“Just hold me like this for a minute,” she whispered.
Devlin pressed her tighter, his body enveloping hers.
“Oh, that’s it,” Angela sighed. “I want to remember this moment for all time, for ever and ever. Nothing will ever be this perfect again.”
He feathered his lips across her cheek. “Angela. The things you say,” he murmured in a wondering voice. “You say what other people only think.”
“Can’t I tell you what I feel?” she asked.
“Always,” he answered, lifting her to him and settling deeper inside her. “You can always tell me what you feel.”
She shuddered delicately, responding to his every move. As his pace increased she clung to him, on fire, her need as great as his. Her eyes squeezed shut as she flooded with feeling, the tears seeping out from under her closed lids and mixing with the dew on his skin. His mouth moved everywhere he could reach, a sweet counterpoint to the exquisite torment he was creating within her. He gripped her hips, mounting a steadily driving assault on her senses that left her helpless, dependent on his strength. Angela moaned and clutched him wildly.
“Tell me again,” she begged. “Tell me again so I know I didn’t imagine it.”
“I love you,” he muttered, breathless. “And I’m in love with you. That won’t change, Angela, no matter what happens.”
At another time Angela might have noticed the phrasing of his reply, the implicit warning it contained. But now all she heard was the declaration of love from the person she most wished to make it, the man who clasped her in the ultimate embrace.
Devlin surged on toward completion, and Angela stayed with him, carried along on his tide, caught up in the continuing cadence as old as time.
* * * *
Angela drifted into sleep afterward, secure in Devlin’s arms, but he remained awake, staring into the darkness above her head. He’d gone against his training and yielded to his emotions. Yet he didn’t regret it; no power on earth could have prevented him from making love to Angela that night.
I have her, and will keep her, he thought grimly.
He still couldn’t sleep.
* * * *
When Angela awoke a couple of hours later, she was alone in the bed. It was the deepest time of the night, just before darkness turns toward dawn. She slid to the floor, padding barefoot to her closet and retrieving a blue chenille robe. As she put it on she glanced around for Devlin. The room was empty. She was just about to go downstairs to look for him when she noticed a pinpoint of light on the flagstone terrace outside her room. Devlin was sitting out there, smoking.
Angela belted the robe around her and slipped through the sliding glass doors to the chaise lounge where he was reclining. He was dressed only in his pants, staring out at the city lights. Angela’s room was at the back of the house, and the deck overlooked the garden below, facing out toward the river. He looked up at her approach and held open his arms.
“What are you doing out here alone?” she scolded, snuggling next to him. “You must be freezing.” She rubbed her hands briskly over his skin to warm him.
“Thinking,” he replied, drawing her into the warmth of his body.
“About me?” she prodded, kissing his neck.
“Hmmm,” he answered, smiling.
“About how much you love me?” she went on, licking his shoulder.
“Something like that,” he admitted.
“About how you can’t live without me?” she concluded, winding her arms around his waist.
“Give me a break,” he replied, laughing.
“I thought so,” she said with satisfaction. “I’m just on your mind every minute. I knew it.”
“More than you know,” he said seriously, smoothing her hair.
Angela heard the change in his voice.
“Brett, everything’s all right now, isn’t it? I mean we’re together, and it will all work out, won’t it?”
He didn’t answer.
Angela sat up, trying to see his face in the darkness.
“Darling, why did you fight this so hard? If you love me, why did you resist getting involved for so long?”
“I thought you didn’t care about that. You just said so.”
“I didn’t care at that moment because I wanted you to make love to me.”
Devlin’s lips twisted. Her candor was as endearing to him as everything else about her.
“But now you want to know,” he said.
“Yes. Can’t you tell me?”
“It’s complicated, Angela.”
She turned her head, and he could see her profile etched against the surrounding blackness by the dim porch light. “I thought things would change now,” she said sadly. “I thought after ... I thought you would talk to me.”
“I am talking to you.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Angela, this isn’t easy for me. I’ve been alone a long time. I never expected to find you under these circumstances.”
“You mean the threats, the reason you have this job?”
“Yes.”
“But I don’t care about them. I know you’ll keep me safe. And what does it matter how or why we met? What’s important is that we did meet and fell in love.”
“Oh, honey, what a child you are. Your prince has arrived, and all that remains is for him to carry you off to live happily ever after. Is that the way you think life is, that simple?”
Angela stiffened, and when she spoke her tone was very low, very controlled. “Are you saying that you don’t want to have a future with me? Is that why you’re acting like this?”
Devlin took her face in his hands and kissed her. “I want a future with you more than anything else in my life,” he said. “Never doubt it.”
Angela exhaled slowly, her whole body sagging with relief. “Then I don’t understand.”
Of course she didn’t. He knew that he was sending out confusing signals, saying that he loved her and wanted to be with her yet refusing to explain his earlier reticence and withdrawn behavior. No wonder she couldn’t figure out what was happening. Anyone in her position would be puzzled.
And he could do nothing to clear up her confusion. The only thing left to him now was to show her, in actions, what he felt in his divided heart.
“All you need to understand is this,” he said, kissing her, scooping her up in his arms. He stood and made his way back into the house.
“This time I’m going to make love to you properly,” he murmured, pulling her robe off her shoulders.
“What was the first time?” she asked, her eyes closing as he caressed her. “Improper? I can’t imagine anything better than that.”
“You’ll see,” he promised. He set her on the edge of the bed and stripped, pulling her with him when he lay down. Angela sighed and enfolded him, turning to fit herself against his chest.
“Do you remember the night you arrived here, when the newsboy threw the paper against the door? I was frightened and you held me in your arms,” Angela said.
“I remember.”
She trailed her finger over his breast. “I could feel the beating of your heart, hear it beneath my ear. Your skin was warm through the thin cotton shirt you were wearing, and I could smell your skin, the scent of you, clean and sharp. When you moved away from me I wanted to snatch you back.”
Devlin swallowed, unable to speak.
“I had never felt anything like that in my life,” Angela whispered.
He stroked her lovely hair, listening.
“I felt, I knew, even then that you would be good to me and take care of me. I sensed that I could trust you.”
Devlin closed his eyes in pain.
“I think I have been waiting for this night ever since,” Angela concluded.
“What about Cronin?” Devlin asked. “Why didn’t you ever give in to him?”
“I didn’t think I was in love with him. After I met you I knew I wasn’t.”
“And before him?”
&
nbsp; “There was one other, a boy in college. It was a mistake.” She paused, lifting her head from his shoulder and looking at him. “I don’t want to hear about your past. I know I wouldn’t like it.”
Devlin didn’t contradict her.
“I was jealous of that woman tonight,” Angela said suddenly, as if continuing the same train of thought.
“What woman?” Devlin asked innocently.
Angela punched him lightly. “Don’t give me that. The Georgia belle who was so fascinated with you at the party.”
“Oh. Eunice.”
“Eunice! I thought they all had names like Betty Sue and Billie Joe.”
Devlin shook with silent laughter.
“It isn’t funny. She was hanging on you like a picture on a wall.”
He dug his fingers into her hair and pulled gently. “I wouldn’t go quite that far.”
“I would. Once she saw you Jerry Hathaway became a dim memory. What was she doing with him anyway? He’s old enough to be her father.”
“She told me she was one of his campaign workers.”
Angela snorted. “A likely story. I can imagine what kind of campaign she’d undertake.”
“She seemed very nice to me,” Devlin said, teasing.
Angela sat up. “I’m sure she was very nice to you.” She moved away from him, annoyed.
Devlin grabbed her arm and pulled her across him so that she tumbled into his arms.
“You are being ridiculous,” he said into her ear. “The whole time I was with her I was imagining doing this to you.” He bent his head and took a nipple between his lips, sucking gently.
Angela’s breath hissed between her teeth and her eyes closed. She cradled his head against her as he increased the pressure, nipping and laving her with his tongue until she was squirming restlessly, trying to pull him on top of her.
“Not yet, young lady,” he said softly. He switched his attention to her other breast, goading her to a pitch of anticipation so intense she was soon raking his back with her nails.
“Cat,” he murmured, his mouth moving lower. “Scratch me, would you?” His tongue traced her navel, then skimmed across her belly, her thighs, until she was unable to breathe, waiting for the heat of his mouth where she most desired it. When it came she arched her back and groaned aloud, her fingers tangled in his hair. He caressed her repeatedly while she writhed on the bed, incapable of speech. When he finally raised his head she tugged on him, so eager for him that she slid down in the bed to meet him.
“You want me?” he panted.
“Yes, yes,” she answered, reaching for him.
“Then say it,” he muttered, withholding himself from her.
“What?” Angela gasped, frustrated.
“Say that you want me.”
Angela stared into the twin amber flames of his eyes. He was burning to hear that the beautiful woman he’d desired for so long was just as needful of him.
“I want you, Brett. I always have.” She kissed him, moaning softly as he lifted her to meet him and took her wildly, his big hands pinning her arms to the bed. Angela clutched the sheets, digging her heels into the backs of his thighs.
Devlin withdrew slightly from her and Angela tried to force him in deeper, pressing with her legs.
“No, my greedy Angela,” he said. “Slowly this time. I want you to savor everything with me.”
He proceeded to show her exactly what he meant.
* * * *
In the morning autumn sunlight was filtering through the shades when Angela awoke. She rolled over, smiling contentedly. She examined Devlin, still sleeping at her side.
He was face down on the bed, the sheet draped across his hips and legs, leaving his back bare. Angela studied the firm musculature exposed to her view, the wide shoulders and straight spine tapering to a narrow waist. She kissed the palm of her hand, transferring the kiss to the small of his back. He stirred but didn’t waken. She got up and selected her clothes, going to the bathroom and showering, washing her hair. She dressed quickly, spreading her damp hair on her shoulders, and went down to the kitchen to make coffee.
She returned to the bedroom twenty minutes later with the coffee on a tray, the morning newspaper folded under her arm. Devlin hadn’t moved.
Angela put down her burden and sat on the bed next to him. She leaned forward and kissed the back of his neck.
He rolled over, blinking. When he registered her presence he smiled.
“Good morning,” Angela said.
“Um,” he said. “Are we running?”
“It’s Sunday, and we are not running. Even God rested on the seventh day.”
“Good.” He reached up and pulled Angela down into his arms.
Angela laughed, struggling. “No, no, nothing doing. It’s a beautiful fall day and I have no intention of spending all of it in bed with you.”
He slid his hands under her blouse, seeking her skin. “Why not?”
She picked up the newspaper and brandished it at him. “Because I just read something very interesting in here. Guess what’s playing at the Odeon in Greenwich Village?”
He fell back on the bed, groaning. “I have no idea, but I have a feeling I’m going to be seeing it.”
Angela grinned. “Roman Holiday, with Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn.”
He nodded. “I see. You won’t spend the day in bed with me but you will spend it in the darkness of a musty, crummy movie house.”
“Two hours is not the whole day. And the Odeon is not musty and crummy. It is a little rundown, but it’s all right except for the fact that the rest rooms are in Pennsylvania.”
“What?” he said in a strong voice.
She squirmed uncomfortably. “Well, it’s an old place, and the bathrooms are actually in the building next door, so in order to reach them you have to walk through this sort of underground passageway ...”
Devlin held up a hand. “Say no more. I already have a mental picture that requires no further description. What time is the show?”
“Two o’clock.”
“Plenty of time,” he said, and took the newspaper out of her hand.
Angela managed to evade his grasp, pouring a cup of coffee and taking a sip. “Do you want some of this?” she said, moving out of reach.
He shrugged. “If I can’t have you.”
She filled another cup and handed it to him. He slugged it down black. “So what is this wonderful film about?” he asked, sitting up and pulling the sheet around his waist.
“You’ve never seen it?”
“Nope.”
“It plays on television a lot. I’ve seen it about ten times.”
“Reason enough to see it again,” Devlin commented dryly.
“It’s a classic,” Angela replied, outraged.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he pointed out reasonably.
“Well, it’s about this princess . . .”
Devlin sighed deeply.
“Are you going to let me finish?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You made a noise. It’s about this princess who runs away from her duties to have a few days to play on her own when she’s on an official visit to Rome.”
“And?”
“And she meets Gregory Peck, who’s a reporter. Except she doesn’t know that he’s a reporter. He keeps it from her because he thinks he can write an exclusive story about their adventures together.”
Devlin’s cup froze in midair. “You mean he deceives her?”
“That’s right.”
“And what happens?” Devlin asked carefully.
“Well, they fall in love of course, and in the end he can’t bring himself to write the story. She goes back to her family, and at her reception for the press he hands her the pictures he was going to print in the newspaper.”
“So she forgives him?” Devlin inquired, watching Angela’s face.
“Yes, because she knows he really cares about her. It’s a beautiful story.”
/> “I can see why you would like it,” he replied, putting his cup on the end table next to the bed. He patted the spot on the mattress next to him.
“Come here to me,” he said.
Angela complied, curling up with her head on his shoulder. He nuzzled her damp hair.
“You smell like shampoo,” he said.
Angela wound her arms around his neck, closing her eyes. “I still can’t believe you’re with me,” she said softly.
“I am,” he answered, his fingers closing over the snap of her jeans. “Let me prove it to you again.”
And he did.
* * * *
Devlin again refused to use the car so they took a cab to the Village. The Odeon was just off Washington Square, and Devlin surveyed the variety of humanity milling about on the sidewalk outside the theater.
“Do you remember that ad campaign a few years back to encourage tourism in the city?” he said. “The slogan was ‘New York has everything.’” He made a sweeping gesture at the people in view. “It certainly does.”
“Don’t be so Kansas,” Angela muttered, pulling on his hand. “You sound like a hick.”
“We’re not going in there?” Devlin asked, halting at the ticket office. “Angela, this place is a firetrap.”
“It’s rustic,” she offered.
“It’s falling down.”
“Look at all the people going inside. It’s a very popular retrospective cinema house. It does a lot of business.”
“Then why don’t they invest some money in fixing it up?”
“We can discuss that with the management later,” Angela said. “Will you come on? We’re going to be late.”
Devlin paid for the tickets and allowed Angela to drag him down the center aisle of the old theater, which proved to be equally antiquated inside, with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and velvet draperies across the screen. They took seats near the front and Angela sighed contentedly.
“Isn’t this place great?” she said enthusiastically. “Just look at the flocked paper on the walls.”
“Just look at the single, blocked fire exit.”
She threw him a dirty look. “You’re a philistine.”
“I must be because I will never understand why you insist on patronizing the worst dives in this town. First that greasy spoon diner, and now this relic. I expect the Phantom of the Opera to come swinging out of the rafters any minute.”
Men of Intrgue A Trilogy Page 61