Fallen Angel

by Laura Taylor

She even forgot that they were in the sitting room of his office. She cared about nothing but Thomas, because he had become the center of her universe.

  Tasting him, touching him, and destroying any boundaries, real or imagined, between them became her focus. She matched his thrusting tongue stroke for stroke, her hands frantic as she tore at the buttons of his shirt. This time she needed no assistance as she parted the fabric and plunged her fingers into the dense hair that covered his chest.

  He groaned in response to her touch, then caught the hem of her sweater, dragged it up and over her head, and cast it aside. His hands went immediately to the catch at the front of her bra. Flicking it open, he palmed her breasts as they sprang free.

  Geneva gasped, then moaned when she felt his fingertips at her nipples. They peaked instantly, tight pale mauve knots of pure sensation. When he took one of the tips into his mouth and sucked, she nearly wept from the pleasure cascading through her.

  She reached down to stroke his hard shaft. This time, her fingers were less clumsy as she unbuckled his belt, opened the front of his trousers, and freed his sex. He pulsed under her touch, which sent additional rivers of pleasure spiraling through her.

  Thomas claimed her mouth again, his kiss enflaming and seductive. He managed to shed his clothing and then stripped away what remained of hers. Taking the steps to the couch in a few strides, he brought Geneva down atop him as he sprawled back across the cushions. His hands encompassed her breasts, and his mouth became voracious as he drank deeply of her. He saturated his senses with her taste and the feel of her heated skin.

  Geneva shifted atop him, flowing over him like hot silk until she positioned herself astride his thighs. She inched forward, her pelvis nudging against his rigid length.

  She clutched at his shoulders before she brought herself to her knees and crouched over him. She felt his searing gaze, saw the hunger in his eyes, and savored his need of her.

  He bracketed her hips with his hands, halting her downward motion.

  She met his gaze. And she waited.

  He spoke slowly. "You want this?"

  His question pierced her heart. How could she not want him? "I want you, Thomas."

  He closed his eyes, his hard grip easing. He exhaled, expelling only a fraction of his hunger and tension.

  Geneva slowly lowered her body to his. Her desire for him spiked to new heights as she impaled herself with his powerful erection.

  A shattered sound escaped her. Tears of relief spilled from her eyes as she settled atop him, their bodies merging, becoming one. She quivered inside as she rode him, the intrinsic sensuality of her nature revealing itself.

  A tremor passed through Thomas, telegraphing the depth of his need. She watched his face as she moved over him like undulating satin. His hands shifted from her hips to her breasts, hands cupping her flesh, thumbs flicking at her nipples. Pleasure arrowed through her, sending streamers of heated sensation into her bloodstream.

  When he looked at her, she saw that his desire for her had darkened his eyes. The threat of loss stabbed at her. She loved him so deeply, so completely, she knew her heart would break when he abandoned her. Her pace quickened, as if by intensifying their lovemaking she could thwart the reality that he would soon reject her.

  Thomas smoothed his fingers over her breasts, dragged his knuckles across her lower abdomen, and then clasped her hips. He stilled her body and arched upward, deepening his penetration. She felt his sex pulse deep inside, and she gloried in his strength, his hunger for her. Leaning forward, she pressed stinging little kisses to his neck before she shifted her attention to his chin, where she gently nibbled.

  Geneva wanted to purr, and she did exactly that as she tormented and teased him with nipping kisses and tilting motions of her hips. He claimed her mouth in the same instant that he surged even more deeply into her hot wet channel, then caught and inhaled her stunned gasp as he guided the movement of her lower body.

  Geneva felt every inch of his rigid length. She trembled, her body starting to tighten into itself. Feeling as though she might break apart at any moment, she savored the sensation, just as she savored the act of intimacy they now shared.

  She rode him even more forcefully, the tension deep within her body spiraling ever tighter. Thomas matched her reckless pace, responding to their mutual urgency as he pounded into her.

  Geneva felt he might consume her, and that thought fanned the flames of her desire for him even more. Gasping for breath, she tore her lips from his and arched into him. Her insides quickened. Soft cries escaped her as she slammed against him.

  He drew her forward, covered one breast with his hand and took the nipple of the other one into his mouth. He sucked at her sensitive skin, taunting her with catlike swipes of his tongue and careful teething. He soon gave her other breast equal attention.

  Geneva abruptly lost control, her senses shattering with a kind of violence that drew a scream from her as she climaxed. Glittery sensations swept over her and then hurled her into a world of sensory pleasure unlike anything she’d ever known. Thomas held her and protected her throughout the storm. And in the aftermath of her release, she slumped across his chest, gasping for breath and clinging to him.

  Thomas’s hands trembled from his own need for release as he stroked her back and hips. He shifted their bodies a short while later, gently tucking her beneath him. He moved slowly at first, teasing her, rekindling her desire with a shallow pumping motion, then deepening his penetration when his restraint began to fail him.

  "Yes. Oh, yes," Geneva whispered as she twined her arms around his neck and brought his lips down to hers.

  His body glistened with sweat, and the muscles mapping his limbs and torso grew taut with tension. He took her with him, stoking the barely banked flames of her passion until she was once again writhing beneath him. He felt her surrender to the need prompted by the combustible sensations flowing anew through her body.

  Circling his hips with her legs, Geneva answered his every thrust with a counterthrust of her own. She slanted her lips across his, sucking his tongue into her mouth as he pounded into her. His pace increased, and with it her own.

  She felt complete as a result of his possession, then experienced a sensation akin to recognition. She’d found the mate she had always longed for, and she consciously imprinted on her heart the taste and feel of his passion and sensuality. And in that moment, she experienced only one regret—she would never hear the sound of his voice.

  Neither one held back in the minutes that followed.

  They teased.

  They tantalized.

  They tormented.

  And their bodies blended with a fluidity that heightened their mutual pleasure. The turbulence of their mating finally pushed them both over the edge.

  Geneva cried out, her climax so stark, so thorough, her entire body stiffened with shock. Sensation after sensation rippled through her, over and over again until she felt disconnected from everything in the world but Thomas.

  He succumbed to her release and went spinning beyond control just moments later, his own need for completion too strong to resist any longer. His body trembled, and he splintered apart. He moaned her name and his love for her.

  Geneva, her face pressed against his neck and still buffetted by the aftershocks of her own release, didn’t realize that Thomas had spoken.

  Sinking down over her soon after, he struggled for air as he cradled Geneva against his chest and rolled them both onto their sides. He turned off the lamp. The warmth of the fire eliminated the threat of a chill, so they simply held each other in the darkness.

  He knew they needed to talk, but their lack of sleep the night before, the rigors of the day they’d just experienced, and the sound of Geneva’s slow breathing lulled him into believing that they could relax for a while.

  ** ** **

  Geneva waited until Thomas had fallen asleep before she eased out of his embrace and got up from the couch. She located her panties and bra, slipping
into them as she stood before the fireplace. As she stared at the dwindling flames, she battled the urge to walk away from Thomas again.

  No, she thought, the time for running has long since passed. And she wasn’t a coward, no matter what he might think.

  Geneva turned away from the fireplace, but she paused when she noticed that Thomas had awakened and was watching her. When he said nothing, she reached for her sweater and slipped it over her head.

  She hoped she might feel less vulnerable with her clothes on during the conversation they were about to have. As she felt the probing intensity of his gaze, she smoothed the thigh–length garment over her hips with shaking hands.

  "Running away again, Geneva?" Still stretched out on the couch, he made no effort to conceal his nakedness.

  She glanced away, trying to quell her response to his powerful body. Nonetheless, desire spilled like heated honey into her bloodstream, forcing her to take a steadying breath.

  "Nothing to say?" he pressed once she looked back at him.

  Anger sparked to life inside her. "I’m not a coward, despite what you seem to think. I’m just cold." She reached down to collect her slacks from a spot on the floor by the couch.

  "I’ll get you warm." Extending his hand, he snagged her wrist before she could step away.

  Geneva eased free. "You may not want to when you hear what I have to say."

  "Shouldn’t I be the one to make that decision?" he asked, shifting into a seated position on the couch.

  "You’re the only one who can, Thomas."

  Geneva sank down onto the opposite end of the couch after pulling on her slacks. Her gaze drifted back to the fireplace as she tried to assemble her thoughts.

  A chill traveled through her, prompting her to draw her legs up and wrap her arms around them. She finally looked at Thomas, but she didn’t speak right away.

  "I’m listening," he prompted after several moments of silence.

  She nodded, and then she plunged into the long–awaited truth. "As you already know, I make it a rule never to discuss with anyone other than my family the life I had before I moved to Cedar Grove, but I’m going to break that rule this one time. I owe you the truth."

  He smiled at her, a wintery smile that sent yet another chill flowing into her veins. "I’m not a stranger or a curiosity seeker. I’m your lover."

  "You’re many things, Thomas, not just my lover, and we both know it."

  His jaw tightened, and he gave her a look that would have broken a lesser woman.

  Geneva simply peered back at him, her expression steady. She didn’t feel at all intimidated. She’d dealt with strong personalities throughout her life. Besides, he wasn’t so different from Nicholas Benteen or the others who made up his gypsy band of ex–warriors. It occurred to her then that her family would respect a man like Thomas Coltrane, even welcome him into their ranks if he felt inclined to seek their acceptance and friendship.

  Was she fantasizing? she wondered. Probably.

  Geneva gathered up the threads of her courage and began to speak. "I’ve told you a little about my father and the years we spent together after Erin’s death."

  He nodded. "Patrick, the engineer and self–confessed vagabond," he signed, accurately quoting her.

  "You have an excellent memory."

  "Goes with the territory when I’m after the truth."

  She smiled faintly. "I trust you’re as prepared as you think you are to hear the truth, especially my truth."

  "Let’s find out, shall we?"

  "By all means, let’s find out. Patrick, as I told you, was a munitions specialist. He altered various types of weapons as a hobby or out of sheer boredom, depending on the circumstances in which he found himself. He also rigged and placed detonation devices in parts of the world that no sane man would ever venture, and he devised some of the most intricate bombs ever created. He did these things all over the globe for most of his adult life and for the highest bidders. He was a charming man, always filled with laughter and tall tales, but he was happiest when he was in the middle of an armed insurrection or some backwater revolution. People are still using his designs, even though he’s been dead for many years. He was a legend in his own time, but he was a mercenary, pure and simple."

  Geneva paused for a moment, reached for the wineglass on the coffee table, and took a sip to ease her dry throat. She didn’t look at Thomas for a long moment. Then, she lifted her gaze and met his, all emotion absent from her face and her voice when she said, "Political upheaval thrilled him. Patrick was brilliant, but he was also reckless and quite amoral at times, which destroyed his marriage to Erin. His professional association with Nicholas settled him down, though. It also placed him in the position of supporting causes that were, to a certain degree, morally defensible or backed by the U.S. government during the last fourteen years of his life. He admired Nicholas, even loved him like a son, so he abided by his rules. Fortunately for me, Nicholas was already a part of Patrick’s life when I arrived on the scene, but I was still involved in the violence and destruction of their world."

  Thomas interrupted. "Are you taking responsibility for your father’s actions again? Because if you are, you needn’t. Just because Patrick had the poor judgment to drag you to hell and back as a teenager and a young adult doesn’t mean that his sins are your burden to carry, Geneva. They never were. His penance is his own to pay, for God’s sake!"

  Her chin trembled, but Geneva smothered the emotions rising up inside of her. "People died. Sometimes, the innocent died."

  "That’s what happens in wartime," he reminded her, his own experiences as a Green Beret making his facial expression grim.

  She pushed forward, determined to make all of her points. Half of the truth was like no truth at all. She knew that all too well.

  "For many years now there’s been a contract out on my life, and I’ve had to exercise a certain amount of caution in order not to place myself in further jeopardy. I’ve never lived the way most people do, and I doubt I’d even know how to if someone gave me the opportunity."

  Thomas interrupted, "I figured out that much the first day we met. Jamal, a terrorist of some note, the Mossad, Nick encouraging you to stop worrying because the guy was neutralized." He shook his head in amazement. "Hell of a word, by the way. It got my attention, and I drew the obvious conclusion."

  "I… am… my… father’s… daughter, Thomas." She enunciated each word with great care.

  "But you aren’t his conscience," Thomas insisted. "You were an innocent witness to global mayhem for too many years to count. He should never have… "

  She shot to her feet, surprising him into silence. "You’re not listening, or you refuse to understand. I am not innocent. I really am my father’s daughter," she said as she paced the sitting room. "In every possible way, and then some. I inherited Patrick’s technical skills. I am regarded as an expert bomb maker. I’m also considered to be as good, if not better, than Patrick was, and I took his place when he was shot in Afghanistan on my nineteenth birthday."

  She didn’t look at Thomas then. She couldn’t. "Jamal put out that contract on me, because I destroyed the headquarters of his Middle East terror operation and his largest training camp. In point of fact, I was neither an observer nor an innocent. I was, and still am, a highly skilled explosives expert, and I worked in that capacity, primarily for the CIA, for several years until a faulty piece of equipment malfunctioned, nearly killed me, and destroyed my ability to hear. Without Nicholas and the others, I… would… be… dead, not standing here trying to explain my past to you."

  He stared at her.

  "And there’s something else you need to understand," she said, finally looking at him and registering the shock in his eyes. "I am not ashamed of who I am or what I did, nor am I ashamed of the people who cared for me before and after the accident, so do not ever presume to judge me, my life, or my friends. I already know how different we are, and I also know that damn few people are capable of accepting us. My
sole regret about the past is that violence is how much of the world solves its problems. I know from very personal experience that there are much better ways."

  Geneva made herself wait then, her eyes darting back and forth between the clock on the far wall of the sitting room and the disbelief etched into Thomas’s hard–featured face.

  Silence stretched tautly between them.

  Two full minutes passed.

  Then, a third.

  Still, he did not speak.

  Only her pride kept Geneva from succumbing to the anguish she felt. Certain that his continuing silence translated into outright rejection, she reached a point in which she could no longer endure his silence. She turned away from Thomas, her shoulders sagging with defeat.

  "This is exactly what I expected. This is why I didn’t want to tell you," Geneva whispered more to herself than to him.

  She stepped into her knee boots, shrugged on her coat, and gathered up her purse and briefcase. She paused for a final brief look back at him. "Have a nice life, Counselor."

  Then, Geneva walked out of the sitting room, her pride and self–respect intact, her heart breaking. She felt so empty and cold inside, she thought she might never be warm again.

  Yes, she’d reinvented herself, but she could not erase her past. Not ever. The stunned expression on Thomas’s face assured her of that fact. It also validated her belief that he would never be able to love or trust a woman who had destroyed lives.

  Geneva hardly remembered getting into her car, let alone driving out of Cedar Grove and along the back roads through the falling snow, but she arrived in one piece at Nicholas and Hannah Benteen’s home an hour later. Only then did she let herself grieve for what might have been.

  11

  Thomas recognized his error in judgment the instant the door to his office slammed shut. The sound jarred him beyond the paralysis of disbelief, infusing him with a sudden burst of energy.

  He surged up from the couch and reached for his clothes, furious with himself. In his determination not to overreact to anything Geneva might say to him, he hadn’t reacted at all. He’d just sat there and stared at her with all of the animation of a tree stump.