Page 22 of Fire on the Moon

Chapter Eight

Zane saw Francesca look around the restaurant to make sure nobody was close enough to be listening before she said, “You say we’ve bonded—so you can take my emotional temperature just like that.”

He hadn’t intended to get into any of this. But the words and the sarcasm in her voice were too much for him.

Their eyes locked. If they’d been alone, he would have crossed the space between them and folded her into his arms to prove his point. But not in a public dining room. Still, his gaze burned into her, and he saw her flush, then lower her head and go back to her food.

Neither of them said much as they finished their meals.

“Do we have to go right back to the room?” she asked when they stepped outside. “Or can we enjoy this fancy place a little bit?”

He’d like to take her back there for safekeeping, instead he let her lead him on a stroll around the manicured grounds, then across the boardwalk that led to the Gulf.

He couldn’t call the walk companionable. As they stepped onto the sand, tension radiated between them, and he wondered if it was going to flair out of control. He pictured himself dragging her into the sand dunes for some intimate body contact.

Instead he clenched his teeth and turned back toward the hotel.

When he’d closed the door of the room, she gave him a long look, which was like a spark hitting dry tinder. For a long moment, neither of them moved.

“Have it your way,” she murmured as she turned on the television again—to a channel which seemed to be focused on home remodeling.

With a deep sigh, he booted his computer. He’d put himself in this situation, and it was his own damn fault. What would be wrong with showing her what the two of them were going to mean to each other? The images of naked bodies entwined on the bed flashing in his mind were very tempting. But his duty was to keep her safe, not give in to his wolf nature.

When he opened his mail, he found an interim report from Teddy Granada at Decorah saying that he hadn’t yet gotten anything on the father. But there was an arrest record for the uncle. He’d been brought up on money laundering charges, but a skilled lawyer had gotten him off.

Sometime during the evening, Francesca went into the bathroom, took off her pants and got under the covers wearing her tee shirt and panties. He hung the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the outside of the door and slipped into his own bed, similarly dressed.

He told himself the best thing was to get some rest, and to his surprise, he drifted off pretty quickly.

A noise woke him sometime in the night, and he was immediately on alert, reaching for the gun that he’d wedged under the pillow on the other side of his bed.

With the Sig in hand, he lay in the dark, listening for more sounds—like the doorknob turning, or footsteps crossing the room. But he heard nothing—besides a muffled sob coming from Francesca’s bed.

He whipped toward her, softly calling her name. She didn’t respond, and he didn’t know if she was caught in a dream or if she was deliberately not answering him.

He waited for several moments. When he heard her moan, he figured it was the former.

Easing out of his own bed, he laid the gun on the nightstand and crossed the space between the two beds. His eyes had adjusted to the dim light, and now he could see her thrashing around as she moaned and called out, “Help me. Please help me.”

The sight of her in distress tore at him,

He called her name again, and when she didn’t answer, he slid onto the side of the bed, cupping her shoulder. She woke instantly, her body jerking and her arm striking out at him, and he had to catch her hand to keep from being hit again.

“Francesca, it’s me, Zane. You were having a nightmare.”

Her head came up, and she looked up at him in confusion.

“Zane?”

“Yes. Are you okay?”

Her voice shook as she said, “No.”

He heard the gritty quality of his own voice as he asked, “What was the dream?”

“I need you to hold me.”

Not a good idea, he thought. But what he had told her downstairs was true. They had bonded, and the anguish in her voice wrenched at his heart and he couldn’t stop himself from pulling aside the covers and slipping into bed with her.

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