Angel of Mercy & Standoff at Mustang Ridge

by Heather Graham

  “We were both afraid, a little, weren’t we?” she asked.

  He lifted his weight from her and stretched, resting on one elbow. His gaze remained on her, intense.

  “Yeah. Afraid of Leif Hawk entering in here.”

  She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. And when hers shifted, he abruptly straddled her, catching her cheeks between his palms. Intimacy seemed rampant between them again. She felt his thighs, his nakedness, keenly. She stared up at him, then her gaze fell away.

  “You loved him very much,” Brad said.

  “Yes.” She opened her eyes and met his at last, anger suddenly burning in her own. “But I made love with you, and you know it. So get off me, you oaf.”

  He caught her face in a tender hold. “That’s why I made you watch me. Watch us. I wanted to be sure you were making love to me—not the ghost of another man.” Now his kiss was slow, leisurely, yet thorough.

  He rose then, a man completely at ease with his nakedness, naturally graceful in his movement. He picked up the stereo needle and set it back to the beginning of the album. Once again the room filled with music. Wendy watched him for a moment, then started to reach for her panties.

  “No, don’t,” he told her, noticing her movement. A smile played across his features. “Please, don’t.”

  She hesitated. He knelt down behind her, slipping his arms around her and locking his hands beneath her breasts. “It’s nice just to hold you,” he whispered, resting his chin upon her shoulder.

  She let her head fall back against his shoulder. “It’s nice to be held,” she said.

  Nuzzling her neck, he added, “And we have to make love again. Tonight. Maybe a few times, maybe several times.”

  Wendy twisted, trying to see his face. “For a slow starter, you do get quickly into gear once the motor is running.”

  “Slow starter?”

  “I’ve been willing for some time now,” she teased.

  “Wendy, we haven’t known each other for ‘some time.’”

  She leaned back again, slipping her slender fingers over his rougher, callused ones. “I knew that I wanted you.”

  It took him a minute to answer. “Last night you wanted a body in bed. Tonight, you wanted me. There’s a difference.”

  She didn’t reply; maybe it was true.

  He hummed to the music. “We used to have sock hops back when I was a kid. Everybody used to go. This was what we played. I never did learn to disco. Did you?”

  Wendy shook her head. “No.”

  “Want a glass of wine?”

  “That sounds good. I’ll get it.” She didn’t know if she could be as easy as Brad about walking around her house naked with all the lights on. Of course, no one would be near, and they couldn’t possibly see in if they were.

  She was just out of practice.

  But it wasn’t bad, not really. Although she keenly felt Brad’s eyes on her while she moved, it was a nice feeling. She poured two glasses of white wine and brought out a platter of cheese, salmon and crackers, too. Brad was waiting for her, leaning against the bottom of the couch. She set the tray between them.

  “Salmon. Perfect. I was starving.”

  He picked up a piece of the pink fillet with his fingers and popped in into his mouth. Wendy started to cut cheese for the crackers, but was interrupted when she realized that Brad was dangling a piece of salmon in front of her mouth. She licked it from his fingers, her tongue sensually bathing his fingertips. He flashed her a crooked smile. Blushing, she turned back to the cheese again.

  “Oh, Wendy,” he murmured. His eyes studied her intently. She had never imagined she could feel such a rush of warmth, just from the way a man looked at her.

  When she handed him a cracker with cheese, her fingers were trembling.

  He slipped an arm around her while they ate and sipped wine. Although their conversation was casual, Brad never passed the opportunity to add a few sexual innuendos. Every time he sipped his wine or nibbled on a morsel of food, he somehow intimated how the mouth could be used effectively on flesh. He promised to demonstrate.

  “Brad!” Wendy protested at last. She was laughing, amazed at what words and looks could imply. But then again, he was touching her, too. His arm was around her shoulder and his hand dangled idly over her breast, his fingertips teasing her nipple. His whisper fell against her hair, her throat, her ear.

  “What?” he asked innocently.

  “You’re making me crazy!”

  His gaze was lazy, his tone sultry. His tawny lashes lay half-closed as he looked at her. “Why? I’m not going anywhere, you’re not going anywhere.” He paused for a moment, suddenly becoming serious. “I didn’t mean to be so selfish. I just—I just couldn’t wait anymore.”

  “Selfish?” Wendy echoed blankly.

  He kissed her forehead. “Yes.”

  “But you weren’t—”

  “I intend to make up for it.”

  “Brad—”

  “Cracker?” He slipped one in her mouth.

  Wendy chewed it, watching him gravely. “Brad, I know that you’re not married. But what you said about Leif...well, you were right. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone if I tried to find a substitute for him. And maybe I did want to do that at first. But you’d never stand for that.” For a moment her voice trailed. “I know you don’t have a wife, but I really don’t want to be a stand-in, either. Your lover, just because of this ‘convenient situation.’”

  He lifted her chin and kissed her lips lightly. “There’s no one special in my life, Wendy. Honestly. Just you.” He didn’t release her but kept studying her eyes. “Wendy, what happened? To your husband—to Eric’s wife?”

  Wendy inhaled sharply. She wanted to wrench away from him and crawl into the darkness. His words brought the past rushing in on her and despite the healing effect of time, the wounds of the past still hurt.

  “They were killed.”

  “I know that. How did it happen?”

  She shrugged. “We—we were having a party at Eric’s. It was his and Jennifer’s third wedding anniversary. Jennifer was partial to a certain burgundy, so as a surprise, Eric and I had ordered some from a friend who owns a liquor store.”

  She paused, swallowing. She hated remembering that night. Hated it. The last time she had seen her husband and her sister-in-law, they had both been laughing. The four of them had been so close, she and Jennifer, Leif and Eric.

  She told Brad about how stunning Jennifer had looked in her white dress. Her honeyed skin had posed a striking contrast, as had her waist-length, jet black hair. She’d been so happy, and so in love. Leif had also been clad in white, a white dinner jacket. The shirt he wore beneath it had almost matched the unusual shade of his eyes.

  At the last minute, the friend who owned the liquor store in Fort Lauderdale had been detained at the shop. Wendy had been cooking, since she had ordered Jennifer not to do a thing for the party. Eric had been trying to help Wendy with the outside grill.

  And so Leif and Jennifer had gone together to pick up her present. Jen had been so pleased with the gift, the picture of giddy innocence in white. The two of them had left, arm in arm.

  “They walked right into an armed holdup,” Wendy explained. “The owner of the store was already dead. When one of the robbers slapped Jennifer to the ground and aimed the gun her way, Leif sprang upon him. He strangled the assailant with his bare hands, trying to buy Jennifer some time. But there were four robbers, and Leif was unarmed. As she turned to flee, Jennifer was caught.”

  Later the police told Wendy that the first shot had killed Leif instantly, piercing his heart.

  They’d shot Jennifer three times. She had suffered slowly, bleeding to death.

  I shouldn’t have asked, Brad thought. He shouldn’t have done this to her. And yet the sto
ry went on as Wendy continued in a strange monotone.

  She and Eric had had to visit the morgue to identify the bodies—the hollow shells of Jennifer and Leif.

  “And all I could remember was the blood. So much blood, staining the beautiful innocence of their white clothing. So very, very much blood.” Wendy swallowed down her wine in a gulp.

  Brad saw that her eyes were wide and unseeing. He understood why she had hidden herself here in the swamp for so long. And this certainly explained the closeness between Wendy and Eric.

  But she had reached out, leaving the past behind. She had wanted him.

  And now, he saw, they’d lost that special warmth. Wendy was shivering now, reaching for her clothes, ashamed of the way that she sat with him. She set her glass down. “I’m going to take a shower.” She stood up. Brad reached for her, trying to catch her fingers.

  “Wendy, wait—”

  “Damn you, Brad! Leave me alone!” She ran down the hallway.

  He sat back, brooding in defeat. He couldn’t let her retreat to the past she had begun to leave behind.

  Brad picked up the remnants of their meal and brought them to the kitchen. Deep in thought, he stared down the long hallway. Despite her denials, he knew that Wendy was trapped in the past, haunted by the memory of her husband. He couldn’t let her wallow in that misery.

  The shower was still spraying loudly when Brad strode into the bathroom and ripped open the shower curtain. With a bar of soap in her hand and her hair plastered over her face, Wendy turned to him. “Brad, damn you, leave me alone! Don’t you understand—”

  She gasped as he stepped into the shower. The water hit his hair and his back but he seemed not to feel it as he stared down at her.

  “Brad, get out of here!”

  “No, I don’t think so, Wendy.” Her skin was wet and slick and fragrant with the clean scent of soap. The shower water slid over them as he slipped his arms around her waist.

  She twisted away from him. Tears stung her silver eyes. “You made me remember! Can’t you understand—”

  “I’m sorry. Yes, I made you remember the past. But now I’m going to help you forget.” He planted a kiss on her neck. “Come on, Wendy. Let’s wipe the slate clean.”

  Her eyes narrowed in amazement and fury. “Well, now, McKenna,” she spat out, “you can damn well guarantee that I’ll be thinking of him.”

  “Oh, no, Wendy,” Brad assured her with confidence. “I can damn well guarantee that you won’t.”

  Holding her squirming form in his arms, he kissed her with his mouth and his teeth and his tongue. He clung to her naked, dripping body with his left hand, while using his right to explore and caress her. He followed the pattern of her spine, kneading her buttocks. Tracing the curve of her hips, he found the soft apex of her legs and gently explored the feminine flesh there, seeking and finding the soft button of greatest pleasure.

  Overcome by sensation, she went limp against him.

  Then her body tautened. Her lips parted willingly to his, her tongue met and mated with his. Rising up on her toes, she buried her head against his shoulder. He leaned to whisper against her ear. “Everywhere I touch you, I will love you.”

  The water was hot as it pelted their skin. With the drive of the water against his back, Brad tasted her lips again. Then he cast her into a sea of trembling as he slowly, determinedly, kissed her breasts, taking his sweet time, his sweet pleasure. Bracing herself against his shoulder, she whispered his name, and then moaned in ecstasy.

  As he lowered himself against her, she could feel the texture of his wet body against hers. Beneath the cascade of the shower, he knelt, gripped her buttocks firmly and buried himself against her.

  Fire swept through her loins as she trembled fiercely and fought to hold on to his shoulders. The sensations were so overpowering that she could barely think. All she could do was feel and arch and undulate and burn.

  “Brad!” She tore at his hair. He knew no mercy. “Please, really, I’m collapsing.”

  Her words had no impact. Breathlessly, barely able to form a coherent sentence, she continued. “Please! I’ll fall against the tile. I’ll die of a concussion.”

  Finally her words reached him. He rose, wet and gloriously handsome.

  He did turn off the water.

  But that was the only concession he gave the shower, or their drenched state. He swept her off her feet, dripping and naked, and carried her into the bedroom.

  When she was safely nestled upon the bed, he continued his assault. She tossed her head and cried out his name. And he reminded her that she could not fall, for she already lay before him.

  In seconds she soared to a volatile climax, and then he climbed atop her, parting her thighs to slide inside her. Exhausted and spent, she whispered that she could not go any further.

  But he proved that she could. He touched her, inside and outside, and she felt the heat kindle inside of her again. He was the match to set her aflame. She ached again, she wanted again.

  And she burst with the sweetness of it, once again.

  She fell asleep in his arms, exhausted.

  Brad lay awake for a long while, stroking her hair. Listening to the velvety sounds of the night, he felt the peace of the swamp surround him.

  9

  Brad woke late. The sun was high in the sky when he opened his eyes. But then, it had been very late when they’d gone to sleep. Wendy was still sleeping.

  She was curled halfway upon his chest, her hair a teasing cloud fanned over his shoulders. He carefully shifted her head to the pillow, then he watched her as she lay there. Her skin was as smooth as honey and cream against the sheets, and he was tempted to touch her all over again. She looked somewhat like an angel, he thought, a tender smile curving his lips. It was the color of her hair, he knew, and the classic lines of her face that reminded him of a heavenly spirit. And also, perhaps, her inner purity, her essence, that had warned him that Wendy was someone special, someone unique. A woman not to be taken lightly.

  A woman to whom a man could lose his heart.

  Warmth invaded his system again. No angel last night, he mused, but a siren, a tempest, stirring him up, beguiling him. Of course, he had wanted her. He had wanted her from the start. They’d been destined to come together. But it was wrong. He didn’t belong here. He would have to leave, return to his own life in a world miles away from this marshy refuge. He swallowed fiercely, remembering his partner who now lay dead. Wendy did not belong in his life. He did not belong in hers.

  She opened her eyes slowly, her dark lashes blinking over soft silver-and-gray eyes. At first she studied him with a misted confusion, then she smiled with a soft, almost shy welcome.

  She yawned and shifted, and the dusky crest of her nipple became visible to him. He groaned inwardly. It was his fault. She had just wanted to be held; she had wanted a figure in the darkness, a man to hold. He had insisted on knowing her. He had wanted her to know him, to make love with him, and not with some forgotten dream.

  Yes, he had wanted to know her. He had wanted it to be slow and careful, a union that mattered. But now the mere sight of her smile sent him plummeting into a downward swirl that gripped his loins and his heart in a painful vise. He should be running for his sanity.

  Yet he could not leave her. He didn’t know how much time they had in this strange Eden, but while it lasted, they were entwined, and he could not give that up.

  She reached out and stroked his cheek, running her fingers slowly down his torso. She paused at his waist, drawing circles idly with her fingers, then her hand curved seductively and plunged lower as her fingers locked around him. She edged toward him. The tip of her tongue played over his chest.

  Spasms of desire stabbed him like a white-hot lead. He leaned over and kissed her.

  This was no angel, he tho
ught as he lifted her above him. Her hair fell in golden sheets over her rosy breasts. She was as beautiful as an angel, but she moved with an ancient, earthy wisdom. And she gave herself to him, completely.

  “Wendy...”

  He pulled her down. Hers was the kiss of a total temptress, a seductress who made love with her body, her soul and her heart. Soon, Brad forgot that there was a world beyond them. All that mattered was the steaming crest they rode, in a writhing glory of kisses and whispers and slick, entangled limbs.

  When it was over, she smiled at him. So sweetly. An angel again. She curled up just like a kitten and fell asleep against his chest.

  Later, Wendy reflected that it was one of the best days of her life. She’d never known what it was like to have so much fun doing so very little.

  She was more of a sleeper than Brad. She woke again to the scent of sausage. He was lingering in the doorway, naked, a tray of food in his hands, a wild orchid held in his teeth. When she laughed, he nearly dropped the tray. Instead, he deposited it on the floor to leap on top of her, mercilessly tickling her and demanding that she show more respect.

  She laughed all through the meal.

  When breakfast was over Brad turned on the news, but there was nothing reported about the case. Then an old-time mystery came on, and they watched the show, lazily entwined. An hour or so later, Wendy decided she wanted a shower. Brad decided to shower with her, and they made love once again, with Brad promising Wendy that he could do so in the shower without killing her or causing a serious concussion. She laughed until she cried out with the ecstasy of it, until she was breathless and spent, until his gold-and-amber eyes locked with hers and the world went still.

  They sat in the living room and pored through her music collection. He told her grimly that his home had been destroyed, and Wendy was painfully reminded that Brad was a stranger here, that he belonged elsewhere. She told him that he was welcome to begin a new collection with some of her old albums. He shook his head with a rueful smile, then reached out and stroked her golden hair. He whispered that she was incredible, and then he kissed her and made love to her again.