My Angel

by Christine Young

  She'd given herself over to the care and nurturing of Alexi's small son so the child would not be like his father--cold and so very hard.

  Now Alexi was demanding her soul, her heart, her firstborn, and as surely as he'd broken her heart once before, he would break it again. She had no defense against him.

  He was not begging her forgiveness.

  Instead he demanded their child.

  "What do you want from me?" Her words were muffled in his shirt. She put her hands on his broad chest and pushed away from him.' 'What do you want from me?" she demanded again. Still, he held her within the circle of his arms, his expression almost cruel.

  "Everything you're willing to give. Your love. Your hand." His voice cracked, and for a moment she thought she saw the chill in his eyes warm to a heated glow.

  She was mistaken.

  "I've already given all that I can."

  "It's not enough."

  "No more, Alexi. Go home. Go back to your country, where nobility is more important than love, and leave the two of us in peace. This is no place for a man so drenched in the ideals of the aristocracy that he can't see beyond his long, elegant nose."

  She wiped the tears from her cheeks with her arm.

  "Go home," she whispered.

  "When you agree to come with me."

  "Never."

  "What? You've had your fill of adventure?"

  His tone of voice, filled with scorn, the look in his eyes, suffused with pity, took their toll.

  She rose, meaning to scoop the child into her arms. Too late she saw he'd read her mind and had little Alexi in his arms.

  He rose.

  "Not this time," he said with a slow drawl. He whistled for Jabbar. The horse wasted no time in coming to Alexi's side.

  "You can't do this," she told him. "He needs to eat. He--"

  "Wet nurses are not hard to find."

  "What?" Her astonishment echoed in the small glade.

  Jabbar nickered softly, nuzzling his master's arm. With little effort, the babe tucked against his chest, Alexi mounted his stallion.

  "Are you coming or staying?'' he inquired politely.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Watching Devil Blackmoor ride toward the high pasture made Sam realize how much he loved Angela and wanted what was best for her. What was best for Angela was to be alone with Devil so they could work out their differences, and the next best thing for Angela was a speedy marriage.

  A shotgun wedding, if necessary.

  White Flower stood by Sam's side, his wife, Angela's mother.

  "Go get the preacher," White Flower said, her small hand gently squeezing his own. "I'll pack her things. Devil will want to start for home as soon as it's done."

  For a long moment Sam didn't move, couldn't. His heart pounded against his ribs. "You're sure?" he asked. "I don't want to be called a meddling old fool tomorrow. I gave Devil my word I'd give him time to convince her."

  "I'm sure, and so are you. The only way she'll back down and marry him is if she has to. She's as stubborn as her daddy."

  "Stubborn as her mama, you mean."

  White Flower smiled. "You were of the same mind. Hard-headed. Determined to have your own way."

  She ran her hands up his chest and kissed him. Sam grunted and took the woman into his arms, her fingers winding around his neck and feathering into his hair. He loved her so much, and he wanted Angela to be happy with her man.

  White Flower pulled away. Their gazes locked, a wealth of unspoken knowledge flowing between the two of them. They understood each other, understood how sometimes two stubborn fools might have to be pushed together by those a little older and a great deal wiser.

  Whether Sam liked it or not, Devil was Angela's man, and the arrogant aristocrat needed to be put in his place. Sam had seen how Devil had looked at Angela, saw the naked yearning, the love brimming hi his eyes.

  Angela would have never gotten into this fix if she didn't love Devil.

  How the hell the man had let her go was beyond anything Sam could understand. He understood duty. He understood loyalty and honor, too.

  But Devil had crossed an ocean for Angela, given up his birthright, and Sam wasn't about to let all that effort go to waste. He wanted to see his daughter married and happy, and he wanted his grandson to have a strong last name, a name that wouldn't label the child a bastard.

  Breathless from his kiss, White Flower could barely speak. "The preacher headed south from the trading post two days ago. On that lazy mule he couldn't have gotten too far. My bet is that he's stayed the night with the Johnson's. She's the best cook in these parts, and he has a hankering for good meals."

  White Flower's hands had slid down his back, and now she was kneading the seat of his denims. "You got something else on your mind, woman?" he asked, his voice low and throaty. Unable to withstand her silent invitation, he groaned and pulled her into his arms for another heart-stopping kiss.

  Everything he'd ever wanted, Sam found in this woman's arms. He didn't want to go anywhere but time wasn't standing still. He pulled away. "Now you keep that thought, woman," he said in a growl after giving her a warm smile. "I'm awful hungry."

  "Hurry," she whispered, her subtle invitation hanging on the air between them like a potent aphrodisiac.

  "South, you say?"

  She nodded.

  "Keep those two headstrong youngsters here--with the shotgun if you have to."

  "Don't you worry," she told him.

  He knew he didn't have to. White Flower would do what needed to be done. "Meddlin' fools," he mumbled to himself as he swung his leg over his fastest horse and set off down the mountain. He'd sure rather be riding White Flower right now and listening to her soft little sighs of pleasure.

  Digging in his heels, he knew the quickest way to get what he wanted was to find that preacher and get him back here fast.

  Halfway down the mountain, the entourage traveling his way made him pull up on the reins.

  The man in front of him, he'd recognize anywhere. Ivan Civanovich rode a pure white stallion, and he blocked the trail. Three mules, carrying an assortment of packages, followed behind and further down the trail, he could hear the panting and muttering of another man as he hurried along.

  "Best you move aside son. I've got business to attend to." Sam's voice, meant to be stern, echoed through the mountains.

  The horse shifted. "I've already seen to it," Ivan countered, a wry grin spreading across his lips.

  Sam pushed his Stetson back on his brow. "Now, that's real neighborly of you but I don't believe you understand what I'm getting at. You and I couldn't possibly be thinking along the same path," he said, even though he wanted Ivan to be seeing things his way. His mind shot back to White Flower and the way her breasts had felt nestled against his chest just a few minutes ago.

  Ivan's smile was grim. "You wanted a preacher?" One dark brow quirked skyward. "I've saved you the trouble of riding for one."

  Sam's horse sidestepped. Sam grunted.

  Beyond Ivan, Sam could just make out the rattled rumblings of the preacher. He glanced quickly back at Ivan. "This your doing?"

  Ivan nodded, then leaning on the horn of his saddle, he said, *' Alexi doesn't know. About time one of his people took matters into his own hands. If you know what I'm getting at."

  Sam cocked his head to one side, assessing Ivan. "Good. Then you can take the brunt of his anger. Wouldn't want to lose anything important over this tiny matter." Ivan's laugh was full and hearty. "He's been meaner than a grizzly and twice as ornery ever since she left. Decided it was about time I got a good night's sleep for a change."

  "Might as well warn you now, the two of them aren't going to like this."

  "Too bad."

  Huffing loudly, the preacher atop his mule pulled up alongside Ivan. "Where's this wedding? And where's the bride and groom?"

  "My house. Think you can make it a little bit farther? I'm sure White Flower will have something to appease your hunger." S
he was surely cooking up something real nice when I left.

  "It's about time. This giant of a fellow hauled me from the dinner table without a by-your-leave. I can still smell Mrs. Johnson's sweet apple pie. Never got to finish the fried chicken."

  "After the wedding you can order up whatever you want." Sam was suddenly feeling relieved that he wouldn't have to explain his part in all this. If Ivan didn't take full blame, at least it could be shared.

  "Who's getting married?" the preacher asked again.

  "Angela," Sam said.

  "Alexi," Ivan said.

  Ivan and Sam's gazes met and held. It seemed they had only the welfare of Angela and Alexi in mind. Working together they would see them married and happy.

  It was about time.

  ~ * ~

  Seeing Angela's stiff spine in front of him made Alexi more than aware that he'd gone about this reunion in exactly the way he'd planned not to.

  She was all stubborn courage and raffled woman.

  He'd challenged her and tested her in ways he shouldn't have.

  Little Alexi squirmed in his arms, his full, pink lips puckering softly then sucking air. He'd be wanting his mother soon.

  Hungry little devil.

  Alexi groaned inwardly, remembering the challenge he'd tossed out to Angela. He'd never meant to delude her into thinking he would keep their child from her. How on earth had he managed to completely intimidate the woman he loved?

  Sam had already given him permission to marry Angela, with the one stipulation that Angela agree. Now that he knew about his son, he didn't mean to give his sweet angel a choice--or to take the time to seduce her into compliance.

  He no longer had the time to court her properly.

  The babe let out a howl that would do any Sioux warrior proud--any clashing Tatar's, too.

  Suddenly Angela was beside him, their knees touching, one arm outstretched, her eyes pleading. They had less than a mile to go before they'd reach Sam's house.

  Ah, hell.

  Slipping from the saddle, the babe in his arms, did not prove as big a challenge as handing him over to his mother. He didn't want to let go of his son, ever.

  To top it all off, he didn't trust her to stay.

  When she shifted sideways to hide herself from him, she had the look of a cornered animal, all wide-eyed and frightened. He sidestepped around her so he could watch, justifying the action by telling himself she'd be his wife soon then he'd see more than one beautifully shaped breast tipped with a taut, puckered rosebud.

  Lowered lashes, a soft, rounded globe and a little boy nursing at his soon-to-be wife's breast all sent a surge of protective yearning sweeping through him bone-deep. Crouching down beside her, he touched the downy softness of his child's cheek. His knuckles brushed against feminine curves.

  She inhaled, swift and deep.

  He didn't acknowledge the touch, but it was all he could do to keep from smiling.

  She wasn't immune to him.

  The little gasp she'd emitted sent his heart racing. The stiffening of her spine he knew to be a defensive action against her emotions. Despite her show of bravado, she wanted him--perhaps as much as he wanted her.

  If she didn't love him, he'd make do with desire until he could turn her around to his way of thinking. He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, drinking in the scene.

  He nearly reached out and took what was his when she shifted the child to the other breast. Her awkwardness and the gentle sway of her breasts had him rock-hard instantly. Long seconds passed before the child latched onto the other nipple; then, with trembling fingers, she covered herself.

  He didn't know what he'd do if she looked at him with her passion-filled eyes again.

  The last rays of the sun were dropping behind the mountains by the time she finished. The thought of moving on didn't appeal to him, nor did the thought of spending the night in Sam's house in separate bedrooms. He had food and a bedroll with an extra blanket.

  They could stay here, talk, get to know each other again. He could cuddle his child without fear that she'd run out on him. There was little he liked better than a blazing campfire, the scent of wood smoke and a warm woman.

  Caution was slipping fast. He wanted her in his arms and in his bed, tucked up snug against his heart. He needed to feel the steady beat of her heart, the rise and fall of her breasts.

  The babe slept peacefully. It was now or never, he told himself, reaching out to slip the child from her arms. Alexi placed the child on a makeshift bed. Then he turned his attentions to his woman, his lady. He had abused her terribly, and he meant to make it up to her. He meant to show her that lovemaking was pleasurable for both parties. He meant to convince her he loved her more than life itself.

  "Come here." His voice was husky with need.

  She watched him with wide, beguiling eyes--and fear. She shook her head even while she swayed toward him. Buttoning her shirt seemed to take up most of her energy. He wanted to tell her to leave the fastenings be, that they'd be undone in a few seconds anyway.

  "Please." he extended his hand. She wavered, then placed her trembling fingers in his.

  Her small hand within his felt so good. He prayed she could not feel his fear. Rejection now was not what he wanted. His thumb traced a lazy circle on the inside of her delicately feminine wrist.

  "I can't do this," she said, her voice trembling.

  "You want to." He saw desire in her eyes. Jasmine filled his senses.

  "That doesn't make it right."

  Allah, but he needed to make it right. Where she was concerned he had too many regrets. The night in the hotel. His abduction of her. The times he never told her how much he loved her. The way he hurt her when he wanted to turn her into his mistress.

  She'd been right to deny him. She did deserve better than his callous treatment of her. He had meant to put her on a pedestal, but in a place where he could keep her locked away from life.

  He would make amends, if she'd only let him.

  "You wouldn't fight me?" He was asking, he realized.

  "I don't want you to do this," she said weakly, her voice a ragged sigh.

  The words knifed his heart. She didn't want him to make love to her, but if he kissed her, if he seduced her, she wouldn't tell him no. "I understand," he said. But his patience was at an end. All he wanted was a kiss--one of her soft soul-shattering kisses--and he'd leave her alone until she understood he meant to do right by her.

  He wouldn't compromise her.

  This time they would do it all her way.

  The right way.

  ~ * ~

  She'd never felt so unsure of herself in her life. Devil had appeared out of nowhere and stolen her heart. How many times had he already done that?