Magic by Moonlight Read online

  “It will be a big deal if he gets a forty-four-caliber hole blown through that magnificent chest of hi—” She cut herself off, bit her lip.

  Al moved forward until they were standing very close to each other, nose to...magnificent chest. “Something else about me that meets with your approval, non?”

  “I’m only saying I would like to keep you in one piece, you arrogant, feather-hatted, Don Juan wanna-be.”

  “Ah. All the same, I am glad you find my...chest to be...magnifique, Lady Hammer. And I promise...I will remain in one piece, for you.”

  She swallowed hard, and told herself she was not the sort of woman who would respond to such outrageous, ego-based flirting. So why were her knees so weak?

  “You can’t keep calling me Lady Hammer, either,” she said.

  “What shall I call you then?” He touched her chin with a forefinger, lifting her head slightly so he could search her eyes. “Sorceress? Enchantress? La Belle Femme?”

  “M. C. will be fine,” she rasped.

  “It does not suit you. I will call you Mary Catherine, as your aunt does. A lady as beautiful as you are deserves a name equally so.”

  Her throat was dry.

  “Did the women of your time really fall for these lines, Al? I know perfectly well that I look like hell.”

  His fingertips brushed a curl from her cheek. “If this is what hell looks like, my lady, then I shall resolve to sin far more often.”

  Her cheeks heated. She couldn’t believe it. She was blushing!

  Beyond him. Aunt Kate sighed heavily, snatched up the pink and red candles, and tossed them into the garbage pail.

  Chapter Four

  M. C. settled onto the settee beside Al—not too close, of course—and thumbed the remote. The set came to life, and Al shot it one startled glance before regaining his calm and eyeing her instead.

  “So, now you will tell me the secret of the little box with the tiny Musketeers trapped inside, non?”

  She closed her eyes and prayed for patience. “There are no tiny people inside it, Al. It’s just pretend.” He cocked one eyebrow at her. “Make-believe,” she said. He still frowned. “It’s just moving pictures of people in costumes. Like a play.”

  The frown vanished. Wonder replaced it, and he stared again at the set. “But the players...they are so small.”

  “That’s only a picture of the players. They aren’t really there. See...” She sought an explanation he could understand, but found none. Then she glanced up when her aunt came in from another room, carrying her old Polaroid with her.

  She handed it to M. C. “I can’t find the digital, but maybe this will help.”

  “Perfect. Sit still, Al.” She pointed the camera at him and pressed the button. He jumped to his feet when the flash went off, then rubbed his eyes. “Sorry about that,” she said. She took the photo the camera spit into her hand and watched it, waiting. In a few moments the image came clear. Al, looking like some lonely woman’s fantasy come to life. Every inch the modern-day hunk. He didn’t look a thing like a Musketeer now in his jeans and T-shirt. He could fool anyone—until he opened his mouth.

  But what an attractive mouth it was.

  Stop that!

  She lifted her gaze from the photo, only to encounter the real thing, staring at her curiously. “Here,” she said. “See? This is called a camera, and it takes pictures of people. Look.”

  He took the photo from her hand, then blinked down at it. “This...this amazes me.”

  “It’s a photograph,” she told him. “A similar kind of machine takes moving pictures of actors, and then the pictures are sent into the television set for our entertainment. Understand?”

  Again he looked at the screen. Finally, he nodded, still staring. “And what sort of play is this?” he asked, pointing.

  M. C. took the photo from him, tucked it into her back pocket, and then glanced toward the TV. “Oh, that’s just a game. Two teams competing to see which wins. It’s called football. Waste of time, really.” The camera cut to a group of cheerleaders. Al gaped and nearly fell on the floor. M. C. snatched up the remote and changed the station. “Here’s a movie. A story, you see? If we watch together, I can explain things to you as we go along, and maybe you’ll understand the modern world better.”

  “What...what sort of...story?” he asked, his gaze riveted to the screen as the opening credits of Casablanca scrolled past.

  M. C. sighed as she always did when Bogie was nearby.

  “A love story. Sit down, Al. Relax. This is a terrific movie.”

  “A terrific old movie,” Aunt Kate said, shaking her head. “Surely you don’t expect him to learn about the modern world by watching this?”

  “Sssh! It’s starting.” M. C. sat down again, thumbing the volume up a few notches.

  Kate rolled her eyes. “He should be getting some rest. It’s late and—”

  “Aunt Kate, go on up to bed. Al and I will be fine.”

  Kate eyed her. “Star Trek is showing on channel 12.” She said it without much hope in her voice. M. C. ignored her. “Indiana Jones is on 26...or maybe the late news would be—”

  M. C. sent her aunt a quelling glare.

  “I found the...er...ball of foot game to be interesting,” Al suggested.

  M. C. looked at him with raised brows, then turned to her aunt. “He’s becoming a modern guy already.” She got to her feet, pointing at Al with a decisive forefinger. “You are going to sit here and watch Casablanca. And you,” she said, turning to Aunt Kate, “are going up to bed before you fall asleep on your feet.”

  Kate put her hands on her hips. “And what are you going to do, young lady?”

  M. C. smiled. “Make popcorn. What else?”

  She sauntered into the kitchen to do just that, and when she returned, Al was alone, riveted to the TV screen, Aunt Kate having finally surrendered and gone to bed.

  Al dug into the popcorn with delight, and M. C. explained the film as it went along. The cars, the guns, the airplanes, the war. But when it ended, Al turned to her in confusion.

  “He let her go,” he said, shaking his head.

  M. C. sniffed and rubbed at her eyes. “I know. It’s a beautiful story, isn’t it?”

  “Beautiful?” He searched her face. “But you are crying! I thought you said this was not real! Make-believe, non?”

  “Of course it’s make-believe.” She averted her face, rubbing the tears from her lashes briskly.

  “Then...why do you cry?”

  “Because it’s so sad!”

  “And yet you love it all the same? Though it makes you cry to see it?”

  She nodded. Al frowned. “You are a foolish woman, Mary Catherine. And that...that story is foolish as well. He should not have let her go.”

  M. C. tilted her head and studied Al’s face. “Well, I’ll be... You were as moved by the film as I was, weren’t you?”

  “Non!” he said. “I told you, it was foolish. He loved her. He should have taken her away with him and let the war be damned.”

  He said it with such passion that she found herself staring at him in surprise. “You feel pretty strongly about it, hmm?”

  Al nodded hard, then met her eyes. “Nothing is more important than love, lady. Not war, nor peace, nor marriage. Nothing.”

  Lowering her gaze, she said, “You sound as if you’ve been in love yourself.”

  Al shook his head slowly, but his gaze remained riveted to her face. “I have known many women, ma belle, but I have not loved. Some of them...claimed to love me, but it was my position, my sword, not me. The romantic image of the Musketeer. One day, I will find a woman who will love the man, rather than the colors he wears and the rapier he wields.”

  “I’ll bet you will,” she said softly.

  He nodded, more gently this time. “And when I do, chérie, I will not let her go the way your foolish Rick of the magic box did. I will fight for her. I will die for her. I will even...even surrender my sword for her.”
/>   She blinked, amazed at the way her heart tripped at his words.

  “You think I am foolish,” he said, lowering his eyes.

  “I think,” she said, “that this woman...will thank her lucky stars.”

  He smiled, and handed her the remote. “Another play,” he said.

  “Aren’t you tired?”

  Staring deeply into her eyes, he said, “I am more awake than I have ever been, ma petite.”

  She felt her cheeks heating, so she averted her face, focusing on the TV screen. She didn’t think she’d ever met a more hopeless romantic in her life. Who’d have guessed the French flirt was really such a softy? “Oh, here’s one. This time you’ll get to see what I do for a living as well as learn about life now a days.” He frowned as she punched the buttons and turned to pay-per-view, and started One For The Money.

  Alexandre was amazed at the strength and independence of the woman on the screen, and slowly realized that Mary Catherine was like her. He had no idea how to deal with such a woman. And yet, as the film progressed he understood better the kind of danger she must be facing.

  When it ended, he turned to M. C. “Like the woman, you feel you have no need of a man to protect you, non?”

  “Right,” she said. And she said it firmly.

  “Yet, you must have been afraid. For you sought help from the book of magic.”

  She shrugged her small shoulders. “I...was only playing around. I didn’t expect it to really work...certainly didn’t expect a Musketeer to show up.”

  She smiled, and as it had before, her smile touched him on some very deep level. Made his stomach clench tight like a fist.

  “I think you were afraid. Are you still, Mary Catherine?”

  She lowered her lids to hide her eyes, and he knew she was. But thought herself too strong to admit it.

  “Tell me about this trouble you are in,” he said.

  Nodding again, she began. And when she had told him all of it, he found himself amazed at her cleverness in having eluded her pursuers for as long as she had. At disguising herself and escaping even as they watched her every move. She was truly an unusual woman. Unlike any he’d known.

  “You do not have to go back,” he suggested. “You could go far away, leave this...this evidence behind.”

  “I can’t do that,” she said. “Guido de Rocci is a killer, Al. If I don’t put him away, he’s just going to hurt someone else. I can’t let that happen.”

  He stared at her for a very long moment. “Finally, something about you I understand,” he said softly.

  “Do you?”

  He nodded. “It is...a matter of honor, is it not?”

  She stared at him thoughtfully for a long moment. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess it is.”

  “Then I shall help you to retrieve this evidence.”

  She blinked as if surprised. “But how? I told you, they’re watching the bank. Oh, they might let me get in and grab the tape, but there’s no way I’ll get out of there once I have it.”

  “Oui, they are watching. But they are watching for you, Lady Hammer. Not me.”

  Her brows bunched together, creasing her forehead. “Not... you?”

  “I shall go into this...this bank, and retrieve the tape for you. It is simple, non?”

  Her frown eased. “It sounds simple.” Then she caught her lower lip in her teeth, shaking her head slowly. “So why do I have the feeling it won’t be?”

  “You worry for nothing, ma chérie. I am a Musketeer. This is only a small task, and barely worthy of my skills.”

  She thought for a long moment, even got to her feet and paced the floor. But finally she turned to him and nodded. “All right, we’ll try it. But you have to understand, Al, it’s going to be dangerous.”

  “I am not unfamiliar with danger, Mary Catherine.”

  She searched his face. But he got the feeling she didn’t quite believe him. “You’d better get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day, and you’ll need to be on your toes.”

  He frowned at the unusual turn of phrase. “A wise suggestion,” he finally said.

  “Come on, I’ll take you to the bedroom.” She reached for his hand, quite without thought, he was certain. But when his closed around hers, he felt the shudder that worked through her. And more. The warmth of that small hand nestled within his larger one. The pull of a longing that seemed to well from somewhere deep inside him. The tingle of an attraction more powerful than any he’d known. And he realized then what she wanted.

  “There is one thing I must tell you, lady, before I rest.”

  She tugged her hand gently, but he only drew it to his lips and kissed its silken flesh before finally releasing her. “Go...go ahead,” she said, but her voice trembled just as her hand had when his lips had caressed it.

  He sighed. “I am a Musketeer, and as of this moment, my mission is to protect you. and to see to it that your pursuers are dealt with. This is my task, Mary Catherine, and until it is done, it is where all my attention must lie.”

  She tilted her head to one side. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

  He nodded. “I am being unclear. What I am saying is that as long as I am your protector, I cannot make love to you.”

  She blinked twice, and then her eyes opened wide. “Wh-what?”

  “I am sorry, ma chérie. It is a part of my personal code of conduct, you see. I cannot be distracted, even for a moment. Not until you are safe, and my task complete.”

  She gaped for a moment. Then snapped her jaw shut. “Of all the nerve! I swear, Al, I’ve never met a more conceited, cocksure, arrogant—”

  He surged to his feet, and in one smooth motion swept her into his arms, dipped her backward, and bent over her to kiss her mouth, because he knew how badly she wanted him to. She went stiff in his arms, but as he worked her lips with his, her body melted, and her mouth relaxed, and he made love to her with his tongue until she trembled all over.

  Then he straightened, careful not to release her until he was sure she wouldn’t fall. Her eyes were wide and glassy, her breaths quick and short. “Do not be angry with me, pretty one. I, too, find it difficult to wait. But for now, you must go to your chamber alone, and I will rest here...and dream of the time when my job is done and I can give you what we both desire.”

  Her faced flushed, still panting, she clenched her fists and glared at him. “The only thing I desire, Al, is to get this tape to the police, Guido de Rocci behind bars, and you back in your own time and out of my life for good. Understand?”

  He smiled very gently. “Oui, ma petite. I understand. perfectly.”

  She made a growling sound like that of a lion about to spring, then whirled and stomped away from him and up the stairs to her room. Alone, and angry at him for denying her. He lowered his head, shaking it slowly. Poor petite. It frustrated him as well. And for the first time, Alexandre was tempted to forgo honor, deny his own code, and give in to the rapture he would find in her arms.

  But no. He was a Musketeer.

  He laid his rapier beside the settee within easy reach, and curled onto the cushions for a night he was certain would provide little rest.

  Chapter Five

  She didn’t sleep well. Her rest consisted of punching her pillow, and wishing it were Al’s gorgeous face—that and wondering why the hell she’d reacted to his kiss the way she had.

  He was arrogant, all too sure of himself, lecherous, and infuriating.

  But he kissed like he’d been born to it.

  And she reacted like a woman too long without a man. That was all there was to it, she decided. It wasn’t him, it was her own unplanned celibacy that had her hormones raging when he touched her. She’d never been good at choosing men. Every time she got involved, the guy turned out to be a loser, and so she’d decided to avoid the opposite sex entirely. That had been over a year ago. She guessed her body had its own opinion on the subject.

  So maybe she should try again. But not with Al. Absolutely not wi
th Al.

  Why not?

  Hell. He was too sure of himself, too old-fashioned, probably to the point of being chauvinistic, and he was going back where he came from just as soon as all of this was over.

  And that, she realized, was the heart of the matter. He was going back, and there was no sense in her forming some sick attachment to him in the meantime. No sense at all.

  All morning M. C. and Aunt Kate helped Al practice the role he was about to play. They talked him through it over and over again. Waiting for his turn in line, what he’d say to the teller at the window, how they’d take him into another room where he’d insert his key into the box and the banker would insert hers. He’d memorized everything from the box number to the fact that he must address the teller as Mr. or Ms. rather than “my lady,” or “ma chérie.”

  M. C. believed she’d thought of everything.

  Before noon, he seemed ready. Aunt Kate had run into town to buy him a dark-colored trench coat that reached to mid-shin, since he was so damned insistent on wearing his sword. She’d also had a copy of the safe deposit box key made. M. C. thought it best, just in case, and she put the extra key in her jeans pocket where she could get at it in a hurry if she needed to. Despite Al’s protests, they’d managed to talk him into wearing the Kevlar vest that M. C. had practically lived in for the past few days. And in spite of his objections, Mary Catherine was going to be waiting right outside the bank to back him up if all hell broke loose.

  Her stomach was churning when all was finally ready and she got into Aunt Kate’s car to drive back to Newark. She was forgetting something. She was sure of it.

  Al, on the other hand, was far less concerned about the job at hand than he was about their mode of transportation. He eyed the car warily before getting in, then took his passenger seat looking a bit pale.

  “It’s perfectly safe, Al,” M. C. assured him. “Put your seat belt on.” When he frowned at her, she demonstrated by fastening her own. Lips tight, he pulled the belt around him, and snapped it.

  “Good,” she said, and then turned the key.

  The motor came to life, and M. C. shifted into gear and pulled onto the street. Al’s hand gripped her knee, and for once, she was certain it wasn’t a come-on. His knuckles were white, and the pressure pretty intense. She closed her hand over his. “Easy, Al. There’s nothing to this, I promise.”