Crescent Moon - By Lori Handeland Page 0,39

so much about wolves?"

"Common knowledge, no?"

I stared at him, suspicious though I wasn't sure why. He was right. The whole mating-for-life thing was common knowledge.

"Never mind," I muttered. I'd had another cheery thought. "There's more to be concerned about than STDs."

All I needed was a baby. I could barely take care of myself.

I glanced around the sparse bedroom. Adam wasn't doing much better.

In truth, I wasn't crazy about kids. I didn't long to be a mother. Maybe this made me a freak of nature, but that's how I felt.

I was an only child. I'd never played well with others. Without brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, I'd had neither a reason nor an inclination to babysit Kids just made me twitchy.

Simon and I had decided all we needed was each other. We'd planned to travel the world, sleep in tents until we couldn't anymore, then retire. Besides, if I wasn't going to have Simon's child, I certainly wasn't going to have anyone else's.

"I can't," Adam murmured.

To make sure we were talking about the same thing, I asked, "Can't what?"

"Have children."

"No kidding." I lowered my gaze to his lap. "You aren't exactly equipped for the process."

"I meant I can't get you, or anyone else, pregnant"

I wasn't sure what to say. I could ask what was wrong with him, but since he hadn't offered to tell me... should I? What was the etiquette for something like this? I didn't have a clue.

Adam stood and turned away, as if the conversation upset him. Maybe he'd been wounded, although I hadn't seen any scars and I'd seen pretty much everything.

Perhaps, unlike me, he'd wanted children one day. Learning he'd never have them would hurt and might account for some of the sadness in his eyes.

The question was: Did I believe him?

I studied Adam's tense shoulders. A better question might be: Why would he lie?

Since I couldn't come up with an answer, I went to him and slid my arms around his waist. "It doesn't matter."

"Nor

The way he said the word, with that French twist, always made him sound just a tad sarcastic, which was probably the whole idea.

"For us, that's a good thing."

He turned in my arms, taking me into his. "Whatever you say."

"We're having a - "

Adam tilted his head. "A what?"

An affair sounded too long-term and old-fashioned, a fling too flippant for the intensity of what we'd shared.

"I'm not sure," I said. "But whatever it is, it's about sex, not love, or kids, or anything but the moment Right?"

"What man would say no?"

Lowering his head, he kissed me, putting all of himself into the embrace. Only later, when we were back in bed, my heart still pounding, my chest still heaving after another bout of exactly what I'd wanted, did I consider his response. Or rather his lack of one. Adam had the habit of answering every one of my questions with a question of his own.

And that wasn't really an answer at all, was it?
Chapter 17
I awoke to the sun and an empty bed. I tried not to be hurt. This wasn't a relationship. We'd both made that perfectly clear. So why did I feel as if I'd been screwed in more ways than one?

The only indication that Adam had been here at all were his jeans on the floor and my dry clothes, neatly folded on the dresser.

My gris-gris perched at the apex. I wondered what he'd made of that Probably nothing. Having lived here all of his life, he'd no doubt seen a thousand of them.

Would it still work after being soaked by rain, then scorched by electric heat? I had to hope so, since I needed to get through the swamp without being eaten by alligators. I couldn't believe I was putting such store in a bag of herbs, except I hadn't seen a gator since Charlie died.

I got dressed and shoved the gris-gris in my pocket My hair was a mess, or at least it felt that way to my fingertips. I couldn't find a mirror anywhere.

There was something odd about that, but I couldn't figure out what without coffee. There wasn't a pot in the house, either. Maybe Adam was just a guy's guy - didn't case to pimp. And really, what could he do? He was gorgeous wearing tattered pants, a two days' growth of beard, and twigs in his hair. I wish I could say the same about myself, minus the beard, of course.

In the kitchen, I pounced at a scrap of paper on