My Angel

by Christine Young

  God, but she still wanted him, longed to feel the weight of him on top of her, his shaft deep inside her.

  "Never, milady. I wouldn't dream of such a thing. If I wanted you, which I don't, you'd fall into my arms quite willingly." Ivan undid the buttons on his shirt, still watching her, waiting for what, she wasn't sure.

  "Then what are you doing?'' She licked her lips, one hand resting provocatively against her breast. He was wrong. She wouldn't fall into his arms if he asked. She'd leap.

  "I'm not going to ravish you now that you're promised to another man, a friend of mine."

  "I was promised to another before. And that fact never stopped you," she challenged.

  He paused, absorbing the new angle she'd tossed his way, "That man knew nothing about you. There was no promise, only a hope on his grandmother's part for an heir. We both agreed the match was wrong."

  Ivan shook the shirt out, droplets of water evaporating into the sun-drenched room. "You'd like to call out rape now, wouldn't you? Even though we both know how untrue the cry would be." Bare-chested, Ivan sat down on a chair by the window, his long legs propped on a footstool, and poured two cups of tea. He munched on an almond cake, then offered one to Feodora.

  "They're quite good. Eat up. Najjar likes his women plump, with a little something to hold on to and caress in the middle of the night."

  "What do you want from me?" She stepped cautiously to Ivan's side, accepting the cake and the tea, her hands trembling with desire for him.

  "Only your cooperation. I want Najjar to be happy with you, and in return I'll see that Alexi does not deal harshly with you when he returns." Ivan bit off another piece of cake, licking the icing upon his lips then added, "Although you deserve a good flogging." He leaned back, one leg now resting across the other, a man totally in control.

  Fury replaced lust. "In return I find myself dragged off to the most barren land on this earth. To live in a tent." She knelt by his side, her hand wandering the length of his leg, resting almost intimately against him. It would do her no good to resort to arguments when seduction always worked to her advantage.

  One eyebrow quirked upward. "In return"--Ivan leaned forward, taking her hand in his, his arms braced against the armrests of the chair--"you live to breathe another day." Slowly Ivan raised her trembling fingers to his lips and kissed the back of her hand. "Life, even in the desert, is much more gratifying than death."

  "Surely you jest." Feo did pray that he toyed with her emotions, baiting her, perhaps. She did not want to be banished to the desert, nor did she want to die.

  The words were no more cruel than Feodora's actions against Angela had been. Where Feodora was going, life was often harsh, and no one would withhold punishment if it was deserved. Najjar would never hold back his hand if she caused grief to any member of the tribe. Feodora needed to be taught a lesson--and quickly, or she would not live a year in Najjar's world.

  "Hardly." Ivan sipped his tea, once more leaning back in the chair. For a moment longer, he held her hand in his, enjoying the softness. "I could give you to Angela's father--or worse, I could encourage Alexi to give you to Angela herself. I'm sure she could devise a fitting punishment." He purposely let the words hang on the air. "I've heard tales of torture that might turn even your stomach."

  She paled, her skin changing to ashen. The shallow breaths she inhaled no longer came from the need to entice and seduce; her pulse beneath his fingers beat rapidly in fear. He'd scared her. That had been his purpose.

  "Now as to the babe. I suggest you either confirm the pregnancy or let me." His gaze drifted to her womb.

  Her eyes widened. "Ivan?" If he lifted her skirts, he might make love to her.

  "The truth, Feo, just the truth." His eyes were cold and hard. In that instant she saw the truth: he hated her. Everything between them had been a calculated lie.

  She flashed him a defiant look. "Yes, I'm still with child. Does that please you?" she asked, snatching her hand from his, her glare hot enough to melt stone.

  "Immensely." Satisfaction did indeed feel good. He'd achieved everything he'd set out to do.

  ~ * ~

  Alexi pushed his hat back with his forearm, a fine sheen of sweat beading his forehead. The tracks in front of him were only a day old, but it was obvious the horse making them no longer bore two riders. They'd been duped. He admired the skill of the man who'd tricked them even while he cursed him under his breath. The need to see Angela safe was a seething tempest within him.

  "What now?" Sam asked, his brow furrowed in concentration.

  "We go back. She's at the village."

  "You know who has her."

  Sam's calm assessment infuriated Alexi. It was frustrating to know how close they'd been to her, that they could have stolen her away without a fight if they'd only been smart enough to read the signs sooner.

  "I do now," Alexi said, a grim smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and dread weighing down his heart. "I haven't seen him for long time. I suppose the two of us are overdue for a meeting. I would have preferred an encounter because of something different from an argument over a woman, however."

  Alexi felt the intensity of Sam's gaze on the back of his neck. The man was curious. Let him wonder. If Sam Chamberlain were not Angela's father, there would have been more than a few heated words between them by now. More than likely their anger would have erupted in bloodshed.

  Stephan was a bastard son of Alexi's father, Karim. Only Allah knew how many bastards the man had sired, sowing his seed over most of Europe. But Stephan he had known very well. Stephan's mother had been a favorite of Karim and she'd spent a great deal of time at their mansion, Stephan at her side. Natasha had loved Stephan with all her heart, had treated him as a beloved grandchild.

  As little boys they had spent fun time together. There was a fondness in his heart for Stephan. Not enough to let him have his woman, though.

  Alexi had asked Stephan to come to America with him, encouraged him. Stephan had adamantly refused. The young man had had a purpose even then. Stephan was a born leader, a rebel, a man whom others looked up to--and Stephan was in the middle of the revolution sweeping across Russia and Europe.

  Agreeing with Stephan and his ideals had always been easy for Alexi, but the hothead was going to get himself killed if he continued on the path he'd chosen. Alexi wanted to yank Stephan off his high horse. He wanted to take him to America, where one didn't have to fight for his freedom, something every man deserved.

  That was all Stephan really wanted: his freedom. Stephan didn't want war, didn't want to fight.

  The country was coming to that, though. Fighting would erupt soon, and everyone would lose. His friends would die.

  "Are we going to ride in shooting, or are more peaceful means acceptable?" Sam asked, his hand on the butt of his gun, obviously ready for whatever Alexi decided.

  "We will negotiate her release. Stephan wants money to further his cause." Alexi rose from his position and balanced on the balls of his feet. "He'll give her over for the right amount of coin."

  "You're sure?"

  Alexi nodded. "Positive."

  ~ * ~

  The downpour started when Alexi and Sam were a mile from the village. Sheets of rain slanted against a broodingly dark sky. Alexi pulled his hooded poncho from his saddlebag, as did Sam, both slipping the capes over their heads for protection.

  Riding between the huts on a mud-soggy trail, Alexi knew these people had never seen two men look so desperate or so mean. Children peered from cracked doorways then shrieked with fear, darting inside when they caught sight of the two men.

  The children watched two of the American West's meanest desperadoes ride through their village. With his dark, brooding eyes and two days' growth of beard, Alexi knew he looked to be the very devil incarnate.

  Alexi led the way to Stephan's home, stopping Jabbar in front of the doorway. Negligently, he leaned on the saddle horn. He didn't know what he expected when Stephan stepped from the hut
, his rifle clasped beneath one arm, a furious scowl on his usually smiling countenance. Stephan appeared to have every intention of using the weapon if necessary.

  "What do you want, brother?" Stephan spoke with a slight sneer. "It's been such a long time since you've come calling. I could say it was a pleasure, but..."

  Alexi knew the tone Stephan used was meant for all aristocrats, not just him. "My woman," Alexi said, determined to set fear into Stephan's heart. "Pray to your God you haven't touched her.'' Alexi' s voice was low and powerful. He watched Stephan move under the power of his words.

  "Pray to Allah," Stephan ground out, appearing unruffled by Alexi's cold threat.

  "We've both grown up over the years," Alexi said, his emotions tightly controlled. "But you're still not man enough to hold your own against me. Where is Angela? Inside, I presume? Safe?"

  Stephan widened his stance, squaring off against Alexi, his purpose unmistakable. "You may be bigger, but you never learned to care for a woman. She's under my protection now. I will keep her safe."

  That jibe hit home. He, Alexi Popov, had promised Angela exactly that: to protect and keep her safe. Now Stephan was doing just that. They were indeed an unlikely pair.

  "She's mine." Alexi growled low in his throat.

  "Then prove it. Fight me for her."

  At the challenge, tension coiled deep inside Alexi, all rational thought fleeing him. Alexi was off Jabbar in a flash, the two brothers circling. Alexi was huge and well muscled, Stephan long, lean and wiry. One man resembled a sleek gazelle, the other an enraged grizzly.

  "Hold it right there!" Sam's voice rose above the fever pitch of the storm and the afternoon, penetrating the anger and the tension simmering inside each man. "Hold," he said again, this time in a fierce whisper.

  Lightning-charged air threatened to jump between the brothers.

  "Until Angela is legally wed, she's my daughter. Both of you stop this nonsense. I want to see her."

  Both furious men suddenly looked chastised, the importance of Angela and her welfare suddenly resuming its proper place in their heads.

  Alexi dropped his hands to his sides.

  Stephan nodded. "She's in there."

  Sam stepped through the door, brushing by both men as if they were nonexistent. He paused a few seconds, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. Angela was on the bed, turned onto her side, her hands tucked beneath her cheek, her hair spread across the pillow and down her back. She looked like his little girl--his angel when she slept, his spitfire when she was awake. He adored her and wanted the best for her.

  Well, she'd done it again. Her impetuous desire for adventure had brought her halfway around the world and earned her a wretched flogging at the hands of a madwoman. And if what he'd understood was true, she wasn't married, but she'd agreed to be this arrogant Russian's paramour. He should put her in a corner for a week for this.

  He sighed, kneeling down beside her, tenderly smoothing back the hair from her face just as he'd done so many times. He meant to test Alexi--or Devil Blackmoor--whatever the hell he called himself. "You are going home with me. If he loves you he will follow. If he loves you, nothing will keep him from you. If not…

  "If not, you are indeed better off without him." He growled softly in the back of his throat.

  Moisture filled his eyes and stung the deeper recesses of his heart. "If not," Sam repeated, "he doesn't deserve you. And as for the other young puppy, I can tell by watching him he cares for you, but nothing more. He has a deep-seated desire to best his idol. I should have let them fight. Maybe one of them would have beat some sense into the other." Sam inhaled deeply, remembering his own arrogance. "One can't expect miracles in this godforsaken land--or anywhere else.

  "Rest, little one. The journey home is long."

  Angela stirred, her hand brushing against his. When had she grown into such a beautiful woman? Sam wondered. He'd been so determined to do what he thought best for his little girl that he'd never listened to her, never acknowledged her wishes as anything but childhood fantasies. She'd craved adventure.

  He wanted her to go to finishing school. For the life of him, he could not come up with one good reason now.

  If he had listened...

  If he had heard what she'd tried to tell him time and again, all this might have never happened.

  "Papa?" Angela asked, blinking slowly.

  "I'm here. I've come to take you home," he said.

  Even in her drowsy state, he watched her stiffen. "No, Papa. I have to see Alexi first. I promised, and now that you're here..." She touched his face.

  She hadn't expected to see him, he thought.

  "Now that you're here, I won't be in danger."

  "Now that I'm here, you'll obey me..."

  Her eyes flashed. "No."

  He knew he was controlling her life again, not listening to her, but when had she grown so willful? "Angela?"

  She had always been willful, he realized.

  "Papa, don't you see? I'm not a little girl any longer. I'm a grown woman. And Papa, I ..." She paused, red staining her cheeks, and Sam knew what she was about to reveal.

  "You don't have to tell me. I know."

  Angela gasped, straining to rise. "You know?" Her eyes widened with fear. "Papa!" she cried out, her voice frantic.

  Sam knew all too well what she thought. "He's alive, sweet angel. Even though I did have every intention of giving him a slow, torturous death."

  The door slammed against the far wall. Alexi's powerful body was framed in the doorway, light from behind him casting an ominous glow around him.

  "Alexi?" Angela said softly. "Let me talk to him, Papa. Please."

  Reluctantly, Sam nodded his assent.

  Angela touched her fingers to her father's hand then held her other hand out to Alexi. In two arrogant strides, he stood beside the bed, his eyes shimmering in the faint light.

  Sam walked away, stepping outside the door and closing it behind him. Angela watched her father go, knowing it had been hard for him to leave her alone with Alexi. He didn't back down easily.

  Alexi held her hand in his. His fingers were large and callused. With him beside her she felt fragile, delicate, a feeling at odds with her character and the life she had led.

  The rain beat a steady crescendo on the rooftop, and embers from the fire spit and popped. She didn't know what to say; she only knew that with Alexi by her side she felt at ease, comfortable. He held her heart in the palm of his hand.

  Angela watched his hardened features soften, his cold eyes warm until they smoldered with... what? Love? Probably not. All he'd ever felt for her was desire.

  She brought his hand to her cheek, stroked his fingers lovingly. His flesh was warm against her own. Her lips touched his hand. She held on tight to his hand, now letting it rest on the bed. Silence seemed to engulf them.

  "Are you all right?" His voice broke through the tension and the solitude she'd needed to find for a few moments before they were at odds once more.

  "Yes," she said. His eyes told her he didn't believe her. "I just need to rest. I can't go with you right now."

  Anger flared in the deep brown eyes that stared at her. A ferocity she'd never seen in him before glimmered darkly.' 'I'm very tired," she added, suddenly afraid of the fury she saw in him.

  "I see," His tone was brisk. He rose, striding to the fire.