by Mara Lynne
She still loves him.
She still takes comfort and bliss from his touch.
She misses everything about him—his perky teases, his childishness, his extremely odd but sweet words of ardent love. Everything about him just comes rushing like a platoon of soldiers in battle, ready to take over her walls and break it.
Has she forgiven him?
Maybe.
Quickly, she hangs the oversized shirt on the railing just beside Damien’s dark gray sweater, then she wraps the blanket around her chest.
Damien walks inside, and their eyes meet. He closes the door behind him and proceeds to fetch himself a new blanket.
A lump suddenly forms in her throat.
With Damien staring at her, begging with passion, she could feel the pit of her stomach going berserk.
What is she doing? Just standing there and waiting for the storm to pass?
One awkward moment with him, and she knows she’s on the verge of breaking down.
Why does she have to be with him now of all people?
Why does he have to gaze at her with those fervent gray eyes?
Why did he have to talk about love under the pouring rain?
She stands in front him like a damsel in distress. Her wet hair falling on her shoulders, the bony prominences, and the liberal size of her breasts popping out of her grasp invite his manhood to harden. A coiling sensation around there sends heated sparks all over his body. He feels like burning in hell just by looking at the beautiful mess standing before him.
A smirk erupts from his pale face.
“If you were someone else, I could have taken you down this instant,” he says, grinning boyishly. The muscles in his abdomen and groin tighten as he witnesses the tint of scarlet spreading across her cheeks.
“And why can’t you? Why wouldn’t you, Damien?”
Her voice tastes of wine in his throat as the sweetness of seduction runs along his spine.
What does she mean by what she said? His head is now clobbered with questions.
“Because you are still my sweet Angel… my sweet Angel,” a faint smile forms on his face. “I don’t want to do something that is against your will.”
“How would you know if it’s against my will? Have you even asked about it?” She stepped forward.
“Would you let me?”
Would she?
Not only the storm outside is fuming but her chest as well. She could hear every beating of it, getting louder and louder each time he breathes a word, each second his muscles in his arms get firmer, each heavy gasps that are let out unconsciously by his mouth.
“Since when did Damien Etheridge learn to ask for consents?” she asks.
“Since that night when you refused to make love with me.”
“When I think of it, I could only wish to despise you,” she says. “I wanted you to have me. I wanted to give myself to you—only to you.”
Only a few steps away from each other, Angel avoided his gaze, and Damien silently demanded her attention.
One wrong move from any one of them, and it will be a long night indeed.
One move and she could drive herself to the other direction.
He lifts his finger to touch her face. She feels warm and lovely.
“Can’t I now?” he murmurs on top of her ear.
With Angel still tightly holding the edges of the linen onto her chest, Damien hopes for Angel to let go of it. He’s convulsing, raring to pleasure his eyes, to satiate the hunger within him. He wants to have her tonight, to ravish everything about her, to do what lovers do on cold days.
Her one hand feels the hardness of his chest and abdomen.
Does she really want Damien? Is she willing to gamble everything she has hoped for and achieved for this foolish guy in front of her?
All she knows is she is drawn to him. And yet she knows she cannot break her heart into two and distribute it fairly between the two brothers. It’s not fair, and it will never be.
Slowly, she looks up at him. Her lips land on his softly in no time. Damien starts to kiss her back, coaxing her to respond to him wildly, but Angel sets the pace. She could only kiss him in this way—gentle and cautiously.
“You could, and I would have let you if this was six months ago,” she tells him after she breaks the kiss. “You must know that we are in a different time now. We are set to face different lives. I with your brother, and you with Candice. What he had, we should stop it now.”
“Angel…”
“You must also know how deeply sorry I was for deceiving you, Damien. I know I was at fault. I started it all,” she adds.
“I know why you did it. I judged you too quickly.”
“Maybe we’re not just meant for each other.” She pushes him aside and walks toward the bedspread on the floor. She lays there with her eyes directed on the fire. Not too long, she hears him move toward her.
Damien sets himself next to her, encircling her with his arms. His bare body was so close to her that Angel feels the sting of electricity between their skin. Damien smells the loveliness of her hair and the bareness of her nape.
“If I were to give you up to Hunter, then let me do this before I leave you be,” he says, kissing her on the nape. He holds on to her tightly, squeezing her like he never wants to let go.
“Will you let me?” he asks again.
She nods her head, closing her eyes and letting the precious feeling overpower her.
Damien lightly strokes his thumb along her neck down to her shoulder and arm. He ravishes her with gentle kisses in there.
Feeling the need for control, Angel turns around, facing him. She moves her finger along the outline of his jaw.
“What would you want then?” she asks him.
“I want to hold you this close until the storm ends.”
“And you’ll stop?”
“I will, I promise.”
“Okay then.” And she slides her body closer to him, burying her face in his chest.
Damien wraps her with his arms and feels her melt into his. She feels so small and warm but beautiful. Although it feels wonderful to be this close to her, Damien must stop his tears from falling.
He does not want to give her up. He does not want to stop, but she wants to. And even if she loves him still, she’s too kind-hearted to turn down the man who loved her entirely when he was away. For Christ’s sake, she loves Hunter Stone, and she will choose him anytime of the day.
Maybe it’s time to stop this insanity.
Chapter 19 – The Request
The wind has hushed, and when she opens her eyes, she instantly feels the coldness of morning pierce the wooden walls of the cottage and unto her skin. But Damien is still holding her—tightly. She looks up to him and sees him still asleep, closing his eyes peacefully. The fire in the hearth has smothered, but Damien’s closeness to her and his firm embrace makes up for the chilliness.
It was a long night, but it does not feel like it to her. It seems like she has only been asleep for an hour.
Slowly, she pushes away from him, but as soon as Damien feels her moving under him, he stirs and pulls her back close to him.
“Damien, you must wake up now,” she says in a hushed voice as her face is trapped in his chest.
But Damien responds by grasping the back of her head and thrusting her much closer to his body.
He isn’t letting go.
For a few more minutes, Angel shuts her eyes and contents herself with the uninvited pleasure of being touched by him. A few more minutes and she’ll have to force these feelings out of her. One night is enough to remind her of Damien and his love. After today, she will have to face the future without him.
“I don’t think I can let you go,” he hisses, sniffing her hair.
“You promised,” she answers.
“I don’t want this to end, Angel. Why can’t we be together?” By submitting herself to him, by allowing herself to be with him this close, Damien realizes that she still loves him.
“Because I love Hunter, Damien,” she replies. “He’s waiting for me.” Finally, she realizes how foolish she was to get herself be overpowered by her lost feelings. As the thought of Hunter crosses her mind, she automatically pushes him away and pulls herself up into a sitting position, clutching the linen around her breasts.
Damien quickly stops her by holding her wrist. She feels soft and inviting, and he could have taken her down easily if he let his guards down last night. He wanted to make love to her, make her his even for one night, delight himself with the explosion of lust and love inside her… but he did not do it. He loves her so much, he could not violate her. And right now, he could only wish he has the confidence and luck to make her stay.
“We should leave now,” she tells him as she shakes his grasp off her wrist.
“You still love me, don’t you?” he counters.
Having ensured that the blanket reaches her back, she pulls herself up and strides toward the hearth where the oversized shirt Damien provided her is hanging.
“How can you choose Hunter over me, Angel?” His voice was a little high, hiding in it the ghost of frustration and anger.
“We are not talking about this right now, Damien,” she coldly answers. “Now, can you turn away, please? I have to put my clothes on.”
“You love me, Angel. I don’t understand why you have to deny yourself the truth!”
“I’m not denying anything, Damien!” she snarls. “I still love you, and that’s the problem!”
Tears begin to escape her eyes, and Damien feels the need to stop them. He does not want to see her cry, but if it’s the only way for him to find out what’s inside her head and heart, he might as well let the tears convey their message to him.
“I still love you, and I don’t want that!”
He fucked things up—that’s what those tears say. She loves him, but she doesn’t want him. However, she loves Hunter, and she wants him.
“Now…” turning her back on him, she says, controlling her sobs, “I want to get dressed. Will you please be kind enough to step out of the cottage?”
With a heavy heart, Damien stands and stomps his way out, slamming the door behind him.
Her knees weaken. She almost surrendered to the creeping madness traveling up her legs. Propping herself against the stone wall to stop herself from falling, her other hand grasps the edge of the linen securing it around her breast.
Her chest pounds in a tumult like raging horses, and she could hear it yelling, pleading to leave this place, to be away from Damien.
She thought everything will be over after last night. It was long, peaceful, and sweet, but she knew it’s not forever. She trusted her will not to give in to him. She trusted his word, but why does her heart differ from what her mind is telling her? Why does she want to run after him and kiss him again, to tell him that she feels pain when she thinks about leaving him? Or is it just the pains of the past haunting her—the pain she felt when she let him leave for Spain, the pain he’d inflicted upon her by constantly evading her?
Doesn’t she want him to leave her? Doesn’t she want that?
She picks up her dry clothes and slides her arms through the sleeves. Just after she is done with the buttons, the door squeaks, and she sees Damien enter. His gaze avoiding her, but she could see the red marks of tears around his eyes.
“The horse is ready,” he says gloomily as he reaches for his shirt. “We’ll take the road as soon as you’re ready.”
“Damien.”
He halts.
“I didn’t mean to be so rude,” she says softly.
“You were disappointed, I know. You don’t need to explain yourself,” he replies with his back on her.
“You must know…”
“I know.” He cuts in immediately. “You’re hurt, and you’re afraid to gamble on me once again. I can’t blame you. You must have been terrified because of me.” His voice is solid as ice. “You have Hunter now who loves you unconditionally, what need do you have for me? What care can you give me when you have him now? I understand, Angel. Life for you will not stop after this, but it will not be the same with me. I have no prospects other than having you back. I don’t know what will happen to me now.”
“Damien, don’t do this to yourself.”
A smirk escapes his mouth. “Just do it quickly, Angel. If you are going to wipe me out of your life, do it quickly. Don’t think of me. Don’t speak of my name. Don’t look for me. And I will do the same.” And he starts to stride toward the door, his face looking away from her.
***
The ride back to the mansion is a short one, awkwardly silent and unsurprisingly cold. Her back is pressed against his body, and although she feels the heat from his skin, Damien is utterly cold toward her. The rain has stopped, leaving the roads slippery and wet.
When they reach the mansion grounds, the fuming face of Mary Etheridge welcomes them at the veranda. Her eyes squint as they approach the grounds and she hears him grunt.
In fury, Mary tramps her feet against the solid ground into the marshy field, not minding the mud that instantly splashes on her shoes.
The horse stops before it reaches the footpath, and Damien dismounts first. He takes Angel into his arms with a reassuring look.
“What is the meaning of this?” Mary furiously exclaims with her arms on her hips. “Why is this woman with you, Damien?”
“We’re wet, tired, and hungry, mother. I’m sorry I just don’t have the time to reason with you now,” he answers, reaching for the other side of Angel’s waist.
“For God’s sake, child! You’ll be the death of me!”
“Please let me walk her inside the house, mom.”
Angel turns to face them and sees Mary arching her eyebrow and looking at her from head to toe. “I can do it myself, Damien. I know my way in.”
Strong resistance is plastered all over his face, but Angel does not give in. She walks past him and heads toward the mansion, all the time sensing Mary’s stabbing glares on her back.
Once she’s out of Mary’s sight, the woman follows her son to the stables.
“Care to explain yourself, lad?”
Damien leads the horse to its stall, attaches the reins to the pole, and looks for a towel to dry the horse.
“Are you avoiding me?” her voice rise.
“As you can see, I am.”
“Dear Lord, Damien! What is she doing here? And why does she look like a deranged whore?”
Fuming, he turns to her. “Be careful with your words, mother.”
“And why are you defending her now? Don’t hide things from me, boy. I know what happened yesterday at the hotel. I know how you whisked her away from the media like Lancelot would have done to poor Guinevere. What is happening?!”
“It is what you think it is. Plain and simple,” he answers, slowly calming down.
“Jesus! She’s indeed a trickster,” she whispers to herself, blood draining out of her face. She almost falls down to her knees. “Such a cunning adventuress! How could she deceive you and your brother at the same time? Is this all because of money? Now she’s trying to get you because Hunter won’t inherit the family business. I knew it!”
“Enough, mother! Angel is not that kind of woman.” Burying his face in his hands, he lays his back against the wooden cabinet in the stall. “She was mine. She was mine before Hunter came into the picture.”
“What are you talking about?” Carefully, Mary sits next to him on a dry wooden stool.
“She loved me first. We were in a relationship in college, and everything was just great. She belonged to me. Do you remember the family reunion when I told you I was bringing someone over for you to meet? It was her.”
“Why was she with Hunter then?” Memories of that wretched day come surging through her head. She vividly remembers what happened. Mary sensed how thick the air had turned when Hunter and Angel arrived and how Damien unusually transformed. He was cheerful and excited like the little b
oy he was, but he turned sour and melancholic over lunch when Hunter and Angel were together, acting as if it was their honeymoon.
“None of it matters now. All I know is we’ve both made mistakes,” he answers. “Apparently, I’m the only one left who has not moved on.”
“Damien…”
“I love her still.” His voice cracks.
It pains Mary to see her son cry. When was the last time Damien cried? she asks herself. When he was fifteen and his first girlfriend dumped her? No. Perhaps when he realized that drugs and alcohol were killing him slowly, and so he chose to leave for Spain to get himself treated for depression and addiction.
She stretches her arms and envelopes her child with warmth.
“I love her, mom,” he sobs like a man who is ashamed of tears, but there’s nothing to be ashamed of—at least not as Mary sees it. She thinks Damien fought valiantly, and though she abhors Angel to the bones, she can’t put all the blame on her for making his son cry. It’s a rare thing to see Damien cry for a woman. As a boy, she witnessed him clowning around, like nothing was serious for him, like nothing deserves his attention but pure games, laughter, and fun. Well now, it’s a spectacle to find her son weeping over a lost love.
“And what did you do to take her back?”
“Everything. She loves Hunter now,” he replies. “I don’t think I could do anything.” Not even kidnapping changed her mind.
Not even caressing her son could alleviate the suffering he’s going through, and she knows that. She knows how it feels to be forgotten and deserted. She knows everything about it. She was a victim of unreciprocated love. James made her feel that way in their first few years of marriage, and she still does not think that she has him fully. It still throbs when she’s reminded of James and Victoria who have loved each other for years.
“Then maybe it was not enough, son.”
He shakes his head. “I made her a promise. I don’t want to look bad in her eyes, mom. Pursuing her will just hurt her more.”
“If I were Angel, darling,” Mary responds, “I will completely regret the day I turn you down.
