by Eden Bradley
Without meaning to, he answered, “You make me happy, Angel.”
Had he really said that to her? But he realized then it was true. Was it some neurotic need to fix someone, leftover from what had happened with Abby? But he didn’t like to think of it that way. He didn’t like to think of Angel that way. He’d sensed the moment he’d seen her that there was something special about her, and the more he got to know her, even in these small bits, the more amazing a woman she was to him. Truly like some angel, a creature who existed on some other plane.
He couldn’t even believe he was thinking of anyone in those terms. But he was.
Her gaze still on his, she lifted his hand and placed a soft kiss on his open palm.
The heat was like a rush of pure lust, kicking him in the gut, making him go hard all over. He still couldn’t take his hand away.
“Angel—”
“I am happy with you, Declan. I want to be here, more than anywhere else on this earth. I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me. But it’s not only gratitude. It’s you.”
His pulse was racing, his heart a hammer in his chest. What the hell was she saying? Why did he need to hear it from her so badly?
“Angel, you don’t know me.”
“But I do.”
He shook his head, but she’d pulled his hand to her mouth once more, those plush, pink lips, and was kissing his fingertips. When had anything like this, such a small gesture, turned him on so much he could hardly fucking see straight? All the blood had rushed from his head to his groin. If she didn’t stop he was going to climb on top of her, press her down into the mattress, strip off that innocent white slip and crush her full breasts beneath him…
He groaned, pulled his hand back, finally.
“This isn’t right.”
“Why is it not right?” Her gaze was fevered, her breath coming in small, ragged pants.
“Because I’m trying to help you, damn it.”
“Be with me, Declan. That will help me.”
He stood, willing his body to calm down. “I can’t.”
He turned and strode from the room, into his, shutting the door behind him.
Goddamn it. Damn him.
He shouldn’t have let her touch him that way. He shouldn’t be responding to her the way he did. She was an innocent girl, for Christ’s sake. A virgin, if what she’d told him was true. And she had to be, what, twenty-one years old? Which made him, at thirty, some old pervert.
He was still hard as stone. He pressed his hand over his erection, but that only made it worse.
He should have stepped back sooner, looked away. But he could smell her excitement, coming off her like waves of heat. And when she’d laid her lips on his palm…
He moaned, moved farther into the room, stripping his T-shirt off as he went, unzipping his jeans. He caught his reflection in the wood-framed mirror over the low dresser, pulled his cock free. It stood firm between his thighs, the head swollen. And the more he tried to force his mind away from images of Angel, the harder he became.
“Fuck it.”
He let his fingers graze the swollen tip and jerked back at his own touch. It was too much. He was too hard. He had to take a breath in before wrapping his hand around the rigid shaft.
God, her face. That sweet face, so fresh and still so purely sex to him. Sometimes he wanted to kiss her. Just kiss her. But that idea only led to others.
He watched his reflection in the mirror, at his hand fisted around his cock as he stroked. And he pictured her there, her golden head coming down, her sweet mouth taking him in, sucking.
He stroked faster, harder.
What would it be like to sink between those thighs, to be the first one inside her? She would be so damn tight.
He was panting, trying not to groan aloud. But he was going to come any moment.
Angel…
His body went rigid as pleasure took over, sharp, stabbing jolts, deep into his belly. He came, his climax like some sort of shock to his system. He had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. The one word echoing in his head.
Angel.
When it was over he fell back onto the bed, used his discarded shirt to wipe himself off as he tried to catch his breath.
He needed to get himself under control. And he needed to set some boundaries with her.
After he apologized to her for running out of the room like some scared kid.
Ridiculous.
He sighed. How many times had he said that to himself since he’d met her?
He was going to have to accept this insane attraction to her, as well as the need to protect her that was so fierce it made him crazy. He’d have to accept it so he could deal with it. Get it under control.
He’d spent most of his adult life with every aspect under control. Work. Family. Certainly his personal life—what there had been of it. He could handle this, too.
That’s what he kept telling himself, anyway.
* * *
SHE COULDN’T FIGURE OUT what she’d done to chase him away. Didn’t a man want a woman to want him? Wasn’t that what she’d been taught? By the demon of lust himself. Surely he would know.
She knew he desired her; she’d felt it from him. There was no denying it, no wondering if she’d made that up. He wanted her. And yet, he’d rejected her. She was confused. Hurt.
And in need.
Her body burned for him.
She spread her thighs, shoved her hand in between, rubbing at her tight clitoris urgently. She needed to come, and quickly.
Pleasure washed over her, sharp and clean, clearing her mind of everything but him.
Declan…
She remembered the feel of his hand on hers. His forest scent. The heat of him. She wanted him more than ever.
She rubbed harder, circling that hard, needy nub with the heel of her hand. Desire rose, the lips of her sex filling, her clitoris pulsing. Her hips arched hard as her climax rolled through her. Wave after wave, pleasure sweet and sharp in her body.
It passed quickly. She felt limp, exhausted. Still needing him.
And she felt sad. She didn’t want to—didn’t want to taint her feelings for him with anything negative. She tried to distract herself with light touches on her breasts. Her nipples hardened, but it wasn’t enough.
She wanted to know why he’d left the room the way he had. Wanted to know if she’d done something wrong.
She sighed, dropped her hands.
He would come back eventually; she knew that. Until then, she must still herself and wait.
She forced her mind to calm, as well as her body, wishing she had taken one of the books from the shelves in the living room to distract her. Maybe she should get up and go find a book. Declan had said she could read anything she wanted.
She sat up, her body still languid, buzzing, a little weak. But she found her crutches leaning against the side of the bed and heaved herself to her feet. The wood floor was cool and smooth beneath her. She tucked her hair behind her ear and made her way to the door. Declan’s was closed. But there was a light on in the living room and she followed it.
Liam was lying next to a large wood desk at the far end of the room. He wagged his short tail when he saw her, and got up and followed her to the bookshelf, where she leaned against the back of the leather chair to steady herself while she looked, stroking the dog’s head.
So many books! The shelves were filled with more books than she had ever seen in one place. The Grandmother had never brought more than a handful at a time. She had never imagined there was such overwhelming choice in things to read about.
She recognized books on wildlife, geology, building things. She was pleased to find several books she had read: Moby-Dick, the stories of Charles Dickens. Much of the rest she did not recognize. Not knowing where to begin, she pulled out a book about growing roses and began to page through it.
“Angel?”
She turned and saw Declan standing in the hallway. He was wearing a pair of plaid fla
nnel pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt, his skin a beautiful golden-brown against the stark white. She smiled tentatively.
He moved closer. “Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I just don’t think it’s right that I… You’re under my care. I’m responsible for you. I can’t take advantage of you.”
She closed the book, held it against her stomach. “How can you take advantage if it’s what I want?”
He shook his head. His dark hair was a little mussed. She liked it that way. Liked the dark stubble lining his jaw.
“Angel, I think we have to set some ground rules here.”
“All right.” She was used to rules.
“I need to keep some appropriate distance. That’s the only way this will work.”
“If that’s what you want, Declan.” She was trying not to let her heart sink. She knew he wanted her. Perhaps he simply needed some time. Or some encouragement. She’d give him the time first. “I will respect your wishes.”
“Angel, you’re a beautiful girl. A beautiful woman. It’s not that.”
“I know.”
She’d always been told she was beautiful. By The Grandmother, who rarely gave any other sort of compliment, and even then it was most often muttered under her breath as she prepared her for a ritual. And by Asmodeus, who, in his unearthly perfection, had no reason to tell her so if it wasn’t true. It hadn’t occurred to her that Declan might not find her so.
He nodded. She could see he still wasn’t satisfied with the arrangement. But then, neither was she. But she could be patient.
“You found something to read?” he asked her, his hand going through his dark hair, then into the pocket of his pants.
He was fidgeting, something she’d often done to annoy The Grandmother. Not that it annoyed her when he did it. But she wished he was more comfortable with her.
“Yes. Gardening. I wasn’t sure where else to start. You have so many.”
Declan came to stand by her, looking at the bookshelf. His broad shoulders still held some tension. “What do you like to read?”
“I don’t know. Everything, I think. There’s so much to learn about the world, especially now that I am to be a part of it. I want to know…everything. Places and people and animals. I want to know what people do in their everyday lives. I heard fragments of conversations in the hospital. The nurses and visitors talking about their families and so many things I didn’t understand.” She shook her head, trying to figure out how to explain to him how strange she found the world. “I have no context for most of it. It was confusing. Tempting. I want to know more. For instance, can you explain to me about television? I tried to watch in the hospital, but it was too overwhelming.”
“You’re not missing much.”
“No? But it seems it’s something everyone does. Or at least, that everyone knows.”
“I’m not sure how to explain it in a way that would make sense to you. You just need to do it. After you get settled we can turn on the TV and I’ll sit with you and try to explain. But frankly, I’m not sure I get it myself.”
“You like books better.” That made her smile, for some reason.
“Yeah. I guess I do.”
“What books do you like, Declan?”
“Everything.” He laughed, and she realized it was the first time she’d heard his laughter. It sounded a little rough, as though he wasn’t used to it. “I like to read classic literature.” He pulled the volume of Dickens she’d been looking at earlier from the shelf, held it in his hand. His thumb caressed the worn spine. “And I like to read about the earth and how it was made. What it’s been through, you know? What people were like a thousand years ago. Humans at their most basic. When I was a kid I wanted to be an archeologist or a geologist. I like the solidity of the planet. How it’s been here for century after century.” He gave a small shake of his head. “Does that even make sense?”
“Yes. We like the earth for different reasons. Or perhaps our reasons aren’t so different.”
He nodded, a small smile on his lips, tilting one corner of his mouth. She noticed the scar on his jaw once more. She lifted her hand, but couldn’t quite reach his face.
“Declan, how did you get this?”
His features went absolutely dark instantly, his eyes shuttered. He shook his head, running his hand back over his hair as he looked away. “We need to talk about something else.”
“If you like. I’m sorry, Declan.”
He shrugged.
“I see pain in you. I hope someday you can share it with me. Sharing it can take some of it away. I have discovered this in talking with you, and with Ruth Hehewuti. I’m happy I’ll be talking with her again.”
“I’m not really the sharing type,” he muttered.
“Perhaps that’s why you hold so much pain.”
He looked at her then. His eyes were a blaze of blue, his lips a tight line. “Maybe.”
They had that in common; so much hurt. But she was ready to let go of hers. Declan wasn’t. If only he would let her help him, the way he was helping her. But she knew waiting. Knew patience. That’s what her whole life had been. She had waited for years to fulfill her purpose. Had waited for phases of the moon, dreading the coming rituals. Had waited on The Grandmother’s moods…
Her mind clouded, her vision dimming as though she were underwater. Everything was a watercolor blur. She blinked, hard, then again, and it became crystal clear.
She was tied down onto the cold concrete floor of the basement, the ropes that were tied to the iron stakes sunk in the concrete were biting into her wrists and ankles. She hated it. She preferred the earth against her bare back. But it was winter and too rainy to go outside. Bad for The Grandmother’s arthritis. She could smell the melted candle wax, acrid in her nostrils. The harsher odor of burning herbs. The scorching scent of her own dread.
The Grandmother stood over her. She was alone, chanting, her body swaying. She was not well.
She didn’t like it when The Grandmother was having one of her bad spells. She used the knife then. Cut into her flesh. Never a deep wound. But she sometimes forgot to give her the dreaming herbs, so it was harder to take.
She could almost smell the metallic scent of the blade before The Grandmother knelt and bent over her to pierce her flesh. Just a small cut on her thigh, then the scent of her own blood. The smell was as metallic as the knife itself. It hurt, but not too badly. She had borne worse. Worse was the pain of knowing The Grandmother hurt her on purpose, perhaps to release her own pain.
The Grandmother cut her leg again, deeper this time, and she flinched, biting her lip to keep from crying out. The pain was harder this time, making her dizzy.
The blood was pooling between her thighs, growing sticky as The Grandmother chanted. It seemed to go on forever. Finally, The Grandmother stood, swayed. She saw the old woman’s beady black eyes roll up in her head before she fell to the floor.
Fear rose, turned into panic. She was tied down, and The Grandmother was sick. No one would come. No one ever did. There was nothing she could do. For either of them.
She tried to call Asmodeus to her, but awake and without the drugs, he was too far away.
Alone, helpless, she wept.
CHAPTER SIX
“ANGEL!”
He caught her as she fell. Her cheeks were pale, her eyelids fluttering. Was she having some sort of seizure?
He carried her to the sofa and laid her down, keeping one hand behind her head.
“Angel.” Her eyes opened, that stunning blue. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m better now.”
“What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know. We were talking about books, I think.”
Liam wedged his way in between Declan and the sofa and nudged Angel’s hand. She stroked his big head.
“We’d kind of gotten off the subject,” he told her.
He was watching her face carefully, looking for…hell, he didn’t know what. He just wanted to be sure she was rea
lly all right. His heart was still hammering. If anything happened to her…
“Oh, yes,” she murmured, her gaze wandering. Her hand went to his arm, her fingers resting there, playing with his watchband.
“Do you really feel okay? I can take you to the hospital.”
“There’s no need. I was just…remembering.”
“Remembering?”
“Things that were…unpleasant.”
She moved her hand to her left thigh, rubbed it.
“Are you hurt, Angel?”
“Not now. But I was. It was as if I was dreaming about it, more than remembering. I don’t understand what happened. But I’m fine now.”
“Your body’s been through a lot. Maybe it’s the drugs working their way out. Or some sort of delayed shock reaction. Maybe I should take you over to the hospital to have you checked out.”
“I truly am fine, I promise. Don’t take me anywhere, Declan. Please.”
He looked at her closely. Her cheeks had color once more, her eyes were clear now. “Okay. But if this happens again, we’re going straight to the hospital. Maybe we need to get some food in you. Are you hungry?”
“A little.”
He nodded. “Will you be okay here by yourself for a few minutes?”
“I’ve lived most of my life by myself.”
He wasn’t sure what else to say to that, so he got up and went into the kitchen. He noticed Liam stayed behind, his head in Angel’s lap now. He felt better with the dog standing by her. Liam would let him know if anything happened to her.
Christ, he was like some mother hen, worrying over her. When was the last time he’d worried about anyone but himself? Too long ago. Maybe it was time to think about that.
Not Abby. Don’t want to think about Abby.
No, but maybe time to think about how he’d gotten to be such a selfish bastard.
He opened a can of chicken-vegetable soup and emptied it into a small saucepan, put it on the stove to heat. He went to the refrigerator and poured a glass of apple juice for her. Then he reached into a cabinet and poured himself a finger of Scotch without even really thinking about it.
He tossed it back, enjoying the burn as it went down his throat.
