The music drifted around them, a low, seductive wail. Rachel felt soft and perfect in Gabe’s arms. He rubbed his cheek against her silky hair, inhaled the natural, earthy scent of woman. His blood stirred, and desire rose, hot and hard.
His physical body reacted accordingly. His erection pulsed and strained against his pants, and her belly. Rachel might be innocent, but she was too experienced in the ways of lusting men to misread his reaction.
She shoved away and looked at the telltale bulge in his pants. Then she got the expression he’d never expected to be aimed at him—the disinterested, jaded look of a prostitute who’s seen and heard everything. “So,” she sneered, a bitter note in her voice. “Are angels allowed to solicit whores?”
Anger flashed through him like a lightning strike. Taking her arm, he guided her firmly off the floor and to the club entrance. “Be right back,” he told the startled host as he dragged Rachel outside.
He took her around the corner of the building before he released her. He stared at her a long moment, willing his anger—and his body—to cool. She stared back defiantly. This was her way, he reminded himself—to build barriers whenever she felt threatened. He might only have her a little longer, but he could damn sure tear down some of those barriers before the proverbial clock struck midnight.
“Rachel, why do you always do that? Why do you always panic at normal emotions and reactions, and try to demean them? They’re a part of being human.”
She crossed her arms and looked away, her expression sullen. She wasn’t even going to argue with him about her humanity.
His frustration spiked. “No, angels don’t solicit whores.” He grabbed her arms and pulled her forward. “But this angel is attracted to a beautiful, compassionate woman who has so much to offer the world. A woman who should be cherished by a man, not viewed solely as a sexual object. You deserve that, Rachel.”
He crushed his mouth down on hers, willing a response. He kissed her hard, willing her to know she was every bit a woman; to know how much he wanted her. He felt her vibrating with hurt and anger and outrage and…passion. Her tongue engaged in a sensuous duel with his, and he sensed a new kind of tension in her. His own body hardened with need and desire.
“I think I’ll take that rain check on copping a feel now,” he murmured, sliding his hand upward to cup her breast. She gasped against his mouth, and he felt her nipple harden through the layers of fabric. He lowered his other hand and molded it over the firm curve of her rear. Her low moan was like music.
He raised his head, teased his fingers along her breast. “Come home with me, Rachel. Let me show you what it should be like between a man and a woman.”
Rachel watched Gabe unlock the door to his apartment, panic edging out desire. What was she doing here? She’d been turned on like crazy when he’d kissed her outside the club and stroked her breast. Sensations and unfamiliar physical demands had stormed through her, leaving her stunned and aching. In that heated moment of insanity, she’d agreed to go with him.
He’d kept her in a sensual fog by kissing and caressing her at every red light on the short drive to his apartment, in a gated community on north Maple. But now that they were here, sanity was emerging.
I can’t do this, she thought, the panic growing stronger. Yet…the allure of normalcy hung in her mind, a tantalizing hope. She hated being a freak. Maybe, for one night, she could simply be a woman.
Gabe took her wrap and purse and tossed them, along with his suit coat, onto a nearby chair. Then he removed his tie and tossed it, too. Rachel tried to calm her jittery nerves. “Are you sure you can do this…that you’re allowed to…? I mean, if you’re an angel, isn’t this a sin or something?”
He smiled, and her heart stuttered. Taking her hand, he pressed it against the bulge in his pants. “Oh, I promise you, I can do this.” She couldn’t help herself—her fingers curled against his erection. Desire resurged in a staggering rush.
He groaned and pulled her hand away. “I’m not an angel tonight, Rachel. I’m a man, and I want you.” He watched her intently. “You understand you don’t have to have sex with me. This is your choice. Are you sure this is what you want?”
She felt no compulsion, only his need, warring with the innate honor that insisted he ensure she was willing. Her body certainly wanted to—every cell was screaming for more. She hadn’t felt this vital and alive since before the war.
Oh, she wanted to be willing. Gabe had awakened a yearning in her, not only the fierce physical need she felt right now, but the longing to be human, to taste love and passion, to experience the things a cruel fate had denied her. “Yes,” she whispered, before she could lose her nerve.
His face took on a fierce, triumphant expression. She felt a frisson of alarm, but then his expression gentled. “Thank God,” he murmured, framing her face in his hands and kissing her senseless. Oh, yeah, she liked this.
She groaned a protest when he left her lips to trail kisses down her neck and over the slope of her breast, and he chuckled. “Soon,” he promised in a low, sexy voice. “We’ll get to the entrée, I promise.”
He knelt and slipped her shoes off, running his hands along her bare legs, then farther up, beneath her dress. His fingers stroked dangerously close to where she was wet and aching, then retreated. She found it difficult to breathe, wanted to protest again when he stood.
He moved behind her, and she heard the sound of a zipper, felt the cool air on her back, followed by his warm hands. He slipped the dress from her shoulders and arms, letting it pool below her breasts. He reached around to cup her breasts as his lips seduced her neck. Helplessly, she dropped her head back against his shoulder.
“Nice bra,” he whispered, his fingers teasing along the edge of the lace and then slipping inside.
She should have been lost in the pleasure, but something shifted inside her, a darkness welling from the depths of her soul. Fear came crashing out, colliding head-on with desire. Pain and grief and guilt—that she was still alive, while her family was dead. The knowledge that she was completely, utterly alone. The cruel faces of the three Nazi soldiers as they took turns with her, brutally destroying her innocence…No.
No! She couldn’t do this, couldn’t bear the intimacy, or the pain when Gabe left. How could she have even considered it? She felt herself withdrawing emotionally, even as his fingers stroked her nipple and his other hand slid down her belly.
Renewed panic pounded through her. Frantic, she reached out mentally to Gabe. She hit his mind barrier, remembered the futility of trying to glamour him. But then, she felt the barrier lower. He was letting her into his mind, inviting her to meld both mentally and physically with him. She was stunned by the depth of his gesture. He was giving her everything.
She swept inside his mind, grateful, relieved, now ready to offer her body.
Turning in his arms, she jerked his shirt out of his pants, anxious to feel his skin. He pulled back so that she could unbutton his shirt with shaking fingers. Then she slid her hands over swells of muscle and firm skin. Leaned in to press her mouth against his chest and lick a masculine nipple.
He groaned. “We’ve got to get you out of this dress,” he said raggedly, slipping it over her hips. It fell in a silky pool around her feet. She stepped out of it, wearing nothing but the sexy black lace bra and panties that he’d insisted she buy.
Gabe stared at her, his expression reverent. “God, you’re beautiful.” He ran a hand down her trembling body, over her stomach, and between her legs, stroking her through the damp panties. His other hand drew her close, as he lowered his mouth to hers—
“Rachel!”
She jolted from the fantasy to find Gabriel glaring at her. Anger didn’t begin to describe the expression on his face. He was furious, his features harsh and terrifying with the force of that rage. Fire sparked around him, forming a painfully bright halo. His hair and clothing blew wildly, although she couldn’t feel any wind. Avenging angel, she thought, backing away.
&n
bsp; “Damn it, Rachel!” His voice was pure, cold fury. “How could you try to force mind sex on me?”
“I don’t—I just—” She couldn’t begin to explain the demons that had driven her to protect herself from intimacy with him—not even to herself.
“I’m not one of your johns.” He took a threatening step toward her. “I asked you for honesty, but apparently that was too much to expect. If you didn’t want to have sex, all you had to do was say no or stop. That’s all. But you couldn’t even respect me enough to do that.”
His disdain speared through her like a German bayonet. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“You should be.” There was no compassion or understanding in his voice.
The pain exploded inside her. She reached for her automatic defenses. “I don’t owe you anything.” She pulled the dress up and slipped her arms into the sleeves. “So I don’t want to have sex with you. Big fucking deal. I gave you your seven nights. It’s over and done.”
Grabbing her purse and wrap from the chair, scooping her shoes from the floor, she told herself Gabe was being a bastard, and it was just as well they were through. But she felt shattered inside. She couldn’t look at him as she went to the door and opened it.
“Wait.” It was a steely command, and she froze.
She sensed him behind her, felt him zip up the dress. “As you said, our time is through. And maybe it meant nothing to you.” His voice was emotionless. “What happens next—if anything—is totally up to you.”
She closed her eyes against another wave of pain from those words and started through the door.
“Rachel.” His voice stopped her. “I will be here a little while longer. If you want anything from me, you’ll have to seek me of your own volition. But if you can’t be totally honest with me, don’t bother.”
Then she was outside, and his door closed behind her with a terrible finality. She was alone again. This time forever.
Somehow Rachel got through the next days, although there were times when she felt like she was crumbling inside—which was ridiculous. Her life was exactly the same as it had been for more than sixty-five years. She was safe, she had a roof over her head, transportation, and ready access to blood and funds.
She was free of entanglements that could only bring more loss and pain into her life…well, except for Gertie. Now that the antibiotics were finished, she really should return the cat to the Dumpster, should get on with her life. But she just couldn’t bring herself to do that.
The flash of gray and white following her around every night, chasing anything that moved; the warm body settling against her whenever she sat down or went to bed, offered the only relief from the bleak rote of existing.
This evening, Rachel walked along Harry Hines between Regal Row and Empire Central, feeling listless, trying to force the thoughts of Gabe from her mind. She hadn’t seen him since that disastrous night, six days ago. Every time a silver sports car passed, she found herself looking to see if it was him, but it never was. How stupid of her. He was gone. She tried to tell herself it was for the best, but it was hard to be convinced when she felt so empty inside.
Even worse than the emptiness was the emotional pain, as if she’d lost a loved one. Not debilitating, like when her family had died, but it still hurt—like she was grieving. Damn it! She’d had enough grief during the war. Plus she’d been just fine before Gabe upset her life and messed everything up. She wasn’t ever going through this again.
It was for the best, she told herself. As she turned and headed north on Harry Hines, she saw a white Acura driving south, slowly and erratically. Cars behind it were honking. It finally turned into a parking lot and jolted to a stop. She was pretty sure it was Caitria’s car.
Perplexed, Rachel waited until it was clear, then crossed the street. When she saw the figure slumped over the wheel of the Acura, she ran to the driver’s side and wrenched open the door. “Caitria, what’s wrong?”
“Hey li’l bitch…” Caitria gasped weakly. “Not feeling…too…good.”
She was battered and bruised, her entire face swollen. Danyon had really done a number on her. Rachel felt rage bubbling inside her, but then Caitria groaned. “What can I do?” Rachel asked helplessly.
“I’m thinking I might should go…to the doc…. Not sure I can get there.”
Panic flared. Surely Caitria wasn’t dying. She couldn’t be. “I’ll take you,” Rachel said. But Caitria was too weak to get out of the driver’s seat, and Rachel ended up lifting the large woman out and sliding her into the backseat. Caitria’s cries of pain intensified her alarm. She drove to Parkland Hospital, pulled into the ER drop-off, laying on the horn.
The next hours were a blur. Caitria was rushed off to surgery, and Rachel used her allure to convince hospital personnel she was a relative. She sat helplessly in a surgical waiting area, unsure what to do.
A part of her didn’t want to leave Caitria here, possibly dying, alone with strangers. Another part of her wanted to run, to put distance between herself and this place of death. Still another part of her yearned for Gabe, for his warm, calming presence. For him to assure her Caitria would be all right. On another level, she cursed Gabe for making her feel all these things. So, confused and battling myriad emotions, she simply sat and waited.
Finally a young female doctor in rumpled scrubs came through the doors and called, “Family of Caitria Washington.”
Rachel hadn’t even known Caitria’s last name before tonight. She stood and walked slowly to the tired-looking doctor, who appeared surprised to see a white woman. “You with Ms. Washington?” she asked.
Rachel nodded, and the doctor, who didn’t look a day over twenty, said, “Okay. Well, Ms. Washington suffered various blunt-force traumas, including a heart contusion and a broken rib, which punctured a lung. She’s in pretty bad shape. But she’s through surgery and in recovery. Later, she’ll be put in Intensive Care, if she sur—” she caught herself. “We’ll just have to see how she does.”
Rachel hadn’t understood much of what the doctor said, but she got the implication. “She’s going to die, isn’t she?”
“We don’t know.” But the sad compassion in the young woman’s gray eyes spoke volumes. “Ms. Washington is heavily sedated right now,” she added. “You can’t see her until she’s moved to ICU, and that will be in the morning. I recommend that you go home, get some rest.”
Relieved to get out of there, Rachel headed for her condo. She stopped long enough to take blood from a panhandler who was too mentally ill to have sexual fantasies, so she paid him cash instead.
She returned to Parkland the following night, drawn there despite the almost-overwhelming urge to stay away, to avoid the pain of losing someone else. The news wasn’t good. “I’m afraid Ms. Washington’s internal injuries were pretty severe,” Dr. Martin, the same young woman from the night before, told Rachel, outside Caitria’s ICU room. “The cardiac contusion caused a severe arrhythmia, and we think there’s still some internal bleeding. She might have to go back to surgery. It’s still touch and go. I wish I had better news.”
Very reluctantly, Rachel entered Caitria’s room. She stared at her unconscious friend—although she had no idea how that friendship thing had happened. Caitria was lying there, completely still, with tubes running in her, and monitors humming and beeping. She looked awful.
There was death here, its black aura snaking through the room. It closed in on Rachel, and she couldn’t stay there any longer. Couldn’t watch Caitria die. She stumbled out, went down to the main lobby, intending to leave. But she couldn’t do that either. She just couldn’t totally desert Caitria. Freaked, she leaned against a wall, hugging her arms around herself.
Out of the blue, a memory rolled through her—that of family members taking turns to sit with her terminally ill Aunt Sophie. Jewish law and tradition demanded that someone always be at the bedside of a dying person. Yet no one had been with Rachel’s family as they lay dying in Dachau.
No one had been able to sit shiva for them, either—the traditional seven days of mourning after a loved one was buried. In so many ways, Rachel felt she had let her family down, although she’d been in the throes of her own death, and rebirth as a monster.
Now she was letting Caitria down, because she couldn’t bear to go back to that room, to watch another life fade away. But what could she do…? Gabe. They needed Gabe—assuming he was still around. He might have some angel magic that could help Caitria. Rachel fumbled in her purse for his cell phone number. She found a pay phone and dialed with trembling fingers.
While a part of her anticipated hearing his voice, another part of her cringed at the thought of talking to him, after the way they’d parted. She got voice mail and almost disconnected. Hearing just a recording of his voice shook her more than she’d thought it would.
She marshaled her senses and said, “Gabe, this is Rachel. Caitria was beat up so badly by Danyon that she might…” She paused, drew a deep breath. “She’s in ICU at Parkland. If there’s anything you can do for her, please, please come. I—I guess that’s it.” She hung up, feeling totally lost.
Still unable to return to Caitria, but not able to leave, she roamed the hospital aimlessly, pausing when she saw a small chapel. She stared at the rose-glass panes in the door, feeling the tug of a long-forgotten lure, a call to worship: Sh’ma Yisrael…Hear O Israel… The ancient Jewish prayer echoed in her head.
Somehow, she found herself opening the door to the chapel. She took a small step inside, hesitated, wondering if she’d be disintegrated or struck by lightning. But nothing happened. She took another cautious step forward. The chapel was empty and quiet, with an air of holiness she hadn’t felt in decades.
She walked tentatively to a bench. Well, she was still intact. She sank down, and the calm washed over her. More of the ancient prayer came to her: And these words that I command you today shall be in your heart.
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