My Angel (22 page)

Through the material of her gown, he could see the shadow of her legs, the indentation that was her waist. He wanted her, yet he knew something was holding her back, keeping her from giving all of herself to him. Before he made love to her, he had to know what that something was.

After long minutes, when all he could hear was the hiss and
pop of the fire, she finally said, "I'm not what you think l am. I'm not--"

Relief swept through him. "None of us are completely what another person believes them to be. It doesn't matter to me. I want you just the way you are. You are beautiful, Angela--from the inside out." He stopped, realizing he didn't know her last name, something he should have insisted on knowing, yet she'd seemed so unwilling to give it.

"That's the trouble," she said without turning around. But he could see the noticeable slump of her shoulders, the dejected curve of her spine. She seemed saddened, filled with remorse, and he couldn't fathom what his lovely angel could find so hard to tell him.

"I don't see a problem," he said. He moved behind her, his hands resting now upon her shoulders. He pulled her toward him, wanting to feel the length of her against him. "I feel like a bridegroom on his wedding night. I didn't expect that. I've waited so long to have you, the anticipation has had my nerves dangling on the edge of a cliff. Is that what's bothering you? Are you feeling as if this is your wedding night?"

"I do feel like a bride." She turned into his arms. "You make me feel cherished and loved."

"That is the way you should feel. Come now; let's not put this off any longer. The feather bed and the pillows await us."

She held back. "Alexi... I'm a virgin," she blurted out.

"Angel?" His heart stopped. He inhaled sharply. "Angel?"

"I've never done this before, never made love with any man. That's why"--her lashes lowered for a moment before she looked at him, courage in her eyes--"that's why I'm afraid. I'm terrified I won't please you."

His hands fell away from her. Shock waves swept through him.
A virgin.
Dreams formed in his head and began to seriously take root. Where he'd tossed the thought aside, thinking her a lady of the evening, now he could consider her worthy of his name. His grandmother might object at first, but in the end his arguments would prevail.

"The whorehouse?" he asked.

"I was there for Emma," she said. "No one knew. Not even my--" She stopped herself.

He suddenly didn't like himself very well, or the direction of his thoughts. He'd slept with countless women, and that didn't make him less of a person. He hadn't thought less of her when he believed she'd sold herself to a man or two.

Why would he consider her different now when he knew he was to be her first? Simply put, he could never have taken Angela as his wife, because he was a prince. His family expected him to marry a woman of his own station in life. A commoner would not do. A commoner could only serve him as a mistress.

Years of inbred prejudices surfaced. Anger at himself grew and he fought to push the fury aside. For so many weeks he'd thought of little else but this night, a night of love he meant to share with the most desirable woman he'd ever met. Now anger at his motives threatened to ruin all he'd waited so long for.

Wanting to forget the direction of his thoughts, he pulled her to him, could feel the deep seated fears of a maiden's heart and the trembling of her limbs. His heart soared. "I will do my best not to hurt you." He kissed the top of her head, reveling in her sweet innocence. Against him he felt her breathing ease as she relaxed.

"I know." Her hands upon his chest, she pushed herself away from him long enough to look into his eyes. She looked at him with complete trust. "You of all people, I know, would never willingly hurt me."

"Are you sure you want this? By giving yourself to me, you bestow a great honor upon me. It is something I can never return," he told her with great sincerity.

"I am sure," she said, her voice virtuous.

"I am blessed." With that said he swept her into his arms and carried her into the bedchamber, where he reverently placed her upon his bed. His bed was the only bed she would ever know, he vowed. He turned from her and shrugged out of his dressing gown.

Alexi lay down beside her, doing nothing more than stroking her with his gaze. "You are beautiful," he said.

She touched his cheek, and he shuddered at the potent heat searing him. Angela could do this to him, humble him with just a look and a shy caress.

His fingertips whispered against the long white column of her throat, stopping at her pulse. He delighted in the swift, sure beat of her heart, and the shallow, rapid breaths that revealed her need for him.

Only him--no other man.

"I will make this the most wondrous night of your life," he said, and lowered his head to caress her with his lips. He fluttered kisses wherever his hands had been, down her neck and across the tops of her breasts, her response to his touch wild and primitive.

Innocent in the extreme.

She touched his shoulders and pulled him closer until he felt her breasts touch his chest. Her fingertips were a light caress against his nakedness, her softness against his hard planes and angles a boon he would never refuse. "I don't know what to do," she said. "Teach me."

"Relax, sweet angel, enjoy. We will have many nights together..."

He touched his lips to hers and she arched against him. "Easy," he said softly, "just a little longer." His whisper was gentle across her cheeks. He untied her wrapper and opened the material so he could see through the sheer fabric of the gown she wore. Soft pink nipples beckoned him, and like a hungry man waiting to feast, he dipped his head and through the material tasted what he'd waited so long for.

"Alexi."

His name upon her lips encouraged his attentions.

She purred and curved into his mouth, begging for more. He delighted that she was filled with passion and need.

With Angela as his wife, he could be content forever. On the whisper of that thought came another: with this woman as his wife he would have no need of a mistress or a harem of inviting exotic ladies. This lady of his could and would fulfill all his dreams forever.

Angela was feminine mystery and demure strength. Despite
her common roots she would make him a strong wife and bear him healthy children. He would need her support in the times to come. Taking over a dynasty ruled by greedy, avaricious men and changing the rules the people on his estate had lived with for centuries would not be easy.

He pulled on the delicate ribbons of the gown she wore and they came free, baring Angela completely to his tortured gaze. She ran her fingers through his hair and pulled his mouth to hers.

"Alexi." She sighed his name again, her breath sweet, her lips pliant and soft beneath his own. "I want to please you."

"Angela," he replied, "my angel. You please me more than life itself."

Her hands ran the length of his back. Potent shudders racked his body.

"I want to see you," she said, her voice purring the words. While she spoke her hands wandered to his hips and the fastenings of his pants.

He left the bed to remove his clothes. She watched him, wide-eyed and fascinated. She moistened her lips, a gesture that almost brought him to his knees. He stepped toward her again, his eyes absorbing her form, the perfectly rounded globes of her breasts, the tiny waist flaring provocatively to feminine hips.

"Sit up," he said. She complied, and in one deft move he swept the gown over her head and let it fall to the floor.

He loved her slowly, sipping and tasting each delicate, sensual part of her. Then his fingers closed around her breast, his thumb against her nipple, and she cried out.

Alexi smiled down upon her, pleased with the response, and continued the slow seduction, praying he would not hurt her. She writhed with his increasingly bold caresses and intimate kisses. A whiplash of fire darted through him, burning him all the places that touched her.

Somewhere he lost control. When he kissed Angela, her mouth flooded his body with warmth; her touch upon the naked flesh of his back seared through him straight to his sex, and then even deeper within, to reach his soul.

She was his mate for life. He would have no other.

She gasped for air, digging her nails into his back as his lips left hers to suckle her nipple where his thumb had so recently teased.

"Please," she said. "Alexi, please do something."

He smiled, a self-satisfied feeling sweeping through him at her words and the trembling need in her voice. His hand moved slowly along her side, curving around her hip, between the two of them then between her legs. The pressure of his fingers moved intimately between them, down through the soft curls that hid her femininity, stroking her so thoroughly and sensually that she would not feel the pain of his entrance.

She pressed her palms against his chest, touched his nipples. Volcanic heat swept through him. She twisted and writhed beneath the onslaught of his loving; he gave and gave some more. With each new stroke of her hands upon him, he burned for her and prayed to Allah that she'd always respond with such wild, untamed passion.

Trying not to alarm her, he moved between her thighs, pushing her legs apart. He felt the soft dampness there and rested his sex against her welcoming sheath. He eased into her with patience and care. Farther into her tightness he went, until he found himself sheathed to her womb.