Oracle's Moon (18 page)

Grace interrupted. “Wait, your doll is called a Lalaloopsy?”

“Uh-huh,” Chloe said.

Grace muttered, “I thought it was Lala Whoopsie.”

Well, that explained that. Sort of.

And Chloe took off again. She very much needed and wanted a big bed now, and waiting was terribly hard even for big people, and would Khalil read…she meant, would he help her read another book after supper?

“Yes,” he said. He exchanged an amused glance with Grace as Chloe bounced in her seat with excitement.

He honored the gift of the apple slices on his plate by eating them. They were crisp, crunchy and tart. Then he drank the brown liquid. He discovered that it was iced tea, refreshing and cold. Max dribbled goop out of his mouth and giggled. Every once in a while, Grace looked at Khalil. She did so surreptitiously, out of the corner of her eye, as if she didn’t want to be caught showing any kind of interest.

Each glance reminded him of how entertaining it had been to flirt with her, tease her and indulge his sense of mischief. He could sense feathery, delicate touches as she reached out psychically to touch his presence. She always withdrew again almost immediately. She didn’t appear to realize that he could sense every time she did it, and she couldn’t possibly know how erotic that was. It was as if she trailed her fingers very lightly along his bare skin. Aroused, he clenched down hard on himself, and his self-control turned fierce.

And he loved all of it.

Somehow the evening slipped away. He was not quite sure how it happened. At one point he looked down to discover his small serving of supper had disappeared from his plate. Max accidentally knocked over his bowl of food. The expression of openmouthed surprise on the baby’s face was so comical, the rest of them burst out laughing. Grace cleaned up the mess. There wasn’t much to clean up, since Max had been close to the end of his meal anyway.

Then supper dishes were washed, children bathed, the toys picked up. Chloe did not forget about her story. Khalil settled back in the armchair to read to her about an irritable boy who had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Khalil quite liked that boy. He was sorry when the story ended. Grace stretched out on the couch, and Max lay on top of her, kicking a foot lazily in the air as he sucked his thumb and his eyelids drooped.

Through the open windows and screen door, the evening shadows grew long, while the sunlight turned a heavy gold and the green of the foliage darkened. Khalil could hear traffic sounds, but they were distant and muted. The place was rich with tranquility. He was bewildered at the intense surge of his response. He had already promised his protection a couple of times, first to the children and then to Grace.

Now he actually felt the need to protect them. Whatever quality this quiet, shabby place held, it was more precious than the treasure of kings. He said to Grace, his telepathic voice edged,
You will call me whenever you need someone to look after the children, do you understand
?

Grace stirred. She had been looking relaxed and sleepy, but now she stared at him with wide, surprised eyes.
I can’t expect you to be available every time I might need a babysitter.

He set his teeth.
I want you to burn that roster.

I can’t.
She sighed.
But I need to go over the list again. I think
I should ask for references too. I just thought everybody who was on the roster would be all right.

Her relaxed, sleepy expression had vanished, and she looked troubled again. He said, more gently,
Checking references will take time.
In the meantime, I will be careful. I will not do anything with the children you would not wish. And I want you to call me. Please.

Her expression softened, and there it was, luminous on her skin, that quality more precious than the treasure of kings. She nodded to him then said aloud, “Bedtime.”

Chloe said, “No.”

“Baby girl, you must,” Grace said, with the kind of tiredness that seemed to indicate there had been many repetitions of the same conversation. “If you don’t go to bed, tomorrow can’t happen.”

Chloe clutched the library book. “We have to keep reading. We can’t stop.” She sounded close to tears.

Maybe the child didn’t want to let go of this precious thing either, Khalil thought. Chloe had already suffered more loss than many children would ever know. He patted her delicate back. “May I come back to help you read another time?”

Chloe turned to look at him. Her wide gaze searched his face. “Will you come back tomorrow?”

Khalil looked at Grace over the girl’s head. Grace had eased upright carefully, so as not to jostle Max, who was almost asleep. Grace met his gaze easily enough, but her expression was guarded, and her energy withdrawn. In that moment, he had no idea what she was thinking or feeling, or if she welcomed the idea of his returning so soon or becoming so actively involved in their lives.

But she had made a bargain. His face hardened. It was of no importance how she felt about the bargain after the fact. Now she must live with it.

He turned his attention back to Chloe and told her, “I will come tomorrow.”

With a sudden lurch forward, Chloe flung her arms around his neck. She hugged him so tightly, he could feel her small body straining. He put his arms around her and carefully, carefully hugged her back. First it started as a reassurance for Chloe. Then it turned into something else, something about him, and it was good but it also hurt. He let the little girl go then discovered Grace standing by the armchair, Max in her arms. She was watching him and Chloe, her brows drawn.

He heard himself whisper, “I miss my daughter.”

Grace gripped his shoulder hard, her gaze filling with such pained compassion, he had to look away as Chloe slipped off his lap. Grace said, “I’ll be just a minute.”

He gestured with a hand. It was of no consequence to him whether she was just a minute or many minutes.

She hesitated then left with Chloe and Max. He stood to walk over to the doorway and look out at the deepening evening. A family of raccoons waddled placidly across the lawn.

There was no reason for him to stay any longer. He had accomplished what he had meant to do and visited with the children. He would go.

He didn’t go.

He held himself tensely, trying to soak up that precious something, that invisible treasure. Grace finished saying good night to the children. He listened to her light, uneven footsteps as she approached. He didn’t turn around.

She stopped just behind him. He knew she was going to reach out. He sensed her hand hovering in the air at his back.

Before she could touch him, he turned and gave her a silken smile. “Why don’t we play another round of the truth game?”

She froze, startled, her hand suspended. Wariness crept into her eyes, and the softness in her expression firmed. “Why?”

He moved away from her and prowled around the room. “Why not?”

She turned to track his movements. “That’s not an answer.”

Her energy had roused. She was bristling. Good. Bristling was good. He picked up one of her textbooks, read the spine and set it aside. He picked up another. “I don’t owe you an answer. We haven’t started another round yet.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Screw your game and your rounds and your forfeit. Just talk already, like a rational creature. If you have something to say, say it.”

“Fine.” He slammed the second book down and turned on her. “Why did you call me your friend?”

Silence pulsed between them. He watched her so closely, he saw her blink several times. Her face worked. Pain or laughter or a little of both; he wasn’t sure. Definitely a flash of anger. She said, “Because right now you’re the closest thing to a friend that I’ve got.”

“Katherine,” he said.

“She’s very caring. I don’t know what I would do without her. She loves the children, and she misses my sister almost as much as I do, but she was Petra’s friend. She’s not really
my
friend. She and I don’t really talk or share confidences.” Grace shrugged and looked out the window. Her eyes glittered. “I know,” she said, very low and bitter. “You’re not really my friend either. We have a
bargain.
”

He dissolved and reformed in front of her. She flinched back as he took her by the shoulders. He wanted to shake her for her naiveté. He wanted to shout at her for her foolish compassion and generosity. He wanted to rage through the house and across the land, and tear down this precious invisible thing he didn’t understand. He wanted to dislike her again and fight with her and—

She looked incredulous. Then she did something that truly astonished him. “Come here,” she said.

As he froze, staring, she put both hands to the back of his neck and pulled his head down with such bewildering confidence, he allowed her to get away with it, if for no other reason but to see what she would do next. He bent, and she put her arms around his neck, and she gave him a full-bodied hug as tight as the one Chloe had given him, until her arms trembled from the strength she put into it.

And she didn’t just hug him physically. She hugged him with all of her spirit, her fiery warm presence settling against his, femininity to masculinity, Power to Power.

“I can’t imagine how much you miss your daughter,” she whispered. “But I know how much I miss my family. And it hurts very much.”

He had torn down the stones at the entrance to an ancient pharaoh’s funeral temple at Saqqara. He had caused earthquakes, raised hurricanes, leveled mountains. He had waged war with a first generation Djinn, one of the strongest of his kind, and he had won. He could shred Grace into pieces in an instant. He had thought he was so much older, wiser and more powerful than she.

But this. This.

He wrapped his arms and his Power around her. His head was just an illusion. He did not know why it felt so heavy. Still, he rested it on her slender shoulder, and she stroked the back of his head.

“You cannot take it back,” he said. His voice was muffled against her skin.

“Take what back?” she asked.

Their bargain. The truths they had exchanged. Her angry, funny quips. The gifts of food, drink, laughter and compassion. Her permission to visit with the children. Her promise to call him so he could watch over them. The claim to friendship.

He raised his head. He said, “Any of it.”

Her skin was flush with gentle color like a ripe peach. Her lips looked exceeding soft, full and luscious. She opened her mouth to say something again, to question, argue, prevaricate or to say something unbearably wise.

He decided he wouldn’t let her. So he cupped the back of her head, tilted her back and kissed her.

G
race couldn’t remember an evening she had enjoyed more. Watching Khalil with the children was a breathtaking experience, one small, miraculous moment unfolding after another.

Yes, his alien appearance and strength emphasized their human fragility, but their bright happiness at his companionship emphasized his gentleness and the care he took with them, and they blossomed under his attention. Grace told herself she kept a close eye on him to make sure nothing else inappropriate like the doggie-cat incident happened again. But that was such a bad lie, she couldn’t fool herself. She was watching him so closely because he was such a pleasure to watch.

He learned fast with the children, and now he asked questions when he wasn’t sure about something, instead of arrogantly assuming he knew the answers. And it was such an unexpected pleasure to share a laughing glance with him whenever Max or Chloe did something hilarious or goofy. The pleasure brought with it a bittersweet memory of watching Petra and Niko’s exchanged glances of amusement over their children’s heads.

Learning to enjoy his companionship was spiced with the sense of immersion in his male presence. At times she felt like she was swimming in a sea of his Power, buoyed and sustained, all tiredness washed away by his dynamic energy. Then he made his quiet confession about his daughter that was filled with so much pain, her heart went out to him.

Something she did, perhaps the fact that she had the temerity to hug him, made him angry. Or maybe his own pain made him angry.

It was probably dangerous for her to think she might understand him. Dangerous, when he took her in an unbreakable hold and he looked at her so angrily, and she knew that he could crush her without a second thought, and she also knew he wouldn’t. He looked at her as if he might hate her, eyes ablaze, his marble face set like stone.

And then. Then.

You cannot take it back
, he said.
Any of it.

Michelangelo’s genius took her in his arms. His head arced down to hers, inhumanly fast, his carved features cut with intensity. She had no chance to react before his hard mouth settled over hers.

He did not engage in any tentative, preliminary exploration, as had virtually every other male (boy) she had ever kissed. Khalil’s kiss was a hectic, headlong plunge into her mouth. She lost her breath at the shock and the strangeness of it, clinging to his shoulders.