Kowalski was an athlete, had been all his life. He had a resting pulse of sixty-five, but not now. Now his heart was beating triple time, the beats thundering through his body, completely out of his control.
He was a man whose heart rate actually slowed down in danger, like a cobra’s. His heart didn’t beat like this even under enemy fire.
“Your heart.” She rubbed lightly. “Charlie white,” she said, her voice low. The corners of her soft mouth were slightly upturned. She had to be feeling exactly how she affected him. She looked up and the smile widened, filling his horizon, until he couldn’t see anything else. Couldn’t think of anything else but her lovely face.
“Oh, Douglas,” she whispered, hand over his heart.
It was too much for Kowalski, simply over the top. He didn’t have a name for what was going on inside him and he didn’t know how to react to Allegra. How could he deal with that soft expression on her face, that smile just for him, the palpable tenderness in her voice?
He could feel himself start to shake and it terrified him. He had to bring this back to something he recognized and he had to do it now, otherwise he’d fly into pieces. He had to reduce this to something he could deal with.
Lust. He could do lust.
He just couldn’t do what he saw on her face.
He tightened his hands on her, making his touch deliberately not gentle. Fisting his hand in her hair, pulling her hard against him with his other arm, he kissed her. He ate desperately at her mouth, tongue deep inside, slanting for the tightest, deepest fit possible, though he knew his beard-roughened skin was scratching hers.
He didn’t care. He just wanted to be inside her.
He lifted his mouth and looked at her, head pulled back by his own hand, a vein beating visibly in that long white neck. Her lips were wet and swollen, eyes wide and unfocused, red streaks of arousal along those high cheekbones. Kowalski pulled her sweater over her head, roughly, in a move calculated to get her naked as fast as he could, not to arouse her. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Good. Kowalski lifted her off him, making her stand just long enough to rip open her jeans and slide them down her long legs together with her panties.
Allegra simply stood there, like a little doll, sightless gaze fixed over his left shoulder. Getting himself naked was no problem because he hadn’t bothered to put on underwear. All he had to do was yank at the zipper of his sweat-parka and lift just long enough to lose the sweat pants. He worked one-handed, because his other hand was sliding between her legs, separating the soft folds of flesh, probing.
If she wasn’t wet, this wasn’t going to work. But—yesss!!!—she was. Not as much as he would have liked, but it would have to do because if he didn’t get into her right now, first his head would explode and then his cock and maybe he’d even spontaneously combust with the heat that suddenly filled him like a wildfire.
Getting himself naked only took a few seconds and then he was lifting her bodily over him with one arm. With the other hand, he was holding his cock away from his stomach as he positioned her over him. He groaned when, in one smooth motion, his swollen Bravo white slid hard and fast into her soft, wet Bravo white.
Douglas was panting, sweating, his heart racing. Almost out of control. Allegra should have been scared—something deep and black lying in wait for her at the farthest edges of her consciousness had the color and shape of an out of control man—but somehow she wasn’t.
There was nothing painful in his grip, she had no sense of danger, just of red-hot desire, incredibly sexy in its own right. She’d never been wanted like this before. He’d kissed her as if he would die if he didn’t. His hands were shaking. Allegra didn’t imagine that the hands of an experienced gunman, a warrior, shook too often.
She did that to him. She, Allegra Ennis, perfectly staid harpist and singer, made this incredibly strong, tough man shake and shudder.
Allega was used to affecting people. Back when she could see, there’d always be a few people in the audience reduced to tears by her music. Women mostly, at the slow ballads of love found and love lost, but some men, too. Probably men of Irish heritage, haunted by the pain and the tragedy of the Irish people filtered through the haunting beauty of Celtic music. Still, it was the music that moved them, not her.
Douglas was affected by her, as a woman. It was heady and thrilling. For the first time since her accident she felt powerful, able to take the strongest man she’d ever known and reduce him to a sweaty, shaky being.
They were naked, and he was embedded in her. It hurt just a little. She’d become excited, touching him. It was so thrilling, having the freedom to roam all over that huge, strong body. He couldn’t have made it clearer that she could do what she wanted with him. That had been its own excitement.
Still, he was so large and he’d entered her so quickly she was just a little uncomfortable. Douglas seemed to understand, because he wasn’t moving. They sat there like a little sex tableau vivant, she thought.
“God, you’re tight,” he murmured, that deep voice rumbling, scratchy, a little hoarse. “I don’t dare move. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Allegra shifted on him, sort of uncomfortable, sort of…not. He was holding her tightly and her arms were looped around his neck, her hands dangling down over his back. Slowly, carefully, she felt the muscles in his back, excited all over again at his size and strength. She let her hands run up the deep indent of his spine, over the shoulder blades, up the back of his neck and into his hair.
Hesitantly, cursing herself for her clumsiness, Allegra felt for Douglas’ mouth with her own. When she found it, she slumped forward into him, mindless with pleasure as he took the kiss over, his tongue stroking deep into her mouth. God this was so exciting. She clutched the back of his head as he lifted his mouth, slanted it, and kissed her again, so deeply she felt as if she were falling into some endless, honeyed bower of pleasure.
Allegra was so taken with his kiss that it took her a moment to realize that he was moving inside her in short, rhythmic strokes. It didn’t hurt at all. Maybe he’d waited until he felt her growing wetter, knowing her almost better than she knew herself. This was working—very well, in fact.
Though she was technically on top, she didn’t have to do anything, just hold onto him with her arms as he kissed her and made love to her.
The strokes slowly deepened, grew harder. Douglas’ hands were on her hips as he held her still for him. When he surged upwards, it felt as if he were delving into the deepest reaches of her body, where there were pleasure points she’d never suspected. Oh, God, it was electric, the pleasure. He held her tightly and moved upwards in the strongest, hardest stroke yet. Allegra moaned softly into his mouth, unable to speak, unable to move, unable to think.
She was so wet now they were actually making noises, embarrassing slapping noises when their hips met. She made a little grunting sound at every upstroke, as if she were being jolted. It was in counterpoint to his low growls. This was raw sex, at its most basic, most animal.
It was hard now to keep her mouth against his. His strokes were moving her strongly up and down. Though she was very wet, there must have been friction because she felt immense heat where they were joined.
Douglas removed one hand from her hip and slid it to where she was stretched around him, moving a rough, callused finger forward until he touched her…there.
Allegra cried out, her entire body clenching around him. When the sharp contractions began, he simply moved in her harder, deeper, keeping her on some delicate balance between pleasure and pain. The climax lasted forever as the entire world fell away. Allegra was aware only of Douglas moving in her, hard and fast, his fingers digging into her hips, his mouth eating at hers.
When she thought she couldn’t take any more, when she was limp with exhaustion, he swelled inside her and with a shout, erupted into orgasm, jetting fiercely into her depths.
Impossibly, Allegra felt the sharp contractions of another climax start. The feeling was so intense she burst
into tears, burrowing her face into his neck as her body took over. Douglas continued moving in her even as he was climaxing himself, the semen making her slick and smooth.
It took them both a long time to settle down. When she could finally breathe again, think again, she found herself slumped against Douglas, sticky and wet. Tears were drying on her cheeks, she was covered in sweat—whether his or hers she couldn’t tell since she was plastered against him—and her groin and sex were wet with arousal and semen.
Allegra gave a half-laugh, wiped her eyes on his naked shoulder and eased herself away.
“I hope to God those are tears of joy,” he rumbled above her.
“Yes.” Allegra sniffled inelegantly. “That was, um, pretty powerful.”
“Yeah, it was.” Amazingly, Douglas was still hard inside her. Not steel-hard like before but definitely erect. She wriggled around him and felt the surge of blood run through his penis.
She took in a deep breath. “And I hope this doesn’t mean you’re ready for round three, because I’m sure not.”
Silence. She looked up. “Douglas?”
It was so horrible not being able to see someone’s expression.
His arms tightened around her briefly, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head and sighed as he lifted her off him. “I can wait. Whoa, easy now.”
Her legs wobbled as she tried to stand. She would have fallen if he hadn’t steadied her. A second later, Allegra was in his arms and he was carrying her into the bathroom.
Douglas kept one arm around her as he turned on the hot water in the sink. She could feel the warmth and the steam rise in her small bathroom. A moment later, Douglas was running a warm washcloth over her front, between her legs.
She’d been washed before, in the hospital, but this was entirely different. It wasn’t impersonal, a job someone had to do. He would bend, from time to time, to kiss her on the cheek, her ear, the tip of her nose. It was much, much nicer than being washed by a nurse. He wrapped her in a warm towel he must have put on the radiator and rubbed gently.
“Just a second, honey,” he said, and let her go. The door to the bathroom opened and closed, letting in a swirl of colder air. In a second he was back with her clothes and helped her dress.
He rinsed out the washcloth and then she could hear him briskly washing himself and the rustle of cloth as he got dressed. He pulled her in his arms and she rested against him, completely content. She could stay this way forever. There were no demons anywhere in the house or in her head, just the warm glow of happiness.
She gathered her courage in both hands. The sex had been hot and raw, but this was so nice, too. Did he like it like this, too, sweet and quiet, or was he here just for the sex? Only one way to find out. She tilted her head back even though she couldn’t see him. “Can you—can you stay the day?”
“Oh, yeah.” His deep voice was low and soft. “Just try kicking me out. But I need to go for that run now. Do you have a set of keys you can give me so you don’t have to walk to the door when I come back?”
“There’s a set in a crystal bowl on the sideboard to the right of the entrance. I’ll practice while you’re gone.”
“Right. I’ll walk you to Dagda, then go for my run. Be back in an hour or two.”
Allegra smiled. A Sunday with Dagda and Douglas. As the song went—who could ask for anything more?
Chapter Nine
Kowalski ran and ran and ran. He ran until he was bathed in sweat, until his lungs burned, until he couldn’t hear the cars swishing by in the snow over the drumbeat of his own heart.
Portland was a pretty little city, circular and contained. The forest began right at the outskirts. Kowalski could have run to the edge of the city, easy, and just continued on out. Maybe that’s what he should do—just run right out of town.
But however hard and fast he ran, there was no getting away from Allegra. She was in his head, in his nostrils, in his very cells.
Running always cleared his mind and by the end of the run, whatever it was that bothered him had flattened out and disappeared. He’d either solved the problem or decided it wasn’t a problem, after all.
Allegra was a problem he couldn’t solve, in any way. Problems were things outside you, things or situations that could be reasoned about. Kowalski had always been good with things and situations, able to manipulate them until they did his bidding.
He never had problems with himself. He knew who he was, he knew what he could do and what he couldn’t do. He knew what he could have in this life and what he couldn’t have and he’d never confused the two. He always gotten what he wanted and what he didn’t have he didn’t want. It kept things simple.
This problem here wasn’t simple or easy. It wasn’t anything that could be solved by strength or smarts. He had no way to cope with his slippery-sliding feelings when he thought of Allegra.
This was way more than the excitement of a new sex mate, though the sex was more intense than any he’d ever had. New bedmates become old bedmates pretty fast, but that wasn’t going to happen with Allegra.
There was a sudden snow flurry and Kowalski stopped, running in place so he wouldn’t cool down. Unconsciously, he’d been heading toward his place as if to a refuge or a sanctuary. He could picture it in his head—large, cool and empty. No strong feelings there he didn’t know how to handle. No feelings there at all.
But he didn’t want to go back to his place. He wanted to be in Allegra’s pretty house with her in it, hearing her soft Irish-tinged voice talking and singing, listening to her play the harp. No, he had to be honest with himself. He didn’t just want it—he craved it.
It suddenly occurred to him, as he hopped from one booted foot to another, breath clouding the air in front of him, that he’d never be content alone in his apartment ever again. The old way, the way he’d lived his entire life up to now, was suddenly gone. A new life—one where he needed Allegra in it like he needed to draw his next breath—had taken its place.
This was serious shit. Not even as a child had he been dependent on anyone, and now this slip of a woman had suddenly become essential to his wellbeing. It was frightening as hell, but it was what it was. Kowalski wasn’t someone to hide from reality. The reality of his life now was that he needed Allegra in it for however long she cared to stay.
With a mixture of doom and anticipation, he turned right around and headed back the way he came. If he hurried, he could be with Allegra again in half an hour. He picked up the pace.
He could hear it from half a block away. At first, it was a disembodied heavenly sound coming from the swirling depths of the snow, so muffled it had no origin except seemingly from the snowflakes themselves. As if the snow was bearing music, snowflake by snowflake, note by note. It was only when he saw the lighted windows of the living room that he recognized the music as that of Allegra playing her harp.
Kowalski stopped a moment on her covered porch to catch his breath. He was panting and sweaty and he wanted to cool off a little before walking in.
The sound of her music was more distinct now, coming through the door and the windowpanes. He recognized the air she’d been humming in the shower, only now it wasn’t tentative, hesitant. Now it was a full-blown melody, haunting and lovely, complex yet heartbreakingly simple, the kind that sinks into the bones and sinews. She was singing along to the melody, though he couldn’t hear the words.
He could see her through the window—he frowned. Shit. The very first thing he’d do once he was inside would be to draw the curtains. She was so absorbed, he didn’t want to interrupt her. But he wanted to hear that song.
Using the key she’d given him, Kowalski quietly opened the front door, just a crack. She was in the far corner, she shouldn’t feel the cold air.
As he opened the door, the words of the song hit him like a hammer to the chest.
“New love,” she was singing, words repeated over and over again in a hauntingly beautiful refrain. “I’ve found a new love, to fill the holes in my empty
heart. New love…”
Every hair on Kowalski’s body stood up.
“New love.” That song was about him. He was the new love.
On suddenly weak knees, Kowalski quietly closed the door, tottered to the edge of the porch and sank to the steps, sitting there, stunned, watching the snow falling from the sky, barely hearing the music over his hammering heart.
That song was so beautiful. He knew enough about music to realize that it would become an instant classic. Beautiful music was forever. It never died. A hundred years from now, a thousand years from now, people would be singing “New Love” and something of him would be living on when his bleached bones rotted in the cold, cold earth.
Never in his wildest dreams could he imagine a woman like Allegra writing a song about loving him. Or—his mind balked at the thought—that a woman like Allegra could actually love him.
Kowalski sat listening to her as she practiced the song, as it became truer with each singing, until in the end, to him it was as perfect as a Mozart sonata or a Picasso or a sunrise over the sea.
When he trusted his legs to carry him and his voice not to quaver, he stood up and made a point of making noise on the steps. He stopped outside the front door, knocked twice and used the key.
The music had stopped. Allegra sat back in her little chair, hands resting in her lap, face turned to the door. “Douglas?”
“Yeah—” his voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m back from my run.”
She’d done that wobbling thing with her head again, until she got a bearing on his voice. She smiled brightly, and he stepped back at the welcome and warmth on her face. No one in his entire life had looked at him like that. “I’m glad you’re back. I missed you.”
He stood, jaw clenched tight, fists clenched tight, chest tight, until she said, “Douglas?”
He had to will his boots to move. “Good thing you had Dagda to keep you company.” He walked to her and reached out to touch her face. He ran the back of his forefinger down her cheek, marveling at the velvety smoothness. “What was that you were playing?”
Midnight Angel Page 13