Alex's Angel

by Natasha Blackthorne

  She should run. She really should. But her legs seemed to go all wobbly, growing more so with each step he took until he was standing no more than an inch from her.

  Her stomach floated up with both excitement and fear—the most exhilarating thing she had ever felt. “B-but if someone saw you and I together and told…he’d be crushed.”

  He brushed aside her cloak and traced the central line from her chin to the hollow of her collar with one leather-gloved fingertip. Fire raced down over her breasts and made her nipples pull into tight pebbles. God. A hundred dollars. No—one hundred and fifty. He’d actually offered her a hundred and fifty dollars, and he was everything she could ever imagine she’d want in a gentleman—based strictly on physical appearance. He seemed to be kind and generous. Maybe she was being too hasty in deciding not to take him up on his offer.

  “Your protector is very careless. No jewellery to adorn your pretty neck.” He continued to draw his fingertip along her collarbone. “A girl like you could easily command a fortune in jewels.”

  “He’s cheap.” She barely breathed as she watched him trace his finger trace over the black lace on the edge of her bodice. Her nipples were sharp, painful points now.

  He froze his fingertip and frowned. “You seem too chary to let yourself go cheaply.”

  “Times are tough.”

  His grin returned. “Not that tough, sweetheart.”

  She let her exasperation out in a sigh and her shoulders sank. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

  He removed his hand and his smile twisted into a wry, somehow self-mocking grin. “All right, sweetheart—I’ll drop you a block from where you live.”

  “But I can’t accept.”

  His expression sobered and his jaw set determinedly. “I am taking you, and that’s final.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, then she noticed something awful. “My reticule!”

  “Your reticule?”

  “I’ve lost it.”

  * * * *

  Feeling faint, Emily sank down on her haunches, not caring how it dirtied the beautiful claret-coloured gown she’d worked so hard to fashion. Emily’s reticule hadn’t been in the private room and the maid had said they hadn’t found any such item, nor had a thorough search of the coach produced it. The Blue Duck had also proved futile and now they were outside.

  “I desperately need that money. It belongs to a friend and I need to give it back.”

  Alex crouched down beside her, laid his fingers on her cheek and turned her to face him. Moonlight cast appealing shadows over the finely sculpted angles of his face.

  “I’ll give you money, if you need it. Let me help you,” he urged, his voice seductively tender.

  His blue-grey eyes sparkled, holding her spellbound. She couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t remember what she had been so upset about.

  He was the most beautiful person she’d ever seen.

  And at the moment, he was staring at her as if she was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. That didn’t seem possible. He must have cut his teeth making conquests of all the females around him.

  He caressed her skin with his fingertips, his every stroke speaking to her of his skill. It would be no hardship to lie beneath this man and let him have his way. She closed her eyes, unable to keep from leaning in to his touch. His clothing rustled, his boots scraped on the sidewalk, then his breath tickled her face. He smelt of wine and sandalwood and clean masculinity.

  The soft touch of his lips on hers sent her pulse racing and every fibre of her being came alive. He moved his hand to slide it upwards along her ribcage, moving ever closer to her breasts. Her nipples pebbled in anticipation.

  The sound of boots echoing on the paving stones broke the spell. He pulled away from her and stood, meeting his driver as he approached. The two spoke in low tones, then Alex turned back to her.

  “Excuse me for but a moment,” he said.

  She sat there, huddled on the sidewalk, transfixed by the graceful movements of his body as he walked with the driver to the street and went to the horse on the left hand side. Then the two men examined one of horse’s hooves.

  The wind gusted mightily, cutting through her cloak and clothes. The cold seemed to transfer immediately to her bones. Clarity washed over her, dispelling her lustful fascination. All her earlier fears came pounding back upon her.

  Money was just money. She’d work something out for the rent.

  Home.

  She belonged at home, tucked safely up in bed. She had no place here, in the night, seeking to peddle her innocence. John had been correct—she’d been fooling herself.

  This was her last chance to escape.

  She jumped to her feet and took her chance. Picking up her skirts, she flew around the corner and down the alley.

  Footfalls echoed loudly in her head, then someone grabbed her from behind. An iron-strong arm latched about her waist.

  She screamed and struggled wildly, but to no avail.

  “Didn’t think I’d still be around, did you?” A hand clamped over her mouth.

  She caught her breath. Oh, Lord. She’d never forget that high-pitched, nasal voice. It was Green.

  Horror quaked through her in harsh waves.

  He held her fast to his body. “I am going to remove my hand from your mouth. If you scream again, I’ll make you damned sorry. Understand?”

  She nodded rapidly.

  He lifted his hand, then plunged it roughly down her bodice. She bit her tongue to stifle a scream and the sound came out garbled.

  “Hush now, I am not going to harm you. I am just looking for my money.”

  His money? Was the man completely insane? She drew her breath in, trying to shrink away from his hot, heavy touch as he searched all the folds of the fabric, even pushing his hand into her stays.

  “So you spent it already, did you? Never mind, you can pay me back in trade.” He dragged her along behind him.

  She pushed against him and tried to dig her feet in and resist his pull. But patches of frozen water on the ground—and God only knew what else—made her slip and flail helplessly against his body.

  “It’ll do you not one bit of good to fight.”

  His panted words punctuated the movements of his body as he worked to keep hold of her. Punctuating her helplessness. She sagged, exhausted.

  He laughed softly. “A little more agreeable now, eh?”

  A cold wind blew steadily. He kept moving towards an abandoned carriage that sat on the ground, its wheels removed and scattered about.

  He paused, breathing heavily for a moment, then he moved closer to her. “Nice and private here, girlie. With that harlot’s mouth of yours, I’d wager you give a devil of a French.”

  At his hot breath down her nape, icy spider legs seemed to crawl down her back. Whatever a ‘French’ was, his tone made it sound hideous. A surge of raw energy, a drive to get away, pushed all reason and prudence from her mind. Despite his warning, she began to scream and kick and claw with renewed vigour.

  “Damn you, you little cat!” he cried as he tightened his grip upon her with brutal intent.

  She gasped at the sensation that he was trying to squeeze the breath from her. Then he loosened his grip as he frantically worked his feet to maintain a foothold on the icy pavement. She pulled away from him and turned but his body came down on hers, knocking her to the ground. She hit the surface with both hands held out. The pavement had broken here, and soft, wet, mossy grass cushioned her fall.

  Green’s weight fell onto her legs and he groaned. Still struggling to regain her breath, she glanced over her shoulder and he stared back at her, his eyes gone glassy and his irises seeming to move from side to side. He gripped his middle.

  “Oh, God.” He moaned the words. Then his frame was racked by retches.

  She cried out and summoned all her strength, then kicked and kicked and kicked until she was free from his helpless form. She got to her feet and ran in the direction o
f the pale yellow light from the Blue Duck, but suddenly lost her footing and the ground rose to meet her.

  The impact came hard, knocking the wind out of her with a whoosh. The surface was a mixture of broken pavement and sodden grass and mud and ice. Her arms burnt from the scrapes.

  Heavy breathing sounded behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. Green was coming for her, struggling over the uneven terrain.

  She scrambled to get to her feet, but a hard tug on her hair held her there immobile on her knees. Her scalp stung like fire. She winced and cried out, pulling at her head and trying to free herself.

  “Emily?”

  The shout echoed through the alleyway. Emily caught her breath. Green went tense.

  “That’s Dalton, isn’t it?”

  She nodded vigorously.

  “You’re in this together—aren’t you?” He gave her hair a brutal yank.

  Her scalp burned. She cried out.

  He tugged harder, pulling her head back mercilessly. “The two of you are trying to make a fool of me.”

  Tears streamed down her face. “No, no, p-p-please…”

  Footfalls sounded.

  Green released her. She knelt, watching as he went, frantically crawling and sliding and spinning over the icy patches. The sight might have made her laugh at any other time.

  The footfalls grew louder. “Emily?”

  “Over here!” she cried.

  Green intensified his efforts and finally managed to get to his feet and hurry in the direction of the light from the street lamps. He slipped around the corner, the wind blowing his plum-coloured coat tails up and fled into the night.

  “Good God.” Alex’s deep voice echoed off the buildings in the alleyway.

  She turned and sat up as he appeared. She’d never been happier to see anyone, and as he approached, a smile split her face so broadly it made her jaw hurt.

  He helped her up and stood there giving her a steady stare. Then he jerked the edges of her cloak together. “What’s this about?”

  The angry edge to his voice should have intimidated her but instead it sent the most disconcerting thrills through her—half fear, half anticipation. He seemed to loom over her, a taller, broader-shouldered shadow than Green. But he wasn’t wearing his hat and moonlight made his hair glow like gold and accentuated every perfect line and angle of his face. He was the very image of the ideal knight. A protector.

  With his earlier eagerness to fight in mind, she had no doubt he would call Green out over pistols for something like this. She never wanted to be the cause of danger to anyone, especially not the gentleman who’d just saved her twice in one night.

  “I slipped,” she lied.

  “I could see that.” His tone was dry. “My question is, why did you run from me?”

  “I…” Her brain froze at the hardness in his eyes.

  He took her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Damn it, girl, this is Hell City. You should know better than to go traipsing through dark alleyways. I ought to haul you back to my carriage and drag you over my knee.”

  She didn’t care for his presumptive, authoritative tone. Yes, he’d just rescued her, but it didn’t give him the right to speak to her like that. Yet the image his words conjured up sent tingling warmth twisting through her core. A strange elation followed, the oddest sort of anticipation. She took a deep breath, then blew it out like a plume of smoke in the chilly air.

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Wouldn’t I?” His gaze pierced into hers as the wind gusted and howled.

  Cold bit through her woollen cloak, and the silk gown and its attendant muslin undergarments provided no protection whatsoever. She shivered and hugged her upper arms.

  Cursing softly, he pulled off his greatcoat and laid it over her shoulders, the heavy weight of it exuding heat from his body.

  Before she could drag the edges together, he put his hands on her waist and jerked her to him. Once again, his scent of sandalwood and clean masculinity permeated her senses, and being held to his hard-muscled abdomen and thighs was every bit as thrilling as she’d imagined earlier.

  “The moment I saw you peering into the window at the Blue Duck, I knew you were going to be pure trouble.”

  “Then I’m surprised you bothered to save me from Green,” she said, trying to make her tone light.

  His eyes darkened and glittered. “Maybe I like trouble.”

  He grasped the back of her neck with one hand, brushing her sore, bruised flesh. But it didn’t matter. There was pleasure in the pain. He bent his head and she held her breath. His lips descended on hers, slanting over them with hard determination. He twisted his hand in her hair, sending flickers of fiery pleasure-pain through her head and down her neck as he moved her head to another angle. He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue.

  Her heart pounded and the back of her gullet went dry, for she knew what he wanted.

  John had kissed her like this last New Year’s Eve, when he had been quite drunk. He’d caught her alone in the corridor of the boarding house. He’d crushed her into a corner, his hand upon the angle of her jaw, forcing her mouth open for his sloppy, sodden tongue, his whisky-scented breath gagging her…

  But this felt very different.

  Alex’s tongue slid over her lips like warm satin, sending spirals of delight sparking right down through her centre to her very toes. Making her want to open for him.

  With a cry, she parted her lips and he swept inside, all wet, wonderful and warm—flavoured with a hint of the wine they’d shared, along with something else. Something spicy and exciting and all together singularly him.

  He caressed her tongue with delicate strokes, each brush teasing her, making her crave a deeper taste of him. Her knees went weak and she sagged against him, moving her hands up to clasp his shoulders and cling. His scent intoxicated her. His touch surrounded her.

  She’d never forget his taste, his scent, his feel. Never.

  He put his hand under her cloak and flirted his fingertips over her bodice, touching nipples hardened by both cold and arousal. At the delicious sensation, she gasped.

  Light headed, she opened her eyes and looked up. The sky seemed to loom closer than it ever had before. Surely thousands of stars twinkled above in the inky blackness.

  His touch grew harsher, impatient, commanding her attention back from the heavens. He pulled her bodice down until his hand grazed over her bare, erect nipples—his palm was not smooth as she had guessed it would be, but rough, as if he was used to doing some labour with his hands. The texture only increased the sensation.

  On a soft moan, she closed her eyes.

  He groaned and deepened his kiss, sweeping his tongue between her lip and her lower teeth, touching on areas that were sore from her fall onto the table in the Blue Duck.

  It didn’t matter.

  Even the pain of his tongue on the bruised portions of her mouth became a strange sort of pleasure.

  If only this would never stop—

  Discordant singing broke the spell. He lifted his head and she pulled away and took several gulps of crisp, cold air into her lungs while she turned her head in the direction of the singing. An elderly beggar woman had wandered into the alleyway and was sifting through the rubble.

  Alex’s gaze flickered to the woman and he pulled Emily behind the abandoned carriage. Then he jerked her back to him, moving his hands down to cup her buttocks and press her hips tightly to his.

  There was something between them. Something so hard and throbbing that its heat penetrated even through her gown and two petticoats. His maleness. She gasped and glanced up at him. His eyes were like periwinkle fire now.

  “I want you.” His whispered growl echoed in her belly.

  He sounded so aggressive, so animal. It shocked her. Even more shocking was her own reaction. The aching, empty sensation in her core. The flood of wetness over her inner lips and down her thighs. The utter paralysis of her limbs. Her reaction was like a drug i
n her body, getting stronger with each beat of her pounding heart.

  She was his. His to do with as he wished.

  The very vulnerability of the notion increased her craving for him, for his touch, his kisses.

  “Have you ever been fucked in an alleyway?” He rocked his hips against hers.

  The word—not to mention the meaning of his sentence—should have shocked her. But instead it sent a surge of heated hunger racing through her blood. Seemingly of their own accord, her hips arched against his. He shifted, tightened his hands on her bottom, and lifted her. Then, somehow, she was on her very tiptoes and he was rocking that hard, huge part of himself pressed to her sex—her most sensitive nub, to be specific—and it was like pure bliss. She couldn’t stop herself from rubbing back against him.

  Mewling sounds echoed in her ears.

  His breath was hot and heavy on her neck and she clung to his shoulders for dear life as her hips continued to arch up to meet his.

  “Can you come like this?” he whispered in her ear.

  She didn’t recognise the word as used for that, but she knew what he meant. She knew her own body and its pleasures. And, dear heaven, yes, she believed she could. It was unthinkable. It always took her forever to get to this point on her own.

  “Let me take you back to my rooms. We can take off all our clothes and get into bed and you can lie on top of me and rub your cunt on my cock until you come.”

  Despite his shocking, crude word choices, his voice was pure suggestive seduction. There was something almost exquisitely intimate about it. She could feel what he described, his intimate, turgid flesh rubbing her own, even though she’d never experienced it. Her inner muscles drew tighter, then released their tension with sudden, stunning violence.

  A cat’s wailing echoed in the alleyway. He touched her head and gently pressed until her face was crushed to his chest and the wailing sounds became muffled. She clung to his wool-covered, muscular shoulders as waves of pure pleasure came over her.

  And came and came.

  Until she was weak and limp. Spent.

  With her core still humming and ticking, she gasped and turned her face until her cheek lay against his woollen lapel.