by Eden Bradley
He returned in a moment with a condom, stepping in and closing the door behind him.
Steam coiled around them as they came together, white and ghostly. And she felt as though they were completely cut off from the world, in their own warm, cocooned dream place.
Declan’s arms came around her, closing her in, the heat of his body and the water on her skin like a single silky sensation. His erection pressed against her stomach, hard and lovely. Standing up on her toes, she reached between them to position the rigid shaft between her thighs, spreading wider for him. He arched his hips, and his cock rubbed over her cleft, pressing against her clit. She was on fire, needing him, drowning in want.
“Declan, touch me.”
His hands slid down her back, over the curve of her buttocks, and he held her there, his hands tight on her flesh, pulling her in closer. She tilted her head back and his mouth went to her throat, small, burning kisses that shimmered over her skin, swept down her body along with the water: that liquid, that hot.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured to her between kisses. “I can’t ever stop wanting you. It’s insane how much I want you.”
He pulled back only enough so that his hands could come around to cup her breasts. He brushed her nipples with his thumbs, and desire was an arrow, piercing her: her belly, her breasts, her sex.
She reached down between them, wrapped his cock in her hand, stroked the length of the shaft, loved hearing his moans fade into the white sound of falling water.
“You are ready. I’m ready for you. Now, Declan.”
“Yes…”
He did something strange, then—he pulled the shower head until it came off in his hand. She hadn’t known it could do such a thing. He took one small step back, and watching her, as he so often did, he aimed the spray of water at her breasts.
“Oh…that’s wonderful, Declan.”
The water was like a warm spark against her hard nipples, the fleshy globes of her breasts, making them ache, but in some indescribable way. And when he lowered the spray, aiming it between her thighs, she opened them wider with a quiet sigh.
Such pleasure— She’d never felt anything like it before. The heat and the wet. The softest, most teasing touch imaginable.
“Declan…ah…it’s almost like your tongue, but different. And so good.”
“Come here, Angel.”
He took her in his arms and turned her so that her back was pressed against his chest, his stomach. He bent her over, guided her hands until she was braced against the tiled wall of the shower.
“Spread your thighs, baby. Yeah, that’s it.”
He let go of her for a brief moment, and she heard the tearing of the condom packet, knew he was making himself ready to enter her. She shivered, the anticipation an exquisite throb in her sex.
He moved back in, used his fingers to spread her open, and in one stroke he was inside her.
She shuddered, pleasure moving through her in long, rippling waves. She thought he would reach around her to take her clitoris between his fingers, as he often did. But instead, he pressed on either side of her clitoris, holding her flesh open to the spray of the water.
“Declan!”
“Is it good, baby?”
“So good…oh…”
Pleasure and pleasure; the hot pulse of water on her hard clit, the hard shaft of his cock pressing into her, sliding out. The feel of his body solid against hers.
She began to move, to press back into his impaling cock, to arch forward, into the stream of water. She had never felt anything like it, these dual sensations of hard and soft. She thought again of how like his warm, wet tongue on her clitoris the water was. And with that image in her mind, she came, hard, her body shivering. Pleasure was like a knife, but sweet-edged, sharp and lovely. Behind her, Declan thrust, over and over, driving sensation ever deeper.
“You feel so good, Angel,” he panted into her ear. “Like silk. So damn tight. And to feel you coming…it’s too much. Too much…ah…”
He drove harder, and she reached behind her, grasping his hips, pulling him deeper as he came.
“Angel!”
She was still trembling with her climax. He slipped out of her, turned her around in his arms, the shower head back on its hook. He held her close. And now that they had both come, now that the urgency was gone from their embrace, she was able to focus on the pure pleasure of being held by him.
Declan.
“Angel…”
“What is it?”
The water fell around them, veiling them from the world. From everything but each other.
“I love you, Angel.”
Tears brimmed, spilled over and mixed with the fall of water on her cheeks. She didn’t understand why she cried. She wasn’t in pain. She wasn’t scared. She’d never before cried because something was so good. Perfect.
“I love you, Declan.”
He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her. His lips were soft on hers. And she felt in his kiss the words he had just spoken to her. The words she hadn’t even known she’d been praying to hear.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DECLAN’S ALARM WOKE HIM, the harsh buzzing startling him out of a deep sleep. He reached for it blindly, slapped it off. And in the quiet, he heard the gentle whisper of Angel’s breath beside him.
It was dark still. But he could just make out the outline of her body: her shoulder, the soft curve of her hip. He realized her long hair was draped over his chest, like strands of silk on his skin. Smelling of flowers and sex and her.
“Angel?” he whispered, but she didn’t answer. Lost in sleep. Lost in dreams.
He slipped out of bed as quietly as possible. He didn’t want to wake her. He didn’t want to just leave her, but figured she’d know he’d had to get up for work. She was familiar with his schedule now. She often got up with him and made him breakfast, drank her tea while he sipped his coffee, watching the forest turn from black to dark green tipped in gold or the silvery-gray of fog as the sun rose. But today he’d let her sleep.
He stood and watched her for several moments, listened to her gentle breath. He liked the idea of her asleep and warm in his bed.
The floorboards were cold on his bare feet as he made his way across the hall to the bathroom. The tiled floor was even colder. He turned the hot water in the shower on to blasting and stepped in.
He didn’t think he’d ever take another shower in this house without remembering his night in there with Angel. Even as his cock hardened, his chest surged.
Love her.
Jesus. He never thought he’d feel that for a woman again. He’d thought he was too damaged. Maybe too…undeserving. Maybe he still was. But he couldn’t help it. He loved her. And everything was changing. His life was changing. He was changing.
It scared the hell out of him. It made him feel fucking great.
He wasn’t sure what to think of that.
He hurried through his shower, then carried his clothes into the living room, Liam following him, his big paws heavy on the wood floors. He got dressed quickly and was heading to the kitchen to brew some coffee when his cell phone went off. He grabbed it from his shirt pocket.
“Byrne here.”
“Dec, it’s me.”
“Dad? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, fine. I’m fine. Sorry to call so early, but I have some news.”
“About Angel?”
“I just got a fax. It’s a possibility.”
He wasn’t going to ask his dad what he was doing up at five-thirty in the morning. They were both early risers. Always had been. Declan had a quick flash of his father waking him in the still dark of early morning to go fishing. They’d leave his mom sleeping, warm and cozy in bed, as they sat in the kitchen eating oatmeal that sent small wafts of steam up. Sweet on his tongue with the brown sugar Dad sprinkled on it.
“Dec?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“A friend of mine at the federal level was able to tra
ck down some missing kids around the time Angel must have been taken. Three girls who’ve never been found, and the cases were all closed pretty quickly, for whatever reason. One of them was reportedly blonde.”
“You think this could be her?”
Declan’s pulse was like a jackhammer in his veins, his head, his mind coming awake fast, despite the fact that he hadn’t had his coffee yet.
“Could be. The time frame matches. All three of these girls were taken in California, but one was Hispanic and the other had dark hair. I don’t think Angel would have had dark hair as a kid.”
“No, I don’t think that’s even a possibility. What else do you know?”
He heard a shuffling of papers and his father cleared his throat.
“Okay, here goes. Name, Emmi Norling, age five, approximately thirty-four pounds. Reported missing on June 21, 1995. Sixteen years ago, Dec, which would make her twenty-one. That’s what the doctors figured for her age and what Angel says, too, right?”
“Yeah.” He realized he’d curled his fingers around the back of one of the kitchen chairs so tightly his knuckles were burning. He flexed, let go. “What else?”
“Parents were tourists from Norway. The father spoke some basic English, the mother even less. The kid none at all.”
His stomach tightened into a knot and he began to pace it off.
“Dad, you may be on to something.”
“What is it, Dec?”
“Angel has this memory of a blonde woman speaking to her. But she doesn’t understand what she’s saying. Maybe because the woman wasn’t speaking English and Angel doesn’t remember her first language.”
“Okay. Okay. Could be.”
“But?”
“But let’s not get our hopes up until we look further into this.”
“I can tell from your voice that you think this is something, though, Dad.”
“Yeah. Could be,” Oran repeated.
“So we have to look into this! Come on, Dad! You wouldn’t have called me at the fucking crack of dawn if you didn’t think this was a real lead. Goddamn it, don’t stall here, like you always… Fuck.”
He heard a long sigh from the other end of the phone.
“Declan, I know you have some feelings about what happened before, with your mother. Oh, I know—you don’t want to talk about it. But look, Dec, I’m trying to help here, okay? We need to do this together, no matter how much you hate it that I’m involved.”
“I don’t hate it, Dad.” He pulled in a long breath, exhaled slowly. “I know you’re trying to help. I’m…sorry I’m being such a bastard.”
There was a pause from the other end of the line. “Okay, son. Let’s just see if we can figure this out. For Angel.”
Declan nodded, even though the old man couldn’t see it. He took another long breath. “Okay. So, if these people were Norwegian tourists they would have gone back home at some point. Which is maybe why the case wasn’t pursued further than it was. There was no one here to press the issue, and they probably wouldn’t have known how to deal with the police procedure in the States.”
“And in those days they didn’t have the same kind of computer systems in place. Nothing as sophisticated as we have now. No AMBER Alerts. Nothing but reports filed, an initial twenty-four-hour search before they’d literally call the dogs off.”
“How do we find the parents? Do you have access to the file? Is that what you’re reading from?”
“You didn’t hear me say it.”
“Okay, got it. Jesus.” He ran a hand through his hair, blew out another long breath. “Dad, I have to go to work. Are you looking into this more today? I don’t know what I can do until I get home.”
“Go to work, Dec. I’ll follow up and see what I can find. Maybe come by after work and we can sit down and look this stuff over?”
“Yeah, I can do that. But I don’t want to say more about it to Angel until we have something solid.”
“That’s probably a good idea. I’ll see you tonight.”
They hung up, leaving Declan’s heart pounding. If they could find out who Angel was, maybe it would help them find the people who did this to her, took her life away from her. And maybe then she could have some of her lost life back.
Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so guilty about trying to make a new life with her.
* * *
HIS DAY HAD SEEMED ENDLESS, but finally Declan was pulling up in front of his father’s house. His childhood home.
Too many memories in the two-story cedar-shingled house. It had been the same weathered silver for as long as he could remember, the wood colored by time and the salt air. His mother had planted the roses that lined the path to the front door. She’d had a particular fondness for roses in peach and pink. He remembered their names: Juliet, Lucky Lady, Seven Sisters, Bella Roma, Lovestruck. They were just starting to bloom, and he knew he’d smell their perfume the moment he got out of the truck. That they’d remind him of Mom.
Even so, the house hadn’t felt like home in a long time. Not since Mom had been gone. He remembered some of the things Angel had said to him. About appreciating the family he had, how lucky he was. He hadn’t felt lucky. He didn’t feel any luckier now, with the house bringing back memories in an aching flood: helping his mom plant some of the roses in the front yard. The way the kitchen smelled when she was cooking. Helping his dad rake leaves. Playing catch with him as a kid. Learning to build things, his dad showing him how to hold the hammer, then as he got older, how to use the skill saw, teaching him the “measure twice, cut once” rule.
His mother lying weak and in pain in the bedroom upstairs.
He sighed, scrubbed a hand over his head.
Enough philosophizing—now he had to get in there and see what else Oran had tracked down, keep his focus on the present, on what he needed to do for Angel.
He got out and went up to the door, paused with one hand on the doorknob, ran his other hand over his jaw before releasing the knob and deciding to knock instead.
He wasn’t ready to believe this was home again.
His father answered, pulling the door open.
“Dec, hi. Come on in. Are you hungry? Ruth left a beef stew in the fridge for me yesterday. She’s a hell of a cook.”
Ruth.
It didn’t mess with him the way it had in the past. Her name. Hearing Dad compliment her. It was almost okay.
Almost.
“Uh, sure. I guess.” Why was he still acting like some surly teenager? “That’d be great. Thanks.”
He followed his father into the familiar kitchen, with its big, pine-plank table, the copper-bottomed pots hanging from a rack over the stove, the knotty pine cupboards.
It still smelled like home, which seemed almost more alien to him, more wrong, than if it hadn’t. But the rich scent of Ruth’s stew was steaming into the cool air as his dad ladled it into two bowls, brought it back to the table and gestured for Declan to sit. He did, and Oran passed him a basket of bread.
“So…” Why couldn’t he seem to get started? He cleared his throat, tried again. But what came out was, “This is…weird.”
His father raised an eyebrow. “Weird?”
Declan shrugged. “Being here. Sitting at this table. Eating food at this table that some other woman cooked.”
His father’s face went red in an instant. “Look, Dec, I’ve had about enough of you and your attitude.”
Declan felt his own face flush. “Don’t talk to me like I’m some kid.”
“Then stop acting like one. You’ve met Ruth, so you know the kind of woman she is. You even seem to like her. So what the hell is your problem?”
His hands folded into tight fists under the table, and he felt as though there was an explosion inside him bursting through the long-held dam. “My problem is that you’re leaving Mom behind!”
“Jesus, Declan. It’s been ten years. That’s a hell of a long time to be alone. Is that what you really wish for me? That I spend the rest of my life a
lone? I’m goddamn lucky to have met Ruth. Just as lucky as I was to have met your mother, and to have spent all those years with her. She didn’t want me to be alone. We talked about it. And it was damn hard to hear at the time. But ten years…Jesus, Dec, that’s long enough for anyone to mourn. Including you.”
He felt momentarily stunned by what his father was saying. But he couldn’t let it go. Not yet.
“Maybe for you. She was my mother. And you didn’t do a damn thing to save her. I fucking begged you, Dad.”
His father nodded, his face stern. He could see the suppressed rage there, but it was nothing to match his own. “And she was my wife. I did what she wanted me to do.”
“You should have tried to convince her—”
“It was important to leave her with some dignity, for God’s sake,” Oran interrupted. “The chances were too slim that more chemo would work. She didn’t want to live her last days suffering like she did with the chemo. Would you really have had me take that away from her?”
He was silent for several moments, taking it all in.
“You didn’t talk to me like this at the time.”
“You were too young—”
“I was not too young. And I was never too young for you to talk to me about Erin, either.”
His father ran a hand over his gray hair. He took a deep breath, and Declan could see he was trying to calm himself. “We didn’t talk about your sister because your mother couldn’t bear it. This is about what your mother wanted, Dec. I loved her enough to give her that. Did you?”
He felt the bile rise in his throat.
He was a selfish bastard. His throat was closing, going tighter by the second.
“I loved her more than anything,” Declan managed finally.
“Then it’s time to let this go. How long did you plan to stay mad, anyway?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I seem to be pretty good at it.”
“Yeah,” his father agreed, a small grin tweaking one corner of his mouth.
“All right. Okay.” He sat for a few more moments, forcing his racing pulse to calm. “I hate to say this—you know I do—but you’re right.”
