller is young as far as doctors go, somewhere in her early to mid-forties. Dad called her like he promised, and within twenty-four hours she called and wanted me to come in. So on Friday morning, I’m fidgeting nervously in the chair in front of her desk, watching her read my pitiful résumé. She hasn’t said a word since I handed it to her, and I know what she’s thinking. I have no experience except a year waitressing in a diner, and a couple of years working retail more than a decade ago.

  I’d hoped that she would be willing to give me a chance, but the downward tilt to her lips is hardly encouraging. I want to explain to her why I’m thirty-one with no experience, but something holds my tongue. Pride, maybe? Or perhaps I just want to seem as professional as possible. I think it’s a combination of both.

  Dr. Miller flips the last page of my résumé and turns it over. She looks at me over the top of her glasses.

  “Luna, you don’t have the experience I’m looking for. But you knew that, didn’t you?” She asks kindly, though her gaze is sharp.

  “Yes, I know. But I can learn whatever you need. I’m a fast learner.” God, I’m pitiful. Shame like I’ve never felt digs its claws in and hangs on. Why didn’t I finish school, despite what Corey wanted? Why didn’t I try to work all those years? Why the hell didn’t I leave him? I did this to myself, brought myself to the point of begging for a favor just so I can somehow manage to stand on my own two feet for the first time in my life. I tilt my chin up to keep from crying and tighten my jaw.

  She just watches me for a few seconds, then smiles and says, “I’m not going to do a favor for your dad, Luna.”

  My heart drops. Dammit, I had hoped…

  “I’m going to do a favor for you,” she continues, and my pulse pounds against my temples. “I’m going to hire you on a ninety-day trial basis.” I barely avoid jumping up and down and squealing in excitement. I think she knows because she smiles widely and says, “If we suit, we’ll make it more permanent than that. Do you need to put in two weeks’ notice at your current job?”