Crescent Moon by Delilah Devlin Page A

though she’d shouted herself hoarse. And
perhaps she had. “You understand me?”
    “I do now.”
    He shook his head, narrowing his eyes. “Who are you?”
    She got her elbows under her and slowly raised her torso.
Her gaze darted around the crate. “Where am I?”
    Trying to ignore what that raised position did to her
breasts, he muttered, “In the Garden Museum. The storeroom near the cargo bay.”
    A frown dug a wrinkle between her brows, and her lush lips
thinned. “I’m not in the Duat?”
    What the hell? “Duat?” He shrugged.
    “The Land of the Dead.”
    “A cemetery? Is that where you expected to be?”
    Her breaths came faster, and she rolled slowly to her knees.
    He tried not to stare at her perfect breasts, shaped like
apples and quivering with her movements swaying beneath her as she glanced up,
her expression wild and wary. “You should put on my jacket.”
    She glanced down at her body. “Am I living then?”
    Wondering if her strange actions and words were a sign of
her mental state, he frowned. “As alive as I am, sugar,” he said softly, not
wanting to alarm her, because her features were hardening, her expression
losing the last vestiges of fear and shock.
    Her gaze speared him. “Has Selk risen?” she asked, each word
as hard as a bullet.
    “Who the hell is Selk?”
    “The other body. The one I was entombed with.”
    “The second mummy?”
    “Mummy,” she repeated and slowly nodded. “Yes.”
    “Haven’t found it yet. Was he like you? Wrapped alive?”
    She shook her head. “He was strangled before he was brought
to the tomb.”
    “Strangled and in a tomb.” His mind sharpened. This might be
a real case after all. “How long do you think you’ve been like this?”
    “I am thinking it must have been a while,” she said, eyeing
his clothing.
    “Not so long. You don’t look any worse for wear.”
    Her dark brows drew together. “Do not ogle me.”
    “Then put on the damn jacket.”
    Her chin lifted. Again, her gaze studied him, lingering on
his face and then scanning his body. “You said you are here to help me. Perhaps
my husband has sent you.”
    Juste didn’t like the sting of disappointment that settled
in his gut. The gorgeous woman was married. “I don’t know who your husband is.
But he didn’t send me.”
    Her lips curved.
    He really wished she hadn’t smiled. If she was beautiful
before …
    “Given I will need a guide, I accept your offer. We must
work quickly.” She pushed up, bending over to avoid crashing against the upper
wall of the crate, but swayed on her feet.
    Still on one knee, he caught her before she fell. Holding
her against his chest, he kept his gaze straight ahead rather than at the woman
whose delicate curves molded against his body. “ Cher , you shouldn’t have
stood so quickly,” he murmured against her hair.
    She clung to him, her delicate hands wrapped around his
biceps.
    He glanced down and her eyes were closed tightly. Her
emotions were seesawing between anger and horror. Something he totally got.
    Moisture gleamed at the base of her lashes. A tremor racked
her body. “I thought I would remember. Something,” she whispered. “Not simply
wake.”
    “Remember? About how you wound up wrapped like a mummy?”
    “I remember that,” she whispered and shivered again. “I just
don’t know what happened after …”
    “Should you?” he murmured, liking the way her body curled
against his, catching a waft of her natural feminine scent.
    “I guess not. But I am no closer to understanding the battle
I must wage.”
    Battle? “You don’t have to fight. Let me do that for
you. I’ll figure this out.”
    Her head tilted back and her gaze roamed his face. “Then you
are a warrior?”
    He wondered whether she’d been drugged before she’d been
bundled. Her word choices were strange. And she didn’t seem to notice her naked
state. “Lady, I’m a policeman. Guess that’s as close to a warrior as you’re
gonna find