My Angel (3 page)

Each new contact brought her sensations she'd never felt before. His erotic sensual flare, his knowledge of just the touch that would make her his, sent her closer to heaven than she'd ever dreamed possible. His masculine groan, his hardening body, shocked her to the tips of her toes. He cradled her in his
arms, her imagination playing havoc with what little she knew about male anatomy.

He bedeviled her, caused her to forget all but the hard angles and planes beneath her exploring hands, his lips, the strength and power--the danger--of his flesh against hers. Tenderly, he kissed her jawline, stopping at her ear to nibble and taste and make her yearn for more.

"Hold on to me, angel."

Angel...

Feeling wanton, she did cling to him. In one smooth motion, and with her still in his arms, he slid off his horse.

His fingers toyed with the buttons running along the front of her bodice. Cool air touched her skin, then warm fingers. One by one he flicked open all the buttons.

Embarrassment had no place here. Reverence, yearning--those were the emotions she saw in his eyes when he parted her blouse. A few more seconds and he would see her, touch her. She needed his touch.

He smelled of fresh sunshine and danger. His every movement spoke of breathtaking adventure, knowledge of new places and exotic people, everything Angela wanted to experience firsthand, not read about.

He settled her on the prairie grass in the wide-open space. She couldn't think, didn't care if anyone happened along. On top of her, he covered her with the length of his body. His weight upon her was enticing--it felt so good she knew it was right. She belonged here--in his arms--beneath him.

"You're so damn sweet," he murmured just before his lips closed over hers once more. "Pure sugar."

Sanity rushed through her in a maelstrom of guilt and humiliation, her own wanton behavior hitting her hard between the eyes. She jerked from him. This was no game. She was about to lose her virginity, right here, in the wide open for anyone to see, to a man she knew only by reputation.

A man who advertised as a gun for hire.

Her father would kill him. And it would not be an easy death.

"Stop ..." The word didn't sound convincing even to her. He hesitated, watching her with calculated purpose and a knowing
grin. Her fingers resting on his shoulders trembled violently. "Don't," she managed, her voice quavering with determination and regret. All it would take on his part was one more kiss and she'd be lost to the promise of carnal knowledge. Cold air and a terrible feeling of loss swept across her as he separated himself from her.

He leaned back on one elbow in casual repose. "Stop? Only a minute ago you were moaning and purring in sensual delight. Your body played mine; you strummed me with your long, delicate fingers. You liked my touch."

Dazed by the truth of his words, she somehow managed to respond. "You attacked me...." she whispered, barely getting the lie out. She gathered the bodice of her dress together, fumbling with the buttons in her haste. She did so badly at the task that he brushed her hands away and fastened her dress for her.

Her fingers were still trembling when she lifted her heavy mass of hair and began to braid it. Once again he stopped her. Taking her hair in his hands, he arranged the strands for her. They made eye contact. She wanted to see inside his mind, and she wanted to know what she'd stopped him from finishing.

Adventure had been at her fingertips, a breath away, and she'd rejected what he'd offered.

"I rescued you. If looks could tell the story, you loved every minute. Your lips are swollen from my kisses, and your eyes are flushed with passion."

The truth of his words sent a streak of wildfire through her. She ran her tongue across her mouth, testing his words. "I had no need of rescue."

One aristocratic eyebrow rose. "It didn't appear that way. You were racing through the trail, out of control, yelling your head off. If not yourself, you could have hurt your horse."

She flashed him a disdainful look and stood, brushing the dust and grass from her formerly canary yellow skirt. "You should have looked closer. I was not in danger, and I don't need saving. I can take care of myself better than most men."

From behind her, she could hear Devil Blackmoor chuckling. Striding to her horse she tried to ignore him, forced herself to
keep going and not look back. Looking back could be the worst thing she'd ever done.

But she did look back.

He still sat in a negligent pose, a blade of grass between his white teeth, and a lopsided grin slanting across his arrogantly kissable mouth.

Just before she nudged her horse forward she heard him say, "I will find out who you are, Angel. I promise. And then you will need rescue from yourself."

~ * ~

As she rode from the scene, the day assumed a sudden chill, storm clouds brewing on the horizon and in Angela's heart. She veered Kangee to the right, heading into the forest and to higher, safer ground. Her mind and her body cried out to her.

Fool, fool, fool,
her words said to the beat of her stallion's hooves.
You made an idiot of yourself, Angela Chamberlain. What would your dear mother say to you if she knew what you'd done? And your father?

Alarm shot through her straight to her belly. She choked back a sob of fear---fear not for her but for Devil. If Sam Chamberlain knew what she'd just done with Devil, he'd ...

Sam Chamberlain's reputation was known throughout
Colorado
and the
Dakotas
. Where his enemies were concerned, he was ruthless. If Devil Blackmoor harmed Sam's daughter in any way, Devil would become a hated foe.

She closed her eyes, willing the picture of Devil staked out on the ground and at her father's mercy to vanish. Poor Devil--he didn't deserve Sam Chamberlain's wrath or Mother's. Hadn't she melted in Devil's arms, begging for more of his kisses? She'd liked his mouth on hers, the tender then possessive touch of his tongue deep inside her mouth.

A strangled noise rose from deep in her throat.

Angela leaped off Kangee before he stopped. A little brook stitched a path through the dense trees, and Angela strode back and forth beside the gurgling water, thinking--thinking and remembering.

Try as she might, she couldn't still her heart, and she couldn't
keep her mind from Devil Blackmoor. Aristocratic, arrogant and all male, he intrigued and infuriated her.

He made her melt. And he was so very dangerous.

"I saw you and Devil."

"What?" Angela whirled around, practically falling full tilt into Rusty Limpkin's chest.

"Saw you kiss him and--"

"Why, you little scamp." Angela reached for the knife she always kept around her waist, a weapon she used with expertise. It wasn't there.

"Lookin' for something? Dressed up fancy like you are, you must have forgotten your weapon."

Angela stepped forward, Rusty backward. "You're wrong if you think I'm going to let you blackmail me. And I know that's what you're up to. You didn't see anything because there was nothing to see. You hear me?"

He nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

She would have wound her fist into his shirtfront, but Rusty was too quick for her. He darted sideways and out of the path of her fury. Keeping his distance, he backed toward his horse, which he'd tethered farther down the hill.

"Go on now. If you stick around here I'll make you sorry."

Distance from Angela seemed to give Rusty his courage back. He grinned widely. "I'm going to be watching you, Angela."

She pulled at her braid and the unruly strands of hair that had knotted at the base of her skull. "You stay away from me," she warned, knowing Rusty would do just as he pleased.

Rusty Limpkin was a certifiable nuisance. Ever since she had arrived in
Denver
, he'd been hanging around her. She couldn't turn around without him showing up beside her. Rusty Limpkin was a perverted Peeping Tom and full of mischief. Well, she'd know by the time she rode back to town whether or not he'd really seen her with Devil. If Rusty had any juicy tidbits to feed the other boys, he would do so and within hours the whole town would know.

Rusty's word didn't mean a whole lot; he'd been caught in more than one lie, and several grown men had threatened to
slice and dice him if he ever lied again. But if her father heard anything, rumor or not, there would be questions to answer.

Her fists clenched at her sides, her nails biting into the palms of her hands, Angela glared at Rusty as long as she could see him. When he disappeared from view, she shook her fist at him. "Darn you, Rusty Limpkin. If you do anything that hurts my father or my mother, I'm going to boil you in oil."

With that said, Angela stripped off her stockings and slipped her toes into the frigid alpine water. Her breath caught but she didn't stop at her toes; she submerged both feet and waded until her teeth ached.

Nothing dispelled the confusion in her brain, not the comfortable forest sounds or the soft breeze caressing her hot cheeks. In a few minutes of divine pleasure, Devil had burrowed his way inside her heart and she could not shake him out. She didn't want to exorcise him. She was eighteen. She could do what she wanted. But she needed her parents respect. Defying them was not something she meant to do, not unless they refused to back down from their stand on the finishing school. She'd wither and die there. Angela knew her father would understand if he'd only stop to think. He'd left the East and a prominent position for the freedom in the West. He knew exactly how she felt.