Night Angel

by Renee Reeves

  Staring down at her he said, “I knew you weren't out walking because I've been riding for over two hours and didn't see you, and I knew you wouldn't have gone very far because it would bother your leg.” He raised an eyebrow as if daring her to refute that fact, “So that's how I knew you had to be here."

  His voice changed, softened to a smooth drawl that made her insides turn to warm mush. “I'm sorry I scared you. What were you painting?” He raised his left arm and rested his forearm on the doorjamb, leaning closer, but not crowding. Her breath quivered, and she drew in deeply, dragging the fascinating mixture of man, horse and sweat into her lungs.

  "A-a scene for my new series about Montana."

  "Hmm, artistic and gorgeous.” His eyes dropped to her lips, and stayed there as if entranced. “You look lovely ... Let me in, Morgan."

  "No ... I meant what I said earlier. I have to think of myself for once.” Her skin prickled, under the force of his gaze. To add further embarrassment she felt her nipples tighten beneath the thin t-shirt she wore while painting, and knew he would be able to see them too. Mortified she crossed her arms over her chest, and hazarded a glance up. Blatant sexuality was in his face, in his eyes, and she quickly looked away.

  Her cheeks heated, growing hotter.

  He took one step back, but even though she had a heavy, protective door between them the sheer size of him dwarfed her porch, making her feel cornered and yet somehow protected. Like anything wanting to hurt her would have to go through him first.

  That knowledge was heady, exciting, and Morgan knew that she didn't really want him to leave.

  "Stop lying to yourself, sweet. I can see it in your eyes ... You don't want me to go.” Morgan squeaked when his big hand came up and gently caught her chin, raising her face up to his. “Do you, Morgan?"

  She swallowed. Nerves had her heart pounding in her throat, so hard she was certain he could feel the chaotic vibration.

  "I-I told you—"

  "I know what you told me. I heard it loud and clear,” he interrupted. “Invite me in, sweetheart."

  Almost lazily his blue eyes ran over her, from the tips of her paint splattered toes to the too-big t-shirt she liked to work in. Every inch of her felt the heated appreciation of his stare. Under her shirt her skin tingled and her breasts became heavy and tight, aching to be freed from the confines of her bra. Morgan let herself wonder what would happen if she stepped back and gave him free rein. No wonder the man was so good with horses, that black magic voice could probably charm a snake out of its poison.

  His hand slid around to cup the back of her neck, his fingers tunneling into her thick hair while his thumb swept slowly along her jawbone. Relaxing she leaned towards him, lulled by the unfamiliar tenderness of a mans touch.

  Their eyes held, his heavy-lidded and intent as silence stretched between them. Morgan wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, feeling weak while her heart pounded so hard she could barely breathe. A knot of longing twisted her belly. She felt alive in a way she had never felt before and all the new sensations were because of Nick. She had thought about him countless times throughout the lonely days and nights, wondering what it would be like to be with him and not have Richard's memory touch them.

  It could happen now, if she were brave enough to let it.

  Sudden tears sprang to her eyes and quickly she blinked them back. But not fast enough. Nick saw and his gaze softened, losing all trace of irritation. He placed a tender kiss on her forehead and whispered, “Trust me, Morgan. Nothing's going to happen that you don't want."

  Oh, but she did want. Very much.

  Despite her fears and inadequacies she wanted this man. For once, she thought fiercely, Richard could be damned.

  "I know Nick.” Her voice was a breathy whisper, “It's just ... it's just not easy for me. But maybe ... Maybe I want something to happen."

  Was that husky, suggestive voice really hers? And, uh, where had that come from? Certainly not her mouth. His eyes flared in response, the blue getting deeper, the dark depths holding the promise of hidden ecstasy. Reflexively she took a step back and the corner of his mouth kicked up, softening his hard face.

  "Courage can be dangerous, Morgan,” his voice was low, raspy. The sound stroked along her nerves causing little electric impulses to tingle down her body, centering between her thighs. He shifted closer while she held her ground. “I'm more than willing to take you up on that."

  Her cheeks flamed and, worried she'd lose her nerve, Morgan pulled free of his light hold and opened the door wide, expecting him to stride inside and start taking over, the way men liked to.

  But he didn't. He stepped into the foyer and just stood there, watching her, his beautiful eyes narrowed, ardent and watchful, allowing her time to change her mind. How she knew this she didn't know, but she was certain of it. He smelled good, like leather, forest, and man, even though he had spent the day riding. His size overwhelmed the tiny space by her front door and, feeling slightly crowded, she backed up several steps.

  His eyes and voice tender he said, “Morgan ... sweetheart.... I won't do anything you don't ask. ‘No’ or ‘stop’ are all I have to hear."

  She closed her eyes, pushed back a wall of dark memories, and then reopened them. “You p-promise?"

  Nick closed the small distance between them, took her hand in his and placed both of them over his heart. “I swear. I swear on anything and everything that I hold dear."

  His heart pulsed under her palms, thudding strongly against the wall of his chest. Morgan thought of the scarred white horse. No one else would even think about giving that horse a chance at a new life. At recovery. No one but Nick. His swear reached deep inside her, burrowing into the marrow of her bones. He would stop, no matter what, no matter how far things went, he would stop if she wanted.

  "I'm tired Nick. I've been afraid for six years and I'm so tired of it. Tired of him being my only memory.” She pressed herself to him, sliding her body against his. She felt Nick's muscles tense as his arms came around her and he groaned as if in pain.

  Nick could feel her trembling against him. For all her brave words she was most likely scared to death. No matter what she said if he moved too quickly he risked reawakening her fears and destroying her trust. The knowledge weighed heavy on his brain and second thoughts battled with his intense desire for her.

  He cupped her jaw and urged her head up, her wide gold eyes were filled with uncertainty as he stroked his thumb over her cheeks—one a testament to her experience with men, the other baby-smooth. “You need someone better than me. Someone—” Someone kind and considerate, someone who hadn't murdered a man and gone to prison.

  "No. I need you.” She stood on tiptoes and placed a kiss on his throat. “If not you, then no one."

  "Morgan...” He tilted his head back to give her greater access and groaned as she nibbled her way across his neck. Jeeezuus ... His battle to be gallant was officially lost.

  "Kiss me.” Her lips moved across the pulse beating in his throat, “Please."

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  Chapter 18

  Some dim part of Morgan's brain thought surely this was a stranger talking; surely she couldn't be boldly asking this man to kiss her. But the brief taste of him at his barn had not been nearly enough, and no matter how hard she tried to put him out of her mind he was always there, drawing her in despite her fear, using kind words, sweet gestures, or frustrating touches—touches that left her body aching for him.

  His horses, those beautiful abused animals, trusted him. Why shouldn't she?

  "Morgan—"

  "Make love to me, Nick."

  Holy hell. His body snapped taut, disbelief and arousal invading every pore. He could not have heard her right. That whisper, those low, seductive words, had to be his mind playing a trick on him, trying to make him screw up more than he already had.

  His gaze lowered to her face. Her eyes were wide, both fear and desire evident in the beautiful hazel depths. She he
ld his stare. A blush began to creep over her cheeks ending at her nose and turning the tip red. Her chin trembled and she swallowed hard, the small convulsive movement in her throat showing him just how hard she was pushing herself.

  "What did you say?” He had to hear it again, just to be sure. Kiss me. Make love to me, Nick...

  The soft pink tinge that had colored her cheekbones just a moment before now flooded her whole face. His mouth quirked, even her sweet little ears were red. She pressed her forehead into his chest, hiding. The way she was plastered against him she had to be feeling the obvious hard-on in his pants.

  She cleared her throat and he felt the vibrations all the way through his t-shirt and into his skin. “I asked you to, um, m-make love to me."

  Holy hell.

  She had just spoken the words that he had dreamed about, fantasized about, for over two months—

  And he had no clue what to do now. Any other woman and he would have had her naked and under him in two seconds flat, but this was Morgan. His sweet, precious, innocent-no-matter-what-she-had-been-through, fantasy woman. She deserved so much more than to just be taken to the ground and fucked in some mindless animal act. Her bastard husband had given her plenty of that and more. He'd be damned if he'd treat her with the same callous disregard. The trust she was handing him was too precious and in return he wanted to love her, cherish her ... destroy her demons for her.

  "Um, Nick?” her voice quivered like she was about to cry. “Please say something. If you don't want to..."

  Oh fuck no, this wasn't going to go that way. Quickly he hugged her to him, easing up only when she grunted in protest. “Believe me baby, I more than want to. But..."

  Deep grooves creased her forehead and he felt her fingers clench on his shirt. Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth and she ducked her head, but not before he caught a glimpse of what could be shame on her face. Oh no ... no way.

  "Baby ... look at me.” At his urging she raised her head, but avoided meeting his gaze. He so did not want to do this, especially not now. But she had been hurt enough and sleeping with her without telling her about his past would be a big betrayal. “Before we go any further there's something you need to know."

  Gently, being careful of her leg, he pushed her towards the table and sat her down. Then, so he wouldn't be crowding her if she decided to hightail it out of there after hearing what he was about to say, he went back to stand with his back against the wall. Missing the feel of her against him, and knowing that this could be the last time he held her, he crossed his arms over his chest, wanting to feel the imprint of her body heat as long as possible.

  "I need to tell you...” Shit. A sick, burning sensation almost like nausea twisted his gut. He ran a hand over his head and to the back of his neck, rubbing the skin until it burned like fire. He welcomed the pain, hoping it might give him the balls to do this. The words hung heavy and savage in his mind ... Killer. Murderer.

  Nick looked across the small room to where Morgan sat at the table looking at the floor. Her back was straight and stiff, her face lined with tension. He sighed and glanced out of the kitchen window, but found no help in the bright light of day. When he turned back to her those beautiful antique gold eyes were watching him, dark with concern. It was time to end the suspense, quick and clean, and reveal his fucked up past. Nick heaved a sigh, feeling relationship death riding towards him on a fast horse.

  A line of sweat beaded on his forehead and he raked a hand through his hair, aware of how his heart was pounding. Meeting her eyes he forced himself to speak. “Something happened when I was younger, Morgan ... much, much younger. I ... I-uh ... made a serious mistake and ... shit."

  Morgan held her breath, her stomach coiled in knots, waiting while he hesitated, but then he squeezed his eyes shut and his dark head thumped back against her wall, looking a far cry from the confidant man she had become used to.

  "Morgan ... I'm sorry. I-I can't do this right now.” Deep grooves embedded themselves around his mouth, giving his face a haunted expression. His jaw was locked; he stuck his hands in his jeans pockets and pushed away from the wall. He looked at her, started to say something but then closed his mouth and Morgan sensed that whatever inner demon he was fighting had just won.

  No. Nick was big and so strong, physically more capable than most to handle whatever life threw his way. But, like her, there was something in his past that still affected him and, judging by his defeated stance, that something was still capable of making him feel less than he was. Who or what could have done that?

  Drawn to him despite her clear-thinking brain yelling 'no' Morgan decided that whatever he'd had to say made no difference. She knew what it felt like to be judged—during her marriage Richard had known exactly how to lay on the charm and elicit sympathy from friends and family, so much so that whenever he alluded to marital issues she was automatically blamed. By everyone except Lisa.

  Good or bad she and Nick both had their pasts ... so maybe there had been enough secrets told today.

  Feeling stronger and more sure of herself Morgan got up and went over to him, putting her palms against his torso to stop him from leaving. He didn't move, in fact he barely breathed, as if afraid any movement or sound at all would send her away. The tension in his big body was palpable and for a moment she did nothing but stare up into his deep blue eyes, now bleak and shadowed with secrets and a hint of shame. Morgan's heart squeezed in on itself, feeling heavy and tight behind her ribcage. She knew shame, saw it mirrored in her own eyes everyday, although recently less and less, thanks to Nick.

  Slowly, she ran trembling hands up his chest to his shoulders. Her fingertips grazed the pulse between his collarbones, and then moved along his dark skin to find the fine line of hair at the back of his neck. His nostrils flared, reminding her of a wild stallion scenting the breeze and her resolve slipped for a moment. But then she looked back up into his eyes, eyes that were guarded but tender.

  Richard's eyes had never held a moment's tenderness and the memory of that made Morgan realize how much she had missed, and how much she wanted it now.

  "It doesn't matter Nick.” She needed something good to come from the bad. “Please, don't go."

  "The problem is it does matter.” His voice was deep, rough and husky with what she recognized as desire. His eyes, darkened now to the color of midnight, lowered to her mouth and his thumb brushed her chin, then her bottom lip, stroking lightly over the fullness, making her nerve endings sizzle. His groan as she licked the tip of his thumb made her feel powerful, more aware than ever that women do indeed have strength over men.

  "It doesn't matter,’ she repeated, realizing it was true, “and I don't care, Nick.” Her terror and humiliation at the hands of her husband would not follow her forever. He would not win. “I—I,” she hesitated, nerves scattered, “I want to know what ... what being a woman is like, Nick. Please.” Her voice shook. “All I ask is that you don't ... don't hurt me.” The last was whispered and she cringed at the note of begging in it.

  He made a harsh sound deep in his throat and a tremor shook his body. He lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, “Never.” A breath shuddered out of her and he tightened his arms around her protectively. “I would never hurt you, Morgan. You need to understand and trust that with your whole being. If I do something you don't like, no matter what it is, you tell me. Hell—slap me, punch me, bite me—whatever it takes to get my attention. Okay?"

  She nodded shortly and then whispered, “Okay."

  Nick grinned at her and pressed a quick kiss to her mouth, then picked her up, cuddling her close against his chest. She squeaked, digging her nails into his shoulders as he turned toward the hallway. Her hair hung loose and long, flowing over both of them like a silken cape. His boot heels sounded abnormally loud in the small quiet house, seeming to mimic the pounding of her heart. He held her high and tight against his chest, so securely wrapped in his arms that she really didn't need to hang on. But she did and even as her
bedroom door loomed closer and closer Morgan knew she could still say no. As if reading her mind he paused and glanced down at her, one black brow raised in silent question. In answer she snuggled her head into the side of his neck, breathing in his dark masculine scent, as once again his boot heels clicked rhythmically on her hardwood floor.

  With no help from her he zeroed in on her bedroom door and strode inside, kicking it shut with his heel.

  "How did you—?"

  "I used to do odd repairs for Eliza. Let me know if your tub starts leaking again."

  The bed loomed before them, and for the first time Morgan felt a niggling of unease. Soon she would be spread out beneath him on her yellow butterfly sheets with his weight and strength pinning her down while he pounded into her. A brief memory flashed through her mind—hard hands holding her down, hurting her, leaving bruises all over her body ... She stared at the bed and a small sound escaped her. She wouldn't be able to move, and Nick was so much bigger and stronger than she was ... how would he know if he was hurting her? The room spun crazily and she swallowed, shoving the vein of fear back into its box.

  He must have either heard her whimper or felt the slight change in her body because he stopped and his eyes flicked down to her. “We don't have to do this right now. We don't have to do this at all if you aren't ready. I don't want there to be any regrets for you Morgan."

  'We don't have to do this at all...’ The words were so different from what she was used to, so unlike Richard's angry commands and hard, hurting hands. ‘You're my wife, and you'll fuck me whenever and however I want, whether you want it or not!’ Morgan shuddered as cold washed over her, freezing the blood in her veins. Memories of Richard still controlled her—still dictated her reactions. But now there were other memories as well, ones of Nick and the kindness he'd shown her numerous times, of the way her pulse quickened and her breath left her whenever he was near, of how her body responded even when her mind had not wanted to.