Angel swayed slightly. She felt weak, almost dizzy—and foolish. It was Hawk’s closeness, not pain, that was affecting her so strongly.
With a swift movement, Hawk opened the small door on the far side of the cockpit. Gently he helped Angel onto the triangular bed that filled the space beneath the bow. She lay facedown, listening to him move about the cabin behind her. There was enough room for her to sit up in the bow, but she didn’t. She was content to just to lie quietly, waiting for Hawk to come to her.
Angel heard Hawk’s smooth step, felt the mattress give as he sat next to her, and then the sudden, breathtaking release of the catch on her bra. A warm washcloth moved gently down her back, bathing away the last of the blood.
“Hurt?” asked Hawk, his voice gritty.
“No.”
Angel’s answer was barely a breath.
For a few moments there was only the soft sound of a damp cloth moving over skin. A pause, then Hawk’s fingers replaced the cloth.
“Such beautiful skin,” murmured Hawk. “Smooth, golden.”
He bent down. His mustache brushed over Angel’s shoulder.
“You smell like summer,” he said in a deep voice.
Angel’s breath stopped. Chills moved visibly over her, a helpless response to the silky touch of Hawk.
“This may sting,” he said, sitting up as though nothing had happened.
The salve was cool, as smooth as Hawk’s voice and fingers caressing her. Angel sighed, breathing again, her arms bent and her hands tucked beneath her chin.
Hawk pressed a bandage lightly into place over the twin puncture wounds. He gathered up the ends of Angel’s bra as though to fasten it in place again.
Then he let the lacy material slide from his fingers as he smoothed aside her braid and bent to kiss the nape of her neck.
Angel felt the heat of Hawk’s breath, his mouth, his chest rubbing lightly over her as he caressed the sensitive skin at the base of her neck. She shivered and would have turned over to face him, but Hawk put his hands on her shoulders, chaining her.
His mouth caressed her neck, her hairline, the curve of her skull; and then his hard tongue teased her ears. She moaned and moved reflexively, slowly, arching like a cat to increase the pressure of Hawk’s mouth.
Hawk murmured thickly as he slid the bra straps off Angel’s shoulders with a single swift motion of his hands. His tongue and teeth traced the graceful line of her back down to the sensitive hollow hidden beneath her black jeans. His hands caressed her calves, her thighs, the taut curve of her hips, the heat between her thighs, and all the while his mouth devoured her delicately, ravenously, a sensual assault that was like nothing Angel had ever experienced.
Only when Angel was twisting helplessly beneath Hawk’s knowing touch did he allow her to roll over. He pulled the bra free as she moved and threw it aside. His eyes blazed darkly, pupils dilated until there was little color, only desire.
Angel was more beautiful than Hawk had expected. She was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. Flawless gold skin swelling into nipples flushed deepest rose, her eyes a soft green fire watching him, wanting him.
When he bent his mouth to her breasts, she tried to speak.
“Hawk—”
“Hush,” he said, his voice gritty.
He wanted only silence and Angel’s beauty, her body’s heat surrounding him. It was too soon for the cold rain of lies to begin.
Hawk’s mouth closed over Angel’s breast, pulling the nipple deeply into his mouth.
The words she had been going to say scattered in the explosion of sensations radiating through her. She moaned and twisted slowly against his caressing mouth in a feminine demand that was as old as desire.
Yet it was new to Angel. Grant had never taken her into his mouth, had never scraped his teeth gently, savagely, over her until she wanted to scream with pleasure, had never stroked her with his tongue until she shivered and cried out. Grant had been cautious of the passion that consumed him each time he touched Angel.
Hawk was not.
Hawk let the currents of desire drive both of them to the heights of need. And then his hands moved quickly over Angel, taking her clothes, leaving her naked to his touch. His fingers tangled in the golden mound of hair below her navel, testing lightly the heat and hunger of her, rubbing over her, teasing her until she shuddered with the tension building in her, consuming her.
“Hawk—”
His hand moved skillfully, heat showering, words stopping in Angel’s throat.
But not for long.
“Hawk—I’m not—experienced.”
The words came between the shudders of sensual tension that racked Angel’s body, teaching her more than she had ever thought to know about need and pleasure. She didn’t see the cold curl at the corner of Hawk’s mouth or the narrowing of his eyes, his savage anger that the lies had started so soon.
When Angel opened her eyes again, Hawk was naked, swooping down on her, covering her with his body like a raptor mantling its prey. She had no time to speak or think or conceal the cry of pain that came when he took her.
Hawk froze, astonishment and hunger struggling for control of his body until his emotions exploded into a searing rage.
“You can’t be a virgin!”
But even as Hawk denied it, he knew that Angel hadn’t lied.
The shock of Angel’s truth went through Hawk, shaking his certainties as nothing had since he was eighteen and his world had been shattered by a woman’s lies.
Like a cornered animal, Hawk fought to protect himself by attacking Angel.
“Hawk—” Angel said hoarsely.
She moved reflexively, trying to ease the pressure of him inside her. The motion took control away from him, hurling him into unwanted pleasure.
“Damn you!” Hawk snarled, shuddering, raging against the release that was taking him whether he willed it to or not. “Damn you to hell!”
With a final shudder Hawk rolled aside, freeing Angel. He fought to control himself again, to absorb the terrible knowledge that Angel had not lied to him about being inexperienced. He didn’t understand what had happened. He didn’t understand her.
And Hawk must understand or his world would be utterly destroyed.
Again.
14
Angel lay without moving, feeling Hawk’s condemnation sink into her more deeply than steel talons. A tangle of emotions swept over her—frustration, bafflement, pain, and finally anger, a fury so deep that it frightened her.
She had felt rage like this before. It had almost burned out all that was human in her.
Silently Angel fought for self-control, fought not to scream, fought not to curse a life that seemed to hold out the hope of happiness only to take it away, leaving her broken and struggling to survive.
“Why?” Angel asked, not hearing her own anguish, not even hearing the single word that had pierced her control.
“That’s my line!” Hawk retorted.
His voice was as savage as his eyes. He grabbed Angel’s shoulders, forcing her to look at him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.
“I tried,” said Angel numbly, speaking without thinking, reduced to reflex and pain. “And then I thought you already knew.”
“How in Christ’s name would I know?” Hawk’s hands bit into her shoulders. “I thought you were sleeping with Derry and Carlson. You sure as hell didn’t respond like a virgin. You were as hot as anyone I’ve ever crawled into bed with.”
“Sleeping with Derry? Sleeping with Carlson?” Angel repeated the words without comprehending them. “But I told you. Derry’s like my brother and Carlson is a friend.”
“Women lie all the time.”
Silence came, silence and knowledge sinking into Angel, talons turning in her soul, tearing her apart.
“You think I’m a liar and a slut,” she whispered.
Angel shuddered as the knowledge went through her, breaking her as the automobile accident h
ad once broken her.
Then the habits of self-control learned at such cost closed around Angel, holding her emotions suspended, sealing them away. She would deal with them later, when she had the strength. Right now it was enough that she didn’t unravel into hysteria.
The car wreck had been beyond her control.
This wasn’t.
I’m alive, physically whole, Angel told herself numbly. I made a mistake, a terrible, irretrievable mistake.
I’m not strong enough to reach through Hawk’s cruelty to the hurt and hunger and human needs beneath.
Assuming that he has such needs.
“You proved that you were half right, didn’t you?” Angel asked, her voice quiet, as empty as her eyes watching Hawk.
The change in Angel made Hawk deeply uneasy. He had expected hysterics, cursing, screaming, sweet lies and pleading, all the usual tricks of women.
He had expected anything but the eerie, porcelain calm of Angel’s face and the bleakness of her eyes.
“What does that mean?” asked Hawk warily, loosening his grip on Angel’s shoulders.
She slid off the bed, gathering her clothes as she went.
“It means that I feel like a slut,” she said calmly.
Abruptly Hawk gave vent to the rage that had flared when he realized that Angel had sold her virginity to a man who didn’t want it.
“What do you expect when you sleep with a man for pay?” he demanded.
Without a word Angel started out of the cabin. Hawk grabbed her wrist.
“Cut the act, Angel baby,” he said. “You want your quarter of the land sale and decided to ensure it in the oldest possible way. Your choice. If you had asked, I’d have told you that it was useless. Nothing’s going to make me buy Eagle Head but the land itself.”
“I don’t want Eagle Head sold,” Angel said distinctly, her voice without emotion or depth. “Derry does.”
She met Hawk’s eyes. There was nothing in her look but a color that was too dark to be called green.
“I owe Derry more than a man like you could understand,” Angel said calmly. “When Eagle Head is sold, the money will go to Derry. All of it. But you can’t believe that, can you? Your choice, Hawk.”
Angel looked down at the hand holding her wrist. When she spoke, her voice was calm, empty, final.
“Let go of me.”
Hawk stared at Angel for a moment before he released her. When she left, shutting the cockpit door behind her, he found himself wanting to follow her, hold her, take the emptiness from her eyes and her voice.
He realized in that instant that he wanted to believe her, wanted to believe that there had been no hidden reason for her to smile at him, talk to him, be with him, burn for him.
Then Hawk cursed himself more savagely than he had cursed anything in a long time.
I learned all there was to know about women on my eighteenth birthday. The lesson has been reinforced many times since then. Surely I’m not stupid enough to need a complete refresher course at the age of thirty-five.
The fact that Angel didn’t lie about her virginity doesn’t mean that the rest of her is pure truth.
Hawk rolled over, reaching for his clothes, and saw Angel’s blood still bright on his body. Emotion tore through him in the instant before he controlled it, hating himself for even that fraction of weakness.
Virginity meant nothing. All women began that way. It had just taken Angel longer than most to decide on her price.
And what was it? What was her price?
The questions sank into him like hooks, digging into him with each heartbeat, scoring him each time he tried to turn away.
If not money, what? What did Angel say about Derry? Something about owing . . .
The words came back in a rush: I owe Derry more than a man like you could understand.
Her virginity, for instance? Hawk asked himself savagely. A small swap for a big land sale?
Hawk’s mouth lifted in a small, cold curl. Angel underestimated him if she thought he didn’t understand. He understood very well. She was the same as the others. Nothing new after all.
And if the thought made him a little sick and very angry, that was his problem. He was old enough to know better. Old enough not to be taken in by a sweet-faced actress with sad green eyes.
The shaken pieces of Hawk’s certainty settled back into place, reassuring him.
Then the sound of the engines coming to life surprised Hawk all over again. He finished dressing quickly. Then he opened the cockpit door, stepped out, and confronted Angel.
“A little late for fishing, isn’t it?” Hawk asked sardonically, gesturing toward the stars visible through the portholes.
“Yes.”
Angel checked to see that the running lights were on before she threaded her way between the large and small boats anchored in the bay. Once she was free of the bay, she picked up speed, although she kept it below what she would have done in the daylight, well below what she wanted to do.
Fly. Flee. Vanish.
But those were emotions. The reality was more difficult. Angel had to make the trip to Campbell River, then to the house, then to her room.
The thought nearly overwhelmed Angel. Silently she fought the emotions that were tearing her apart.
One minute at a time. This minute.
Just this one.
“Cutting short our little trip?” asked Hawk.
“Yes.”
“What about Derry’s land sale?”
Hawk saw the instant of emotion flicker beneath the pale surface of Angel’s face. Having guessed correctly about her price made Hawk even more angry.
“What about all that you owe Derry?” Hawk asked.
“You’ll either buy Eagle Head or you won’t.”
“No guide, no deal, remember?”
“There are other guides,” said Angel.
Her lips changed suddenly, lifting at the corner in a sardonic curl that exactly echoed Hawk.
“Like Carlson,” she suggested.
Hawk’s eyes narrowed. He knew that if Angel told Carlson what had happened, the big Indian would do his best to give Hawk a personally guided tour of hell.
At the moment the thought of an explosive brawl tantalized Hawk, promising him an outlet for the unreasonable rage that still gripped him. His certainties had nearly been shattered by a woman.
Again.
“What are you going to tell Derry?” demanded Hawk.
“That we rub each other the wrong way.”
“I thought you liked the way I rubbed you,” Hawk said cruelly.
Angel looked at Hawk for a long moment. Humiliation and fury made her want to deny having enjoyed his touch. But she didn’t give in to the temptation. She had the rest of her life to live.
She didn’t want to live it as a liar as well as a slut.
“Everyone makes at least one bad mistake on the way to growing up,” Angel said quietly. “You were mine.”
Hawk’s eyes became almost black. He asked no more questions. He was discovering that Angel’s truths could be far more painful than other women’s lies.
And then he realized that she was doing it again, truth, not lies, shattering truth.
The rest of the trip to Campbell River was completed in silence, as was the ride to the Ramsey house. Derry was asleep when they arrived.
Grateful for that small comfort, Angel went quickly to the north wing, where her suite was. She neither looked at nor spoke to Hawk. He had ceased to exist for her. Nothing existed but a stained glass rose the color of blood. She held it in her mind the way a mountain peak holds light long after the rest of the world is in darkness.
Angel stripped off her clothes, dropping them in a trail that led to the shower. She stood under the hot spray for long minutes, washing herself and rinsing and washing again until her skin should have been painful to the touch.
She felt nothing, allowed nothing to reach her. She knew that the blessed numbness was only temporary. She knew tha
t the time would come when she would have to sort out her emotions, sort out hope from truth, error from pain. A learning time.
But not yet. Just now it was enough that she get through this minute, and the next, and the next.
Angel didn’t get out of the shower until the supply of hot water was exhausted. Even then she lingered until the water became unpleasantly cold. She dried herself quickly, rubbing her hair until her fingers ached.
Only then did Angel realize that she was crying silently, had been crying since she closed the bedroom door behind her. She scrubbed her face viciously.
Tears came anyway, a silent, transparent upwelling of emotion that she could not control.
Abruptly Angel threw aside the towel. She dressed in her work clothes, jeans and a blue cotton shirt. Both were faded almost white. She pulled on moccasins, combed back her damp hair, and went through the connecting door to her studio.
The north wall of glass was as black as the center of Hawk’s eyes. For a moment Angel stood without moving, wondering if she had the strength to keep going.
You don’t live all your minutes at once, Angel reminded herself silently. You just live the one you’re in. You can make it through one minute.
You don’t have to be strong for that. Just one minute. One minute at a time.
The familiar litany helped to loosen the talons digging into Angel. Her hand went out slowly. Wall switches clicked and lights came on, bringing a hard white radiance in place of darkness.
She walked in, drawn to the silent colors of glass scattered about the room. No matter what happened she had this, a wealth of colors surrounding her, a constructive outlet for emotions that would otherwise destroy her.
One minute.
Just one.
Angel took a long, deep breath and went to one of the worktables lined up beneath the fluorescent lights. Two of the tables were normal except for the thick, short-piled carpet on their surface. The third table had a translucent top. Light radiated beneath the surface, illuminating the pattern and the pieces of glass laid out on top.
Angel went to the table where light glowed. The pattern she had been working on was deceptively simple—three jars of jelly that appeared to be sitting on a rustic window frame. Across the top of the window, like a jeweled fringe, were runners of blackberry and raspberry bushes heavy with fruit. The “window” itself was a very pale gold muff, a glass the exact color of late afternoon sunlight.
A Woman Without Lies Page 12
