Miss Emmaline And The Archangel Part 20

"No? Why not?" His finger trailed slowly up the side of one breast, causing her nipple to harden visibly beneath the dark blue satin. He came close, but he didn't touch the pouting peak. "You want me to do it, don't you? Why is it so hard to say it out loud?"

He was teasing, she thought, catching the gleam in his eyes even as her own internal drumbeat was slowly drowning out the sounds of reason. Helpless to prevent it, she felt her hips arch upward in a search for release. He'd hardly even touched her, yet she was already losing her sanity.

"How am I supposed to know how to please you if you don't tell me?" he asked softly. Slowly, ever so achingly slowly, he ran his fingertip around her swollen nipple, never quite giving her the touch she was needing more desperately by the instant. Emma shivered, and a small moan escaped her, causing Gage to smile. It was a gentle smile, an expression so tender that it pierced her desire and made her throat ache.

"Touch me," she whispered hoa.r.s.ely. "Touch my breast."

"Yes, Emma," he said just as hoa.r.s.ely. "Anything you want." He slipped his hand up beneath the satin and cupped her warm flesh with his. Carefully he caught her nipple between his fingers and tugged. Emma arched like a drawn bow. "Whatever pleases you," he murmured hoa.r.s.ely just before his mouth covered hers and his tongue stroked roughly against hers.

Emma felt as if she were drowning, drowning in his heat, his scent, his touch, his sheer masculinity. All her life she had read of such feelings, but until now she had never experienced them. She had never dreamed how wonderful a man's differences could be, how much pleasure it could give her to feel hair-roughened skin against her, how exciting it could be to feel his hardness against her softness. And then he released her hands.

Led by instinct, compelled by need, she began to explore him with her hands.

Everywhere her fingers wandered they found hard, lean muscle sheathed in warm, resilient flesh. Her throat began to ache again, this time with appreciation of Gage's vitality. With wonder that he was sharing it with her. With awe for life and its miracles.

He dragged his mouth from hers and then leaned down to give her swollen lips a gentle lick with his tongue. "I need you, Emma," he said on a ragged breath as he tugged her camisole over her head.

Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s tightened even more as cool air brushed across them. Bowing his head, Gage lapped at a taut nipple. Emma groaned deeply and arched upward, forgetting about awe as need swamped her.

"Oh, that's good, Emma." His praise was rough, ragged, hardly more than a groan of approval. "Your b.r.e.a.s.t.s are so pretty ... so sweet..." He gave himself over completely to Emma's pleasure, and in so doing he answered a need he had only just now recognized. It was a need to drive the shadows from this woman's eyes, a need to bring her something good and beautiful. A need to give himself to her.

"Oh, Emma, sweetheart..." He licked and sucked and nibbled as if he, too, felt the pleasure he was giving her.

Low in her belly, the knot of need tightened and grew heavier, a pressure that desperately needed an answering pressure. "Touch me," she whispered. "Please ... touch me..."

"Where, baby? Where?"

Desperate, she grabbed his hand and drew it downward, pressing it snugly against her satin-covered mound. "Gage..." His name ended on a rising note, a plea.

"Yes ... oh, baby ... yes..."

Her panties vanished, tugged impatiently away, and then his hand was on her, slipping across the aching nub and plunging sweetly into her heated depths. With a cry Emma bucked upward, and Gage groaned.

"Tell me," he urged as his tongue swirled around her ear and sent another shiver running through her. "Tell me..."

But she was past telling, and he was rapidly getting past the point of listening. Again and again she rolled upward against his hand, telling him with her body that it was good, so good, but not enough. Not nearly enough.

The world spun dizzily, and Emma suddenly realized she was above Gage, straddling him. Before the shift could shatter her mood and bring her back to sharp-edged reality, he lifted her and drove himself deeply into her. Oh, so deeply. She caught her breath as pleasure clenched her in its vise.

"Ride me, Red," he commanded hoa.r.s.ely. "Ride me." He had warned her that he was coa.r.s.e, but neither of them had imagined she would like it. And she did like it. The blunt, unvarnished command sent thrills racing through her and moved her far beyond the cloak of inhibition or the reluctance of embarra.s.sment.

Bracing herself with her hands on his powerful shoulders, she began to move, wringing every bit of pleasure she could from them both.

She rode him, hard. All the way to the stars.

"I may never move again."

Gage's m.u.f.fled words brought a smile to Emma's lips. She tried to wiggle off his chest, but his arms tightened, refusing to release her. As soon as he felt her relax onto him, he ran his hands downward over her silky back and cupped her soft, round rump. For a moment he pressed her closer. It was a hug, a reminder and a promise, all in one.

"I should make dinner," Emma said, partly because her conscience was p.r.i.c.king her, and partly because she wanted him to object.

He objected. "Forget it. If we get hungry we'll eat cookies. Are you hungry?"

Only for you. She swallowed the words before they could spill over her lips and tell him what he had come to mean to her. Time, she thought, was irrelevant. In one short week she had come to know Gage better than many of the people she saw daily. It wasn't, after all, how many facts you knew about someone that told you the kind of person they were. "No, I'm not hungry," she answered lazily. "We'll be starved later, though."

"We'll worry about it then. I want you to stay right where you are." He squeezed her rump again, gently, and then tugged a blanket upward, covering them both.

"I'm heavy."

"Not that heavy, Red. It feels good to have you all over me like this."

It felt good to sprawl all over him like this, she admitted. Questions hovered in the wings, unspoken fears and the shadow of inevitable loss lurked right outside this coc.o.o.n, but she refused to acknowledge any of them. These stolen moments were hers, and they would have to last her the rest of her life. She absolutely wouldn't let anything take them from her.

But just as she had that defiant thought, the phone rang downstairs.

"No," she mumbled when she felt Gage stiffen.

"I have to, Em. It might be Nate." He brushed a kiss on her forehead. "I'll come right back."

Sighing, she slid off him and watched as he grabbed his briefs and yanked them on. Wearing nothing else, he trotted from the room.

Lying on her back, Emma stared at the ceiling and tried to pay attention to nothing but how good she felt right now. How beautiful and cherished Gage had made her feel. How every muscle in her body felt as if it was warm and relaxed. Unfortunately, it didn't work.

She told herself that she was prepared to pay the inevitable price of loving Gage, that she was living in a fool's paradise with complete awareness that it was just that. He would move on and she would be alone again, and she would deal with it when it happened. She could handle it, she told herself, and not for anything would she have missed the magic he had given her. h.e.l.l's own archangel had spun a fantasy of sparkling sensations and jeweled emotions for her, and the price for that would be her heart. She could handle it. She would handle it. And she would never regret it.

But as she lay there alone, waiting for him, the shadows moved closer, reminding her that there was a price. The chill crept into her glow, and sorrow tinged her joy.

The door opened, and Gage approached the bed. Emma found his black briefs incredibly s.e.xy. In fact, every line of him was incredibly s.e.xy, from his broad shoulders to his narrow flanks to his muscular legs. Until this very moment she had never guessed a man could have great legs.

Gage sat beside her and smiled crookedly when her hand rose to dive into the dark swirls of his soft chest hair. "Was it Nate?" she asked throatily.

"Nope." His smile faded. "It was a breather."

"Breather?" Her hand stilled, and her eyes rose to his face.

"You know, one of those people who calls and then just listens."

"Oh! Oh, I've had a couple of those calls."

"You have?" He frowned. "Emma, you should have told me."

"Why? Could you do anything? Of course not." She gave him a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's probably some kid I yelled at in the library."

His frown deepened. "It could also be the person who's been pulling all these other stunts. The one who was in here tonight."

She didn't want to think about that. She didn't want to think about that horrible doll or the hate its creation implied. "Gage, he can't hurt me over the telephone."

He shook his head, as if despairing, and then sighed heavily. "No, I guess not. But, Emma, he's escalating. Surely you've noticed."

"Yes." She closed her eyes, and the hand that rested on his chest knotted into a fist. "I've noticed. But what the h.e.l.l can I do about it, Gage? You tell me. I don't know who he is. I can't hide, I can't run, I can't get even. I just have to wait and count on you being here if he comes after me. There's not one other thing I can do about it! Oh, Lord..."

Gage scooped her up from the pillows and pulled her against his chest. She burrowed into his shoulder and drew a shuddering breath.

"I'll be here, Emma," he said. It was a vow.

The good spell ended during the night. After several days of relatively moderate pain, Gage awoke in the fiery grip of agony. A groan escaped him before he could swallow it, and then he forced himself to lie there facedown and accept his suffering. It was his due, after all, a purgatory of the body to match the d.a.m.nation of his soul.

"h.e.l.l!" The exclamation escaped him on a breath as a fresh spear thrust through his back and into his leg. He should get up. Walk. But he couldn't leave Emma alone. Didn't dare leave her alone. Couldn't risk her getting hurt. Couldn't risk losing her.

The realization was like a blinding shaft of nuclear heat in the barren wastes of his soul. Couldn't risk losing her? Oh, G.o.d, he didn't deserve her. She wouldn't want him for long. He was so scarred, so damaged, so ... ruined. So afflicted with his losses that he didn't seem capable of living for tomorrow. What woman would want that?

No, he didn't deserve her. Didn't deserve her sweetness, her light, her warmth, her caring. Because he had failed his family.

But he wouldn't fail Emma. No, he would be there when she needed him to protect her. That determination kept him glued to the bed when he might have found some relief by rising and walking. Kept him firmly pinned to the mattress when the cold oblivion of the winter night beckoned him with the promise of solitude and miles of empty streets.

It was crazy, he thought, to feel that his body's suffering somehow atoned for what had happened to his wife and children. Even his former boss had taken him to task for his belief that he was somehow responsible for what had happened to Jan and the children.

"If you have to blame someone," Cal had argued vehemently, "blame that d.a.m.n fool cop who let your real name slip to Joe Valenza. Blame the guy who built the bomb. Blame the guy who wired it to your car. But don't blame yourself for trying to do what was right!"

Cal was right. Intellectually, Gage recognized it. But his aching heart and frozen soul weren't as amenable to logic. It sounded stupid to admit he felt responsible for what had happened. It sounded incredibly egotistical, when he thought about it. He had done nothing that several thousand other agents didn't do daily. It had simply been his misfortune to send Val Valenza up the river. If Gage Dalton hadn't done it, some other agent sure as h.e.l.l would have. And some other agent would have found a bomb wired to his car. The chances of the game. Period.

But if he hadn't been an agent...

That was the thought that haunted him. If he had been an electrician or a carpenter or a pharmacist, Jan and the kids would still be alive.

Maybe. If some other chance of the game hadn't gotten them. A car accident. A tornado. A loony like the one who seemed to be after Miss Emma.

Smothering another groan, he turned his head to one side and tried to make her out in the dark. She was there. He could hear her soft breathing, could feel her warmth like a radiance that warmed his frozen places. She deserved better than Gage Dalton. Much better.

But he wasn't able to resist her, he admitted. The s.e.xual tension that crackled between them would have overwhelmed a stronger man than he. And the other things-her gentleness, her caring, her kindness-those things overwhelmed him even more. She had pierced his solitude and poured warm balm over some of his rawest places. She had made him start to feel that maybe it was okay that he was alive. That maybe life would be worth living again. That maybe he was worth something.

He needed her. He needed Emma in ways that had absolutely nothing to do with the incendiary s.e.xual attraction he felt for her. Another chasm was opening in his spirit, another place that would ever afterward be empty.

Because surely Emma could not want to fill it.

A searing razor of pain slashed through his back and startled a soft moan fromhim. Beside him, Emma stirred. "Gage?" she asked drowsily."It's okay, Emma," he whispered roughly. "Go back to sleep."She turned slowly onto her side and reached out a hand, finding his naked shoulder with her fingertips. "Do you hurt?""Yeah. Nothing unusual. Go back to sleep."For several moments she remained still, her fingertips warm and motionless on his shoulder. Just as he began to believe she had gone back to sleep, she stirredagain."Your back?" Her voice was soft, thick with sleep."Just the usual, Em. Honey, just go back to sleep.""I like that," she murmured."What do you like?"

"When you call me honey." "Aw, h.e.l.l," he sighed, beginning to realize that he was well and truly lost. She liked him to call her honey. Not one week ago she'd hollered because he'd called her Emma. Too familiar, she had thought. And he had answered that calling her "honey" would be familiar.

He sighed again, this time less from reluctance to face what was happening between them than from yearning. "How about sweetheart? Do you mind if I call you that?" Because he sure as h.e.l.l would like to. Sweetheart. He'd never wanted to call anyone that, not even Jan. But that was how he felt about Emma. The admission cost him some savage twinges of conscience, but after a moment they eased, leaving him to face the future unimpeded.

"Yes," she whispered. "I'd like that. If you meant it."He caught his breath, trying to absorb the emotional impact of what she had just told him. He didn't dare answer, he realized. If he answered, he would tell her the truth, and then she would feel obligated to stay with him. He didn't want soft words and promises made in the warm, sleepy intimacy of a bed in the middle of the night. If ever, if ever, he was to take Emma into his life, he had to be sure she was going into it in the bright light of day. That she saw his flaws and his scars, and still thought him worthy.

Emma didn't wait for him to answer. She didn't really expect him to. She wasn't a woman any man would ever call sweetheart, and she knew it.

But Gage hurt, and she cared deeply that he did. Throwing back the quilt, she rose and straddled him as he lay on his stomach.

"Emma?"

"Shh. You need a little rubdown."

Her small hands settled into the small of his back and began to knead strongly, finding the knots and kinks instinctively. Another groan escaped Gage, but this time it was one of absolute relief.

"Ah, G.o.d, that's good..." he moaned. "Oh, Em..."

"Shh ... just relax. Just let me..."

It was so marvelous, she thought, to feel free to do this. Even one day ago, she wouldn't have dared touch him without invitation. Now here she sat, buck naked herself, on his naked thighs while her fingers dug into him.

She could feel the knots in his muscles, almost rocklike in their hardness. "Is it cramping that causes the pain?" she asked presently.

"Some of it." Oh, man, she had magic fingers, he thought as knot after knot gradually dissolved. "Some of it is from damaged nerves."

"Is this helping?"

"Sweetheart," he said, giving up the battle against himself, "it's heaven."

The endearment settled on her like fairy dust, bringing enchantment to the night, into these precious moments of intimacy. Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss on Gage's back between his shoulder blades, then straightened and resumed the ma.s.sage.

"Your hands must be getting tired," he murmured.

"Just a little." She was enjoying this too much to quit, despite the cramping of her fingers. It was rare, she thought, so rare, that one person could give another this kind of caring. Her life had been barren of such things for so long now. Too long. She needed someone to love, to worry over, to look after, to care for. Without that, life became a meaningless progression of days.

In the past week her entire life had changed-for the better, she thought. She looked forward to coming home from work in the evenings, knowing Gage would be there. Just being able to share a meal, or relate the day's doings, was a joy.

And now, now she had experienced an intimacy with him that she knew she would always crave, would always miss when it was gone. If only he wouldn't go. If only he would stay and make her part of his life. But what could she possibly offer him that he would want?

Suddenly Gage reached behind him and caught one of her hands. "Come here, Emma," he said softly. "Come here." When she was stretched out beside him, he caught her hands in his and began to rub them gently. "You'll be sore tomorrow," he muttered. "Your hands aren't used to doing that."

Then, in turn, he lifted each hand to his lips and pressed a kiss in each palm.

Emma caught her breath. "Gage..."

"Hush," he said quietly. Wrapping her in his strong arms, he drew her into the welcoming curve of his body and settled her head on his shoulder. "My back feels a whole lot better now, sweetheart. A whole lot better." He kissed her gently on the temple and smoothed her hair with his hand. "Sleep now, Emma. Sleep."

Sleep carried her away slowly. As she spiraled down into its depths, feeling warm and cared for, she wondered why no one had ever realized that a white knight didn't have to be white. He could be dark. A dark angel. Archangel.

Turning her head drowsily, her last conscious effort was to drop a soft kiss on his smooth, warm shoulder.

Gage felt the kiss. He felt it to the very core of his being. Long after Emma dropped off, he stared into the teeth of the night and wondered why the h.e.l.l he should have to give her up.

Or if he really did have to.