“I could listen to his wonderful voice for as long as he would talk. After he finished each book, we cruised through the soldier gaming shops. He let me pick out little figurines. We painted each one, then I named them. He put up special shelves in my bedroom for my warriors, my heroes, and my storybooks.” She stopped, lost for a moment in the memories—and missed her father all the more.
He lowered his voice as he gently urged her to continue. “Go on.”
“For whatever reason, one of the warriors became very special to me. Angelus MacBride. When I was old enough to do my own online research, Dad seemed impressed when I told him that Angelus was a Latin name. Well, Roman, actually. The masculine form of Angel.” Her eyes closed for the briefest moment. And how Dad smiled, he looked so proud.
“In the MacBride illustrations, there was a real feel to the art, like the Conan the Barbarian covers by Frazetta. Angelus was tall, incredibly strong, with hair and eyes just like yours, dressed in a kilt, leather arm cuffs, a leather tunic with chained mail, fur-lined cape, and boots. He wielded a mighty, magical sword, fashioned with a hilt covered in rubies, and rode a huge, black warhorse, Goliath. As I got older, I dreamt more often about my MacBride. Sadly, the other heroes went by the wayside. Only MacBride remained. As I got older yet, those dreams became more vivid, more intense.”
She could feel the blush warming her cheeks.
Finally, she raised her eyes to meet his. “Twenty years from our first meeting in the pages of an adventure book, there you were. In Los Angeles. Angelus, in the City of Angels. My warrior. My own MacBride. Only, I didn’t know who you were until we landed in Maine. When I saw you again, when you said your name, I didn’t know if you were real or an image my jet-lagged brain cooked up. I didn’t know what was right, what wasn’t.”
True to his word, he didn’t laugh. Rather, he pulled her into his arms, nearly smothering her with kisses. At first, soft, gentle kisses. Then not so soft, not so gentle.
He lifted her in his arms, carried her to his bedroom.
Keko’s arms wrapped around his neck as she inhaled the fragrance on skin left bare by his unbuttoned shirt. Wintergreen, damn him. She didn’t complain. Didn’t argue.
Didn’t fight him off.
When they reached his destination, he settled her on the edge of his bed. Without speaking, he freed her of shoes, worked around her protective leather until she was nude, except for those coverings.
“Mac … .”
“Just hush, and let me work.”
He spread Keko’s arms and legs out like she was a snow angel.
“Stay.” Fully dressed, he crawled onto the bed, and positioned himself between her opened thighs. With gentle licks, he tongued her from her knees to her throat.
Restraint took everything she had, to keep her body still, but she could not prevent the soft moans that escaped.
Mac assumed a prone position, slid his arms under her thighs. He covered her pudenda with warm, gentle kisses, worked his way to the doorway of paradise. Using only his mouth, lips, and tongue, he slowly brought her to such a state of ecstasy that he could barely keep her thighs under his control. With her first cry of release, he slid two fingers into her and pinned her against the mattress like a butterfly to a board. Arching nearly off the bed, her whimper bloomed into a cry that sounded suspiciously like MacBride! as her fists tangled in his hair.
Omigod, omigod, omigod, that feels like heaven! She stretched out on the mattress, gave herself into his care.
Angelus.
* * * * *
When the smoke cleared, comfortable silence filled the dark bedroom. Earlier, Mac had divested himself of all clothing, to pleasure Keko as well as himself. He finally slid under the bedclothes, pulled her into his arms.
Keko wiggled, stretched.
” Mmm. Nice.” She wiggled a bit more. “I should go.”
He lifted his head to check out the digital clock on his dresser, then murmured against her skin. “It’s three in the morning. Go where?”
“Back to Sanctuary. To my own bed. Lorelei will be expecting me, and I have Lucian’s truck.”
” This is your bed. Our bed. This is where you belong. Here. With me. Secure.
Warm. Comfortable in my arms. Sated. Deliriously happy after the most incredible lovemaking.”
She stiffened.
Mac enveloped her. “Yes, lovemaking. It’s not such a terrible word.”
After a moment, he felt her relax, grow softer in his arms.
“Keek, don’t you get it? Being with you is so much more than just sex. It’s about the electricity that fair hums through the air between us. Can’t you feel it? There’s no other woman who lights my fire the way you do—and no woman who ever did. When we’re together, my body is on total sensual overload.”
He kissed her ear. “Our friends know you’re safe.” Kissed her neck. “Protected.”
Kissed her cheek. “Out of harm’s way.” Kissed her shoulder. “And Lucian doesn’t give a good goddamn about his truck.”
“I can … .”
“Yes, I know you can take care of yourself. You’ve proven it, over and over. You blew a crater in the earth big enough to see from orbit. Baby, I don’t want to own you—
but let me at least care for you. And not only until you finish recuperating. Even on the rare occasions when you’re not bashed and battered.”
She became very still.
“You can say it, y’know. Not just when you think you’re going to be blown to smithereens. Here and now, in the security of this nice, safe, quiet room, you can admit it. Again. You can admit that you love me.”
He rubbed his chin against her soft, sleek hair. Ran his hand down her hip to caress the smooth skin of her thigh. “Is it so difficult to accept the fact that I love you? I want to do things for you because I care, not because I think you incapable. I enjoy your company. I’d like to share more of my life with you.”
How can I get through to her? “We don’t need to duel for dominance if I bring you a cup of hazelnut cream coffee while we’re in front of the fireplace at night, watching the dying glow of the embers. I’m not your master, not your boss. I don’t want to be the leader of the pack. I don’t want to own you. All I ask it that you let me in.”
” Aloha Au Ia ‘Oe.” Her voice was soft, low. Almost too low.
“What was that?”
“I said, I love you.”
“And?”
“And, I want to be with you.”
“Hallelujah. See, the heavens are still above us, the earth below, and the world did not come to an end.”
“But what if … ?”
He cut her off, stroked her soft cheek with his finger, looked into her compelling green eyes.
“Let’s not do what if. Let’s see how we handle right now.”
~The End~
About the Author
Danica St. Como, a former Jersey girl, loves to write at her farm in central upstate New York.
Surrounded by a gaggle of Whippets, St. Como puts her pen to several romance sub-genres: erotic contemporaries including MFM ménages a trois, MF and MM relationships, erotic historicals, paranormals—all hot, all steamy, and all sexually explicit. St. Como is a member of the Romance Writers of America and the Central New York Romance Writers chapter of the RWA.
Learn more about Danica online at http://www.danicastcomo.com/.
To find more books from Danica St. Como and Noble Romance Publishing, visit her author
page.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fi
fteen
Bombshell - Men of Sanctuary Series, Book Three Page 21
