Heaven's Gift aka Kiss of an Angel

by Janelle Denison

  "I want you," she pleaded in a ragged whisper. "I want this. Please."

  Her confession should have brought him satisfaction. Instead, he experienced a startling wave of emotion that gripped his heart. He refused to fully acknowledge the growing feeling.

  Guiding her hand to the front of his jeans, he cupped her palm over the burgeoning ridge there, leaving the ultimate decision up to her. "If you want me, then help me, Caitlan. Show me exactly what you want and I'll give it to you. I'll make it so good you'll be addicted, and I'll give you as much as you want… " He let his words drift away, giving her the option of halting their lovemaking if she wanted to.

  Her fingers trembled, but she didn't pull away.

  A reluctant kind of acquiescence shimmered in her eyes, as if she couldn't help wanting him, any more than he could control how being one with her was becoming as essential as breathing.

  "Once I'm deep inside of you they'll be no turning back," he went on. "The choice is yours, Caitie, but make your decision fast."

  She did then, tugging at his zipper and freeing him. Groaning at her sweet surrender, he wrapped her fingers around his length, moving slowly, sliding against her cool palm. When the building pressure shoved him to the very edge he drew her leg around his waist once again, but this time nothing separated their flesh.

  "Wrap both of your legs around me, Caitie," he said, and she did, circling her arms around his neck at the same time. Her nipples grazed his chest; their bellies rubbed erotically. Bracing her against the wall, he tilted her hips for his entrance. She was wet, very wet, and slick from spent passion, but as he pushed inside her, she stiffened and whimpered, burying her face into his shoulder.

  J.T.'s body shook. She was tight, so tight he suspected this was her first time, or very close to it. But he was at a point where he couldn't stop, not even if someone put a gun to his head. Ignoring the instinctive urge to thrust deeply, he murmured soft words to her, entering her slowly. He pulled her legs as high and tight as he could around him, and with a sweet little cry she arched and he slid into that satin sheath to the hilt. He groaned as liquid heat engulfed him, fusing them as one. They fit perfectly together, he thought, as if they had been made for one another.

  Wanting to lose himself in the magic of her, he moved slowly, then thrust harder, sliding deeper, over and over, until her moans of pleasure mingled with his.

  Still, he didn't let go, found he couldn't release that knot winding tighter and tighter within him. With each silken stroke, the flame of desire burned hotter, incinerating his original carnal hunger into deeper, more intense emotions. He'd told her he couldn't care, but he was feeling and needing and she was the reason.

  And somehow he'd known it would come to this. From the first moment in the line shack when he'd woken to find her beneath him, he'd known he'd have her. Then it had been pure lust. Now the white-hot need ribboned around his soul, tugging him beyond the realm of reality.

  She whimpered his name, a throaty plea to end the madness he created. Her fingers dug into the muscles in his back, her legs gripped him tight, and she rubbed her breasts against his chest, begging him for the pleasure waiting on the horizon.

  But she was the one who held the key to their fulfillment, he thought in a desire-filled haze. He didn't want to spiral over that crest without her, and vaguely wondered when he'd become so chivalrous, putting a woman's needs before his own. With Caitlan, it mattered.

  "C'mon, Caitie," he whispered huskily in her ear, tempering his strokes to slow, deep thrusts that filled her up, then retreating until she cried for him. "Be greedy, sweetheart. Take it all and let it happen."

  And then it did. Her lashes fell to sultry half slits and she moaned softly, tossing her head back. She looked beautiful, tousled and incredibly sexy while she took her pleasure. The medallion grew hot where it was crushed between his chest and hers, a tingly heat that showered through his veins like sparks of wild lightning, giving him the sensation of being one with Caitlan, she the other half of him he'd been waiting a lifetime for.

  Ecstasy swelled up and through him like an explosion, and he surged one final time, surrendering himself to her without any barriers. Endless pulses of release wracked his body, the rapture piercing and overwhelming. He groaned, low and deep and animal-like, luxuriating in the exquisite awareness of being alive again, of feeling so deeply, so intimately joined with Caitlan. She erased the loneliness and absolute despair he'd been living with for sixteen long years.

  Emotionally and physically satiated, J.T. sank to his knees on the cool earth floor, taking Caitlan with him so she straddled his lap and their bodies remained joined. Uncaring of his jeans bunched beneath him and the uncomfortable position, his only thought was that he didn't want to let her go, didn't want the emptiness and coldness that was sure to pour back into him once she left him.

  He wondered if he was the one who'd become addicted.

  In the quiet aftermath he held her close, reveling in the erratic beating of her heart against his, savoring the way she clung to him, body trembling, face buried in his neck, her breath warm on his damp skin. That damnable medallion had cooled some, but the impression of gold seared his flesh. He soothingly skimmed his hands down her back, over the swell of her hip, then up under her skirt to caress the soft, warm flesh of her inner thighs. He grew hard again, impossibly hard, wanting her with a sudden raw need that should have surprised him but didn't. Not anymore.

  Leaving the temptation to touch her where they joined, to start another raging fire with a gentle stroke over her petal-soft folds, he lifted his hands to her hair, tangling the strands between his fingers. Gently, he lifted her head from his shoulder, wanting to reassure himself that she was okay.

  The dazed expression on her face he understood; he felt the same way. However, the confusion shimmering in her violet eyes grabbed at him. "Are you okay?" His voice was a hushed whisper in the dark confines of the barn.

  Caitlan nodded jerkily, not trusting herself to speak. She was still reeling from the flare of sensations that had burgeoned through her body the moment she'd splintered apart with pleasure. She tried sorting through the multitude of emotions, and the way the medallion had heated against her flesh, the molten fire of it nearly making her breathless.

  And then she'd been drawn into J.T., physically and emotionally, sapped of every living force she possessed. The connection to him had been powerful, an undeniable pull. In the distance a wisp of a promise had beckoned to her, luring her closer and closer, until she'd been swept into the vortex, her heart blending with J.T.'s, her soul meshing with his in a complete oneness.

  She wanted to explore what had happened, but the crazy things J.T. was doing to her body, the lazy, arousing slide of his hands down her back, under her skirt, cupping her breast, prevented coherent thought. She ignored the uncomfortable bite of the dirt floor digging into her knees, and the cold night air caressing her bare flesh, in favor of J.T.'s warm, reviving touch.

  "I want you again, Caitlan," he said, his mouth open and hot and wet against her throat. Pulling her hips closer, he buried the thick, hard length of him deeper inside her. It occured to him then that she deserved better than to be taken in a barn, with the smell of horses, hay, and tack filling the air. "Come to my bed with me."

  "Yes," she sighed. Letting her mind drift, the increasing tingling heat from the medallion began to spread throughout her body and downward, where they melded together. Curling her fingers into his shoulders, she clamped her thighs tightly against his hips.

  "Ah, hell," he growled against her neck, rocking her urgently against him. "I don't think I can wait that long."

  Neither did she. Basking in his caresses, her body hummed. A delicious pressure blossomed in her belly, electrifying her, causing her to move on J.T. in a shameless rhythm. He watched her, his eyes growing dark with desire, his hands on her strong and sure as they cupped her hips. Softer sensations wove through her, a longing to blend her heart with J.T.'s. Those strange sensations siz
zled along her nerves again, and she closed her eyes, trying to grasp an elusive something teasing the edges of her mind.

  Then it came. The name filtered through her mind, then slipped naturally from her lips, without thought or conscious provocation. "Johnny," she murmured softly.

  J.T. stiffened, his blood turning to ice in his veins. A bucket of cold water couldn't have been more effective in dousing his arousal. Caitlan blinked her eyes open, looking just as surprised by the name she'd spoken.

  "What did you say?" he said very calmly, wanting to believe he'd only misheard her. But he knew in his gut she'd called him by a name he'd hadn't heard for sixteen years. Since the night Amanda died.

  Her gaze turned wary, snuffing out the desire. "Johnny," she repeated cautiously, as if she knew she'd said something wrong but wasn't quite sure what the ramifications were.

  A sensation of being suffocated cloaked J.T. He had to get away from Caitlan, who'd suddenly, alarmingly, reminded him too much of Amanda. Those violet eyes of hers seem to lure him in, mesmerizing him, taunting him. A heavy pressure clamped around his chest, anxiety mixing with panic.

  He shook his head, trying to keep his composure intact. Damn, between that medallion that always heated up whenever he touched it, and now with Caitlan calling him Johnny when he hadn't even told her his full name, he was beginning to feel like he was living in the Twilight Zone, lost between the past and the present. Ever since she'd come to the Circle R-hell, ever since she'd saved him-weird, unexplainable things had been happening between them.

  Irritated by incidents he didn't understand, needing to put distance between himself and Caitlan, he lifted her from his lap. As soon as her body left his, a black, chilling emptiness consumed his soul.

  She straightened up on shaky legs and smoothed her hand down her skirt, but that one act of modesty did nothing to reform the tousled, thoroughly loved woman who had been in his arms only minutes before. She still looked entirely too tempting, with her breasts still bared, and he kept from reaching for her again by thinking about what she'd called him.

  Standing, he hitched up his jeans and zipped his fly, then started on the buttons on his shirt. She turned away from him and began straightening her own clothes. After everything they'd just shared the vulnerability in her movements slammed into him like a fist. Tender, forgiving emotions crept up on him, but he shoved them aside for more pressing matters.

  "Why did you call me that?" he asked, his unexpectedly harsh tone shattering the silence.

  Caitlan closed her eyes for a moment, trying to chase away the confusion swirling in her mind. And then there was this rejection she wasn't prepared to deal with, and the ripping pain in her soul it had caused. Opening her eyes, she glanced over her shoulder at him. "I don't know why. It just slipped out."

  He jammed his hands on his hips, his eyes narrowing. "How the hell did you even know my name?"

  The question startled her, and she grasped for the most logical answer. "I heard one of the hands call you John."

  He let out a grunt of disbelief. "The hands nevercall me John, Caitlan. Most of them don't even know what J.T. stands for. And nobody calls me Johnny," he said fiercely. "Nobody."

  Nobody but Amanda, Caitlan thought, recalling her visions and the nickname Amanda called J.T. But why had she called him Johnny?

  "Here," he said, bringing her out of her thoughts.

  She reached for the panties dangling from the tips of his fingers. Face heating at the remembered intimacy and her uninhibited response to him, she quickly pulled them on.

  "Come on; let's go on back to the house," he said coolly.

  They walked to the house in silence. Caitlan could practically feel J.T. emotionally withdrawing from her. He was cool and remote, like the man she'd first met at the line shack. Gone was the tender lover and the gentle man she'd discovered over the past few days. She had the uncharacteristic urge to cry out at the loss. So many feelings and sensations clamored within her, all of them directly linked to J.T., and she didn't have a clue as to why.

  And, more importantly, why wasn't she able to control her emotions with J.T., as she normally could with everyone else? Her heart overflowed with an indescribable feeling, a shattering realization that frightened her, for she knew there would be heavenly repercussions.

  She loved J.T.

  Chapter Ten

  Love. Sitting up in bed two hours later, unable to sleep, Caitlan sketched furiously, hoping to purge her heart and soul of the emotion. The word rested heavily on her heart, burdening her with despair when it should have brought her joy. In a mortal lifetime she'd probably be ecstatic, but as a spiritual being, she'd been told an emotion as intense as passionate love wasn't possible. Her Superior had been wrong; so very wrong.

  She'd done the unpardonable by making love with J.T., her only defense being that with him she experienced a connection so undeniably perfect and powerful in its magnetism, she couldn't deny the fierce longing to blend hearts and souls so irrevocably they meshed into one entity. She'd done that and more. Much, much more. Her face flamed when she recalled the wicked things he'd done to her, and her sensually uninhibited response to him.

  But to have actually fallen in love with J.T., a mortal, to have given him her heart and soul as she had, was a reprehensible act that would no doubt warrant severe punishments. She was already eternally matched, her spirit supposedly secured to her soulmate while she waited as a guardian angel to be joined with him. As hard as she tried, though, she couldn't recall her soulmate's face or the warmth of his soul, because the only thing filling her up inside was J.T.'s essence.

  The picture she'd drawn reflected her jumbled emotions, swirling patches and broad strokes that created nothing more than confusion. With a moan of hopelessness, she drew her knees up and hugged her sketch pad to her chest. She tried to keep herself together when all she wanted to do was fall apart, or run back into J.T.'s arms, where she'd been so content, so fulfilled.

  Heaven help her, what was she going to do about J.T.? When she returned from her mission and her Superior discovered she'd given her heart to another, what plausible excuse could she give? Her actions couldn't be explained as a moment of weakness, because she'd openly wanted J.T., had felt a link to him from the very beginning of her mission. She'd ached to be a part of him, but she'd never expected to fall in love with the man, the ultimate of mortal emotions.

  She couldn't allow them to make love again, not that she believed J.T. would want to after she'd blurted out the special nickname Amanda had called him. She still couldn't figure out why she'd called him Johnny, why the name had slipped so naturally from her lips. Another piece of the ever-growing puzzle to tuck away. When she returned from her mission her Superior would have all the answers to the bizarre visions she'd had, to the feelings that made J.T. so much a part of her.

  Resting her head on her knees, she drew in a breath to release the awful tightness constricting her chest. What hurt the most, she supposed, was the way J.T. had shut down after she'd accidentally called him Johnny. His cool remoteness had cut her to the soul like a blade. She'd wanted to cry out at the bleakness creeping back into his gaze, the loneliness churning in the depths of his eyes. But she understood his withdrawal. His heart and soul belonged to Amanda, his eternal soulmate.

  Sorrow and sadness engulfed her, and she swallowed back uncharacteristic tears. There was no future for them. Ever. Once her mission was complete, she would leave J.T. behind to continue her work as a guardian angel. But the memory of the way their bodies had been joined in complete harmony would always remain a part of her, and she didn't know if she'd survive the sweet, aching memory of it all.

  The sound of someone moving around in the room next to hers penetrated the walls and her thoughts. She guessed J.T. was getting ready to start the day, as she should be doing, but she couldn't drum up the energy to move. Facing him didn't hold much appeal, especially after the brusque way he'd escorted her to her bedroom and left her there to enter his.

>   She sighed heavily, reminding herself that no matter what happened between them, she still had a job to do. In a few minutes she'd get up, she told herself, just as soon as the crushing despair lifted from her heart.

  Staring at his freshly shaven face in the bathroom mirror, J.T. berated himself for the hundredth time for being so thoughtless, so utterly careless while making love to Caitlan.

  He hadn't protected her from conceiving a child. The alarming thought had hit him like a two-ton brick while he'd been taking a shower. Unbidden, memories of the tight, hot feel of Caitlan wrapped around him had taunted his mind. Deep inside she'd been silky soft and snug, exquisitely so, and with nothing separating them he'd given her every bit of himself. He'd burned with need, had forgotten everything but the taste and feel of her.

  Nothing separating them. He'd never intended to make love to her when he'd followed her to the barn, but that didn't excuse his negligence. He knew better than to have unprotected sex.

  Shoving away from the sink, he muttered a dark curse and strode into the adjoining bedroom to put on his boots. He jammed a foot into one boot, arranging his jeans over the top, and then the other.

  He'd been careless once before, with Stacey, and the result had been less than ideal. Caitlan wasn't calculating or manipulative, like Stacey had been in her pursuit-quite the opposite, actually-but Caitlan wouldleave to go back to the city, and he didn't think she'd be too happy being burdened with a child.

  His empty stomach churned with anxiety and twisting deeper was regret. He'd marry Caitlan if she turned up pregnant, but he knew she'd grow to resent him and his way of life, and worse, he'd never be able to give her the love she deserved. He just didn't have it in him. Hadn't he learned that with his attempt at marriage with Stacey?

  And then there was the strange link between him and Caitlan to consider, the way she extracted need and longing from him, and a yearning for something more. That medallion of hers unnerved him, as if it held some kind of power to connect them. Twice he'd been affected by the damned thing when he'd touched the heated gold, experiencing an out-of-body sensation straight out of some sci-fi movie. And, most hauntingly, she'd called him Johnny, when no one had called him that since Amanda's death.