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

a god?” he asked, his tone gruff because she stood
near enough he could have reached out and pulled her against him. More than
anything, he wanted to feel her lithe curves against his body. Her scent, like
some incense he’d once smelled in a head shop, was pleasant, making him a
little dizzy.
    “Yes, Amun is the god I serve,” she said softly, her lush
mouth pillowing when her lips closed. “He speaks through me.”
    “Uh huh.” Juste shook his head. Crazy as a loon. Just his
luck. “The bathroom is down that hallway,” he said, indicating with a hand
wave. “First door to your right.”
    “Will you draw my water?”
    “All you have to do is turn the tap.”
    Her eyebrows drew together.
    He sighed. “I’ll show you.” He walked ahead of her, aware of
her soft tread behind him. Flicking on the light switch, he ignored her gasp.
After stepping to the tub, he pulled back the shower curtain and bent to turn
on the faucet, placing his hand beneath the stream to test the temperature
until it warmed, and then quickly straightened.
    She stood so close, he bumped into her. Her eyelashes
fluttered down to fan across her cheeks, which were reddening. “I am sorry. I
wanted to watch what you did.”
    “Turn them counterclockwise to close the tap,” he said,
unsure whether she was mocking him or being serious. Didn’t nuns have running
water?
    “Clockwise?”
    “Just get in.” He shook his head. “I’ll turn it off for you
when the bath is full.”
    She stepped into the tub and lowered herself.
    Juste turned to the cabinet and pulled out a washcloth and
towel. “Shampoo’s on the ledge. It’s for your hair,” he explained, since she
didn’t appear to know anything else. Which should have been suspicious, but a
condition he was quickly accepting as a fact.
    The woman had led a sheltered existence. Light fixtures
astounded her. Traffic amazed her. She didn’t know how to operate faucets, and
yet, she spoke perfect English. Better than his. The situation just didn’t add
up.
    His own actions confused him too. He’d hustled someone from
a crime scene, without telling a soul or taking her to the station. Or at the
very least alerting his partner. He’d followed his gut, not his training, and
he didn’t give a shit if he lost his job over it.
    He couldn’t have let anyone else solve the mystery of who
she was and how she’d come to be wrapped up like a mummy and left for dead.
    Khepri stared at the shampoo bottle with her brows lowered.
    Shoulders slumping, he sat on the toilet next to the tub,
resigned that the next half hour would be pure torture. “Get your hair wet,” he
growled.
    She bent her legs and slid her whole torso and head under
the water, her eyes open and staring up at him.
    A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, which drew his
brows together, because he refused to laugh. He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled
up his shirtsleeves, and then reached for the shampoo bottle. Somehow, he knew
she was accustomed to people attending her—washing her hair, scrubbing her
back, brushing her hair. Because she sure hadn’t blinked an eye when she’d
dropped his jacket and asked to bathe, her gaze so expectant he knew she
expected him to jump to fulfill her wish.
    And hadn’t he? He curled his fingers twice.
    She rose from the water, her neck bent back and her chest rising
around a deep inhalation. “The water smells so good,” she said, smiling
slightly as she turned her head his way.
    “It stinks of chlorine.”
    “It’s so fresh …” But she crimped her lips, perhaps
sensing he was losing his patience with her act.
    He upended the shampoo bottom and squirted a dollop of soap
in the center of his palm. “If you turn around, I’ll wash your hair.”
    “You are not my servant,” she said softly.
    “You just think o’ that? I’m a cop, Khepri. A damn
detective, and I just did somethin’ fuckin’ crazy bringin’ you to my home.”
    “You followed your destiny,” she