Dark of the Moon

He opened one bloodshot eye. “Water,” he said. “No food.”

“All right. But you’ll have to eat sooner or later.” Reluctantly she left him and hurried to the kitchen. Plain water hardly seemed enough. She settled on making him a cup of weak tea instead, and placed a half-dozen soda crackers on the saucer.

When she returned to the bedroom he seemed to be asleep, but his eyes were wide open and she had the uncanny impression that he really wasn’t sleeping at all. She set the teacup down and stood over the bed.

“Dorian?”

He didn’t respond. Once again Gwen considered calling a doctor, but she decided to wait a while and see how well he did on his own. He’d already made a miraculous recovery.

“I’ll have to get you out of those clothes,” she said, watching his face. Still nothing. Doing her best not to disturb him, she knelt and began to unbutton his shirt. It was stiff with blood and sweat, but she was finally able to ease it off his shoulders. Dorian didn’t stir, even when she lifted his head from the pillow. She threw the shirt into the corner of the room and paused to look for injuries.

Dorian’s chest, lightly dusted with dark hair, rose and fell steadily. For a man who had obviously been near starvation, he was in reasonably good shape; his ribs were prominent, but the sleek muscles of his torso were still intact.

Gwen bit her lower lip. There was no doubt that she’d always found him attractive. If she ignored the bruising that marked his upper body, she could only judge him beautiful: perfectly proportioned, strong, undeniably masculine. It would be easy to stand here staring at him for hours.

Retreating into a purely clinical state of mind, she unbuttoned his trousers. Halfway down, she could see he wasn’t wearing any drawers. And that was hardly the least of it. His…member was fully erect, straining against the fabric under her fingers.

Torn between curiosity and self-consciousness, Gwen hesitated. She’d never seen a naked man before, though she’d read enough about sex to know that there was nothing unusual in Dorian’s “equipment” except perhaps in size. He was quite…impressive.

Watching his face to make sure he was still unaware of her movements, Gwen finished unbuttoning him. His erection almost jumped into her hand. She stepped back, swallowed and tugged the trousers down his legs.

If Mitch could see me now…if he had any notion of the crazy thoughts going through my mind…

Dorian made a low sound and turned his head on the pillows. Gwen froze, but he sank back into unconsciousness immediately.

Gwen retreated to a chair and sat on the edge. He desperately needed a bath. She still didn’t know how many of the marks on his body were the result of injuries.

And oh, how she longed to touch him.

You think Dorian is crazy. How about you, Gwennie-girl? What do you think will happen if he wakes up to find you—

She could barely complete the thought. Her face was on fire, and she knew if she looked in the mirror she would see every freckle standing out in sharp relief. She shot up from the chair and rushed into the kitchen, where she found a bottle of whiskey she’d kept in a cupboard for ages. She poured herself a shot and downed it in a single gulp.

There were just some things even the most modern woman shouldn’t take lightly. Losing her virginity was one of them. And yet. And yet…

Gwen set her glass down with a bang and strode into the bathroom, selecting several towels and washcloths from the linen closet. She took a washbowl from underneath the sink, filled it with warm water, and carried it and the towels into the bedroom.

If it hadn’t been for the rise and fall of his chest, anyone might well have believed that Dorian was dead. Gwen knew otherwise; already he looked a thousand times better than he had when she’d found him. She set the washbowl on the bedside table and dipped one of the cloths into the water. She took a deep breath and laid the washcloth on Dorian’s shoulder. When he didn’t react, she stroked the cloth over his skin, working from the base of his neck to the bulge of his biceps.

The cloth came away soiled, but it was clear that Dorian’s injuries were not nearly as severe as she’d first feared. She began to wash the lower part of his arm, then moved to his chest. Her fingers strayed, drifting over the curve of his pectoralis. Even at the peak of health, Mitch wasn’t this well developed. Of course she’d never seen anything below his waist, but she had the feeling…

Her insides tightened as she moved lower. Dorian’s stomach was ridged and firm, though it was mottled with fading bruises. She swirled the washcloth around his navel, fascinated by the sculpted vee of muscle that plunged from hips to groin.

And then there were only two choices. She could make a jump to his legs, or touch him like a lover.

She closed her eyes and stroked the cloth downward. His cock—a vulgar word, but one that could hardly shock an experienced newswoman—had relaxed and was quiescent for perhaps twenty seconds before it began to swell again. Soon it lay flat against his stomach, surprisingly smooth from base to head. She touched it with her fingertip. It was as silky as it looked, yet hard and unyielding. It would do its job beautifully.

Wanton images crowded Gwen’s head. With infinite care she closed her fingers around him.

His hand shot out like a striking cobra and seized her wrist.

Half afraid of what she might see, she glanced at his face. If the man on the bed had been Mitch instead of Dorian, she would have expected a healthy dose of shock. He would have every reason to wonder when she’d adopted such a shameless attitude, what a good Catholic girl was doing handling a man’s private parts, even if that man wanted to make an honest woman of her.

But Mitch’s instincts were all male. He was impatient for their marriage because he wanted to share her bed. Whatever his momentary reservations, he wouldn’t be able to conceal the hunger in his eyes.

Dorian could, and did. His teeth clenched, and the tendons in his neck stood out like steel cables. He looked at her as if her touch was as unwelcome as a case of the measles.

“Go,” he rasped. “Get out.”

Gwen snatched up the bowl and fled the room, feeling more shaky than she had right after he had rescued her from drowning.

Once in the bathroom, she closed the door and leaned over the sink, too dizzy to trust her balance. Her reflection in the mirror looked drawn and haggard, the result of two weeks of balancing her work at the paper with the desperate search for Dorian. Now that she’d found him, she didn’t know what do to with him.

She didn’t know what to do with herself.

Gwen blew out her breath and splashed water over her face, knowing it would take a lot more than a good dousing to make her forget what she’d seen and felt tonight.

CHAPTER SIX

“YOU WERE RIGHT, Mr. Hogan,” Pete Wilkins said, patting the Leica thirty-five millimeter camera hanging by his side. “Miss Murphy brought some fella back to her apartment. I think he was sick…he didn’t walk too well.”

Mitch kept his face a blank. Wilkins had been glad enough to help him; the boy had ambitions to be a photographer for the Sentinel, and he would have done just about anything to obtain Mitch’s good word. But under no circumstances would Mitch allow the kid to see his true feelings, especially when they were caused by a woman.

“Did you get photographs?” he asked.

“Sure.” Wilkins hesitated. “I don’t know how well they came out, though. The guy had his head down most of the time.”

“I see.”

“I can go back, Mr. Hogan. The man didn’t leave the building. He’s probably still there, and—”

“I may need you again, Pete. That’s all for now.”

“Sure. Anytime.” He backed away and walked out of the city room.

Mitch turned and bent over his desk, shuffling papers with numb fingers. He finally had an idea of what had been making Gwen behave so oddly for the past two weeks, working like a demon during the day and vanishing every night. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that she’d been seeing another man; she could have no earthly reason for looking elsewhere when she had a devoted suitor—personable, respectable and comfortably situated—ready to marry her at a moment’s notice. And it wasn’t like her to sneak around. If she had fallen in love with someone else, she would have told him outright.

Would she? She hasn’t given you a straight answer to your proposal. You knew she was hiding something. Why should she tell the truth about this?

He crumpled a blank sheet of paper between his hands. Why had Gwen taken a sick man to her apartment? It certainly didn’t seem like a standard assignation. And for all his doubts, Mitch found it impossible to believe that she would casually share a bed with someone she couldn’t have known for very long.

It’s only recently that she’s been so distant. This is something new.

Something new, but surely not serious. And that meant that he still had an excellent chance of nipping the relationship, whatever it might be, in the bud. But he wouldn’t confront Gwen. Not yet. He would use Pete a little longer and see what else he could learn.

Everyone has something to hide, Guinevere…even your new friend. And when I find out who he is and what he’s afraid of, I’ll make sure he disappears from your life. And mine.

DORIAN LISTENED TO THE door close and opened his eyes.