kissed-by-moonlight by Rakhibul hasan (ebook reader for pc .TXT) 📕

of your mouth. Say it.”

 

“Gabriel.” His hips pressed forward, and my head fell back of its own accord as his erection pressed against something small and sweet.

 

“Breathe it.”

 

“Gabriel.” It escaped on a sigh as his teeth nipped my earlobe.

 

“Moan it for me.”

 

I obliged; I couldn’t help it. It was only when he growled against the side of my neck in pleasure that some semblance of common sense tried to return.

 

What the hell was I doing?

 

What the hell was I letting him do?

 

Even if he were really my boss, this would be so wildly inappropriate it wasn’t even funny. Pressing my hands against his shoulders, I tried to shove him back. At first he didn’t even so much as budge, but then sanity seemed to return for him as well, because he flew back from me as if stung.

 

“I—” His eyes were wide, his face pale, and his shoulders hunched. He met my gaze only briefly before jerking his own away and down. “I’m sorry, Miss Conners.” His voice was so stiff, so formal, that it actually stung a little.

 

We stood there, me staring at him, him staring at the floor, before, with a bitter little smile, he inclined his head and said, “Goodnight.”

 

He was to the door before I could find my voice again.

 

“Phaedra,” I told him. “Just Phaedra.”

 

Back still to me, he stiffened for a heartbeat. Two. Then, a rueful chuckle.

 

“Phaedra,” he agreed. The smile that he sent over his shoulder was softer, more intimate, than all the ones before. “Goodnight Phaedra.”

 

I swallowed. “Goodnight…Gabriel.”

 

Then he was gone.

 

I stood there in the half-lit apartment for what felt like a very long time. No matter how tightly I wrapped my arms around myself I couldn’t seem to erase the chill that his absence had left behind.

 

For the first time since agreeing to this whole mess, the task before me felt daunting.

 

* * * *

 

As was quickly becoming the norm, my interaction with Marcus was marked by long intense silences, a couple of dirty looks, and your occasional snide comment. So, in essence, we were actually getting along famously.

 

It wasn’t until he was dropping me off at my car after helping me pack up some things from my apartment that anything of note happened.

 

“You don’t have much family do you?”

 

I straightened almost immediately, forgetting the duffle bag I’d been trying to stuff into my trunk. The look I sent him was filled with the appropriate amount of venom.

 

“If by ‘much’ you mean ‘none at all,’ then no. I don’t.” A fact I was sure he was perfectly aware of, since it was as much a part of public record as my criminal history.

 

Sighing as if he’d rather be anywhere else, Marcus stuffed his hands into his jean pockets and leaned against the side of my car.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with being an orphan,” he told me. “Gabe doesn’t have any parents either.” He paused and his voice turned harsh. “The difference between you and Gabriel is that someone actually wanted him.”

 

I jerked back as if he’d struck me.

 

“I don’t mind if you two want to share some bodily fluids every now and then, but that’s as far as it’s ever going to go,” he continued, his eyes hard and cold as he watched me. Searching to see if the barbs he threw were drawing blood.

 

My lips tightened and I crossed my arms over my chest to hide the rage that had whitened my knuckles. “Last time I checked, Gabriel wasn’t some simpering virgin, so why are you playing the overly protective papa? Not that I mind. It’s cute, in fact. But I don’t think he’d appreciate you sticking your nose in his business when it’s really none of yours.”

 

He snarled at me, a throaty, angry sound that had me taking a step back even as he advanced.

 

“I’m doing you a favor. We may not be blood, but Gabe is family and I’m not the only one who sees him that way. Some of them aren’t nearly as forgiving as I am when it comes to little girls who like playing Gold-Digger. And believe me, love, compared to them I’m a goddamned Tickle Me Elmo.”

 

I couldn’t even enjoy mentally picturing Marcus giggling in hysterics every time someone poked his belly. I was too busy trying to bury the hurt his words had caused. I was angry, yeah, but a small part of me, the part who was reminded every holiday and birthday that she was an orphan, wanted to cry. I wanted that. Someone who would look out for me. Who would commit violence for me.

 

I bet it would be nice to not have to fight my own battles for once.

 

“Hey,” his voice was an unwelcome intrusion to my thoughts, “are we on the same page or not Conners?”

 

I shrugged as if I could care less. “Oh yeah,” I assured him. “I’m even a couple of paragraphs ahead.”

 

Getting into his car, his lips tightened in annoyance. I could have sworn I heard him mutter “smartass” before he revved his engine and drove away, but somehow I couldn’t enjoy the title as much as I usually did.

 

“The moon is my god now. I dance for it, I pine for it, and if it asked, I would kill for it.”

 

—Gemma Watson

 

 

 

Chapter Seven

 

 

 

 

 

The next few weeks were uneventful.

 

Whenever I was around Gabriel, I did my best to keep my distance both emotionally and physically. Whenever he tried to get me alone, I found some reason to leave or only showed up when I knew for a fact that he had someone else in the room with him. I wasn’t avoiding Gabriel because Marcus had warned me away. I was avoiding him because I wanted more than anything to do the exact opposite.

 

Everything about him fascinated me. From the way he moved and spoke to the quick, almost deadly, way his mind worked. I actually enjoyed seeing him get one over on another company no matter the project in question and finally, after what felt like ages, I found myself looking forward to coming to work. Gabriel challenged me in a way that Dawson never had, and even more appealing, after the incident with Jensen, he began to depend more and more heavily on my insight.

 

I didn’t even mind being sent on the occasional errand, since it gave me some much needed space away from Marcus. Though admittedly, the other man, who I’d come to learn was actually the head of Gabriel’s security detail, hadn’t bothered me since our little talk.

 

Everything was going smoothly, at least from a professional standpoint. I hadn’t heard from Sonya since I’d told her about the attack on my apartment. I was ashamed to say that by the time I saw her name come up on my caller ID three weeks later, I’d actually forgotten what I had been sent there to do.

 

“There’s nothing here,” I told her, leaning against the door of the handicapped stall at Lumière. It was true. I’d searched whenever I could and had called in my favors. After all of that, I had little more than what I’d started out the month with.

 

Speculation.

 

“The only thing I’ve managed to find out is that he’s adopted, Marcus is his foster brother, and that he shares ownership of Lumière with six other people.”

 

“Were you able to get any names?”

 

“They’re shadows. I don’t even know if they’re men, women, or aliens. The only reason I know they exist at all is because I overheard Gab—Evans and Marcus talking the other day.”

 

She groaned, but brightened almost instantly. “Well, your luck sucks, but mine doesn’t.”

 

I refrained, barely, from calling her something nasty. Any progress was good progress at this point. Especially since it didn’t look like I was getting anywhere on my end unless Gabriel slipped up somehow.

 

“Tell me.”

 

“Well—” her voice lowered in sudden nervousness, “—I was actually hoping we could go somewhere and talk. I don’t want to say too much over the phone.” She paused for a beat. “Plus,” she added slyly, “I have a little surprise for you.”

 

My pulse quickened, and all of a sudden I was all hunting instincts and restless energy

 

“Does this surprise happen to start with a ‘spy’ and end with a ‘camera’?”

 

“I wouldn’t know you very well if it didn’t.”

 

“Hot damn, girl, I like you better and better every day.”

 

Since it was my lunch break, we agreed to meet up at a little diner about two blocks from my new apartment so I could still grab a bite to eat. Bob’s Burgers (no relation to the television show) was a throwback to the golden points of the 40’s and 50’s. The waitresses were required to dress according to the fashion of the era, which mean a lot of faux bangs, pearl necklaces, and bright red lipstick. He even had an old fashioned jukebox and booths covered with red vinyl.

 

What made BB’s so great wasn’t the fact that it strived for authenticity, but that it kept things modern and fun. Some of the wait staff may have been dressed like Stepford wives and pin-up girls, but they were boasting such a wide array of tattoos and piercings it was like a photo shoot for BAMF monthly. The jukebox was filled with Kesha and Bruno Mars, and the black and white television in the corner over the smoothie bar was playing HBO originals rather than Leave it to Beaver.

 

Which means it was a physical effort to pry my eyes from the TV (currently showing a re-run of Game of Thrones) long enough to look around the restaurant in search of Sonya. I found her easily enough. She was sitting in a corner booth and giggling with the host, a young man who was a strange mixture between the Fonz from Happy Days and a sultry-eyed James Dean.

 

Which meant that I forgave the giggling and hair twirling easily enough, especially when she sent the man on his way without fuss once her eyes met mine. I slid in the booth across from her and groaned in approval when I saw my plate. I’d had her place my order for me, and for an

 

instant, I simply let myself bask in the lovely aroma of freshly made fries and a burger thick enough to bitch slap my arteries into whimpering submission.

 

God bless America.

 

“Spill.”

 

The fact that she wasn’t offended, or surprised, over the lack of pleasantries probably meant that Sonya and I were a lot more alike than I’d thought.

 

“The Huntsmen are being led by a woman names Jessica Pearson.” Reaching into the messenger bag sitting in the seat beside her, she drew out one of those grade school folders that people buy their kids from Wal-Mart when the school year starts. I eyed the colorful depiction of the Avengers on the front, while I stuffed my face with cooked cow and raised an eyebrow at what I could see of her from over my sesame seed bun.

 

Shrugging, she slid a picture across the table towards me.

 

The woman in the frame had long dark hair, and a smooth, olive-toned complexion. Her dark brown eyes were nearly black, and she sported these bold Latino features that would have made her a shoo-in for almost any soap opera.

 

“Jessica Pearson is a forty-two-year-old human rights activist who used to freelance as a computer programmer. Pearson was arrested about ten years back for causing a public disturbance when she wandered into St. Mary’s Cathedral with a gun screaming about the ‘eradication of demons in human flesh.’”

 

I rolled my eyes. “Overdramatic much?”

 

Sonya snorted in agreement. “Exactly. Anyway, she fell off the radar for a while, only to resurface a few months ago when she was charged with aggravated assault of a Lumière employee. Which is strange considering who Mrs. Pearson used to work for.”

 

Gabriel Evans.

 

Sonya bobbed her head in excitement and said in a singsong sort of voice, “Cue dramatic music sequence.”

 

I obliged her with a garbled, “Dum, dum, dum,” as I stuffed more French fries in my mouth, amused when she whipped the first picture away with