My Angel (25 page)

"Easy now, little lady. We don't mean you no harm." The man's voice was sleek and calculated.

Two sleazy-looking men had Angela backed against the wall. Her knife was drawn and glistening in the small amount of light that filtered through to the alley.

The men were pimps, yet they were dressed in black evening clothes, their smiles false. Angela wouldn't know what they were.

"We've got a nice, warm room for you to stay in. Won't cost you a cent." The smoothness of the man's voice sent another river of fear down Alexi's spine.

He would kill the man.

"I'll just bet you do." With one fluid motion, Alexi grabbed
the larger man by the back of his shirt and tossed him aside. "This lady is mine. No one touches what is mine."

"Who says so? Looks like she's runnin' away to me," the other man said. His eyes roved over Angela, resting on her breasts. "Yup, who says she's yours?"

"I do," Alexi gritted out through tightly clenched teeth.

"Alexi..." Angela's whisper sounded like a death knell in his ear. "I'm all right." Angela slowly eased closer to Alexi.

"Put the blade away, darlin'. You don't need it now,'' Alexi said. "I won't let anything happen to you."

She didn't sheathe the knife. With her knees bent and every muscle flexed, she waited for one of the men to strike.

"Do as I say," Alexi said, his voice hard and commanding.

Alexi watched Angela's body shudder and heave, but she didn't sheathe the knife. At least she had the sense to be afraid. If he'd been a few minutes later, she'd be turning tricks in
New York
's red-light district in the morning.

He turned his attention back to the men. One had a small derringer trained on him; the other had drawn a knife of his own. Then he heard Angela's voice, bold and more daring than he'd ever imagined.

"Lay one finger on Devil Blackmoor and you'll wish you were dead. I've learned ways to make a man pray for death."

The pimp laughed outright. "We're not afraid of a wee thing like you."

"You should be,'' Alexi said, not knowing whether to shake some sense into her or take pride in her courage. She was a feisty, daring little thing, stubborn to a fault.

"I've had my fill of this," the man holding the derringer said. He moved slightly.

His trigger finger twitched.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The gun exploded. Angela anticipated him and dove in front of Alexi, knocking them both to the ground.

"Son of a bitch," the gunman hollered.

From his position slightly beneath Angela, Alexi had hardly enough time to raise his arm and fend off the blow directed at
him by the second man. The knife slipped through his shirt and the flesh of his arm. He heard Angela groan.

Ignoring his wound, Alexi rose to his feet. He readied himself for the next attack. It came from both sides. With practiced speed, he ducked and kicked out. The first man caught one of Alexi's feet in the chin and was thrown back against the wall. The impact caught him so hard the assailant slowly sank to the ground. The other man turned and ran.

Barely winded by the quick exchange, Alexi watched the man run just long enough to reassure himself he was not going for reinforcements.

He knelt beside Angela, who had not moved. He saw the crease of the bullet against her forehead, and the blood. Her face was pale, her hair in disarray around her shoulders. He touched his finger to the pulse at her throat. It was strong and steady, and he breathed a silent prayer. The bullet had only grazed her, the impact stunning her. Alexi prayed she would waken, but not, he thought wryly, until he had her on the
Mystic,
safe and sound and bound for
Europe
.

Once out of the harbor there would be little she could do to protest a journey she had once been eager for. Quickly he tore a strip of cloth off his shirt and bandaged her head. Then he saw to his own wound, binding his arm tightly. Blood soaked the cloth. He tore more strips until finally the bleeding stopped. Then, sweeping Angela into his arms, he moved down the sidewalk toward the hotel.

Bold as brass he walked into the lobby, explained to the man at the desk what had happened and ordered a carriage to take them to the docks and another to bring their bags.

Once in the carriage, Alexi held Angela on his lap. With her gently cradled in his arms, he remembered the first time he had held her like this. His heart swelled with tenderness and the need to protect her.

"Allah, but what would I do without you? I could have lost you tonight." As if the impact of all that had transpired suddenly hit home, Alexi shuddered. A cold sweat had him shaking uncontrollably. She had taken a bullet meant for him. She had thrown herself in front of him to protect him. No woman had ever cared so much for him she would risk her own life.

"Little fool," he whispered. "Allah protect this woman." Alexi buried his face in her hair, moisture rising to his eyes. He heard the beating of her heart and the steady, deep breaths of sleep. Her pulse was strong, and he felt sure she would awaken in a few hours with a grating headache, but otherwise fine.

During the ride to the docks rain started to fall, a fine drizzle at first then turning into a torrent. Lightning lit up the eastern sky and, with Angela still in his arms, Alexi had to run up the gangplank to his room. Even then they were both soaked through to the skin. She looked so fragile and helpless, but Alexi knew better.

He laid her down on the bed and undressed her completely. The sight of her stirred the most primitive urges within him. He wanted her again. But this time he wanted her to know real pleasure.

He cursed himself for a fool. She wasn't conscious, and here he stood lusting after her body, a body he knew she'd given to at least one other man.

Does the past matter so damn much?

The only answer he could come up with was no. The past was simply that--the past, and best forgotten.

The knock at the door brought him back to the present and the deep, all-consuming ache in his groin, an ache that had left him only once since his first encounter with the devil incarnate in front of him. He chuckled softly at the illusion. Yet he knew that in heart and deed she was an angel, his very own wanton angel. He covered her with a blanket.

"I didn't expect you so soon," the captain of the ship said. He stood in the doorway to Alexi's cabin, his hat in hand, in dress uniform.

"Nor did I think to be here until late tomorrow." Alexi let out a long, slow breath. "Can we leave on the tide?''

"We can set sail as soon as the storm passes."

"Good, then do so. And Misha?"

"He left the ship. Said he had one last thing to tend to before sailing. Should we wait for him?" the captain asked.

"He can fend for himself. He knows exactly where I am. If
he chooses to show, he will. If he doesn't, he must have a damned fine reason for leaving me high and dry to protect myself and my little charge."

"Leave you high and dry? Never! You know I'm as good as your shadow." The booming voice exploded from somewhere behind the captain. "I have my own stories to tell, but all in good time. Besides, I saw the fight. You had everything under control, and you would not have welcomed my interference."

Alexi grunted.

"You would have allowed her to run off and leave me?"

"Of course not." Misha laughed and slapped Alexi on the shoulder. "You were spoiling for a fight, and don't deny it. Don't you feel better all ready?"

Alexi felt relief instantly, and as if the presence of Misha here on the ship gave him leave to succumb to the wound that had been bleeding now for several hours, Alexi slumped to the ground.

Despite the fog surrounding him, Alexi heard Misha swearing at the captain then Misha picked him up from the floor as if he were a rag doll and laid him next to Angela on the bed in his cabin.

He shivered then began to sweat. Heat swept through Alexi. Even in his sleep, he knew a fever raged within his body. Nightmares flowed, one into the other. He was in the desert with his father, the oasis miles away, and yet he saw the line of trees clearly, smelled the water, felt the cool liquid lining his parched throat. Ivan appeared out of nowhere, bringing wine and food, laughing outrageously. They were both young and hot-blooded.

He heard bells, and the enchantment the women his father procured for him would bring. There were two tents set up for their use. One, of course, was for his father, the other one for him. If any of the women suited him, he would be allowed to buy them for his own personal use, and begin his own harem.

Alexi had never done that--bought women to keep as slaves. He was content to pick from the newest women brought to the
harem. His father allowed him to do that. Once he'd used the women, they would be touched by no one else, not even his father.

But that was years ago.

None of the women had ever stirred him as Angela did. Angela, his fiery angel of retribution. Even now while his mind wandered back to the desert sands, he felt her cool soothing touch upon his fevered skin.