Her name on his lips, whispered over and over, was like a drug. Oh, yes—yes, please!
He kissed her a dozen times. Fierce, devastating kisses that drew her very soul from her body. Tiny, sweet candy kisses down her throat, behind her ears, that made her want to tear off her clothes so that he could go further. She whimpered, barely able to stand, and willed time to be still. Wished that before they both came tumbling down to earth again he would lower her to the carpeted floor and—
“Da-addy! Tell Gus I don’t have to go back to bed right now!”
Alex’s arms fell away. Stricken, he stared down at the small, flushed face, the swollen lips, the haunted eyes. “God, Angel, I’m s—”
“Don’t you dare,” she seethed, fighting tears of disappointment.
“Don’t I dare what?”
“Apologize.”
“Daddy! I know you’re in there—why don’t you answer me?”
Somehow, they got through the next few moments. They avoided looking at each other while Angel buttoned her top two buttons and smoothed her hair with unsteady fingers. His face totally without expression, Alex tucked his shirt back into his pants and then shook his head, as if he’d momentarily lost touch with reality.
It was Gus who carried Sandy to her bed while Alex locked up downstairs. Angel saw to getting the invalid settled for the night, avoiding her questions but unable to avoid her curious looks.
By that time, it was nearly midnight. Sandy yawned. Angel said, “I’m right across the hall if you need me. G’night, honey.” She snapped off the light and slipped out the door just as Alex was coming upstairs.
They both stared. Neither of them spoke, but the tension between them was so great they might as well have hung up a banner, spelling out what was on both their minds.
Sex. In glowing, neon letters.
Angel had never wanted a man so much in her entire life, as she wanted this one. What’s more, she was experienced enough to know that it was far from one-sided.
Unlike the first time she’d experienced such a tidal wave of sheer, physical wanting, when she’d stepped on a piece of broken glass that had cut through the side of her sandal and Alex had had to carry her to Gus’s pickup truck, this time she was no adolescent. This time they were both adults. Neither one of them was committed to anyone else—at least she wasn’t. So why not—?
We can’t—not with Sandy sleeping across the hall and Gus two rooms down!
We can, too! Good Lord, woman, get real—this is the nineties! Women even have the vote now!
“Did you say something?” Alex asked.
“No. That is—did you?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Well...good night then, Angel.”
Wistfully she wondered if that could possibly be taken as an endearment. Why couldn’t she have been called Lina? Or Angie? Or just plain Ann? Anything but Angel. Now she’d never know.
At least he hadn’t called her Devil, the way he used to when he wanted to tease her. “Good night, Alex.”
“See you tomorrow.”
She nodded, mentally crossing her fingers. This had gone far enough. She’d be a fool to hang around, waiting for any stray crumbs of affection he happened to toss her way—hoping against hope he would suddenly wake up and realize that he’d been in love with her for the past twenty years. If she had half a brain in her head, she would march right back to her side of town where she belonged. Back on her own turf, and on her own terms, she stood a chance, at least, of eventually working him out of her system.
Sandy would survive. If necessary, Alex could call on Carol. Or a nursing agency.
In any case, Angel had her own salvation to worry about. Only as it turned out, her salvation had to wait another day.
* * *
On his way downstairs just past seven on Monday morning, Gus rapped softly on Sandy’s door. “Sandy? You awake yet?”
“Gus? Come in! I couldn’t sleep a wink all night.”
He stuck his head through the doorway. “I just wanted to say goodbye before I take off.”
“Take off where? You said you weren’t going right away.”
“Sorry, hon. I got a call late last night that changes my schedule. Some unfinished business back in Banner Elk that’ll have to be taken care of before I head east again. You take good care, y’hear? Maybe I’ll drop in and see how you’re getting along on my way east in a couple of weeks.”
In the room across the hall, Angel heard the whispered conversation. Oh boy, what a way to start the day. Slipping into the hallway, she spoke briefly to her brother, and then braced herself to face Sandy and say her own goodbyes.
She might have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Sandy was in no mood to be reasonable. She whined. She pouted. Angel felt like telling her to grow up, but she understood all too well that growing up wasn’t something that could be done on command.
“You can’t leave, too! What about me? I itch, and my ankle hurts too bad to go to school,” Sandy wailed. “Gus promised me he’d stay awhile!”
“I think what he said was that he hoped he’d be able to stay a few days. That’s hardly the same as promising.”
“But I wanted him to take me to school today so everybody could see him. Reba and Debbie didn’t believe me when I told them how awesome he was and about his beard and his truck and all.”
“I’m sorry, Sandy, but—”
“Daddy, make her stay! Gus is gone, and now Angel says she has to go, too, and I’ll be all alone up here, all by myself. What if I have to get up to go to the bathroom? I could fall down and break my neck, and nobody would even care!”
Alex had come up so silently Angel hadn’t even realized he was there. After a largely sleepless night, she simply lacked the energy to fight. “All right, then, I’ll stay and get you situated first, but then I have to go to work for a few hours.”
“But you’ll come back?” Sandy pleaded.
He was standing behind her in the doorway, so close she could feel the warmth of his body. One swift over-the-shoulder glance was enough to rock her senses. He was still in his pajamas, just as she was. In the soft early-morning sunlight filtering in through Sandy’s white eyelet curtains, he looked good enough to eat with a spoon, all tousled and warm and tempting as chocolate-covered sin.
Knowing full well she needed her head examined, Angel heard herself promise to come back for lunch, and to spend one more night under the roof of the enemy. “Just one more night, Sandy, and that’s final. Once you’re on your feet again, Flora and Mrs. Gilly can cope.”
“I’m only staying for your daughter’s sake,” she whispered fiercely to Alex the minute they were alone together in the upstairs hall.
His pajamas were gray silk, piped in some rich, dark paisley. She’d often wondered if he slept nude, or maybe in briefs, trying to imagine him both ways.
This was worse. The top hung from his shoulders and curved over his surprisingly powerful chest, while the bottoms, which were much narrower, skimmed down his lean flanks in a way that made her mouth go dry. Imagination was a much more powerful aphrodisiac than mere nudity.
“I just wanted to be sure you knew that my staying has nothing to do with what happened last night, because we both know that it didn’t mean anything. It—it just happened, that’s all.”
Alex continued to regard her with the cool steadiness that had always had the effect of gumming up her brain. The calmer he remained, the more agitated she grew. Some things never changed.
“She was disappointed about Gus, so I gave in, okay? But I’ll be leaving right after breakfast tomorrow!” Speak, damn you! Tell me you can’t let me go. Tell me you can’t live without me! “It’s only a sprain, for heaven’s sake! It’s not like she’ll be bedridden for the rest of her life!”
“Thank you, Angel. I’m fully aware of the fact that you’re staying only for Sandy’s sake. I promise you, I won’t take advantage of it.”
“Yes, well...I’ll be here tonight, b
ut I’ll be leaving first thing tomorrow morning for good, in case you need to make other arrangements.”
* * *
Alex came downstairs some twenty minutes later wearing his newest suit and his favorite tie. He’d showered and shaved in record time, keeping an eye on her van through the window. It was still parked in the driveway, which meant she hadn’t left yet.
They met in the breakfast room. Angel was wearing her coveralls, which were almost as bad as those damned red flannel pajamas that fit like a tent. The trouble was, it didn’t seem to matter. Regardless of what she wore, she could turn him on like a light bulb.
God help him if he ever caught her in something sheer and clinging. He’d explode on the spot. Seven forty-five in the morning, he hadn’t even had his coffee, and all he could think of was tearing off his clothes, planting her back on the table and burying himself so deep in her sweet little body he wouldn’t surface again until the first snow began to fall.
He should never have brought her here. After last night he should have driven her home and then ordered up a practical nurse to do whatever needed doing.
“Good morning again,” he said, steeling himself to behave like a staid, middle-aged businessman on his way to work instead of a wild, rutting stallion scenting a mare in heat. “Have you had br—”
His voice faltered as he stared down at the mess in his plate. “What the devil is this?”
“Breakfast. A sensible breakfast. I spoke to Flora about it yesterday, and you know what? I think that woman needs dosing with something. I never saw anyone with a sourer disposition. Anyway, I explained about the proper diet for a sedentary man, so from now on, you won’t have to worry so much about cholesterol. I don’t suppose you’ve ever had a weight problem, but a man your age can’t be—”
That was when he exploded. Glaring first at the cool, self-righteous little female who had the audacity to meddle with his food, and then down at the mess on his plate, he began to swear. “What the hell happened to my sausage and fried eggs and hash browns?”
“I just told you.”
“And what the hell business is it of yours what I eat, anyway? Has anyone ever told you that you’re the bossiest female east of the Rockies?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, but I’m only trying to be helpful. If you recall, you’re the one who brought me here. I didn’t ask to come. I do have a life of my own, you know, but Sandy said last week that you acted like you hadn’t been feeling good lately, so I promised her that while I was here I’d look into it.”
“Oh, you did, did you?” His voice was quiet, reminding her of that old saw about the calm before the storm.
“Yes, well—I do happen to know something about—I mean, anyone who can read these days knows better than to dig their grave with a fork and spoon. The only exercise you ever get is sitting on top of a horse while he does all the work.”
“And swimming. Don’t forget swimming,” he said in that same dangerous tone of voice.
“Yes, well...it’s not a very big pool. And anyway, even if you weren’t so uptight and didn’t have that nasty temper, you’d still be at risk, with the way you eat. Steaks and cheeses and all those rich, buttery desserts. I haven’t seen a salad since I’ve been here. For Sandy’s sake, Alex, you really ought to take better care of yourself. Learn to relax. Lighten up. You’ll last longer.”
He was torn between the urge to strangle her and the equally powerful urge to make her a permanent part of his life. He resented her meddling. He resented the way she’d come barging back into his life again, reminding him of how guilty he used to feel because he lusted after a kid—his own best friend’s sister—at a time when he was damned well old enough to know better.
He resented everything about Angel Wydowski. And yet, he had to admit that it had been a long time—a hell of a long time—since his health and well-being had mattered to anyone outside his insurance agency. It was a strange feeling, having someone care.
A feeling, he reminded himself, that he couldn’t afford to grow accustomed to. “So what is this stuff, anyway?” He poked at the white lumpy blob on his plate.
“Omelet. It’s made with egg whites instead of whole eggs, and filled with fresh vegetables and fat-free sour cream.”
He closed his eyes. “Please tell me you’re just joking.”
“You’ll get used to it in no time.”
He sighed, resigned to his fate, and lifted his fork. At least it had distracted him from another problem—one that would be damned embarrassing if he weren’t seated at the table. Egg whites and vegetables for breakfast, whole wheat toast and an apple, instead of real food topped off with a croissant slathered with creamery butter and strawberry jam.
“At least you didn’t take away my coffee,” he muttered, reaching for the large porcelain mug of rich, black, custom ground Columbian. “Thank God for small favors.”
And then he gulped. His eyes grew round. Glaring at her, he snarled, “What the devil happened to my coffee? It tastes like ditch water!”
“It does not. The only thing that’s been removed is the caffeine. You’ll get used to it in no time.”
And then she turned her attention to her own rich, black, custom-blended Columbian, and her own cheese omelet. With bacon. Angel had no health problems. Her cholesterol had never been above 166, her weight, if not its distribution, was just right for her height, and her blood pressure was an unfluctuating 118 over 68. Other than the usual childhood diseases, she had never been sick a day in her life.
Although, to be perfectly honest, her blood pressure might have done a few barrel rolls last night, while Alex had been kissing her senseless.
As good as her word, Angel spent that night at Alex’s house, taking her supper on a tray in Sandy’s room and going to bed shortly afterward. But she made certain everyone understood her position right from the first.
She had a life of her own.
She had a business to manage.
This was the second busiest time of the year for a landscape nursery, and besides, the longer she was exposed to Alex, the harder it was going to be to get on with the first two items.
* * *
Alex told himself it was better this way. All the blasted woman did was disrupt what had once been a perfectly orderly existence.
Or as orderly as any existence could be when it included a fourteen-and-a-half-year-old daughter, a housekeeper who couldn’t climb stairs and who couldn’t remember any instruction for more than half an hour, and a surly cook who had recently developed a sadistic streak.
There was certainly no point in getting used to a situation that wouldn’t last. Besides, who needed some damned busybody telling him how to live and what to eat, and taking away the few pleasures he had left without offering anything in return?
Forget Angel Wydowski, he told himself, with the result that over the next few days, he managed to occupy himself with the buy-out and the fall furniture market to the extent that he seldom spent more than eight hours out of every twenty-four thinking about her.
What was it Gus used to call her? Witchlette?
She had sure as hell bewitched everyone in his household, with the possible exception of Flora. On her, she’d laid a fat-free curse.
Mrs. Gilly wanted to know if Ms. Perkins would be back in time for the fall turnover, because if not, she was going to need to hire someone.
A tradition begun by his mother, the biannual upheaval consisted of turning out the linen closet in search of yellowed linens, replacing slipcovers, counterpanes and draperies with something more suited to the coming season, swapping accessories—crystal for brass, fresh flowers for dried arrangements and evergreens and so on. In the process, everything got washed, waxed, polished and inventoried.
Then there was Mr. Gilly, who complained that Miz Angel had promised to help out with those blamed maples and thinning out the Elaeagnus and the bird’s-nest spruce, and what about reseeding the front lawn? What about that, huh? And where was that blamed thatch-bu
ster she’d promised him that he was supposed to shake up with Pepsi and spray on the lawn?
Unable to understand a single question, much less provide an answer, Alex retreated to his study, where he found Sandy, her long limbs twisted around the legs of a chair as she pored over what looked suspiciously like a romance novel.
“Studying?” he asked mildly.
“Um...I finished my homework early, so I thought I’d read this book Angel left behind. Angel says romance books are all about today’s women facing up to today’s problems, and boy, that sure describes me. This one’s all about this woman who—”
Alex didn’t want to hear what it was all about. He particularly didn’t want to hear about Angel’s ideas concerning romance. He had his own ideas, and they didn’t include walking into the same trap twice.
It irritated the devil out of him that every other sentence from his daughter these days began with “Angel says—” or “Angel thinks—”
He didn’t want to know what Angel said or Angel thought. He was doing his damnedest to put the woman out of his mind!
To be perfectly fair, however, he was forced to admit that under the Wydowski influence, he’d occasionally forgotten to treat his daughter like an alien life-form and begun to treat her as a human being. They’d even had several reasonably enjoyable, adult-type conversations that had nothing at all to do with Arvid Moncrief or clothes or curfews or homework.
* * *
It was just such an adult-type conversation that sent him racing across town a week later. He’d been talking to Carol on the phone, trying to explain why he couldn’t get away from the office to drive her to Southern Pines for the weekend.
Sandy had been waiting to use the phone. Theirs was an old-fashioned household with only a single phone line.
Alex had hung up, irritated at having been made to feel guilty because he didn’t want to spend an entire weekend playing golf and partying with Carol English. Sandy, interpreting his mood correctly but mistaking the cause of it, dialed a number and said, “Look, can you hang on a minute, Janet? I need to tell my dad something.”
Clutching the phone to her chest, she said, “Daddy, you were pretty rough on Carol. You’ve been like, wow, you’re mad at the whole world lately, so I’ve been doing some thinking about it. Like, I think I know what your trouble is.”
Alex and the Angel (Silhouette Desire) Page 10