Sensuous Angel

by Heather Graham

  She shook her head. She didn’t know him, nor what had put that brooding look in his eyes and had bruised his heart. But marriage…marriage meant years of discovery. She loved Luke; she had to believe that time would give her all the rest.

  Sal was staring at her strangely and she lowered her eyes again. She knew her father had never cared for Mark, but he had never said a word against him to her. Her annulment had hurt him and her mother and the rest of the family because they hurt for one another.

  She was surprised when he put his arms around her and hugged her tight. “Is he in love with you?”

  “I think so,” she repeated.

  “Be sure, honey, then do whatever you have to do.”

  “I will.”

  “At least I know now,” he told her, his blue eyes twinkling like diamonds against his olive complexion, “why you’ve been lost in a dream world lately. You miss him.”

  So badly that it hurt, Donna thought, but didn’t say aloud. “I kind of walked out on him,” she said, then smiled as she took his arm. “Come on, Dad, I think we’ll hit all the traffic if we don’t hurry.”

  America and the olive-oil business had been good to the Miro family. They could have lived anywhere they wanted now, but they had remained in a triple decker on Shrewesbury Street. Her grandparents lived on the top floor, her parents in the middle, and her brother Vic, his wife, and two small daughters lived on the ground floor. The house was surrounded by old trees, barren now with winter almost upon them. But even when the grass had died and the leaves had fallen, there was something special about the lawn and the old triple decker. It was a welcoming place. Generations of children had lived and played and grown up there, and if love could be a tangible thing that hung in the air, it did so here.

  A loud scream suddenly tore from the house, followed by a child’s wail and a mother’s soothing voice. “The girls are at it again,” Sal said with a wink to his daughter. “But I don’t think they’re as wild as the bunch I raised.”

  She grinned, stamped her feet on the back mat, and opened the door to the rear porch. Her brother Vic’s wife, Theresa, was standing there with a huge pot of sausage and peppers, trying to control a squabble between the three-year-old and the four-year-old over a new Cabbage Patch doll. “Dad…Donna, hi!”

  Sal rescued the sausage and peppers. Theresa kissed them both. “Hurry on up, you two,” Theresa urged them. “Gram is waiting.”

  Donna had picked up her youngest niece, who lost interest in the doll as she played with Donna’s gold chain.

  “I’ll take a moppet with me and get one out of your hair,” she offered to Theresa.

  Theresa grimaced, her beautiful dark eyes expressing her appreciation. “Thanks, but be warned. There are moppets all over the place tonight.”

  She went on to explain that two sets of aunts and uncles were coming with their children and their children’s children. And Donna’s other older brother, Tom, was coming with his wife, Sally, and their baby.

  Donna laughed. “Thanks for the warning, but I think I can handle it. After all, I get to go home afterward!”

  “I’m going up,” Sal said.

  “Coming, Dad,” Donna answered. She started up the steps.

  “Personally,” Theresa called after her, laughing, “I think Gram’s lost her mind, inviting him for dinner. If I were to walk into a madhouse like this for the first time, I probably wouldn’t date you again no matter how gorgeous you were!” She chuckled softly, her eyes alive with affectionate teasing. “But, oh, is he gorgeous himself!”

  Donna felt a sudden freeze come over her, as if winter had suddenly arrived in full. “Theresa!” she called sharply.

  But the door to Theresa’s ground-floor apartment had already swung shut. “What’s she talking about?” Donna demanded of her father.

  Sal was already several steps ahead of her, passing his own door. “I haven’t the slightest idea, honey, but this pot is getting hotter by the second!”

  “Walk, Auntie Donna!”

  She had forgotten she was holding a moppet. She obediently began to climb again.

  It couldn’t be Luke, it couldn’t be Luke, she hadn’t heard a word from him since she had returned. She had lain awake for many nights, thinking she should pick up the phone, call him, admit that she was a confused coward, but that she was sorry, she did love him, she wanted to see him.

  But she hadn’t picked up the phone. She had begun to fear that she had imagined loving him, that she had wished it to be there; he had been the sexiest, strongest, most charismatic man she had ever met and, like a fool, she had let it all slip from her grasp. She had walked away, and he had probably decided to let her go.

  She had almost reached the third-level porch, and once again, she could hear voices.

  “Dina, get up and getta the napkins, please.”

  Her grandmother was talking to Donna’s younger sister.

  “Tony is right there.” Dina was probably reading the latest soap magazine and determined not to take her avid eyes from the written words, Donna thought, laughing to herself.

  “Hey! Thunder thighs! Get up when Gram talks to you!”

  Her younger brother Tony was fighting with Dina as usual.

  “Shut up, knockwurst nose! You’re not such a help yourself.”

  Donna sighed. Dina, as usual, fighting back.

  Her father, with a frown of annoyance, pushed open the screen door to the huge kitchen, about to quietly reprimand his two teenagers. But Donna was right behind him, and before he could speak, she gasped loudly, distractedly setting down her little niece who crawled onto Dina’s lap.

  Luke was there, sitting opposite her grandfather at the small butcher-block table near the kitchen’s heating stove. A bottle of anisette sat between the two; it appeared that they had been talking and exchanging shot for shot.

  “Oh, Lord!” Donna groaned, barely aware that she had said the words out loud.

  “Not the Lord, Donna,” her grandmother, busily wiping her hands on her apron, said as she came to kiss her son and then Donna. “He’s justa ni-sa priest.”

  Luke was standing, walking across the floor. He smiled at her, but offered his hand to her father. “Mr. Miro, I’m Luke Trudeau. Donna and I met in New York recently. I came to look her up and finagled a dinner invitation.”

  Sal took his hand. Donna barely heard her father welcoming him. She was trembling, thinking that she had just walked in and the house was already in chaos.

  Luke’s eyes met hers, gold, tender, amused. He looked wonderful and so tall that he filled the small kitchen, so handsome that Donna realized it hadn’t been a soap magazine enthralling Dina, but Luke.

  Suddenly she smiled, glad to see him. He wouldn’t mind the chaos. He would accept it and love it, because he loved her.

  She laughed and reached out her own hand. “Hello, Luke,” she said softly, huskily. She inclined her head toward her still-squabbling siblings. “I see you’ve already met Thunder Thighs and Knockwurst Nose.”

  Luke chuckled that low sound that could touch and entice her so easily. “Yes, I have. And your mother, your grandfather and grandmother. Your brother, sister-in-law, and nieces. Your cousin Janice and—”

  “Donna!” Her grandmother’s voice, calling her, interrupted a list that might have been—if he’d met only half of her family—endless.

  “Donna, I needa some bread. Be a gooda girl and run to the corner for me, yes?”

  Donna looked curiously at her grandmother beyond Luke’s broad shoulders. There was never a lack of bread in the house. Her grandfather went to the corner bakery every morning, rain, snow, or shine.

  She was stunned to see her grandmother wink. She grinned broadly. “Sure, Gram, I’ll go.”

  “Give your grandfather a kiss and say hello to your mother first.”

  She cast Luke a quick glance to excuse herself and hurried to her grandfather, planting a kiss on his snow-white head. She hurried past him, to the dining room beyond the kitchen, a
nd found her mother setting the table.

  “Hi, Mom,” she said, giving out another quick kiss and a hug.

  “Donna!” her mother exclaimed happily, setting down her load of silverware to make the hug longer than Donna had intended. Then she set her daughter from her to study her anxiously.

  Donna laughed. Her mother was one of the prettiest women she knew. Small, sweet—and plump. She was continually dieting, but she lived in a den of temptation. She was, however, the only one who considered herself to be overweight. Donna had often heard her father say that her mother’s full curves were his most cherished possessions. She was only two inches taller than her mother, and prone to the same full curves. Only by living away from home had she managed to keep the pounds off.

  Her mother also had the most expressive eyes Donna had ever seen, and right now they were expressing a large amount of anxiety. “Honey, who is this man?”

  “Luke?” Donna stalled, ridiculously.

  “He’s a priest,” her mother said.

  “I know,”

  “Why is he here? Did you have trouble in New York?”

  Donna shook her head. “He’s a friend, Mother.”

  “He’s not Catholic, is he?”

  “No, Mom.”

  “He’s not even Italian.”

  Donna started to laugh. “Not everyone is, Mom.”

  Her mother turned and retrieved the silverware. She continued to arrange place settings, glancing nervously at the door to see that they weren’t interrupted. She stopped again, setting the silverware down and putting her hands on her hips.

  “I think your grandfather was about to have a stroke when he came in and introduced himself. The next thing I know, he’s got the anisette open, and your friend has him purring like a kitten.” She shook her head quizzically, looking at Donna. Then she shrugged. “He must be the beloved of God to have gotten past your grandfather!”

  The words were said so seriously, with such conviction, that Donna forced herself to conceal the laughter that bubbled within her. “Luke does have a way with people, Mom.”

  “With you too, huh?”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “He’s a nice-looking man. A very nice-looking man.” Her mother looked down suddenly, straightening the very straight table cloth. “I—I’m not sure I like nice-looking young men.” She hesitated. “Your Mark, honey, he was nice-looking too. Not like this…but…”

  “Mom!” Donna moaned. “I haven’t judged all men by Mark. Please, don’t you start doing so because of me. Luke is a…priest. I don’t think that priests are known for running around on their—” She paused. She had almost said wives. “They’re not known for running around. But, Mom, no matter what Luke did, I would trust him. He’s that kind of man.”

  Her mother looked at her, and Donna was surprised at the relief she saw in her mother’s eyes. “Donna, I like him. Yes, I think I like him very much. But”—she took a step closer—“watch out for your grandfather. I don’t think that he’s realized yet that this priest has come for his granddaughter!”

  Donna smiled. “I’ll watch out, Mom. Thanks.”

  Just as she heard the words, another squabble broke out. Thunder Thighs and Knockwurst Nose were at it again. And then her grandfather’s voice—rising high. His rebukes poured out half in English and half in Italian.

  “I’ll be back, Mom,” Donna said nervously. “I’m going to take Luke for a walk to pick up some bread.”

  “Bread?” Her mother inquired in confusion. “But, honey, we don’t need any bread—”

  “I know. But Gram is right on the ball.”

  She was glad to see her mother grin. “She certainly is. She would have to be to live with your grandfather all these years!”

  Donna eluded her grandfather on the way out, snatching Luke quickly from his post between her sister and Vic, who had just come up. She clutched his hand and practically dragged him down the stairs. Not until they were halfway down the street did she pause, turn to him to see the confusion on his face, and burst into laughter.

  “Oh, Luke! What are you doing here? How long have you been here? How have you stood being here? Luke—”

  She flung her arms around his neck suddenly, pressing her body to the length of his and hugging him. Mindless of where she stood, she stretched up on tiptoe and planted hurried kisses against his cheeks and then his lips in a burst of hunger and longing.

  “I missed you so much,” she murmured, suddenly growing shy and burying her face against his coat.

  He lifted her chin. She met the green and gold fire in his eyes, the promise that he hadn’t lost his passion or need for her. “I had to come,” he told her huskily. His lips found hers again, warm and sure and hinting of things restrained that could engulf them both in the middle of the street. His scent wrapped her in a sweet rapture as did the radiating heat of his body, the feel of his arms, strong and secure about her.

  His lips left hers too soon. But they stayed close. So close that she could breathe his whisper and quiver with the anticipation of his touch.

  “Are you going to marry me?” he asked her.

  She nodded. His mouth claimed hers once more, parting it, plundering it, tongues meeting in a sweet and breathless duel. But when they broke again and Donna searched out his eyes, she realized that she had made an unspoken commitment to him. Total commitment. She knew how very badly she wanted him, but she also knew that marriage with him would be a tempest, one from which she could not retreat. Quivers touched her spine and a strange burning touched her belly. Yes, she wanted him. She loved him. But a lot about him still seemed to be a mystery. Dark secrets, hidden from her….

  “I—I want to marry you, Luke. But I still think that we have to wait.”

  “Are you afraid of your family?”

  She shook her head. “No. Well, maybe, yes, a little. Only my grandfather. You’ve heard how he yells. But that’s not it. I—I can handle him. My father just reminded me that it’s my life. Grampa can be a real problem, but only because I love him. But it’s not that. That’s really nothing. Because it’s tangible. I can touch and fight a problem like that.”

  Luke shook his head. His eyes were still on her, deep, probing, glittering their magical, compelling gold. But again she thought that a guard had slipped over them.

  “What is the problem? I love you, Donna.”

  “Luke—this has all been so fast!” Donna said and, she added silently to herself There is still something that you aren’t telling me. Was she imagining it? Was there really something mysterious, about him? If she loved him, she had to trust him.

  “Donna, I love you. And I want you so badly that I’m half insane, tempted to ravage you in the middle of the street. I have to keep reminding myself that I am a priest and am not supposed to do things like that.”

  She laughed, but she lowered her eyes and slipped an arm through his. She shared the feeling, the hunger, the need. Each time she touched him, thought of him, felt him near, it was there: an electricity, static, tangible, almost overwhelming. So strong she thought she would perish if she couldn’t soon ease her desire.

  “We need to get the bread,” she said, trying to draw him along.

  He pulled her back, spinning her around to face him. “I want an answer, Donna.”

  He could have made a very decent living as a hypnotist, she thought a little resentfully. Had she wanted, she couldn’t have fought his hold on her, nor could she draw her eyes from his. She parted, her lips to speak. He kissed them again, very thoroughly, until she was breathless. He lifted his lips from hers just barely. He spoke in a whisper that demanded an answer.

  “Now, Donna.”

  Night had fallen, she noted vaguely. They were surrounded by nothing but darkness. Somewhere a dog was barking. Down the street, a lamp came on. But they stood in a shadow. The glint in his eyes was made satanic by the filtering of artificial light.

  “Yes,” she murmured.

  “When?”

  “When what?
”

  “The wedding, Donna. When can we be married?”

  “Not until we get the bread.”

  “Donna!”

  “I…uh…don’t know. Is there anything special that you have to do? I’ve never married a priest before.”

  He smiled, releasing her and taking her hand. He kissed her fingers idly, touching the tips lightly with his tongue, sucking on them lightly in a manner so sensual she felt her knees weaken and a flash of intense heat fill her body and soul.

  “Nothing too special.” He smiled and took her hand in his. “Where do we go for the bread?”

  “Uh…down to the corner,” Donna stammered.

  His beguilement of her senses was pathetic and sinful. But he had extracted the promise he wanted from her. He began to walk, holding her hand as if they were teenagers, and as they bought a number of Mr. Scrathatelli’s fresh Italian loaves, they planned a wedding.

  It would take place in two weeks, in New York, at St. Philip’s. He apologized to her for forcing that issue, but it would be in poor taste not to be married in his own church. Father Jaime would marry them. Both wanted to keep the service small, but Donna’s family would be invited, and wherever her family went, there was an instant crowd.

  It was when they were walking back to the house that Donna suddenly hesitated. “I guess I’ll talk to my grandfather tonight,” she said.

  He laughed. “I don’t think it will be so bad. I did my very best with him.” He grimaced. “Donna, I hate anisette. I haven’t prayed so hard in a long time as I did to manage to imbibe half that bottle with the old man!”

  Donna chuckled, but the sound was still uneasy.

  Luke sighed. “If you want to do this right, I can talk to your father—”

  “We already have father’s blessing.”

  “We do?”

  “Yes,” Donna said distractedly.

  “Then—”

  “Oh, Luke, don’t you see? I’m twenty-eight years old. I would do what I wanted anyway, but…”

  “They mean so much to you, right?”

  “Yes, is that wrong?”

  “No, it’s one of the reasons I love you.”