Fallen Angel (Hqn)

by Eden Bradley

  He wasn’t much of a drinker. But he was so damn tense. Questioning himself. Angel made him question himself. He didn’t like it. Knew he probably needed it.

  The soup heated quickly. He spooned some into a bowl, brought it and the juice and a paper towel back into the living room and set everything on the side table next to the sofa.

  “Can you sit up to eat?”

  “Yes.”

  Angel shifted, wincing as she leaned her back against one arm of the sofa.

  “Here, let me get you a pillow.”

  She leaned forward, let him place a couple of throw pillows behind her. She settled back carefully.

  “Okay?” he asked her.

  “Yes, much better now. Thank you. May I have the soup, Declan?”

  “What? Sure.” He handed her the ceramic bowl, then sat in the leather chair.

  “You made this?” she asked, raising the bowl to her face, the steam rising against her skin.

  “Sort of. It’s from a can.”

  “A can?”

  “You didn’t have canned food?”

  “We canned food for the winter. Peaches and tomatoes. And I made jam for The Grandmother. That was her favorite. But in jars, not cans. And not soup. It smells wonderful.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to how many things I take for granted that you’re totally unfamiliar with.”

  “I’m not sure I will, either.” She tasted the soup, smiled. “This is very good. Are you not having any?”

  “Maybe later.”

  Outside, an owl hooted. Liam’s ears lifted, but he was used to the soft nighttime sounds. He was more focused on Angel’s soup, watching every motion of her spoon hopefully.

  Angel picked a small piece of chicken from her bowl, paused. “May I give this to Liam? He looks hungry.”

  “He always looks hungry. But sure, you can give it to him.”

  She held the tiny bit out for the dog, who took it delicately from her fingers in his enormous teeth.

  “Good boy,” she told Liam, who wagged his tail stump.

  “He’ll be devoted to you forever, now,” Declan told her. “Actually, I think he was the minute he saw you.”

  So was he. But he wasn’t going to admit that out loud. Hell, he didn’t want to admit it to himself.

  “Declan? Will you tell me about some things?”

  “What kind of things?”

  “About the world. About your life. I don’t know what anyone else’s experiences have been, but I’ve gathered from books and from people at the hospital that my existence has been unusual.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “So tell me. Tell me about a normal life.”

  “I don’t know if mine was ‘normal.’ I guess that’s a subjective thing.”

  “Tell me about growing up. With a mother and a father.”

  Her eyes were shining. He could see she was on the verge of tears. He didn’t want to talk about his parents. But he wasn’t going to deny her anything, with her looking at him this way.

  “You’ve wondered about that for a long time, haven’t you?” he asked her quietly.

  “Always. But there was no one to ask. The Grandmother did not encourage questions that had nothing to do with my education. And this particular question I always sensed would make her angry. Please tell me.”

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Okay. Okay.”

  Angel turned to set the bowl on the table, then settled herself onto the throw pillows, her blue gaze focused on him. She had a strange way of doing that—focusing on one thing so purely he didn’t think she noticed anything else.

  “So…” he started. “I grew up around here, in Mendocino. My dad, Oran, was a forest ranger. That’s probably why I became one myself.”

  “In the hospital Liz explained your job to me, how you watch over the forest.”

  “It’s not as grand as it sounds.”

  “It sounds important to me. Will they miss you from your job if you’re here taking care of me? Liz wanted to take a day away from the hospital and they wouldn’t allow her to. I heard her talking to another nurse about it.”

  “I took a leave of absence.” When she looked confused he explained, “I let them know I needed to be away for a while. It’s not a problem.”

  “I want to know more, what you do when you work each day. But right now I need to know what it is to have a family. To have a mother. Tell me about your mother, Declan.”

  Small stab of pain in his chest. But he could talk about her, couldn’t he? He’d loved her. He just wasn’t used to it. Who would he have talked to about her? There’d been no one since Abby. But it was too much to think about right now. Abby. His mom.

  Focus. One thing at a time.

  He pulled in a breath, blew it out.

  It was his mom Angel wanted to hear about, and there was as much love for her as there was pain. He couldn’t feel one without the other, but maybe for a few minutes he could focus on the love.

  “Her name was Mary. She and my dad met when they were teenagers. He always said there was no other woman for him.” He had to pause and pull in another long breath. “Anyway, she was totally devoted to him. And to me. She was a good mother.”

  “Do you look like her?”

  “I get my blue eyes from her. But her hair was a lighter brown. She had pale skin, like yours. She was a tiny thing, like some sort of fairy. I could pick her up by the time I was thirteen or so. It made her laugh.”

  Another small stab, like the twisting of a knife. Still, after all these years.

  “And do you have siblings? Brothers and sisters?”

  “I… No.”

  “Declan?”

  He didn’t talk about this. Ever. He didn’t think he’d said a single word to anyone in his entire fucking life. But he was going to tell Angel. He didn’t know why.

  “When I was five years old, my mother had a baby. Her name was Erin. I remember how I was told that I had to be a good big brother to her. I don’t remember being jealous. I know some kids are. But Mom was so happy about the baby. I’m not sure how old Erin was, but I don’t think we had her very long. A few months, maybe. She died of SIDS, I guess, although I didn’t understand it until I was older. No one ever talked about it. She was just…gone.”

  “SIDS?”

  “Sudden infant death syndrome. Babies just…die sometimes. No one knows why.”

  “And you felt you’d failed as her big brother.”

  He looked up at Angel. “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry, Declan.”

  “It’s okay.” He shrugged, even though there was no sincerity in it. It fucking wasn’t okay, was it? Which was why he never thought about Erin. Never talked about her. Easier not to think about it.

  “What was your family like after that?” Angel asked.

  “Everything just went on. Everyone accepted it. Mom was sad for a while, but not forever.”

  “And your father?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything about how he reacted to it.”

  “You seem very distanced from the death of your sister, Declan.”

  No apologies. Just forthright honesty from her.

  “Maybe I am. No, you’re right. I always have been. Shit.” He twisted his hands together. “You’re right.”

  “And do you really think everyone simply went on without her? I don’t see how that’s possible. Even when one of The Grandmother’s dogs died, or I found a bird still and lifeless in the garden, I mourned.”

  He unclasped his hands, ran one through his hair. Why did it feel as if his breath had left his body? He didn’t want to ask himself what Angel was asking him. And how did she sense these things? How did she have this kind of insight into situations she’d never really experienced?

  He took in a long breath, blew it out. “Maybe. You probably have a point. I don’t like to think about it.”

  She said, her voice soft, “Sometimes I think when something bad happe
ns to a child, they develop a perception of the event that has nothing to do with what actually happened. We make something up that’s easier to bear. And we carry those ideas into our adult life.”

  He nodded, his mind racing. It was too much to take in all at once. “Yeah. You’re right. I think that’s exactly what I’ve done. But at this point I have no idea how to separate what really happened from my five-year-old ideas about it.”

  “Maybe we don’t have to. I’m not sure. I have to think about it some more. I didn’t mean to upset you, Declan.”

  “No, it’s fine. I don’t mind talking about it with you so much.”

  She smiled at him, warming him. And making his stomach tighten with need. The need to just kiss her. Hold her.

  Don’t think about it now.

  “Do you have photographs of your family?” she asked him.

  “You know photographs?”

  “There were photographs in the hospital, at the nurses’ station. Photographs of their children, mostly.”

  “I have a box somewhere. But this is my mom.” He got up, took a framed picture from the bookshelf and brought it to Angel.

  “She’s pretty. She looks like a happy person. And you do have her eyes. Does she live nearby?”

  He took the frame from Angel’s hand, carefully set it back on the shelf. With his back turned to her, he said, “She died.”

  “Ah, Declan. I’m very sorry.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Don’t be sorry? But I am. You have lost much.”

  “Don’t pity me,” he said, his tone harsher than he meant it to be.

  Angel was quiet for several moments, while he stood there feeling like an asshole.

  Have to get it together.

  He turned back to face her. Her brows were drawn together, worry etched on her face.

  “Angel, I’m sorry. It was a long time ago. I don’t know why I’m being like this.”

  “There is a difference between empathy and pity.”

  “Yes. You’re right.”

  “I don’t feel pity for you.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  He did know. His shoulders loosened a little.

  “We don’t have to talk about it anymore. Thank you for sharing your family with me.”

  “Sure.”

  The gears in his head were shifting. This brief conversation was some sort of emotional roller coaster for him. Not the kind of discussion he usually had with anyone. Maybe that’s why it was so damn confusing. He needed to calm down, take another breath and just calm down.

  “All done with your soup?” he asked her. He couldn’t talk anymore.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Maybe we should get you back into bed. I’m taking you into town to see Ruth Hehewuti tomorrow.”

  “I will be glad to see her.”

  He wouldn’t. But he knew Angel needed it.

  “Come on. Let’s get you up.”

  Once he had her settled in her room he sat down at his desk. The computer screen was a pale, blue glow. He should probably get on there, do some more research, see if he could find out who Angel was, what had happened to her. But he was distracted by their conversation tonight.

  He still could not believe he’d told her about Erin. And his mother. There was some weird sort of purity about Angel—he didn’t know what else to call it—that made him want to open up with her. She was completely without judgment. He’d never met anyone like her.

  He didn’t get how he could be talking to her about these intensely private, loaded issues and still be so distracted by the way she looked. By his overwhelming desire for her.

  Nothing made much sense when it came to Angel. It was as if the normal rules of the world didn’t apply. Or maybe that was just something he was making up to excuse what he was feeling for her. Because that made no fucking sense at all.

  He had known this woman for just over two weeks. And she’d been unconscious the first few days.

  Crazy.

  And yet here he was. She was in his home. He was telling her things he’d never told anyone else. And if he didn’t have her, he was going to lose his goddamn mind.

  But that was completely off-limits.

  He pushed back from the desk. He had better put himself to bed, or have a few more shots—or both—or he was going to drive himself insane thinking about this stuff. Thinking about her.

  Angel.

  He shook his head. Another shot of Scotch would only weaken his resolve, rather than help the situation any. And Lord knew he was weak enough already. He heaved himself out of the chair and shut off the lights.

  Better just to crash for the night, sleep off the confusion, the doubts. His craving for Angel.

  Not that he thought that would work. But it was better than waking up with a hangover and a load of regret in the morning.

  He called to Liam and headed for bed.

  * * *

  SHE WAS TRYING TO SLEEP, but her mind wouldn’t still. She couldn’t stop thinking about her talk with Declan. She’d been lying there for hours, the sheets too hot on her skin, until she’d had to throw them off. The cast was unbearably warm and heavy, constricting, but there was nothing she could do about that. If only her body wasn’t so heated. If only she could stop picturing his face, his long and beautiful hands.

  Declan.

  He was such a good person. Better than he knew, she suspected. She could see his guilt, guilt that didn’t belong to him. If only he understood that.

  She wished she could comfort him, but she sensed it was too soon for that. She would have to take that connection slowly. It was something he was afraid of. Tonight had been a start, though.

  She had been told all her life that the most effective way to reach a male was through sex. It made sense to her. Sex was the most intimate and beautiful of acts. And she wanted him. Her body never stopped yearning for his. For the touch of his hands. Even for his gaze on her face. But how much better to touch him, to feel his body against her own?

  She moaned, shifted in her bed, felt how very empty it was.

  She would rather be in his bed. She wanted to offer herself to him. But she was unsure as to how—and when—to go about it. Nothing, not all of her training, had prepared her to deal with this. A man, rather than a god or a demon. Such a simpler being, yet infinitely more complex at the same time. But this much she knew: all males had that same drive, the same physical needs, man or god or animal. And that she knew what to do with.

  Go to him.

  Her body surged with wanting simply thinking about it. She knew what she had to do.

  Sitting up, she found her crutches in the dark, and made her way to his door. It was closed, but not all the way; it was easy to push it open with one crutch. Liam made a small, sleepy sigh from where he was curled up on the floor, an enormous black lump she could barely make out. The only light was the half moon shining pale silver through the curtains, but it was enough as her eyes adjusted to the dark.

  She could see his still form in the bed. He was lying on his back, the blankets bunched around his waist, and she saw for the first time his bare chest. He was beautifully formed, strong. She could tell that much even in the shadow of his silhouette. Her body heated even more.

  Need to touch him…

  She hobbled to the bedside, set her crutches on the floor, and sat on the edge of the mattress. It gave way under her weight, but he didn’t stir. Watching him, wishing he would wake up, see her, want her, she pulled her thin cotton nightgown over her head and dropped it next to the crutches.

  The night air was cool on her skin, her nipples peaking. From the air, from being this close to him, naked. From the earthy scent of his body.

  She slipped under the covers with him.

  Declan…

  Her breath caught in her throat as her arm brushed his shoulder. Lust kicked hard, shimmering over her skin, her sex tightening.

  Need you, please, Declan…

  She held her palm over
his chest, let it hover there, waiting. Teasing herself. Then she lowered it, barely daring to let her fingertips brush his body.

  His skin was soft, which surprised her. Soft skin, soft, silky hairs around the flat nipples. But beneath the smooth skin was hard, solid muscle. So different from her own body. Beautifully different.

  He sighed in his sleep as her palm slipped over his flesh, and she answered with a quiet moan as her fingertips met his nipple. It was smaller than her own, flatter. Harder. Her sex went wet, her breasts aching. She squeezed her thighs together, but it only made her need worse.

  “Declan,” she whispered, but he huffed out a breath and remained asleep.

  She moved her hand down, explored the tight wall of his stomach. Such hard muscle there, rather than the curving, soft flesh of her belly. Below it would be his cock.

  She wanted to touch him there. To touch a cock for the first time. To take it in her mouth, to taste his desire on her tongue. To bring him the pleasure she had been raised to bring.

  Yes.

  She was soaking wet, her thighs rubbing together. It wasn’t enough.

  If only he would wake. Want her. Touch her. Fuck her. She was so ready. This was what she had been prepared for her entire life. And to give herself to this man, this man, who she had come to care for. To love. And who treasured her in a way she’d never dreamed of. He didn’t have to tell her so. It showed in everything he’d done for her, everything he continued to do.

  Her heart surged, her body trembled.

  Need you, Declan.

  She moved her hand lower, let her fingertips feather over the velvet head of his swelling flesh, felt his body shiver, felt hers do the same.

  She moaned. He groaned. And tensed all over.

  “Angel? What…?” He sat up, knocking her hand aside. “Jesus Christ. What are you doing here? What are you doing?”

  “I am here for you. I need you, Declan. And you need me.”

  “What? I… No.”

  “You do not want me?”

  “Angel, we talked about this.” He ran a hand over his hair, scrubbed at his face. “Jesus.” He looked at her, and she could just make out the dark gleam of his eyes. “You have to go.”

  “I want to stay here with you.”

  There was a small edge of panic in his tone. “You can’t stay in here.”