Read Online Crescent Moon by Delilah Devlin - Free Book Online Page A

sweeping
his place with a wide-eyed stare. When she raised her golden-brown gaze to meet
his, he said. “Don’t move. I’ll get you somethin’ to wear. Then we’re gonna
talk.”
    “As you are my guide, I will do as you ask.”
    Her guide. Sweet Jesus, he wished she didn’t talk like that.
Or trust him so quickly. Made him feel guilty about the vision her words
conjured in his mind. All sweetly submissive. Eager to please. Merde , he
was a horny bastard. But his thoughts couldn’t be reined in any more than his
libido. Heat seeped from under his collar and pooled in his groin. He sucked in
a deep breath and willed his heart to stop thudding so hard against his chest
wall. Subservience from a woman wasn’t something he normally craved. A woman
who needed to be led was too much damn work.
    And she didn’t really seem the least bit submissive. Just
confused. When he started questioning her, he’d have to keep that in mind. But
maybe she needed something to eat first. Or a shower …  He cursed under his
breath, realizing he deserved to ache, head to toe, for stepping over the line
with this woman.
    Entering his bedroom, he pulled open the bottom drawer of
his bureau and rifled through his sweats. Something with a drawstring because
he didn’t have anything that would fit.
    Juste knew he wasn’t acting like a cop. Right now, he was
thinking like a man. One who was just a bit flustered by the beauty in his
living room. One who hadn’t been in a relationship for a while because then
he’d have to be on time for things, or simply be there when his girl wanted to
talk. And he knew better than anyone he wasn’t made for that. There wasn’t a
woman on the planet who’d kept his interest longer than the time involved to
get her into bed.
    Although they’d met under strange circumstances, the girl in
his living room wouldn’t be any different. He’d unravel her mystery, maybe see
someone else arrest her, because he’d screwed his chances at being part of the
investigation. Or maybe he’d simply help her reunite with her husband …
someone he kept forgetting she had in her life.
    The static roar of the TV turning on in the living room
surprised him. He hadn’t seen the remote in a while and had given up on it,
nursing his heartache in the quiet.
    But the sound of channels changing, from music to the rev of
engines to the exaggerated voices of cartoon characters, and moving faster than
his remote had ever managed, drew him to the doorway. He stuck his head out of
the door to spot her standing with a hand on the screen and the channels
changing at a blinding speed. “Hey, how’d you do that?”
    Her hand pulled away and the screen went blank. “How did I
do what?”
    But her eyes were a little too wide. And again, the lapels
were parted, giving him a view of a strip of flesh straight down her torso to
her bare mound. Good lord, he started to sweat.
    Her gaze noted where his had landed, and she glanced down at
herself. “Again, I am sorry for my immodesty.”
    “But not sorry enough to cover yourself.”
    She shrugged and the jacket landed on the floor behind her.
“I am ready for my bath.”
    Juste’s mouth dried right up. His tongue must have stuck to
the roof, because he stood there quietly while she walked toward him and his
heartbeats revved like a stock car engine. He swallowed hard and forced his
gaze to rise to her honey-gold eyes. “Who are you, really?” he asked.
    “Amun’s wife. The God’s Wife. Although, by your expression,
you have no idea what that signifies.”
    He cleared his throat, forcing his gaze to remain locked
with hers, because she stood close enough that if he sucked in a deep breath,
their chests would touch. “You some kinda nun?”
    Her head tilted. Her gaze blurred as her lashes lowered,
before they widened as though slowly digesting his words. “I suppose … that
is similar. I live to serve Amun. Or at least I did. And now I must bathe
before I pray to him.”
    “Amun is