Waiting For The Moon Part 25

He s.h.i.+vered at the subtle s.e.xual innuendo, knowing that she had no idea what she'd asked. Or what his answer could be. He stepped back from the candles and turned to her.

She stood at the top of the steps, tall and straight. She'd twined her hair into a thick braid that lay curled over one shoulder. A pale yellow wrap as sheer as a wedding veil hung in shadowy folds over her nightdress. Big, muddy men's work boots stuck out from be 205.

neath the hem. Smiling, she reached down to the small leather case beside her and flicked the latch. The case fell open with a thump, revealing a row of mallets and multicolored b.a.l.l.s.

She grabbed a handful of b.a.l.l.s and two mallets and glided down the steps toward him.

He took a mallet and red ball and gave her a mallet and blue ball, then he tossed the remainders back onto the porch. Stepping back, he tried to keep some distance between them. "Now-"

She moved closer. "Now what?"

He stepped back. She stepped closer.

"Selena, I'd like to keep a little distance between us, if you don't mind."

She moved up next to him. "I do mind." She tilted her face up and gave him a radiant smile that shot straight to his heart.

Ian stiffened and forced a weak smile. He wished he'd never promised her a thing. "Fine. Let's get on with it." He gripped the mallet and bent over, showing her how to knock the ball through the first wicket.

Her gaze never left him as he slowly straightened. "Your turn," he said.

"Show me how to hold the mallet."

Reluctantly he went to her. She promptly turned her back on him and bent slightly forward.

He stared at her back. The pale skin at the base of her neck glowed in the meager light, reminded him suddenly that she was naked beneath the sheer wrap and gown. No corsets or chemises or drawers ...

"Ian?"

He banished the erotic images and moved closer to her. Cautiously he eased his arms around her body and gently took hold of her hands, guiding them to the correct hold on the mallet. She released a s.h.i.+very sigh at his touch.

"Concentrate," he said sharply. "And hit the ball through the wicket."

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Suddenly she released the mallet and spun in his arms. Her smiling face filled his vision. Her puffy, kiss-able lips were a whisper away from his. He could feel the soft strains of her breathing against his chin.

"Why should I care whether the ball goes through the wacket?"

For a second, Ian couldn't breathe. She was so lovely, everything a woman could be. Earthy, sensual, innocent, seductive. How could he ever have thought her damaged? He tried to find a voice, and when he did it was throaty and harsh. "Those are the rules. You wanted to learn to play the game."

"Perhaps I would rather play something else with you, Ian."

The way she said his name sent s.h.i.+vers dancing along his spine. He gazed down at her, losing himself in the liquid chocolate of her eyes. Moonlight streamed through her gown and highlighted the shadowy body beneath. Without thinking, he touched the tip of her braid. The cinnamon-hued strands coiled around his finger, catching him in a soft, silken grip that he had no desire to break.

"We should go in," he said, knowing it was true. Knowing he'd rather die than give up this moment and return to the cold, black seclusion of his room.

"I do not want to go in. I want. .." Her voice trailed off.

He felt breathless, a little light-headed with antic.i.p.ation. "What do you want?"

"You." The last word was no more than a whisper.

One little word, spoken quietly and with such conviction. Ian sighed softly, unable to fight his own nature even a second longer He leaned toward her.

The kiss was nothing at first, a light touching of lips that was over almost before it began. He heard her sharply indrawn breath, saw her eyes widen in surprise.

Reluctantly he drew back, gave her time.

"What was that?" she asked.

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He touched her cheek tenderly. "A kiss."

"Why did you do it?"

"I wanted to. I shouldn't have done it."

She frowned. "Why did you want to?"

"A man has ... needs." He looked away, aching for her so badly in that moment, he felt weak in the knees. "I don't want to talk about it."

She smiled. "Me, too."

"Me too what?"

"Such needs are inside of me, also. I liked it very much."

He groaned at her honesty. "Ah, Selena. You're so trusting, so naive. I could crush you."

She gave him one of her blindingly bright smiles. "But you will not."

"You shouldn't believe in me so much," he said in a thick voice. "I'm not a good man."

She laughed. "It must be easy to become a doctor."

The topical change caught him off guard, though he ought to be used to her by now. "Why do you say that?"

"Because sometimes, Ian, you are very . . . braindamaged."

He laughed in spite of himself. "Selena, don't be so d.a.m.ned charming right now. I'm trying like h.e.l.l to be honorable. And it is not honorable to take advantage of a scantily clad virgin in the middle of the night."

"What is a virgin?"

"Someone who has never ... slept in the same bed with a man."

Her face scrunched in thought. "But what if I have slept with a man before? Then I would not be a virgin and it would be honorable for you to-"

"What?"

She gave him a blank look. A cool breeze molded her nightdress to her s.h.i.+vering body. "What what?"

Ian felt as if he'd just been punched hard in the gut. He couldn't catch his breath. Jesus, how had he missed

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it? How had he so blindly accepted her as a lost soul, unconnected and alone like everyone else at Lethe House?

What if she was married? Oh, Christ, what if she had children out there?

He covered his face with one hand, trying desperately to hang on.

"Ian? You are to scare me... ."

He'd never been so frightened in his life. Someone could be out there, waiting to take her away from him.

He thought about the trip he'd taken a few weeks ago, the lawmen he'd spoken to, the descriptions he'd given, and he felt sick with fear. "Oh, Lord, Selena, what have I done?"

She pressed onto her toes and touched his cheek. So soft was her touch, so firm and gentle and loving, that he wanted to cry when she drew back. "Kiss me again."

He grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her to him. He wanted to draw her inside him, to a place where only he could see her, only he could touch her. "You're mine," he breathed. "Mine."

"Ian-"

"I won't let you go."

She frowned. "I do not want you to let me go."

He wanted to lose himself in her innocence, but it was too late. He drew her into his arms and held her tightly, clinging to her, breathing in the sweet perfumed scent of her.

"You're mine," he whispered into her hair, knowing he'd said the words before, hearing the desperate whine in his voice, but unable to change it, unable to think of anything else to say.

She laughed, a bright, clear sound. "Oh, Ian." She hugged him, whispered against the sensitive flesh of his throat. "Of course I am yours."

G.o.d, he'd give his soul if it were true. But he'd lost his soul too long ago to bargain with it now.

"Can you hear the music?" she whispered.

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He was so deep in thought, he barely heard her. "There's no music out here."

The breeze whispered through the trees, flapped the skirt of her nightdress. She slid out of his arms and looked up at him. In the distance, the sea was a droning murmur as it crashed against the rocks. "Listen more closely. Johann said music was a beautiful sound. I hear it all around me."

"Selena." He said her name in a throaty voice. Just that and nothing more.

She gazed up at him. "It is all so extraordinary, isn't it?"

He envied her her innocence, her ability to spin dreams. 'There is no music out here, Selena. Just the wind and sea. Ordinary sounds."

She smiled. "You will hear it someday."

Chapter Seventeen.

Selena stood at her bedroom window, staring down at the still-darkened yard below. Dawn was a distant blur of bloodred against the black horizon. She wakened, as always, refreshed and excited.

Ready for the new day to begin.

Time didn't matter to her as it did to the others. She had relearned how to read the clock, and she knew that now it read 4:30. To Maeve, it was a completely unacceptable time to rise. It was a time for sleeping.

But Selena had slept enough in her life. Too much.

She leaned forward, pressed her forehead to the cold windowpane. Antic.i.p.ation thrummed through her.

The memory of last night wrapped her in warmth. Ian had kissed her, and it was the most wonderful sensation she'd ever imagined. She couldn't wait to feel it again.

Outside, the dark world beckoned her, called to her in a thousand subtle ways. She lifted the sash window, listening to the wonderful creak of the old wood as it reluctantly slid upward. A gentle breeze rolled through the bars, bringing inside the tangy scent of the tide flats. The leaves whispered and danced.

She shouldn't go outside. Ian had warned her not to. She should not be so curious; it had hurt the woman Pandora. But Selena couldn't care about that.

She simply had to be out there, feel the breeze on her 210 211.

face, touch the dewy moisture on the gra.s.s. She put on her robe, then crept down the stairs and slipped outside.

Night clung to the velvet blue sky. In the distance, the sea and the forest were a giant, whispering black shadow.

"You should be in bed."

Selena jumped at the unexpected voice and spun around.

Andrew sat huddled in the shadowy corner of the porch, his legs drawn in close to his chest. His pale, thin face appeared disembodied above his black-clothed frame. Dark hollows accentuated his tired, bloodshot eyes.

She moved toward him, sat down. "What you are doing out here?"

He shrugged. "I don't like the daylight. You've probably never noticed...."