Miss Emmaline And The Archangel Part 7

Gage had a sudden vision of Walt twenty years down the road, helping tie Miss Emma's tree to some vehicle or other and talking just the same way. Ten years ago, even five, Gage would have thought such a life was wasted. Now, he looked at Walt Severn and envied him.

"I'll follow along in my truck," Walt said. "We'll have this tree set up before Miss Emma comes home for lunch."

Gage hesitated. "I'm not sure where she wants it, Walt."

"I am." The husky young man flashed a huge grin. "The Conards have been putting their tree in exactly the same place at least since I was born, and probably longer."

Later Gage sat cross-legged on the floor before the undecorated tree and stared blindly up into its branches. With Walt's help, it really hadn't taken long to position and brace the tree. Walt must have helped his father with this job in the past, because he had even known that the tree stand was out in the detached garage.

Emma had brought out all the decorations last night, and Gage had forced himself to look through the boxes for the light strings so he could test the bulbs, a task that had traditionally been his at home. Somewhere in the process, though, he had fallen into the past. The strands of lights lay around him, winking gaily, completely forgotten.

A band was tightening around his chest, making breathing difficult, and his throat nearly closed as the tide of memory poured over him. Good memories. Happy memories. Lost memories. The ones that cut him to the quick with their simplicity and their hopefulness. Their blind innocence. The little things. The touch of a child's hand and the sound of a child's laugh. The warmth of a woman's arms closing around him as she laughed and wept at the same time. The joy of bringing joy to another.

Lost. Gone. Buried.

Ah, G.o.d! He drew a ragged breath, trying to expand his chest until the band of tightness would snap and set him free. It was in vain. Nothing, nothing, could set him free of loss.

"Gage?"

The sound of Emma's voice reached him but failed to penetrate the walls of grief that confined him. He drew another painful breath, struggling to break loose.

The sight of Gage's face struck Emma to her core. Wet trails of tears marked his cheeks, but he appeared oblivious of them, of her, of everything but whatever pain racked him.

She reacted instinctively, dropping to her knees beside him, putting her arms around him, pressing her soft cheek to his injured one. "Oh, Gage," she whispered. "Oh, Gage, tell me what I can do."

"Nothing ... nothing..." His words were little more than a rusty, cracked whisper, but even as he refused her, his arms closed around her, squeezing until her ribs ached. She didn't care. Tightening her own arms around him until she couldn't hold him any harder, she pressed her face into the warm flesh of his neck and gave him what comfort closeness could.

"I'll be all right," he whispered roughly. "I'll be all right."

But she felt the shudders rip through him, shudders that would have turned into wrenching sobs if they had been hers. His grief became a palpable thing for her, so real she could feel it. This was not the pain, the agony that afflicted him physically. This was emotional and spoke of terrible losses. Just so had her father shuddered when he stood beside the graves of his wife and son.

"I'll be all right," he said again, but he didn't loosen his hold on her. When he lay back on the rug, Emma let him take her with him, let him hold her tightly against him and press his wet face into the softness of her shoulder. She forgot she needed to get back to work, forgot she had come home only to grab a sandwich and freshen up a little. She forgot everything except the man she held, the man who held her as if she was a lifeline.

Her fingers found their way into his silvery hair and caressed him soothingly, telling him with their touch that she was there, that she cared. It was little enough to do.

How many minutes pa.s.sed, neither of them could have said. One last shudder pa.s.sed through Gage, and then his arms slackened. Emma immediately loosened her own hold but found herself hoping against hope that he wouldn't pull away from her. Not yet. It felt so good to lie like this, to be held like this, to be so close to the warmth of another human being. She might never again be this close to another person, to a man, and she wasn't ready to relinquish the comfort.

Gage stirred. She kept her eyes closed when he shifted against her and bit back the protest when she thought he would leave her. But he didn't leave. A sigh escaped him, a heavy sound, and his arms moved, changing the way he held her against him, but not releasing her. Content that he wouldn't go just yet, she unconsciously snuggled closer.

Gage shifted again, abruptly, rolling onto his back and carrying her with him so that she lay on top of him. Suddenly the whole character of the embrace had changed. Emma's eyes snapped open, and she found herself staring down into eyes the color of a summer squall that were set in a face suddenly as hard as iron.

He didn't say anything. Not a word. She felt his hands at the nape of her neck, pulling at the barrette that bound her hair. Suddenly the clasp opened and her hair was free, springing up with a life of its own until it made a sparkling halo of fire around her face.

It was every bit as curly, kinky and wild as he had thought it would be, and every bit as soft and silky. He reached up and burrowed his fingers into it, luxuriating in it, finding her scalp with fingertips that seemed to have grown excruciatingly sensitive. She was warm, and she was alive, and he needed her vitality desperately.

The touch of his fingers on her scalp sent wild shivers trickling through Emma, running down her back to the base of her spine and then settling in her center like an uncertain edginess. She should stop this now, she thought. Whatever was happening, she should call a halt before she got in any deeper.

But her body was busy noting every hard angle of Gage's frame beneath her. She had never before been pressed this intimately against a man, and her nerves were taking a pleasurable inventory, awakening senses she hadn't known she had. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s felt the hardness of his chest beneath them and began to ache in a way that made her want to rub herself against him to find ease. Her softer stomach fitted perfectly within the hard hollow of his, and his hard, narrow hips wedged against hers as if they were custom-fit.

And there, way down low, right against her most secret place, she felt the equally secret bulge of his manhood. Awareness sent an exquisite sizzle along her nerve endings, springing from the meeting of their thighs to every other point in her body.

Common sense dictated she should get out of this dangerous position right now, but common sense fled before the lava flow of desire that began to pour through her. Pa.s.sion, never before experienced, made her a prisoner to her senses and paralyzed her will. Pinned by need, she stayed.

"Beautiful," Gage whispered hoa.r.s.ely. "Why do you pull it back when it's so beautiful?" He fluffed her hair even more around her face and watched how it seemed to cling to his fingers.

She could have told him that she'd spent her life trying to get that hair to behave like hair instead of some wild thing with a mind all its own, but the words wouldn't come. The stroking of his fingers, the intensity of his gray-green gaze, deprived her of speech. The only sound she wanted to make, or was even capable of, was a whimper of pure pleasure. She retained enough sense to swallow it.

But then he pulled her startled face down to his and covered her mouth with a soft, wet kiss. "Let me in, Emma," he whispered roughly. "Let me in. G.o.d, I need to-"

He never completed the thought, because her lips parted, opening to receive him as if his will was hers. She knew, in some deep, aware corner of her heart, that he was using pa.s.sion to exorcise his demons, that he was subduing pain with pleasure. Even this understanding failed to restore her good sense. She needed to give what he was taking. Her naturally generous nature wanted to give him any kind of surcease, and her long-denied femininity felt it was taking as much as it was giving.

She needed to know what a man's hunger felt like, needed to know what it meant to be desired, and he needed to replace his pain with that same hunger. For a little while they could each take what they needed. There could be no harm in that.

His kiss deepened, his tongue roughly stroking hers as if maybe, just maybe, he could find complete satisfaction in this if only he just thrust hard enough, deep enough, rhythmically enough. Never in her life had Emma dreamed that a kiss could be so pa.s.sionate, so intimate, so arousing, or that something so near violence could be this erotic. A whimper escaped her as she opened her mouth wider and gave him back thrust for thrust. In her innocence she had no notion of the symbolism of her response. She knew only that she wanted to make him feel all that he was making her feel.

She was sure as h.e.l.l making him feel. Gage had felt nothing but pain of one kind or another for so long now that he was nearly stunned by the sudden upsurging of desire. He had forgotten what it was to want something besides escape.

Some gentlemanly instinct tried to rear its head, reminding him of Emma's inexperience and his obligation to keep matters from getting out of hand, but he stepped ruthlessly on it. He was no gentleman. He was a street fighter from the slums, no white knight to protect a lady from herself. When she whimpered and pressed closer, the internal battle ended completely. She wanted him, too. It was enough.

"G.o.d, Emma," he whispered roughly in his ruined voice, breaking the kiss but holding her head close so that he could suck and nip at her lips. They were swollen and wet, and very, very sweet. She would be like that everywhere, he thought. Fresh and clean and sweet...

Her hands curled on his chest as he kissed her, kneading him until he thought he would lose his mind from wanting deeper, harder touches. Slow down, he told himself. Slow down. The last thing on earth he wanted was to frighten Emma.

But her fingers suddenly dug into him as he thrust his tongue roughly into her mouth once more, and then words spilled from him. Demands. Needs.

"Open my shirt, Emma."

She lifted her head a little and blinked sleepily down at him, her soft green eyes almost dazed looking. "Your shirt?" she repeated huskily. The mere thought made everything inside her clench pleasurably.

"I need your hands on my skin."

She drew a sharp breath and lowered her gaze to his chest. "Oh, yes..." she breathed. Without further hesitation she grabbed the front and ripped the snaps open with an eagerness that reached out and touched him somewhere deep inside.

And when her palms spread out on his chest, he unleashed a deep sound of pleasure. He'd forgotten how good it felt to be touched, to feel skin on skin. "Now your blouse, Emma. Open it."

The husky, hoa.r.s.e command sent a jolt of excitement racing through her that turned her legs numb. It was followed immediately by a rushing tide of modesty that paralyzed her.

"Emma?" Gage looked up at her, and what he saw pierced his sensual preoccupation. The tart Miss Emma, who was reputed to strip the hide from any man who treated her like a woman, was trembling and blushing and making him wonder yet again if she was indeed a virgin. And he was treating her like a ... like a ... oh, h.e.l.l.

He rolled suddenly, causing Emma to gasp in surprise, as she found their positions were reversed. Emma lay on her back on the rug, looking up at Gage, who propped himself on one elbow and held her in place by the simple expedient of resting his powerful thigh across both of hers.

Looking down into her confused and embarra.s.sed face, he felt like the crud he probably was. Gently, he touched her cheek, brushed the wild, beautiful mane of hair back from her face. "I'm sorry, Emma," he said softly.

"F-for what?"

What a h.e.l.l of a question, he thought with an unexpected burst of amus.e.m.e.nt that erased the last of his tension. He would have thought that was self-explanatory, given the circ.u.mstances. "I'm sorry I embarra.s.sed you," he said. "Sorry I shocked you." But not, d.a.m.n it, sorry he had touched her or discovered the pa.s.sion she kept so well hidden. It was going to increase his misery while he shared her roof, but he couldn't regret it. Couldn't regret, either, that he had just discovered he was capable of feeling again. Not at this moment, anyhow. Later he would probably regret it like h.e.l.l.

Emma's blush deepened, and her gaze lowered, only to dart quickly away from the bare expanse of his chest. Soft, dark hair covered his pectorals, and now she knew how that hair felt. Wanted to feel it again. "I ... wasn't shocked," she admitted, her honesty springing from innocence. She never dreamed the electric effect that truthfulness was having on the man who hovered over her. "I liked touching you."

"You looked like a frightened rabbit," he said gently, ignoring the demands of his body in favor of treating this woman the way she deserved. Street fighter or not, he loathed anyone who preyed on women. He felt self-disgust that he had even for an instant forgotten himself enough to take advantage of Emma.

"I was ... I never..." Her blush heightened painfully, and she averted her face.

That was when he stopped suspecting and knew for sure that Emma had never been with a man before. The surety filled him with a tide of tenderness. "I know," he said softly. Catching her chin in his hand, he turned her face back to him and waited until she opened her eyes. "That's why I'm apologizing. I got carried away. I wanted to feel your hands on me, and I wanted to touch you the same way. Anyway, I was moving too fast and I asked for too much, and I embarra.s.sed you. I'm sorry."

And her chance to find out what it was all about was slipping away, Emma thought ruefully, because she was too inexperienced to know how to take advantage of it. What irony! If only there was some way to tell him that she wanted more but didn't want to go too far. That she wanted to experience these wonderful, new things but not get into any trouble with it. Oh, Emma, wish for the moon, why don't you!

But Gage was incredibly alert to the least little signal, and Emma was practically broadcasting. Her eyes strayed again to his chest, and she licked her upper lip with a slow sensuality that threw him almost instantly into overdrive.

"Emma?" His voice was a husky whisper, and he felt almost as he had at sixteen when he tried to talk a girl into making out a little. Eager, impatient, terrified that the edgy longing in him would go unanswered.

"Hmm?" Slowly, reluctantly, her eyes drifted upward from his chest to his face. She didn't feel at all afraid, and embarra.s.sment was beginning to fade as the air around her seemed to thicken again. All her awareness seemed to be flowing, from her brain into the rest of her body, making her conscious of a growing heaviness, a strange, nervous antic.i.p.ation.

"Want to ... play a little?" he asked hoa.r.s.ely.

"Play?" Understanding speared downward through her, causing a deep clenching inside her, followed by a heavy pulsing.

He saw her comprehension, and something in him knotted hungrily. "Just ... explore a little."

Explore. She licked her lips. h.e.l.l's own archangel was seducing her in tiny little steps, and she didn't think she gave a d.a.m.n. Explore. In childhood that word had somehow become a.s.sociated in her mind with forbidden pleasures. Somebody at some time must have said something... Explore. The word alone was enough to make her tingle from head to toe.

"Emma?" He bent his head, ignoring the ache in his lower back as he responded to the one in his loins. "Yes or no, Emma, but you have to say something."

She drew a shaky breath. "I don't want to go too far." It sounded stupid, and even in her agitated state she thought she sounded like a child, but it was a line she felt she had to draw while she could still draw one.

"I know." He barely breathed the words as he found her mouth with his and brushed a gentle, persuasive kiss there. "I know. I swear I won't hurt you, but d.a.m.n it, lady, we both need some touching and holding."

Yes, she thought. Yes. That was exactly what she needed. Touching and holding. Closeness and comfort. He needed to forget his pain, and she needed to feel wanted. Surely they could give each other that much.

"Yes," she murmured shakily. "Just a little."

"Then touch me, Emma. Any way you want to."

Before she could do more than register his command, his mouth took hers again in a deep kiss, making her feel that he simply couldn't get enough of the taste of her. In, out, his tongue moved surely, strongly, and she never knew exactly when her hips picked up the rhythm and began to rock ever so slightly in response. It wasn't much of a movement, but it drew a groan from Gage.

He lifted his head and looked down at her from a face gone hard with pa.s.sion. His eyes, though, those stormy eyes, were sleepy, gentle, rea.s.suring. "Ah, Emma," he sighed, "you're a witch."

"And you're h.e.l.l's own archangel," she heard herself say. She regretted the words almost as soon as they escaped her, but he surprised her by laughing softly.

"So I've heard," he murmured. "So I've heard." His hand slipped away from her shoulder swiftly and captured her breast through the silk of her blouse before she realized what he was doing. Her reaction was instantaneous, sharp, exquisite. She arched and whimpered softly.

"Yes," Gage whispered near her ear, causing another shiver to run through her. "Like that, Emma. Just like that."

He made her feel as if she was doing something wonderful for him when, in fact, he was the one giving her pleasure. No one had ever trespa.s.sed so far with her, and she had never imagined such a touch could feel so good. Even through the layers of her blouse and bra, the hardening point of her nipple could be felt, and Gage's fingers zeroed in on it, stroking back and forth until she bucked almost wildly beneath him.

"That's good, Emma. That's good. Just feel."

But she wanted more than to just feel what he was doing. She wanted to do a little exploring of her own. To that end she reached up and tunneled her fingers into his chest hair, reveling in the softness of the hair, the warmth and smoothness of the skin beneath. With every movement of her hands, she tested him and found iron-hard strength.

When her fingers accidentally grazed the hard peak of his small nipple, he caught his breath, telling her that in that way, at least, he was no different than she.

Gage's fingers froze on Emma's breast when he felt the heat of her breath on the aching point of his own nipple. "Yesss..." he hissed and instinctively leaned closer, encouraging her. The touch of her lips and tongue sent a zap of electricity straight from his nipple to his groin and was followed by a convulsive shudder of pleasure.

The sound of his groan, the tightening of his hand on her breast, thrilled Emma. Never had she imagined herself having such an effect on a man. It gave her an incredible sense of power to realize that she could imprison him in the same exciting web that he was weaving around her. It made her feel vital and alive to be able to evoke such pleasure. It made her feel incredibly generous and giving to know that she was making him feel so good.

And it loosened some deep-rooted inhibition within her. She was not alone in what she was experiencing and doing, and so she was no longer afraid or embarra.s.sed. Trust blossomed for the man who was sharing himself as intimately as he was asking her to share herself. She forgot, for the moment, that no man could want her for long. She forgot she was crippled in an essential way. Forgot that her woman's purpose had been torn from her, and that her worthlessness had been thrown up into her face by a man she had loved.

She forgot how a man could wound her.

"d.a.m.n it, Emma..." The sound was one of sheer s.e.xual enjoyment, torn from deep within Gage. His breath was ragged in her ear, and hers was ragged in his. "So sweet," he whispered, his breath catching. "So sweet..."

She wound her arms around him, wanting him closer, wanting to feel him with every cell of her being. She wanted his hands on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, then his mouth, and when she felt him at last-at long last!-fumbling at the b.u.t.tons of her blouse, excitement exploded like white heat within her.

And then the phone rang.

Reality washed over Emma in an icy, embarra.s.sing tide. She s.n.a.t.c.hed her arms away from Gage as if he burned her and squeezed her eyes shut. Oh, Emma! Lord, Lord, how could you have?

She wanted to sink through the floor, to die, to disappear, to do almost anything but face the man she had moments ago been kissing and holding and exploring. How could she have forgotten herself like this? It wasn't as if she even knew him, because she didn't, not really. She had behaved like a shameless wanton.

"I'll get it," Gage growled as the phone rang yet again, then again. "You stay right here. Don't you dare run. We need to talk."

Talking was the last thing she could imagine herself doing right now, and certainly not with the man she had forgotten herself with. He couldn't actually mean to discuss their intimacy, could he? Or to resume it?

As soon as Gage reached the kitchen, she scrambled to her feet, determined to somehow escape. She had an extra parka, an old one, in her bedroom, and a spare set of car keys. She could slip out the front door while he was in the kitchen...

"Emma, it's for you. It's Linda."

Her a.s.sistant at the library. No doubt wondering where she had disappeared to.

She slipped past Gage into the kitchen, miserably aware of the disheveled state of her hair and clothing. She must look like a trollop, and by now Gage must certainly think she was one. He probably had her figured for a desperate old maid who would do anything at all to snare a man. Humiliation burned her cheeks and thickened her voice when she answered the phone.

"I hate bothering you," Linda said briskly, "but you said you'd be back in a half hour, and I was getting worried."

"I'm sorry, Linda. I ... had a little problem. I'll be there shortly."

"No rush," Linda said warmly. "There's only me and Mr. Craig here, and I can handle things. I was just worried." She hesitated almost audibly. "Emma, really ... is everything okay? You sound funny."

"I'm fine. Maybe just getting a cold." Emma said goodbye and hung up the phone, wishing she could crawl under a rock and hide. Anything but turn around and face Gage, who was standing behind her. She could feel him, as if his presence changed the very atmosphere. h.e.l.l's own archangel. Maybe that was brimstone she smelled, because she'd sure come close to succ.u.mbing to temptation.

"Emma."

That husky, ruined voice felt like black velvet on all her nerve endings, sending shivers through her that she now recognized as being purely s.e.xual. She didn't want to turn, yet she did, facing him with downcast eyes. What was it about this man that overrode her good sense and caused her to do things she ordinarily wouldn't do?

"Emma, don't."

He was suddenly standing right before her, and he placed a finger beneath her chin, urging her to look up. Emma stubbornly refused.