Waiting for the Moon

"Yes, I know what men have, and the anatomical differences are unimportant when it comes to drinking." "Then why can I not drink?" He rolled his eyes. "Because I said so." "Johann always gives me reasons for everything. He said that that is how I learn." "Johann is an idiot." "Oh, no. He is a genius."

Ian took Selena's hand and led her out of the forest. He said nothing more about drinking, or Johann, or reasons for anything. It was safer that way.

Chapter Fifteen

Somewhere, a wildcat screamed. The guttural, violent cry vibrated in the air, distant and muted by the closed windows.

In the parlor, Ian poured himself another drink, stiffer than the last. Absently he twirled the heavy crystal glass, watching the amber and red highlights of the scotch. The sweet, smoothing scent of the alcohol wafted up to his nostrils.

He turned from the sideboard and walked across the room, the sound of his footsteps lost in the thick Aubus-son carpet. He couldn't stop thinking about today, about Selena. He felt . . . changed by what had happened today, by how he'd felt when he looked into her eyes and heard her throaty laugh. He'd always been so damned frightened of imperfection, but she defied all definition of normal. Suddenly, compared to her, normal seemed boring, common.

He'd understood at last Johann's bit with the broken glass.

He heard the ferocious yowl of the wildcat again and walked to the window, peering out. The yard was sheathed in darkness. Towering black trees clustered around the blue-gray lawn. High overhead lurked a silvery comma of moonlight.

Something caught his eye. A whisper of movement 185

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where there should be no movement, a flash of white in the darkness.

Frowning, he leaned closer.

It was a woman in a nightdress. He saw her for a split second, then she disappeared in the darkness of the trees.

The wildcat screamed.

"Jesus Christ!" Ian dropped the half-empty glass of scotch and raced outside, running down the steps and across the thick carpet of grass.

He skidded to a stop at the edge of the woods, trying desperately to see into the shadowy darkness. But it was black, so black.

"Hello, sweet thing," said a throaty, feminine voice. "You can come out."

Overhead, a cloud skudded past the slivered moon.

He saw Selena. She stood about twenty feet in front of him, sideways on the narrow dirt trail, her hand outstretched. Her white lawn nightdress fluttered against her breasts and ankles. With her wavy hair rippling down her back, her profile bathed in moonlight, her nightdress aglow, she looked like Aphrodite come to life.

The bushes in front of her rustled. He heard the low, even breathing of the cat.

For a split second, Ian was so terrified, he couldn't breathe. His heart hammered in his chest, sweat broke out on his forehead.

"Selena." He whispered her name, unable to hear his own voice above the pounding of his heart.

She turned, straightened, and gave him a bright smile. "Ian! How-"

"Shhh." He surged forward. "Don't move."

A frown cr

eased her brow. "I do not u-"

"Hush," he said sharply. Slowly, achingly aware of every step, he moved toward her. The twenty feet seemed to stretch into a mile, then two.

Finally he reached her, took hold of her hand.

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"Your hand is wet-"