Not wanting her had been a lie.
She wanted to kiss her everywhere, touch her everywhere, breathe her in. She wanted to pull her to the floor and imprint herself on her before she escaped to join the angels and it was too late.
* * *
Abby wanted to pull Gwynne to the floor before the woman had the chance to change her mind. She didn’t think she could take it if Gwynne got scared and decided, once again, that they couldn’t be together.
She wasn’t sure how to get her to the floor, though, so she tugged her into her bedroom instead and onto her bed. That worked okay. She yanked open Gwynne’s belt and undid her jeans and Gwynne helped her with the rest, and the shock of finally seeing her beautiful bare body made her heart race.
Abby hitched up her skirt and straddled her, in too much of a hurry to be on top of her to deal with her own clothes. She crawled forward and kissed her on the mouth and tasted butterscotch.
Gwynne pushed Abby’s skirt out of the way and curled her hand around the waistband of her underwear and gave it a tug. “Off,” she demanded, breaking their kiss. Her breath came loud and ragged.
“But that would mean getting off of you,” Abby argued. “I like it here.”
If she scrambled off, Gwynne would move, and she liked her right where she was. She sat back so her lace underwear made contact with Gwynne’s pelvis and she rocked into her. Gwynne angled to meet her, heat against heat, rubbing against her with a friction that spread sparks through her body and made her want to slide her legs farther apart.
Gwynne reached up to touch her breasts through her layers of sweater and blouse and bra, doing half a sit-up to get close enough to lift her sweater. Abby rose involuntarily to her knees to help, and Gwynne took advantage of the gap that opened between them to snag her underwear by the crotch.
Gwynne fell back to the mattress and tugged on the lace bunched in her hand. “Get this off.”
Abby tensed her thighs, resisting, but Gwynne held firm against the tension on the elastic and caressed what she could reach in the space between her and the lace. Oh, God, that was good. Abby sank back down, her thighs shaking, her pelvis tilting of its own accord, angling to let her in. Her innermost muscles pulsed hard, wanting it, wanting her, wanting to come.
“You’re first,” Abby protested.
“Says who?”
“Says the one who’s on top. The one with all her clothes on?”
“Like that’s going to stop me.” Gwynne’s voice was deeper than she’d ever heard it, laced with arousal and amusement.
Abby’s skirt shifted and Gwynne pushed it out of the way again as she continued to stroke between Abby’s legs. Abby trembled. She rubbed her hands up and down Gwynne’s body and Gwynne’s pelvis lifted her off the bed, thrusting beneath her. Her legs clamped around Gwynne’s hips. She wanted her so much, she was shaking with it. Her thighs squeezed harder and Gwynne groaned—which turned her on even more.
And more. And more…
“Oh.”
Abby’s orgasm overtook her. She reached blindly for Gwynne, needing to take her with her. Gwynne’s cries got faster and louder and more urgent and then Gwynne was coming and coming and coming, her fingers spasmodically clutching her skirt.
Abby collapsed on top of her and held her, her head tucked against her chest, riding the rise and fall of her ribs as Gwynne tried to catch her breath. Filled with tenderness, she skimmed her fingers across Gwynne’s collarbone.
“We should do this again sometime,” Abby murmured.
“We should.” Gwynne tightened her arms around her.
Without warning, Gwynne rolled on top of her and almost knocked them both off the bed, catching her at the last second and pinning her to the edge of the mattress. Abby giggled hysterically. Maybe they would end up making love on the floor after all.
“You have the smallest bed I’ve ever seen,” Gwynne complained.
“You love it,” Abby scoffed. No way could she not love the site of their first time together. “Roll on top of me some more.”
Gwynne wrestled her out of her clothes and Abby let her, and then Gwynne was touching her with a purposeful desperation that was so perfect she could hardly breathe.
“Oh my God, Gwynne. Gwendolyn. Gwynnosaurus.”
Gwynne’s relentless touch was the only thing in the world, the only thing in the anchorless sea where her consciousness—what pieces were left of it—surged with sharp, painful pulses of need, yearning for what was almost…almost…almost within reach. Mindless, she shifted into another dimension where she hovered on the brink of searing implosion, pushed further and further into oblivion, until release pounded through her in wave after wave of chaos.
* * *
Abby rose in the middle of the night, and Gwynne, attuned to her every movement, woke. She’d fallen asleep with Abby curled in her arms, and she never wanted to spend another moment of her life in any other position. Abby was only a few steps away and already she missed her.
Apparently coming countless times in one night made her clingy.
In the dim glow of the clock radio, she watched her disappear into the bathroom and wondered how she’d gotten herself into this mess, joined at the hip after half a night together like a novice who’d never had sex before, yet too deliriously happy to have the sense to worry about it.
And as clichéd as it sounded, it wasn’t only about the sex. It was being with her. It was talking with her, laughing with her, seeing her at work, driving with her, feeling safe enough to fall asleep with her.
Wanting to have all the time in the world with her.
Abby returned and slipped into bed and snagged something from the top of her cluttered nightstand. It was the gold circlet she’d worn on her head at Penelope’s wedding. She fingered it thoughtfully, turning it over in her hands, and grinned. Mischief glimmered in her eyes. “Let’s see how this looks on you.”
Gwynne glued herself to the pillow and folded her arms over her forehead, warding her off. “Let’s not.”
Abby came closer with the circlet, raising it overhead. Her heart was a blazing, whirling vortex of light.
“I don’t do sparkly,” Gwynne protested.
“You do now.” Abby dragged her from the pillow until she was sitting up. She placed the circlet on her head like a crown and balanced it so it wouldn’t slide off. Her mischievous grin turned hot.
Gwynne’s world spun slowly upside down. She tossed her head and let the crown fall to the bed. Abby grabbed her and any thought of sleep vanished.
* * *
Dawn glowed pink through a gap in the curtains as a fiery ball of golden light whooshed into the room. An angel. Who else? They never left her alone for long.
Sleepily, Gwynne reached for Abby and curled her arm around her more securely. She pressed her ear to Abby’s ribcage and closed her eyes and forgot about their visitor. She could feel Abby’s heartbeat, feel the steady rise and fall of her breathing, and she waited for each breath and listened for each heartbeat, silently asking Abby’s lungs and heart to stay strong and healthy and keep her alive, and, if they wouldn’t mind, to please convince her brain she was needed and loved right here on earth.
She must have fallen asleep because the next thing she knew, she was jolted awake by a voice that registered at a non-human frequency.
“We need to talk.” A ball of light floated at the foot of the bed. As it took angel shape, it grew to seven feet tall, wings emerging like a starburst of shattering glass.
Gwynne squinted against the intense light. “This is not the best time,” she whispered under her breath. She didn’t know how Abby could still be asleep after that noise, but if she was, she didn’t want to wake her.
“In private.”
Gwynne did not want to get up. She wanted to stay right where she was, with Abby in her arms, and go back to sleep. She hadn’t gotten much sleep. The angel whooshed around the bed, around and around, over and under, passing an inch over her face. Gwynne tried squeezing her
eyes shut, but it was no use. She knew she was there.
“All right, all right.” She wasn’t going to be able to enjoy lying peacefully in bed in her own personal heaven knowing this angel was watching, especially if she kept up with the ridiculous yet annoying whooshing, which Gwynne had no doubt she could easily keep up for days.
She gave Abby a kiss on her bare shoulder and slithered out of bed, doing her best not to wake her. She threw on her clothes from the day before and went to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. The angel followed silently. Gwynne trudged to the living room, threaded her way through the harps, and dropped onto the sofa in the corner. She was sitting on something—a discarded sweater or a throw. She pulled the thing out from under her and discovered it was a crocheted granny shawl, almost as hopelessly old-fashioned as Abby’s harping outfits and not nearly as sexy. She draped it over her shoulders to stay warm and smoothed the fringe, wondering why she’d allowed this now-silent angel to talk her out of bed. She swiveled sideways and put her feet up.
“Private enough?” Gwynne asked.
“It will do.” The angel hovered at the far end of the sofa. “I’m Elle.”
Gwynne snapped her head toward the bedroom and started from the sofa. The last of her sleepiness was gone. Elle. What was Elle doing here? If she was here to kidnap Abby again…
“Is Abby still here?” Gwynne rushed to the bedroom and shoved open the door.
“Still trapped in human form,” Elle said from behind her.
The relief of seeing Abby safe and asleep in bed made her light-headed. She shut the door as quietly as she could. “Thank God.”
“You don’t understand,” Elle said. “It’s imperative that she stop stalling.”
Gwynne didn’t consider herself to be a violent person, but she wouldn’t have minded having a weapon handy to threaten her with. Not that anything could hurt a non-physical being, but it would express her feelings quite well. “In case you haven’t noticed, things have changed here over the last few bazillion years. We don’t do human sacrifice anymore.”
“The bridge is getting worse. The longer we wait, the more chance there is that we’ll lose more angels. It’s not safe.”
“I don’t care.”
“Furthermore,” Elle continued as if Gwynne hadn’t said a word, “we believe Abigail’s refusal to join us is the reason it’s getting worse.”
“You’re blaming Abby?” That was totally not fair. Abby was a beautiful human being and had nothing to do with their problems. Dragging her into their repair efforts was bad enough, but now they were blaming her?
“When our involvement with humankind leads us to venture too far into human patterns of separation consciousness, as Abigail has done, the bridge calls us back. It’s a fail-safe mechanism. It’s dangerous, but it’s designed to protect us too.”
“From what?” Gwynne demanded.
“From forgetting our true nature.” Elle grew larger until her wings filled the entire room, leaving only a sliver of breathing space for Gwynne. “You could help me convince her.”
The bright, angelic light that had always seemed so ethereal and easy to ignore now felt dangerous. Gwynne crossed her arms over her chest and stationed herself in front of Abby’s bedroom door. “I have no intention of helping you.”
Elle’s light intensified. “Abigail must help us.”
“She won’t.”
“She has to. She has to die.”
“No. She doesn’t.” Gwynne wasn’t about to tell her the angels were closer to succeeding than they thought. “You need to accept that.”
“I’m sorry you see it that way,” Elle said stiffly. “I thought that since you’re able to see us and communicate with us, you’d want to help.”
“Not at the cost of Abby’s life.”
Elle’s screech reached the painful edge of the outer reaches of human hearing. “It’s not a real life! She’s only pretending to have a human life.”
“It feels pretty real to her right now.”
Elle threw her hands up and disappeared in a flash of light.
Gwynne had never seen an angel get frustrated. She didn’t know if this was good or bad. Probably bad.
Elle reappeared. “We can’t afford to continue waiting. If she refuses to be reasonable, I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands.”
Oh, crap. Fear burst inside her, searing her gut and leaving behind bits of burning ash. “You told Abby angels don’t kill.” As if manipulating someone into committing suicide wasn’t murder—although right now that was not the point.
Elle’s light began to fade, her energy withdrawing as if she were no longer interested in talking. “When she dies, she reverts to angel form. I’ve decided that doesn’t qualify as killing.”
Chapter Eighteen
Elle had almost finished disappearing into the ether when Gwynne heard the bedroom door open behind her. She spun around. Abby stood in the doorway, gloriously naked, the previous day’s eyeliner smudged from sleep.
Abby looked wide awake—awake and pissed. It would be hard not to be after Elle’s screech. Her eyes narrowed at the afterimage of the angel’s wispy form. “You got tired of waiting.”
“Don’t,” Gwynne warned, but it was too late. Elle was brightening now, no longer in retreat. “She wants to kill you.”
“I heard.” Abby kept her gaze fixed on the intruder.
“I thought you might,” Elle said. If angels could be catty—and Gwynne hadn’t thought that was possible—this was what it would sound like.
“Let me try to help again,” Abby said. “In human form.”
She appropriated the shawl from Gwynne’s shoulders and wrapped it around her body under her arms like a towel. Not that it covered much. Later, when Gwynne could think about something besides Elle’s threat, she would have to move crocheted shawls up from the bottom of her fashion list. After she made a fashion list. Abby could help.
Because there would be a later. She might be cracking under stress to even think about something so irrelevant, but Elle was not going to take Abby away from her.
Elle’s glow intensified as she floated toward Abby. “You weren’t convinced after one attempt?”
Abby tightened the shawl around her bust. “It almost worked.”
“Nothing happened,” Elle countered.
“I felt something,” Abby said. “We almost had it.”
Elle’s angry blaze made the room brighter than day. “Your way doesn’t work.”
“Stay back,” Gwynne ordered, knowing she was helpless against the approaching creature. She put her arm around Abby’s waist and pulled her snug against her side. Elle wasn’t going to kill her now, was she? Abby was so naked and loveable under that shawl, and all she wanted to do was keep her safe. “I can help fix the bridge.” How she could help, she had no idea. And then it came to her. “I can use my field to boost Abby’s. I know how to channel energy to do it. We’ll have more power than you did last time.”
Elle seemed to hesitate. “It’s brave of you to offer,” she said. “But what we need is Abigail’s help—not yours.”
“Abby’s help isn’t enough, not in human form. You said so yourself.”
Abby fussed with her shawl and adjusted it at the side. “Gwynne. There’s no need to get involved.”
“I disagree.” Abby was out of options, and Gwynne was going to change that.
Dodging harps, Elle twirled around Abby’s living room. “It’ll never work. We need an angel, not two humans. Not a million humans. You don’t have the right energy frequency. Besides, it’s not safe for you to touch the bridge.”
The killer was worried about her safety. How nice.
“Not safe for me, or not safe for the bridge?”
“Not safe for you,” Elle said. “Touching the bridge might kill you.”
“What do you mean, might?” Abby demanded. “That’s not what you said before. You said it will kill anyone human. Now you’re going with might?”
“Because Abigail is an angel,” Elle said. “As I’ve told her repeatedly. She looks human, her physical body is human, but her energy field and her soul are not human. She’s an angel. You are not. She can safely interact with the bridge. You, as much as you might like to, cannot.”
Gwynne stared at Elle thoughtfully. “So which is it? It will kill me? Or it might kill me? Which would imply it might not.”
Elle morphed into a ball of light, spun around, then resumed more human shape. If Gwynne had to guess, she’d say the angel looked flustered.
Interesting.
“It might not,” Elle admitted. “I can’t be positive.”
“Lovely,” Abby said.
It was lovely. It was more than lovely—it was great.
“Here’s the thing,” Gwynne said. “Abby is not going to kill herself, so this is your only other option.”
“What?” Abby turned on Gwynne. “What happened to not trusting her?”
“You don’t have enough power,” Elle told Gwynne.
“I don’t have any power,” Gwynne said. “That’s not how it works.” And Elle knew it. There was no way that members of the Angelic Realm had followed her around her whole life, and helped her heal her clients, and they didn’t know this.
Elle looked heavenward. “Semantics. You pull your power from the earth’s vital web.”
Was that what she thought? This was not good. The idea that she pulled power from the earth was a common misperception, but Elle should know better. Pulling power was exhausting. And not that effective. And rude to the rocks and life-forms you might be pulling from.
“I don’t pull power,” she explained. “I access it. I locate the energy and throw myself into the current. It’s not the same thing.” By diving into the flow, she became part of the flow, and huge amounts of energy became available to her, much more than she’d ever get from “pulling.” All she had to do was focus.
And she was about to develop a hell of a lot more focus.
Earth Angel Page 20
