Hidden Moon (Hot Moon Rising #4) (10 page)

dinner.

Go home and get some rest. The pack will fill in for us at the diner tonight.

Alan

She read it again and two more times. Alan planned to cook her dinner? Why? She

lifted her knuckles to her mouth and bit down. Had he changed his mind about their

relationship? Or chosen this way of saying good-bye? Butterflies did an aerial show in

her stomach. To find out, she’d have to show up.

Barbara leaned closer. “Well, what does it say?”

Since the other woman had been giving her the cold shoulder since Alan arrived,

Shelley figured sharing might heal the friendship. “Alan is cooking me a romantic

dinner.”

“Sounds serious.” Barbara wrinkled her nose. “I heard you slept with him.”

Familiar peer pressure jabbed Shelley in the spine. “So?”

“So, you should’ve married Curtis. He’s gorgeous and sane.”

Shelley put a hand on her hip. “Alan has a genetic mutation. He’s not insane.”

“Think twice.” Barbara pointed a finger at her. “Or you might end up in the hospital

from one of his spastic fits. Or with a bunch of mutated pups even freakier than he is.”

“I don’t like your attitude,” Shelley bit out.

“Hey, I’m just trying to be a friend.”

“Well, I don’t need friends like you! Not anymore.” After turning on her heel, she

marched out.

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Alan whistled a tune as he opened the front door of his father’s house at dusk. He’d

called Graham to tell him he wasn’t selling the diner. The man had said he was very

sorry to hear it and to contact him when he reconsidered. Not
if
he reconsidered but

when
. Sore loser. He’d find something else to buy and get over it.

Better still, a plane to Dulles leaving late tomorrow morning had a seat with his name

on it.

Who was he kidding? The reason he whistled was tonight’s date. He couldn’t give

Shelley a relationship, but he could enjoy a real date like a normal man. The crotch of

his jeans tightened as he anticipated making slow, sweet love to her. Maybe it would

help him get through his celibate future. He didn’t want the beast rutting her on the

kitchen counter to be her only memory of him, either.

And, hard as it was, he’d tell her he loved her. She knew he’d leave sooner or later, so

it couldn’t hurt.

Rita met him at the door. The sight of her wide eyes and mouth pulled down at the

corners shot a bolt of adrenaline through him.

“What’s happened to Dad?”

Please tell me he hasn’t passed yet.
Today, they’d shared the best conversation of

their lives. When the bad news finally came, he wanted to get a phone call or an email,

not be here in person. That would be too close. Too unbearable.

“He’s fine now,” Rita said in her usual calm voice.

When he glanced down at the bloody tissues in her hand, his heart shot into

overdrive. The brownish-red streak on her orange pants must be blood, too.

“What the hell?”

“Oh, this?” She looked down. “Just a nosebleed. He, eh, had some visitors earlier.”

“Pack members?”

“Not from our pack. Two men in suits. One of them was named Graham something or

other.” She handed him a card from the counter. It looked exactly like the one he already

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had. Same dude, all right.

Holy orange pulp.
Starwood had come here? To threaten a sick old man? He

bounded toward his father’s bedroom.

“From now on, no one is allowed in the house unless they’re from our pack,” he

barked out. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Her eyes widened even more as she took a step back. “Will you be home the

rest of the evening? Should I cook dinner?”

Alan nodded. “Fix something special. I’m having a date over.”

“I’ll set out some candles,” she replied, finally smiling. “Sounds like
amour
is in the

air.”

It was, but Starwood had ruined the mood of his date before it had even begun. He

still needed to talk to Shelley, though. She needed to know what the Moonlight pack was

up against.

He stepped into Dad’s bedroom and gently closed the door behind him. A bit of dried

blood clung to a skin crevice at the end of the man’s nose as he lay in bed. It made his

face look paler and his hair whiter.

Alan clenched his fists. “What the hell happened?”

“Nothing. Now sit down and calm yourself before you strain something.”

Still crabby. A good sign. Alan turned down the talk show on the small TV, dragged a

chair closer to the bed, and sat.

“A couple of dudes in fancy suits came over, asking me to sign some papers.” He

wrinkled his nose. “Well, first they asked. Then they demanded.”

Cold sweat bloomed across Alan’s skin, and the smell of pork chops drifting in from

the kitchen made him nauseous. He should have been here to protect him.

He wiped his forehead. “Did you sign?”

“Hell no, I didn’t sign those fool papers.” Don gripped the edge of the sheet, which lay

neatly folded across his chest. “They’d have to kill me first.”

“Your safety is more important than a restaurant.” Alan waved a hand. “What did you

do?”

“You know how prone I am to nosebleeds.” Dad held up his index finger, tipped by a

yellowed fingernail. “I just stuck this up my nose and brought one on. Bled all over those

fancy papers.”

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His pajama top was spotless, though. Rita must have changed his clothes.

The strain in Alan’s chest gushed out in a laugh. “You’re something else.”

But his beast stirred, squeezing his muscles—preparing him for battle? The Starwood

pack had gone too far.

“Did they hurt you?”

“They didn’t lay a hand on me.” Dad’s brows bristled, and the brass bed squeaked as

he pumped a fist in the air. “They knew better than to try.”

But they were both aware a sick, aged wolf would be no match for two younger,

stronger ones.

“And I told them if they came back with more papers, I’d throw up on ’em and their

suits, too.”

Alan stood and cracked his knuckles. “There won’t be a next time.”

Don’s nose twitched. “I smell fried pork chops and corn bread.”

“I’ll have Rita bring you a tray so you can stay in bed.” Alan looked down at his feet.

“Shelley is, uh, coming over for dinner.”

“Is she now?” Dad grinned. “My advice today must have gotten into that thick skull of

yours.”

“It’s not what you think. I plan to tell her how I feel, like you suggested, but mainly

I’m going to say good-bye.”

“Good-bye?” Don’s voice softened to a whisper. “Sounds like you’re planning to leave

soon.”

Alan squeezed his hand but couldn’t look at him. “My plane leaves tomorrow, but

don’t worry. You’ll be safe. I promise.”

But how could he guarantee his words? He was leaving. No sweat. Derek and Rand

owned The Defenders, a private security agency. He’d hire them to guard his father’s

home around the clock. Starwood would probably lose interest and move on to greener

pastures soon, anyway.

He glanced at his watch. Since Rita was cooking, he had time to pack before dinner.

How strange. The one thing he’d looked forward to since the night he arrived now felt

about as appealing as an old dog turd.

***

Shelley ran a hand through her hair after ringing Don’s doorbell. It felt weird not to

wear the usual rubber band. Next, she smoothed the rose-colored dress she wore. It had

flowing lines and spaghetti straps. She’d even worn high-heeled sandals. When was the

last time she’d dressed up? She spent so much time farming and handling food she

probably smelled like a turnip.

Alan answered the door in dark jeans and a long-sleeved striped shirt. He still wore

his black bandana, though. His melted-chocolate eyes took her in from head to toe.

“Come in, my lady.” Bowing, he held out a hand.

“I like the formality,” she said as she clasped it. “You clean up pretty nice, Alan.”

The wolf in her was too busy sniffing his sexy scent to inspect his clothes too closely,

though.

He whistled. “So do you.”

She stepped inside, and her stomach did a little flip when she realized they were

alone.

“Where’s Don?” she asked.

“Asleep,” he said, showing her to a walnut-brown dining room table.

A couple of candles burned from brass holders centered on lace doilies. Her tired feet

ached to kick off her shoes and sink into the gold shag carpet. The old-fashioned room

sounded blissfully quiet after the clatter of the diner.

Her stomach growled as several appetites in her blossomed at once. “Something

smells good.”

“I wish I could take the credit, but Rita whipped something up before she left.”

She didn’t care if the governor of Florida had prepared the meal. Tonight, she wanted

only Alan, wherever and however she could get him. Heat banked in her belly like a

persistent fog as they filled their plates at the stove.

After they sat down, she took a few bites. The pork chops tasted delicious, but

excitement kept her from savoring them properly.

“This is a wonderful surprise.” She gazed at the candle flame in front of her. “I’m

almost afraid to ask, but what’s the occasion?”

When he wiped some olive oil from his mouth, she itched to do it for him with her

tongue. Realizing he did it to delay his answer cooled her ardor.

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“One reason is to apologize to you for the way I acted this morning, ruining your

tomatoes. Hang on a second.”

She frowned when he jumped up to visit the refrigerator. He sure acted mysterious

tonight. With great solemnity, he brought back a tomato with a heart carved into it and

set it in front of her.

After raising her fingers to her mouth, she laughed through them. “Oh, Alan.”

His dark eyes grew serious. “I don’t want to be the cliché violent guy who apologizes

to his woman and promises he’ll never do it again. So, I’m just saying I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” She let her hand rest on his across the table. “But don’t worry about it.

You didn’t exactly beat me up.”

“You’re my mate. I would never hurt you,” he said quietly as a single shiver shook his

shoulders. “At least I hope I wouldn’t.”

“What’s the other reason?”

When he looked down at his lap, her heart landed on her high-heeled shoes like a

dead fish. She should have known a romantic dinner would be too good to be true.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” she asked. “When?”

His gaze rose and locked onto hers. “Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.
She’d never hated a word so much. It struck her in the chest with the

force of a hammer. A wooden clock ticked from the wall, marking what little time they

had left.

“So, this is good-bye.”

He nodded. “But we have tonight. Shelley, there are so many things I need to say to

you.”

She wasn’t sure she could stand to hear them, but she couldn’t bear to leave yet.

“I’m going to hire The Defenders to have someone guard Dad. Starwood sent two

goons over here today to pressure him to sell the diner. One of them was the same guy I

turned down.”

“Oh, no.” What a bittersweet romantic dinner. Plenty of romance but also a boatload

of bad news to go along with it. “He didn’t, did he?”

“Luckily, no.”

“My afternoon wasn’t so great, either,” she said. “Barbara and I aren’t friends

anymore.”

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His brow creased. “Because of me?”

“It was a long time coming.” She shrugged. “I don’t care what she thinks anymore

about my taste in men.”

“Maybe she’ll grow up someday, like you.”

When she rose to help him clear the plates, he held up his hand. “You’re off duty

tonight.”

He returned to the table, grasped her bare shoulders, and rubbed lazy circles on

them. His touch felt so good she closed her eyes and sighed.

“You have such pretty shoulders,” he murmured. “Soft but strong. You’d never know

by looking at them how much weight they carry in the pack.”

“Thank you, Alan. I think you have the makings for another poem in there

somewhere.”

“We’ll see.” He flashed her a teasing grin. “I’d play some music, but I’m afraid it

would wake Dad. Will you pretend dance with me?”

“Sure.”

While his arms slid around her waist, she wrapped hers around his upper back,

drinking in the thick cotton of his shirt and his scent. Without words, they hugged each

other’s bodies tight as they swayed to a silent beat.

The close physical contact made her eyes burn. How could she say good-bye to him

now? Ever? He’d only been here a few days, and he already felt like part of her soul. Her

love. Her mate. Her everything. And she was going to lose him before she’d even had

him.

His bandana tickled her face when he leaned his forehead against hers. His breath,

slow and warm, brushed her cheek. It felt so right to be this close to him, she melted

faster than a piece of key lime pie in the sun.

“Shelley, I— Oh, hell.”

“What are you trying to say, Alan?” she whispered.

“Before I leave, I want you to know something.”

They both spoke quietly so they wouldn’t wake his father. Alan was finally laying his

soul bare to her—something that had never happened before and probably never would

again. She didn’t care if a hurricane ripped through the cottage. Nothing had better ruin

this rare moment.

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