CHAPTER 11

He’s certifiably crazy.

Through gritted teeth, I warn, “I don’t like repeating myself and I won’t press charges if you leave. Now.”

His smile disappears. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, pull your gun.”

I close my eyes in frustration and then realize what I’ve done and open them again. My gun isn’t the problem; his damned guns aka ripped arms, are. No one involved in crime should have a body like Moon’s. His cologne drifts over me and I inhale deeply. Somehow he’s found that perfect match that accents his natural man-smell. Add in his blue eyes, which capture everything going on around him, and I’m having heart palpitations that have nothing to do with my apartment being broken into. I pull in another long breath to gain a small semblance of control. I’m unwilling to stand and point a damn gun at him now, and that pisses me off.

He removes his cell from his pocket, backs a couple of feet away, and speaks to whoever’s on the other end. “Order for two from El Tiempo and pick up whatever beer she was drinking at the bar.”

Oh my fucking hell, he is seriously stalking me. Someone knows the damn beer I was drinking. It doesn’t matter that El Tiempo makes the best tacos in the world; I need to control this situation. He disconnects and raises his eyebrows. I’m fuming and he appears completely at ease.

“This isn’t happening,” I tell him abruptly while placing my hands on my waist and widening my legs to a better fighting stance.

Neither my words nor posture seem to bother him. He turns around and saunters over to my loveseat. He sits and stretches his long legs out in front of him and casually rests his hands on his thighs, palms down.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? Maybe a sit down, calm conversation will get through to him. I walk to my desk and roll the chair across from him and take a seat. I ignore the intensity of his gaze as he watches each move I make without giving a single of his thoughts away.

I keep my voice low and as reasonable as possible. “Why are you doing this?”

His expression changes only slightly; he’s weighing his words. It’s completely unfair when he leans forward and speaks. “I’m attracted to you.” A quizzical look moves across his face. “I thought a simple date might give me a clue as to why. You aren’t my usual type.” His gaze rakes over me before he lifts his eyes again. “There’s something about you that intrigues me. I need to discover exactly what that something is.”

My jaw remains closed or more precisely locked in stunned silence. Tingles form in my belly, and I have no idea what to say.

Moon continues, “Alex, you know him as Gomez, likes you. He says that when he picked up Dandridge, you kept your cool, assessed the situation, and acted accordingly. That’s high praise from him.” I receive a quirky lip half-smile that makes me even more uncomfortable. “He also says you have an affinity for cement pillars,” he adds. “To gain Alex’s respect, you must have something besides a gorgeous body and a pretty face.”

It’s what men usually see. I refuse to give Alex or Moon points for thinking past my feminine assets. “All of this,” I throw up my hands, “is because Gomez likes me?”

The perplexity in his expression deepens. “Some of it. I trust Alex’s instincts.”

“Same crib,” I murmur.

Surprise changes Moon’s expression. “Alex is the most closed-off person I know, but he obviously talked to you.”

I want to scream. Alex, I mean Gomez, said almost the same thing about Moon. Truthfully, I don’t care what Moon or Gomez think. I want them out of my life. Maybe if I pull the tiger’s tail, Moon will get a clue. “So what if I choose to date Alex instead of you?”

His smooth whiskey laugh fills the room, and I’m left breathless. My entire body responds. My inner thighs involuntarily tighten, my heart rate accelerates, and shivers wash over my skin. Note to self: Do not make this man laugh. When he does, he’s completely irresistible.

He’s still laughing, so I ask, “Is Gomez gay?” Moon laughs harder. This time, his chin lifts, and all I can think of is licking and biting the thick cords of his throat. I haven’t had sex in months. So many months, it qualifies as more than a year. Moon makes me think of sex. Hot, dirty, satisfying… sex. Hot. My brain switches gears and moves to the temperature of my apartment.

“You adjusted my A/C?” I demand.

Moon stops laughing and gives me a look I can’t really describe because he’s still smiling. “It was uncomfortably warm in here.”

I go back to being pissed off and try to disregard my wet panties. I refuse to dwell on how yummy he is. “Says the man with a monthly electric bill that’s probably more than I make in a year.”

He gets it then and something else flickers in his eyes. I don’t want fucking pity because I live month-to-month. I almost say this out loud. Moon surprises me when he calmly stands up and heads to the thermostat on the far wall to readjust the A/C. “Would you like a glass of ice water?” he asks as he heads into my kitchen. My kitchen.

I jump up fully prepared for another physical altercation. “Yeah and while you’re at it, just make yourself at home.” I use my frosty voice, which has no effect on Moon. I watch as he opens one cabinet and then another to locate my glasses. I forget all about why I followed him into the kitchen. His body is a work of art. Skin too. Every motion he makes is pure, natural grace. A tribal tat on his arm peeks from beneath his T-shirt. For some reason, men think a tribal makes them badass. They don’t usually know the meaning of the art they wear. But I remember the artwork in his home and it occurs to me that Moon knows exactly what his tat signifies. He also doesn’t need to pretend to be badass. He’s the definition. Even scrounging around my kitchen, he has a don’t-fuck-with-me quality. I’m startled out of my Moon-dreaming when he replies to my last statement.

“This place isn’t a home. There’s not a single picture or decoration anywhere.” He opens the freezer and pulls out a tray of ice cubes. Next, he opens the fridge and grabs my filtered water pitcher. No one in Phoenix drinks the nasty water straight from the tap. I have a few bottled waters under the sink for guests. But he’s not a guest, so I don’t say anything. He adds the ice cubes to two glasses and follows with water. I back up when he walks from the kitchen holding both glasses and carries them back to my couch.

The apartment is heating up quickly and I see sweat under Moon’s pits. There’s nothing I like more than a hot and sweaty fuck. I stop that thought and follow like the tame little puppy he’s turning me into. Before he sits, he hands me my glass. I watch him take a healthy pull from his. And here we go again with the corded muscles on his neck. I take a sip of my water to gain control and stop thinking about kissing and biting him.

He’s sitting now and tilts his glass toward me. “Why no pictures or knickknacks?”

I ignore his question and allow the defeat I feel to enter my voice. I’m defeated because I’m allowing his looks to guide my brain. “This won’t work, Moon. I’m an ex-cop. You’re you. The two of us don’t mix. It doesn’t matter if I intrigue you. You’re wasting your time and mine.”