"You had no idea he was-—" he hesitated "--violent?"
Wordlessly she shook her head. When it appeared she had no intention of saying anything further, he pressed on, gently but relentlessly. "Angie, please," he urged, his voice slightly ragged. "I have to know."
She hesitated, but finally she began to speak in a very low tone. "We'd been married for eight years the first time it happened. He...he slapped me once when he'd been drinking. He'd been off work for a while and...well, it wasn't the best of times. I think, too, he was a little jealous of my success." Her lashes dropped to veil her eyes. "He was as shocked as I was when it happened. We... we both cried afterward."
"Things were better after that?''
She was quiet for a long time. "Yes and no," she finally admitted. "It didn't happen again for almost a year, but by that time I knew I couldn't take it any longer. Evan was—" her shoulders lifted helplessly "—impossible to live with. He still hadn't found a job, and he was frustrated and angry—"
"And he took it out on you." Matt's jaw tightened as he fought a wave of blinding rage. If Evan Hall had been there before him, he had no doubt he'd have torn him apart with a great deal of pleasure.
Angie leaned her head back against his shoulder tiredly. "I don't know why I ever stayed with him as long as I did. I suppose I was trying to hold my marriage together. But the day came when I realized I just couldn't take it anymore. I suggested that we separate—" a shudder shook her slender form "—and that's when it happened again."
She turned in his arms and buried her face in the warm hollow between his neck and shoulder. "That's when Kim must have seen us," she whispered.
Trembling hands smoothed her hair. His voice was as unsteady as hers. "You didn't stay with him after that, I hope."
It took a moment before she could speak again, "I didn't intend to. He went on a hunting trip a few days after that, and..." Her voice faltered.
"That's when he was killed?"
She nodded. "I knew by then that a divorce was the only answer, but I was afraid to tell him." She hesitated uncertainly. She wanted him to know, and yet she didn't.
As if he sensed her need for encouragement, he linked his fingers through hers, and let their twined hands rest on his stomach. "Go on," he urged softly.
"While he was on his trip, I intended to take the girls and move out of the house. Before I had a chance, I learned he was dead."
Something in her tone made him tilt her face to his. He laid a lean finger along the curve of her jaw and he quickly scanned her face. "Good Lord." His eyes reflected both astonishment and a swiftly restrained surge of anger. "You feel guilty! How can you after what that bastard did to you?"
"I don't," she countered quickly, then just as quickly muttered, "Oh, God, maybe I do. Not because I intended to divorce him, but because I...when I found out he was dead, I knew I didn't have to be afraid any more—afraid of what he would say, what he might do to me. I felt relieved. I couldn't even cry for him. All I could think was that there would be no more dread, no more pain." Her eyes were dark with anguish but held a plea for understanding as she gazed up at him. "What kind of person does that make me? Am I as terrible—" her voice caught painfully "—as I sometimes feel I am?"
Matt felt her heartache as if it were his own. The hell she'd been through with Evan hadn't ended with his death, he realized grimly. In some ways it had only just begun.
His hands dropped to her shoulders, his grip light, reassuring. "God, no," he said with a depth of emotion he couldn't quite control; nor did he want to. "That makes you human--just as human as the rest of us."
For a long time he simply held her, savoring their closeness. Finally he drew back slightly. "The other day," he said gently, "I called you 'Angel' and you ran away. Did Evan call you that?"
She silently nodded.
"Angie--" his fingers tightened on her shoulders for an instant "--all this... it's why you don't like to be touched, isn't it?"
It was a moment before she spoke. "You...you noticed?"
His smile held no mirth. "It was one of the first things I did notice about you." He paused. "Angie, he didn't... he didn't do anything else, did he?"
He felt her stiffen beneath his hands. "Like what?" she asked faintly.
Matt knew of no way to soften the words. The question was wrenched from deep inside him. "He didn't rape you, did he?"
He cursed himself roundly, knowing he was handling this badly. But at the stunned expression he glimpsed in her eyes, all that he felt suddenly rushed out.
"It wasn't only the fact that you don't like to be touched because you let me touch you. But all along I've sensed that you were holding back, that you were afraid of letting yourself get close to me."
Angie inhaled sharply. "You want to know if I... if I'm afraid to make love," she whispered.
There was a burning ache in Matt's throat. "That bastard has taken so much from you," he said unevenly. "Has he taken that, too?" At the stricken look on her face, he added quickly. "It doesn't matter to me, Angie. It really doesn't. But I... I'd like to know.''
Angie swallowed deeply. "I'm not afraid," she denied in a low voice, then bit her lip. How could she explain what she didn't really understand herself? With the tight rein she had kept on her emotions, she had never let her dreams of Matt carry her to the point of lovemaking.
And now she did. She was no innocent when it came to the physical intimacies between a man and a woman. Loving was easy. Wanting was easy. But it meant nothing unless those feelings were returned in full measure.
Silence steeped the room. A dull ache settled in her chest. "Maybe I am," she heard herself admit huskily. "Not of the act itself, but..."
"But what?" A finger gently angled her face to his.
Angie had to swallow repeatedly before she could say anything. "Evan and I—we still slept together after...after he hit me," she confided. She couldn't bring herself to say they had made love—because they hadn't. "But not very often, especially the last year. When we did, it wasn't the same. Maybe I was still afraid of him. I'm not sure. I was always so glad when it was over because I felt so... so cold and empty inside."
Matt closed his eyes. He understood her deep-seated fear of rejection, but that she was afraid of being unresponsive to him was just plain foolishness—and he told her so.
She was thankful that the shadowy darkness in the room hid her burning cheeks. She started to move away from him, but Matt slid his arms around her and refused to let her go.
"You don't understand," she muttered, suddenly anxious to have it out and over with. "Evan said I was frigid. My God, the way he used to look at me!" She trembled. "He said I was inadequate. Only half a woman. He said..."
She was babbling. She knew it, but somehow she just couldn't stop. She was vaguely aware that Matt had turned her in his arms, aware of callused fingertips grazing lightly over each and every one of her features. But it wasn't until those fingers exerted a gentle pressure on her mouth that her voice trailed away.
"I don't care what that man said," he told her when he saw that he had her attention. His eyes never faltered from hers. "You're beautiful, Angie. Inside, outside, in every possible way there is." A finger lifted her face, and he lowered his until his lips rested just at the corner of hers. "You're more woman than any man could ever want, Angie Hall." He kissed her softly, sweetly, until he felt her tremulous response. "The only woman I want," he whispered when their lips finally parted.
Once again she was stung by his sensitivity, the heartfelt conviction in his voice. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she clung to him with all her strength.
"Oh, Angie." Closing his eyes, he rested his chin on her shining hair. His hand shook as he smoothed the tendrils away from her temple. "I only wish you'd told me all this long ago."
Deep inside, she realized she must have thought he'd think less of her. She felt so very grateful that he didn't.
"So do I," she whispered. Tipping her head back, she smiled at him
poignantly.
A sudden thought occurred to him. "Who else knows Evan abused you?" he asked quietly.
Angie wanted to look away from him but found she couldn't. She was dimly aware that her hands were trembling. Somehow she managed to squeeze the words past the huge lump in her throat. "No one."
Matt felt as if someone had wrapped a huge band of steel around his chest. To think of Angie keeping all of this bottled up inside all this time. He suddenly understood why it was so important to her that a women's shelter be established in Westridge.
The constriction tightened further when he saw a diamond-bright teardrop suspended from her lashes. She made a valiant effort to fight it, the muscles in her throat working convulsively.
Matt could take it no longer. Her tortured soul needed to be purified, cleansed. Only then could the healing process begin. And he knew of only one way to do it.
He hauled her into his embrace, his arms both tender and rough. "Cry, babe," he muttered into the golden cloud of her hair. "Cry as much or as little as you want."
And she did. Warm, wet, salty tears of sorrow for a love once cherished, a love now mourned because it was dead and gone. Tears that slipped unheeded down her cheeks, tears that poured from an endless well inside her. She cried until she was exhausted, lying limply against a solid warmth that was the only beacon of light in a shadowy sea of darkness.
When it was over, Matt carried her up to bed. She had no strength left to protest as a voice softly commanded that she raise her arms, lift her hips. Soft white silk slipped down her body. But she was attuned only to an entirely different set of sensations—gentle hands, all the more comforting because of their very strength, a voice as feathery soft as down and a look so tender and caring she felt warm and secure as she'd never felt before.
The pins were removed from her hair, a brush quickly pulled through the loosened strands. She was all ivory and gold with her hair feathered over her shoulders, and her arms were bare beneath the cap sleeves of the gown. The scooped neckline offered tantalizing glimpses of the same smooth, honey- colored skin, skin that gleamed invitingly beneath the sheer material. Desire—sweet, warm and potent- surged hotly through Matt's bloodstream. The feeling was so intense it bordered on pain.
Pain because he wanted to make love to her as he had never wanted anything in his life. Pain because he ached to sweep her into a world of sweet oblivion, a world where there was no bitterness, no haunting reminders of the past... a world where only the two of them existed.
But he knew he didn't dare. Rest was what she needed right now... rest.
It took a moment before he was able to clamp the brake on that dangerous train of thought.
"Better?" When he was finally able to speak, he strived for a neutral tone, achieved it and then wondered how the hell he'd managed. Confining his attention to his hands and away from the lushly tempting curves of her body, he fluffed the pillow under her head.
Angie nodded. Her eyes were fused to his, and as he watched, a faint flush crept into her cheeks. He knew she was thinking of the way he had just impersonally undressed her, and he was both amused and touched by her reaction.
His own reaction changed to a far different one when she made no move to draw the sheet up over her breasts. This time he was the one who couldn't look away when she drew a deep, quivering breath.
He straightened abruptly. "Good night, Angie. I'll see you in the morning." He was astounded that he sounded so normal, even more so when he reached the door without looking back at her.
"Don't go."
It was a ribbon of sound, no more than a wispy breath of air. Convinced he'd conjured it up from the depths of his imagination, Matt's face tightened. Then he stopped and slowly turned.
The air was charged with a brittle tension as he stared at Angie. The heat reflected in their eyes melded, breaching the distance between them. He scarcely breathed, afraid she would disappear like misty beads of dew on a bright and sun-kissed morning.
Then she was there before him, his sensuous angel with the golden halo of hair. He heard the soft whisper of her breath, smelled the musky, womanly scent of her.
A hand tentatively touched his chest. A second later the other crept up to join it.
"Please, Matt. Don't leave me." Quivering lips hovered temptingly, so temptingly, beneath his. "I...I need you."
I need you. It was a promise, a prayer, a plea... They were also the sweetest words he'd ever hoped to hear.
Deep within a flicker of hope burned brighter. But he couldn't touch her. Not yet. "I can't stay with you, Angie," he said very quietly. "Because if I do—" his voice reached an even lower pitch "—if I do, I don't know if I can stop myself from making love to you."
He thought she might flinch from his bluntness. But she didn't. She only continued to gaze up at him with eyes so blue, so full of trust that he felt oddly humble, strangely proud. And so filled with love he thought he might burst.
"I know," Angie said with a brave little smile. Very softly she added, "I thought you might say that."
His gaze roved over her delicate features. Her cheeks were still flushed from the tears so recently shed, but she had never looked more beautiful—or more vulnerable. He had to be certain, absolutely sure that she was sure.
His pose was relaxed, but inside he was trembling. "That doesn't scare you?" he asked, willing his voice to be steady.
In a slow but deliberate move, he settled his hands on her hips, aligning her body firmly against his. He heard her catch her breath at the implicit evidence of his desire for her, but she didn't move away. "Because if I touch you," he warned softly, "I don't think I'll be able to stop. For both of us, babe, make sure this is what you want."
Angie saw many things in his face as she looked up at him. He was so strong, so masculine, a man who had almost reached his limit but cared enough to give her one last chance to change her mind. She saw a man who gave unselfishly, without question.
She could be no less than honest with him. "I'm afraid," she whispered with a tremulous little smile, "but I'm even more afraid to spend this night alone."
It was enough. It would have to be, Matt thought giddily, for his control had just run out. His heart reached out to her...and so did his arms.
They were strong, those arms, but it was a strength tempered with tenderness as Angie found herself lifted and borne silently to the bed. Once there, she couldn't look away as Matt pulled his shirt off and tossed it carelessly across the chair.
His chest was wide and muscular, forested with tangled curls that dipped into the waist of his jeans. He possessed a dark magnificence that both thrilled and frightened her. A shudder passed through her as the side of the bed sagged beneath his weight. But whether it was from fear or some other nameless emotion, she wasn't sure.
In that very special way he had, she realized he must have sensed something of her tumultuous emotions. She was silent as he switched off the light and eased down close beside her. He touched her nowhere. He touched her everywhere—clear to her soul.
Their eyes cleaved together, and she saw so many things—tenderness, caring--that for a second she felt totally overwhelmed.
A slow silver flame burned brighter with each second that passed. The unmistakable hunger on his face seemed to warm her, calling forth the woman inside her that had lain dormant for so long... but no longer.
Her breath spilled forth in a rush, and she realized she'd been holding it. Anticipation swept through her like rich sweet wine. "Kiss me," she whispered.
He lowered his head. His gaze moved slowly, searchingly, over her face, as if to test the validity of her request. It finally settled on the parted softness of her mouth.
Dear God, she wondered frantically, will he never... ?
His forehead rested against hers. "Do you know," he asked in a tone of utter seriousness, "how long I've waited for this moment?" He paused and took a deep, full breath. For the first time she realized exactly how great his restraint had been.
&
nbsp; And she knew, as she had never known anything before, that being here like this with Matt was right... and good.
Her hands lifted to tunnel through his hair. "Do you know—" her voice was a feminine replica of his own "—how long I've been fighting this moment?" His mouth opened, but when he would have spoken, she gave a tiny shake of her head. "But I'm not fighting it
anymore." One hand traced an unsteady path around his mouth. "I want you, Matt. The same way you want me."
Matt stared down at her for an endless moment. If he had indeed harbored any intentions of calling a halt before things went any further, she had just blown that notion right out of the water.
"Oh, Angie." His voice was strained. It was all he could manage. "God, I hope you mean that," he told her fervently when he could finally speak.
It was all Matt could do to stop himself from loving her as fiercely and urgently as he ached to, but he reluctantly curbed the impulse. In spite of what Angie had said, he knew they had reached a critical point in their relationship. He intended to see that nothing happened to change that.
And so he held back the driving need to possess her, the searing passion pumping through his veins. "I want tonight to be perfect for you, perfect as it's never been before." He brushed the pads of his thumbs over her cheekbones as he cradled her face between his hands. "As perfect as I know it will be for me. Because with you it could never be anything less."
Leaning over her, he kissed her as gently, as thoroughly, as he could, putting all the tenderness he felt for her into that one sweet caress. Her lips trembled like the wings of a bird, but when her arms slipped around his neck, freely and without any urging from him, he knew for certain they were knocking on heaven's door.
They smiled at each other when he drew back, a silly, sentimental smile shared only by lovers.
Matt's was the first to fade away. His hand rose to cover the softer one curled lightly over his shoulder. "I love it when you touch me," he said quietly.
Belonging Page 20
