Must Have Been The Moonlight Read online

  And now, for the first time in all of those years, he was suddenly looking across a lake at a family that didn’t belong to him, and wanting something more than he had.

  With an oath, Michael slammed the drawer shut.

  He dropped the unlit cigarette on the nightstand and plowed his fingers through his hair. Fifteen minutes with Brianna Donally and he was driven to smoke, and it was his damn luck there wasn’t a match to be had.

  Half dressed, he walked through the living room toward the kitchen, when he stopped dead and, every sense alert, turned.

  Halid sat on one of the pair of chairs that made up the furniture in the living area. With his legs crossed at the ankles, he watched Michael frown.

  “By the grace of Allah, it has only taken thee thirty minutes to see me.” He clicked shut the silver watch fob. “Fortunately, I am under no one’s payroll but yours.” His teeth flashed white.

  An indulgent spark of humor lifted a corner of Michael’s mouth. The last time he had seen Halid was at Donally’s desert camp. Halid still wore the blue robes and turban of his tribe. “Remind me to put a chair beneath the door latch in the office.”

  As if that would truly hold anyone at bay, but at least he’d have noticed the broken glass. The French-designed door had been his one concession to frivolity in his quarters.

  Halid walked to the table and tossed down a leather packet. “Your secretary gave me this. He said that you had requested a routing survey of the telegraph Donally Pasha is constructing. And this.” Halid held out the letter that Lady Bess had forwarded to his office.

  Michael hesitated. He would recognize his sister-in-law’s flowery script anywhere. He tore it in half. Caroline had no business writing him, as if she were the sole arbitrator of his family’s sins.

  Or his.

  Halid eyed him curiously. If he thought Michael’s behavior odd, he wisely didn’t comment. “It is fortunate you have been busy because I found nothing in my quest, except that my parents want me to marry and populate the earth with their grandchildren.”

  Michael eyed his friend with amusement. “They still like you, then, if they think you’re worthy of carrying on the line.”

  “You would make yourself worthy if you saw my future bride.” Halid crossed his arms and leaned against the table. “I have been thinking that it is time, perhaps. There is too much death not to celebrate life when it is within thy grasp to do so.”

  Michael set the papers in his hand down. “Then congratulations are in order.” Halid’s comment touched him more than he wanted. For the first time in years, he was beginning to see how vast and void of simple pleasures his life had become. “If you drank, I would toast your health.”

  “A strange English custom, this drinking for health.” He pushed away from the table and they clasped hands in another British custom Halid didn’t understand. “For thirty minutes today you had me worried, Englishman. I am told that you will be going to Alexandria.”

  “Unfinished business, Halid. I’ll be there a few days. I’ve had someone watching the Donallys’ estate since their return to Cairo. I want you to take over the sentry on Miss Donally.”

  “Only the younger one?”

  Michael turned into the hovel that served as his kitchen and withdrew a flask of brandy, the morning’s bread that he’d purchased from the market, and a bottle of jam from the pantry. “Other than her brother, she’s the only one who leaves the house.”

  He’d learned a lot about Little-Miss-Spoiled-For-Life-With-One-Kiss, who wanted to have an affair with him.

  Brianna worshipped the sunrise. With coffee in his hands, he’d stood on his balcony at the dawn of every day and watched her at the edge of the lake photographing the sailing dhows that populated the causeway. Every third day, she visited the American mission, where he’d learned that she read to the children in the mornings. On Tuesdays and Thursdays she did Lady Alexandra’s bookkeeping at the Bulaq Museum, and every other day she bathed at the women’s public bathhouse. Nothing was out of her confines, including the suks, an occasional coffeehouse, and the public fountain where she’d taken photographs. Brianna Donally, if she was anything at all, was as unconventional as a purple leprechaun.

  And he was surprised by how much he enjoyed sparring with her.

  With the exception of the bathhouse, his men had safeguarded her every day since her return.

  Michael didn’t tell Halid that his life, whether it went north or south after today, was about to become more colorful. He sloshed brandy into a glass. “To much needed good fortune, Halid.”

  “My fortune or yours, essalâmu ’a leikum, friend?”

  Diverted by the comely face and alluring body that possessed his thoughts, Michael raised the glass. “Your fortune, Halid.”

  It wasn’t going to take expensive brandy to add to his.

  Chapter 6

  “Is there anything written in English?” Brianna asked as Mr. Cross set another pair of books on the desk. Wiping a dusty sleeve across her brow, she glared at the various manuscripts and tomes procured for her research as if she were the next Champollion of her time.

  “There will be when Lady Alex completes this project.” Mr. Cross looked down at her, his expression staid. “French is all we have.”

  Brianna was sure she’d insulted him. Especially after all the effort he’d gone through to secure the research material. “I’m a classics sort of student.” And a reader of Brontë and Dickens, both of which had been in her personal trunks when the marauders attacked the caravan. The thought lowered her gaze. “You definitely don’t want to donate these books to the children’s mission book program.” She quietly laughed.

  “I will see you at noon,” Mr. Cross said, and Brianna frowned as he left the dusty, old room that housed the museum’s archived tomes. She’d promised to take her lunch with him today outside on the steps.

  Brianna twirled a loose curl around her finger as her gaze lifted to touch the single red rose set in a vase on her desk.

  Major Fallon had sent the rose the morning he’d left for Alexandra, the illicit promise of his return captured within the essence of every velvet petal. She touched a finger to the stem. In truth, the past few days working in the dusty crypts of the museum did much to drag her thoughts away from a more uncertain, enigmatic pull that had begun to dog her every waking moment.

  Today she was having difficulty concentrating as she flipped through pages, frustrated by her inability to decipher the paragraphs with any speed. Unlike Alex, and a score of scholars who worked at the museum, she’d never grasped anything more foreign than Latin. It didn’t help that she’d cheated on all of her tests and never completed her assignments. Now she wished she’d paid more attention.

  The door opened. “Miss Donally.” Mr. Cross entered. “A visitor is here.”

  “Please tell whoever it is that her ladyship is not here.” Brianna didn’t look up from the transcriptions. “I’m busy.”

  “He didn’t ask for her ladyship, Miss Donally. He asked for you.”

  Brianna lifted her head. Alex’s aide made no pretense that he considered any visitor to the realm of holy scholars an intruder, so she wasn’t surprised by his stiff tone.

  But she was surprised to see Major Fallon in the doorway.

  Wearing his uniform, he carried his military helmet between his arm and his side. A slow smile spread across his lips, and it bore a strange hint of warmth. He’d removed his gloves and held them in one hand. Light seemed to displace the gloom of the room, and Brianna came to her feet.

  “Major,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  “Miss Donally,” he replied, his eyes on hers.

  “You’re back.”

  “It would appear so.”

  She stared, unaware that she was doing so until she realized Mr. Cross was watching her. “It’s all right,” she said, conscious that he didn’t seem willing to leave her. “Truly, Mr. Cross. I won’t let him touch anything.”

  Brianna waited
for Mr. Cross to leave, then hurried around the cluttered desk and stuck her head out the door to check the passageway. There were others milling about the filing cabinets. She shut the door and leaned with her back against the brass key latch. No key sat in the lock.

  Major Fallon was watching her, amused, as he turned to take in the small room before settling the force of his gaze on her. She couldn’t look away from him. And she suddenly knew what it was about him that was so different from Stephan. His eyes made no apology for his thoughts.

  “I can’t touch anything?”

  Her slow smile was at once challenging. “What is it you want to touch, Major?”

  He took a step in front of her. She had to tilt her head. “What do you think it is I want to touch, amîri?”

  He was tall and handsome, and she wasn’t handling herself with her usual poise and grace, now that she was finally alone with him.

  Alone.

  With their last conversation hanging between them like a kiss of rare chocolate.

  He made the room smaller, the walls narrower.

  His gaze shifted to the books she’d been poring over. “What are you doing here?” He walked to the desk.

  “Research.” Reaching behind her, she untied her dusty apron.

  His eyes swept her body. “You’ve a scientific mind, then?”

  “I have a mind.” She removed her kerchief. “But it’s not the least scientific. I’m trying to learn a little about Coptic history.”

  “I thought that was Lady Alexandra’s job.”

  Brianna traced a finger over the pages. “This project’s success depends on getting photographs of places that are still standing. I don’t want Lady Alex to fail because of me.”

  She’d made the mistake of looking up at him. “But I fear my French is very poor.”

  Lowering his gaze, he rotated one of the books. She watched his hand flip a page. Her eyes traced the blue veins that disappeared beneath the red cuff of his uniform. She’d always thought he had beautiful, strong hands with perfectly tapered fingers. She had felt their strength and seen their gentleness when he’d tended Alex.

  Another page flipped, and she found her gaze had strayed to his profile. “I’ll save you some time, then,” he said. “This is a manual on Middle Eastern sexual customs.”

  “It isn’t!” She dropped her horrified gaze to the text. He laughed, and she hit the solid muscle of his arm. “I didn’t think my French was that wretched.”

  He touched the rogue curl that had fallen from her bun. More often than not, the laughter in Major Fallon’s eyes reflected the challenge in her own. “I imagine you didn’t pay much attention to your lessons.”

  “I happen to have been a very unconventional student.” She leaned on the desk, her hands pressed behind her. “I am the chameleon queen,” she said. “If I can’t blend in, I fake it.” She brushed a piece of lint from his shoulder, and the mood shifted beyond verbal foreplay. Awareness of him prowled through her senses. “You stayed longer than expected in Alexandria.”

  “I returned as soon as I could.”

  She knew that he’d returned last night. “That was a very good and kind thing that you did for Mrs. Pritchards.” She wanted to ask how everything had fared. Instead, when he didn’t reply, she smiled up at him. “Did you miss me, then?”

  His eyes hesitated on her lips before he raised his gaze back to hers. “Every day.”

  Despite herself, her heart skipped a beat. “You’re just saying that. You probably didn’t think about me once.”

  He lowered his mouth to her lips. “Would you like to go with me to lunch?” His breath brushed hers. “I’ll prove how wrong you are.”

  “Lunch?” Brianna’s eyes eased open. She knew he meant to do more than casual dining.

  “Food? Eat with mouth? I know just the perfect place.”

  He started to bend toward her again.

  “Wait—” She looked around him at the door.

  He pulled away, if only a fraction, as if reading her uncertainty with amusement. “Why?”

  She’d been dreaming of this moment, imagining his hands all over her body, but the fantasy seemed so childish compared to the reality in his eyes: a reality that was at once inviting and formidable.

  “I can’t eat lunch with you today. I have plans.”

  “Cancel them.”

  Taking his hand, she walked him behind a pair of bookcases out of sight of the door. “I agreed to dine with Mr. Cross in exchange for him signing these books out for me. What about tomorrow?”

  Crooking a dark brow, he glanced at the crowded space between the shelves, then settled his eyes on hers. “Tomorrow is out.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m committed elsewhere.”

  Tomorrow was the Sabbath. “I’m teaching at the mission on Monday,” she said in frustration. “Tuesday I’ll be here again.”

  “Then Tuesday it is.” She watched him set his pith helmet and gloves on the shelf. “There’s nothing like mutual cooperation and mutual goals to accomplish a task.” He turned his head to her.

  “Major—”

  “Michael,” he corrected. “Don’t you think that if we are going to be lovers then we should be on a first name basis?”

  He was being very practical about all of this, she realized as she felt herself brace for the impact of his lips. She wondered if he’d come here today to test her strength of purpose.

  He tilted her face. “Shall we give this a try?”

  She expelled her breath in a rush. What on earth was the matter with her? “Lord.” Backing up a step, she hit the wall. Granting her no reprieve, he followed her. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Her gaze followed the movement of his hands as they took hers and pressed them to the wall, level with her head. “My corset is too tight.”

  He caged her with his arms and his body. “I thought you were an expert at kissing.” The heat of his words feathered her lips.

  “I never said that…exactly.” Her hands still captured, she felt enclosed by his warmth. “I told you that you wouldn’t shock me.”

  “If it makes you more at ease, I’ve already seen you naked.”

  Her voice was breathy with shock. “You have not.”

  “At the watchtower oasis.” His eyes remaining locked on hers, a slow sensual smile curved his lips. “Did you know that you have a mole on the small of your back, amîri?” There was an edge to his voice, and against her mouth he whispered, “And one on your thigh?”

  She had no chance to breathe a single shocked utterance.

  His lips covered hers. She moaned against his mouth.

  Peppermint.

  The taste had become synonymous with him.

  Erotic.

  Hot.

  Tasting him, she only wanted more, and she pressed against her captivity, against the strength that held her pinned to the wall, her body arching instinctively against his. He dipped his tongue into her mouth, lingering and caressing as her own tongue mirrored his. With a groan, he deepened the kiss. The heat began to grow between them, burn. Brianna felt the flush go over her body and pulse through her veins as it settled in her abdomen. Then her hands were free, and his fingers tilted her head and he tongue-kissed her. She felt the kiss all the way to her toes, rose to the balls of her feet and, matching his hunger, encircled his neck as if she were drowning.

  Maybe she was.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  They both pulled back, sucking in air, their gazes holding almost in stark surprise. Silver eyes burned into hers, their expression primitive. Murmuring incoherently, her arms wrapped around his neck, she pulled him back to her mouth. She didn’t know what she was doing, except whatever he was doing to her felt wonderful. She wanted more.

  Michael returned his mouth to hers, and they both danced another heated round against the wall. He hadn’t remembered feeling this out of control in a long time. This hungry. And thirsty. He had not anticipated many things. Especially his reaction to her. />
  She made a whimpering sound in the back of her throat. The kiss turned hotter. Tracing the curvature of her corseted waist, he paused, then cupped her bottom and pressed her fully against him. He groaned his pleasure, the sound muffled by her mouth.

  He wasn’t thinking.

  Hadn’t even tried to think since the moment he shaved this morning and found himself on his way to see her.

  His hands kneaded her bottom through her skirts, retraced their descent on her back and tangled in the heavy mass of hair coiled at her nape. The essence of English roses touched his senses.

  Roses…like the scent on the veil he’d pulled from the hot desert floor all those weeks ago.

  The silky cool texture of her sable hair spilled around his hands. He fisted his hand in its mass, tilting her head back, moved his other palm up her ribs to claim her breast.

  Her breathing finally fractured.

  One perfect breast filled his palm. A grumble sounded in his throat. “Do you want to quit yet?” His ragged breath traced the slim length of her neck until he was looking down into her upturned face. His erection strained his trousers. “Are you still game?”

  He wondered who was playing whom.

  Awakened from the depths of arousal, Brianna slowly opened her eyes and smiled. “You don’t frighten me.”

  “No?” His words were hoarse. “Not even a little?”

  The challenge in his eyes guided her hands lower over the hardened contours of his waist, down the cool brass buttons on his uniform.

  Her gaze on his, Brianna slid her hands beneath his jacket, over his waistband, and came into full contact with him straining against the cloth. Her blue eyes sparkled, as if daring him to challenge her.

  He should have known that nothing scared her for long, and he had to admit that he wasn’t interested in trying anymore.