Remembered by Moonlight

by Nancy Gideon

  He had yet to look toward her. She didn’t need a psychic bond to feel him locking down tight to prevent her unauthorized entry. They both were intensely private that way.

  “How does it work?” How can I stop it? That’s what he really wanted to know.

  “I’m not sure. We share thoughts, feelings, dreams.”

  “All the time?” Oh, such wariness in that simple question. So Max.

  “No. Of course not. It’s not something we’ve explored. It happens rarely, in times of stress or when we . . .”

  Have sex. That dropped between them like an armed bomb.

  “Don’t worry,” she concluded, tone brittle. “I knock before I come in, and wait for permission.”

  He turned slowly to face her.

  The past months of anxiety and fear fell away as she stared at him, heart seizing. Here was the Max Savoie she’d fallen helplessly in love with against all her best intentions. Impeccably dressed, the lines of a designer suit skimming his long, lean and lethal frame, the toes of his athletic shoes peeping from beneath tailored slacks in sassy juxtaposition.

  Darkness and shadow carved out features too rough and bold to be handsome, yet too compelling to be ignored. Unblinking eyes, as pale and green as the still waters of the bayou, shone with an eerie intensity from beneath an uncompromising line of heavy brows and unruly black hair nearly tamed by a stylishly short cut. Faint stubble shaded the set of his rugged jaw, lending a harshly dangerous air to his outward sophistication.

  He was thuggishly elegant, graceful yet seething with raw power, aloof and still undeniably fascinating. Legere’s enigmatic enforcer turned influential businessman and philanthropist. Traumatized orphan child who’d polarized a group of frightened misfits into a tight community family. Everything she’d ever wanted.

  She’d worried over him, missed him, needed him but until this moment, when the unexpected mention of sex reared its wicked head, Cee Cee hadn’t realized just how long she’d gone without the physical side of their relationship. Seeing him standing there fit and fine, wreathed in stillness and mystery, so tempting, so inviting, a fever hot dream personified, her body burned until only a fire extinguisher could cool her intention of coaxing him back into an intimate bed.

  Until he spoke.

  “But you didn’t ask this morning.”

  Even though there was no censure in his tone, his testy challenge coldly dashed her desire.

  “That was instinct, not a planned invasion of your privacy. Would you rather I hadn’t reached out to you? Would you rather Silas and I both had died for the sake of politeness?”

  “Of course not.” Irritation flashed through his expression. Reserve fell before a simmer of temper. “Don’t be—” He broke off abruptly.

  “Foolish?” she supplied.

  He raised his brows, a small smile lifting one corner of his too damned delicious mouth. Making her crave hot sex again when, unfortunately he was still interested in conversation.

  “How is this possible, you being a human?”

  It was her turn to hold back behind silence.

  His eyes narrowed into long cautious slits. “What are you, Detective? What makes you different?” What makes you dangerous to me? was tacitly implied.

  “I’m like you. I’m more.” It felt strange to admit that out loud for the first time, the concept still uncomfortably new to her. “My father was human, my mother an original of your species, like yours. She brought unique abilities into the genetic mix. That’s what Susanna is studying.”

  For a moment, Max stood motionless, digesting this information. Was he shocked? She couldn’t tell from his shadowed expression. Would it change how he viewed her, discovering that instead of a feeble human, he was mated to a female with strengths and talents of her own? Never mind that she’d yet to discover them. Or would he see her now as a threat? She wished she could read what went on behind his impassive stare.

  “Are we her test subjects?”

  Now there was emotion. Uneasiness, resentment, caution. Distrust. As if all the forward momentum they’d made slammed into wary reverse. As if they were no better than the ones who’d trapped him on their experimental table.

  She could have lied. She could have sugar-coated that bitter pill of knowledge to make it go down easier. But Cee Cee answered truthfully. “In a way.”

  “I see.” Whatever he saw wasn’t pleasant. He’d closed down tight as a vacuum seal. “Who’s been mucking about in my head without me knowing it?”

  “No one, Max. Not since Nica, Silas and his sister tried to reach your memories. No one has acted against you or your best interests. You must believe that.” But obviously, he didn’t.

  “They were unsuccessful.”

  “Yes.”

  “No more of that. Not from anyone.” Anger as well as anxiousness underlined that demand. She couldn’t blame him for feeling betrayed by their desperate actions until he added, “Not even from you, Detective.”

  Point taken as hard as a slap. “I understand. I’ll keep my distance, Savoie.” She stood and carefully folded the blanket, hugging it to her chest. Waiting. Hoping he’d say more. When he remained stoically silent, she had no choice but to say, “Good night then. I have an early day tomorrow.”

  “I’ll try not to disturb you.”

  With a thin smile, Cee Cee disappeared into the bedroom.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Max stood letting minutes become an hour as he looked out into the night, at that dark canvas dotted with brilliant light. A good analogy for the state of his mind. He knew only what he’d been told by those who called themselves his friends. But they could have been anyone and their words lies. He had no way of knowing. That left him uneasy beneath the crown of responsibility they’d eagerly placed upon his head.

  He understood some things as truths. He just knew. He keyed in the code to this secured floor without thought, knew where the coffee maker was, what order his parade of shoes should be in and which pair he preferred above the costly Italian leathers—the red Converse high tops that fit so comfortably upon his feet. How could he know these things and not his name?

  Or the face of the woman he was linked to for life?

  A woman who was so much more than he at first assumed.

  Again, caution whispered to him. Such intense self-restraint must have come from somewhere, from some harsh lesson learned. What was it?

  They’ll find you. They’ll hurt you. They’ll kill you.

  Don’t let them see what you are, what you can do.

  Those two very distinct voices haunted him. One he believed was his mother’s. The other belonged to his mentor, mobster Jimmy Legere. What had they known that he needed to discover if he was to survive?

  Survival. That one forceful need drove him, the key to all that he’d been, to all that he was. A deep, desperate, clawing purpose rooted in fears that shadowed his beginnings. Forbidding this trust his supposed mate spoke of. Challenging the life of wealth and hard-won respect he’d been shown that afternoon. Denying the insistent claims that he was safe and protected amongst friends.

  Why did none of those things quiet the insistent alarm crying all was not fine, that he was teetering on a precipice that would destroy him?

  If survival was the treasure locked beyond a wall of blankness, his memories were the key. He had to get through. Or this woman, these people, this world he allegedly loved would all be lost.

  A soft cry from the bedroom pulled his attention away from his own troubles. Just as it had that morning, that sound of distress triggered a sudden surge of defending instinct, propelling him down the hall, his pulse thundering in alarm.

  The room was dark, but Max had no trouble locating the figure tossing anxiously beneath silky sheets. She was asleep, her dream twisting about her like those tangled covers. There was no apparent danger, yet he didn’t withdraw. Her plaintive cries held him in a tight fist, shaking him into intuitive action. To guard. To comfort.

  After taking of
f his jacket, tie and shoes, he slid across the acre of empty space to find her knotted and trembling on the far edge of the mattress. Trying not to wake her, he bent close enough to see the frantic movements beneath her shuttered eyelids, to hear the hurried snatches of breath that fluttered softly against his skin.

  “Shhhhh. It’s all right, sha. I’m here. I won’t let anything harm you.”

  His voice brought her up against him like a gravitational pull, her arms snagging about his middle, her damp face burrowing into the hollow of his throat. There, she clung with a desperate entreaty until his embrace circled her and pressed her closer still. The transfer was immediate, her absorbing his calm, him tense with her panic.

  Despite an insistent urge that he pull back from this unexpected intimacy, Max sank into a deep sense of . . . rightness. Her scent, her thick mat of dark hair tickling beneath his chin, her curvy body’s surprising strength under sweat-dampened tee shirt and gym shorts, the unquestioning way she sought him, all so familiar, so . . . right.

  He settled beside her, letting himself relax into the moment, cautiously exploring the complexities she inspired. Contentment. A fierce, spirit-shaking protectiveness. And more. Sensations wound about his heart, sinking low to burn and ache in his loins as his knuckles brushed along the line of her jaw.

  My warrior woman.

  Max smiled at that encapsulation of who and what she was as he let his eyes close and simply enjoyed the sense of belonging to someplace, to someone. And as he drifted off into a deep and untroubled sleep, one certainty lingered.

  He’d been wrong before.

  Here in his arms was the key to everything.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  With a languid stretch, Cee Cee reluctantly allowed wakefulness to creep up on her, unwilling to surrender her dream of being held by the man she adored. She’d never imagined such a feeling during her careful, self-contained early years when the only one she could depend on was herself. She didn’t let down and let go easily around others. A rare phenomenon found only with Max Savoie. How she missed that restorative peace.

  Yet this morning she felt its embrace, as if she’d enjoyed the real thing.

  Her eyes blinked open, finding the expected empty spot beside her. Oddly, disappointment didn’t crush her mood.

  Something was different.

  Max Savoie’s scent was all over her.

  She sat up abruptly, pulling her tee shirt to her nose, inhaling his unmistakable smell in the fabric.

  It hadn’t been a dream.

  Cee Cee scrambled out of bed and headed toward the sound of the television in the living room. Max had become something of a news junkie. He was lounging on their sofa, already dressed in his sleek Armani, sipping a cup of harsh chicory coffee. As his head turned and his gaze lifted to her, her pulse stumbled. There was something different about him. Something that encouraged a hopeful smile as she bid him good morning.

  “Your coffee’s ready, Detective. I wouldn’t want to send you out to face the streets unarmed.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Savoie.”

  That was it. What she read in his eyes was concern. For her. What a huge improvement over his recent remoteness. A tiny step, but enough to make her own wobbly as she went to pour a cup of the dark brew. Normally, she would have carried it over to the couch where she’d have curl up against him, her head on his shoulder as they readied to start their day. That was before. Now, she assumed a seat on the adjacent sofa, keeping a careful distance as she inhaled the potent steam in appreciation.

  Should she broach the subject? I could tell by your scent that you got up-close-and-personal last night while I was sleeping. No. Better to say nothing then to force him to go on the defensive.

  And then the sound of Karen Crawford’s irritating voice cut in with a recap of her previous day’s interview. Cee Cee sipped cautiously, stare shooting bullets at the image on the screen.

  “Do I need to apologize again?”

  She glanced at Max, smiling tightly. “No. In retrospect it’s not such a bad thing.”

  “Giles told me to ask you about my stripper girlfriend.”

  A laugh. “He did, did he?” She took another slow sip, letting him wonder a bit longer before spilling the truth. “Rumor has it you became infatuated with an exotic dancer at Carmen Blutafino’s Sweat Shop and carried her off to live with you as a side dish in a fancy high-rise love nest unbeknownst to your cop girlfriend while said dish’s pimp got a big salary and position boost in Manny’s organization.”

  “And this dancer’s name?”

  “Chili Pepper.”

  Max studied her for a long, silent moment then deduced, “You and your partner, I take it.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because, Detective, I can’t imagine that having you, I would have the stamina to entertain another lover.”

  A pleased smile tweaked about her lips. “Good answer.”

  “Not to mention the fact that you are well armed.”

  A low chuckle. “And there’s that.”

  “Are you still undercover as Ms. Pepper?”

  “She’s on hiatus.”

  “A shame. I’d have enjoyed taking in a performance.”

  He was flirting with her.

  For a moment, the sultry cant of his eyes, the tempting curve of his lips, the unmistakable flicker of heat in his deep voice brought back those courtship days when she couldn’t turn around without bumping into the determined mobster’s shadow sniffing at her heels. Aggravating at first, then something she began to look forward to. Now something she couldn’t live without.

  Wondering how far she should push the teasing mood, Cee Cee held his stare unblinkingly. “Now that Ms. Crawford has so nicely reestablished my cover, perhaps I could be persuaded to come out of retirement. Strictly business, of course.”

  “Of course,” he drawled.

  Some serious sizzle was sparking between them when MacCreedy had the bad timing to intrude after a brief knock. And also the smarts to realize he was stepping in the middle of something.

  He halted just shy of the recessed living room to offer, “I could come back later.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Cee Cee insisted, glancing behind him to see another figure. “There’s enough coffee for both of you.”

  Nica Fraser MacCreedy stepped up to curl her arm about her mate’s waist. “I’m just dropping him off. He’s pretending he’s fine. Ignore him.”

  “Then while I go get dressed, make sure he sits down before he falls down.”

  Silas rolled his eyes at the determined coddling but obediently took Cee Cee’s spot on the couch. As she was about to slip past him, he caught her arm and held it tight, surprising her with his urgency.

  “Thank you.”

  Her brows shot up. “For what?”

  “I’m not sure I would have stayed down as long as you did.”

  She tugged free. “Don’t be an ass. Of course you would have. That’s what partners do. No big deal.”

  She was afraid he was going to make it one, but then he just smiled and relaxed back into the cushions. “If you say so.”

  “I say so. If you want to thank somebody for saving your butt, thank Max. He’s the one who came to both our rescue.”

  “So,” Max drawled out, gaze measuring Silas coolly. “Are you the pimp?”

  Leaving her startled partner to explain that to Max’s satisfaction, Cee Cee hurriedly pulled on jeans and a crisp button-front shirt. After applying a quick slick of makeup and grabbing up the tools of her trade, she returned to find a more relaxed mood among the trio. Silas, who must have come up with some convincing answers, slurped up the rest of his coffee and came to join her with surprising news.

  “Max convinced me to pay for the first round at Cheveux du Chien tonight. Nica’s not working, so it’ll be fun.”

  Just the four of them. A double date? And it was Max’s idea? Cee Cee shot him a quick look, but he merely smiled at her and said, “Ther
e’ll be dancing.”

  The off-handed comment took her like a punch, bringing a flood of memories of them moving together in one another’s arms. Knowing he had no such recall made the moment unbearably poignant. “I’ll get home early to pick you up.”

  “I’ll meet you there, Detective. At seven. So I can make sure you’re actually eating something and not simply storing it in the refrigerator to grow experimental molds.”

  “You’ve got a date, Savoie.”

  And strangely enough, with the way excitement percolated through her, it felt like one. So much so, she forgot to ask him his plans for the day.

  Nica caught her husband about the waist, her hand curving behind his neck to pull him down for a quick kiss. “Don’t get into any more trouble.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured agreeably. “You heading out, too?”

  “Max and I are going to talk a bit. See you later, hero.”

  He exchanged a curious look between Nica and Max who, up until recently, he wouldn’t have trusted in a room alone together. “Play nice.”

  “Don’t I always?”

  He snorted in a dubious breath.

  Max watched the two partners leave then turned his guarded focus to Nica. He’d known what, if not who she was the first time he’d seen her. “What do we have to talk about, Assassin?”

  She approached with that easy, athletic grace, like the lean, dangerous animal he knew she was. A sliver of memory flickered, of him leaping between vaults in a cemetery with her in pursuit. Was she putting those images there? Feelings of awe and fierce animosity tangled and tightened as she sat facing him, her expression composed, eyes unblinking.

  “I’ve been where you are, Max. I know the confusion you’re feeling. I’ve been in their control, and with Silas’s help, and yours, I was able to break free and start over. Here. This is my home now, and I consider all of you my family. I’m not willing to compromise either of those things.”

  “Is this a threat?”

  A fatally calm reply. “Could be if you become one.”

  “How so?”