Angel Falls (Angel Falls Series, #1)

by Babette de Jongh

  “I’ll take care of this,” he offered with a light kiss on my forehead. “You go back in and teach your class.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered. I stepped back, near tears.

  He rolled his shirtsleeves back, revealing tanned, muscular forearms that would have made my mouth water if I weren’t about to dissolve into a pitiful crying heap.

  “Go on,” he urged, taking the plunger. He seemed to know that the least amount of comfort would have me blubbering like a fool, so he turned away, tossing the last comment over his shoulder. “I’ll see you later tonight.”

  “Okay.” I sniffed back my silly tears and herded the girls back to class. “Make a circle, and sit criss-cross-apple-sauce. I’ll be back in two seconds.” I ducked into my private dressing room, washed my hands and feet, put my ballet slippers back on, and made it back into the classroom in one-point-five.

  At the end of class, parents collected their children, and while I had a quiet word with Amber’s parents about the recent incident, the next set of girls trickled in. Leaving a trusted ballet-mom in charge for a minute, I peeked out into the foyer. The floor was dry. I ventured to the bathroom door. The floor in there was clean and dry, too, and the air smelled faintly of bathroom cleaner. I flushed the toilet, and watched the water swirl right down.

  At the end of my last class, I felt Ian’s presence and looked over to see him standing in the doorway with shower-wet hair, butt-hugging jeans and a flimsy sweatshirt. I ushered all the stragglers out the door, then stopped in front of Ian feeling tentative and unsure of myself in a way I never had before. “Hi.”

  He drew me into his arms, drew my tongue into his mouth and sucked, as if he was unbearably thirsty and I was the drink he craved. His kiss was hot, hungry, possessive. His hands roamed my back, slid down to cup my backside, then pulled me up against the hard bulge in his jeans. He didn’t stop kissing me until my lips were swollen and tingling, my mind incoherent.

  “I’ve missed you,” he admitted, just like that.

  “I’m glad you’re back,” I responded, offering a truth of my own. “Do you want to come to my house for dinner?” What I would cook, I had no idea, but I didn’t want to wait through an entire evening at a restaurant just to have him to myself.

  “Oh, yeah,” he answered in a pretty good imitation of a southern drawl. “You could tempt me with food... or anything else you’ve a mind to tempt me with.” He smiled, and I was speared once again by his movie-star good looks. This guy was gorgeous, and before the night was over, I’d have him in my bed.

  I knew it because of the confident sexuality that radiated from him.

  I knew it because I wouldn’t be able to resist him even if I wanted to.

  I knew it because the sparkle in his eyes warned me: this time he’d be fully prepared.

  “What are we waiting for?” I rubbed my hands up his strong arms, twined one leg around his legs, unable to behave like anything other than a cat in heat. I went up on tiptoe, squashed my breasts against his chest and slid my tongue along the seam of his sensuously curved lips.

  He kissed me again, hard and quick, then looked over at Lizzie—whose presence I had completely forgotten. “Come on, Liz.” He snapped his fingers, and Lizzie moved faster than she’d ever moved at my command. Ian rewarded her with a quick caress, and she gazed adoringly at him all the way down the stairs.

  I was just as enthralled as she, both of us completely taken in by him.

  Ian drove us home and waited in my living room with Lizzie and a glass of Cabernet while I took a shower. Though I’d washed my hands (and my feet) after the toilet escapade, I still felt nasty from stirring around in the potty and couldn’t wait to wash myself from head to toe.

  Okay, that’s not strictly the truth.

  Ian smelled wonderful, and I wanted to be clean and good-smelling for him, too. Because I knew tonight would be our first night together. Because I wanted him to be at least as bowled-over by me as I was by him. I showered, dried, and doused myself with honey dust, an expensive edible powder Melody had given me for a birthday years ago. Tonight was the perfect time to take it out of the closet, because it smelled divine, but tasted even better.

  The doorbell chimed, and Ian called out from the living room. “A bunch of ghouls and goblins are trying to get inside. What should I do?”

  Shit. I’d forgotten. It was Halloween. “Candy’s on top of the refrigerator. Help, please.”

  His laugh was low and erotic. “Do I get something in return?”

  “Take a chance. You might be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.”

  I heard him mumble something about playing with fire, then the rustle of a plastic bag tearing open and the squeal of the front door hinges.

  I dressed in Hollister sweats that were old and casual enough to make him think I’d just pulled on the first thing I could find, but thin and cut to perfectly caress every curve. I didn’t bother with underwear.

  When I joined Ian in the living room, he was closing the door after giving out another handful of candy.

  “Thanks for handling the trick-or-treaters.”

  He tossed the bag of mini chocolates on the hall table and put his arms around me. “I’d rather handle you.”

  “Mmmm.” I slid my hands up under his sweatshirt to feel the firm muscles along either side of his spine. “I’d like that, too.”

  “You smell delicious.” He kissed the curve of my neck and opened his mouth to suckle lightly. Groaning, he hugged me closer. “Good Lord above, you taste even better.” He pulled away and looked down into my face, not hiding the passion and need that tightened his features. “Forget about food. Forget about trick-or-treaters. Let’s go to bed.” Grinding his hips against mine, he persuaded with a ravenous kiss, lifting his lips just enough to deliver the coup de grace. “Please, lass. I’m dying for you.”

  The doorbell rang again, accompanied by a chorus of childish, screeching voices. “Trick-or-treat!”

  I gave him a consoling kiss but pushed him away. “They know I’m home.”

  He grabbed my arm and kissed me again. “Can’t your next-door neighbors supply the neighborhood with candy?”

  I wriggled away. “Angela and Carl are taking Ray trick-or-treating. They’ll probably stop by here soon.”

  He pouted hopefully. “We could turn off the lights. Pretend nobody’s home.”

  I smiled at his sad-little-boy expression. “Ian, our cars are parked out front.”

  The doorbell rang again, and one brave little boy yodeled, “Trick-or-treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat!”

  Ian slumped in defeat and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, pulling outward discreetly. “Answer the door, then.” He turned away and ducked into kitchen. “When you’re done handing out candy to this lot, you might as well come in here and cook something for me to eat. I’m starving.”

  I grinned at his grouchy statement. It was just the sort of insensitive, sexist remark I might have expected from the Ian I’d first met over the phone. Coming from the Ian I knew now, I didn’t find it irritating at all. Actually, I found it sort of cute.

  The doorbell rang again, several times in quick succession. Obviously the natives on my porch were getting restless.

  “I’m coming,” I yelled, taking the bag of candy off the table.

  “Not yet, you’re not,” I heard Ian mumble from the kitchen as I answered the door.

  We shared a thrown-together meal of spaghetti and canned sauce (not my finest culinary hour) then tortured each other on the couch between waves of trick-or-treaters. I expected Ben to show up with his kids at some point, and wondered how I’d handle an introduction between Ben and Ian.

  Let-go-and-let-God, I decided. Either the kids would be all excited and ready to move on to the next place, or they’d come at the end of the evening and Ben would expect to hang out for a few minutes and drink a beer while the kids surveyed their loot.

  If that happened, well... I hoped that wouldn�
�t happen.

  Around seven-thirty, a car pulled up at the curb. I was rinsing the plates and loading them into the dishwasher when I saw the lights through the kitchen window. Ian stood behind me, his mouth on my neck, his hands on my hips, his erection at my backside, teasing.

  Wondering how much could be seen through the windows, I watched a tall man get out of the car, taking his time to unbuckle a small child from the booster seat while two older kids ran up the sidewalk.

  I pushed Ian away under the pretense of backing up to slam the dishwasher door. “Somebody’s coming.”

  I rushed to the door with the candy, ready to toss out chocolate and quick excuses about why I couldn’t invite Ben and his kids inside.

  Why did I feel so guilty? I didn’t owe Ben anything.

  Did I?

  I opened the door.

  It wasn’t them. One of my ballet students and her family, but not Ben. I handed out candy and wondered how soon it would be appropriate for me, the town’s ballet teacher, to turn out the porch light, signaling the end of my participation in the Halloween tradition. Maybe Ben and his kids weren’t coming. Maybe they’d gone to the haunted house instead.

  I hugged my student and her siblings, waved goodbye, went back inside. My fingers felt magnetized toward the porch light switch. Was it too early to bow out of my Halloween duties? I’d give it another few minutes, I decided. I plopped down on the couch, and Ian joined me there a second later. With the soft whir of the dishwasher running and the kitchen light off, Ian took my feet into his lap and kneaded my instep.

  “Ahhh, that feels so good.” It felt incredible to be on the receiving end of a little TLC. It was all I could do to keep from purring. Seconds ticked by, followed by minutes. I began to relax.

  “God, what a horrendous day this has been.” I sighed away the last bit of stress I’d been holding onto and reached for a mini-chocolate bar.

  Ian grinned, but his eyes were heavy-lidded with a promise for later. “It seems to be ending well.”

  I was almost getting used to his deep voice and devastating accent. Almost. “I have a feeling it’s about to get even better.”

  “I think Halloween is officially over.” He leaned back to see the kitchen clock through the doorway. “It’s almost eight-thirty, and the last bunch was just after eight o’clock.” Sliding one hand under the hem of my sweatpants, he gripped my calf lightly and tickled the back of my knee with a finger. His other hand tunneled under the hem of my sweatshirt.

  “You might be right.” God, I hoped so. I ran a hand down his hard-muscled forearm. My insides tingled with shooting-stars of anticipation. “Should we turn off the porch light to discourage any stragglers?”

  “Then you could keep the rest of the chocolate to yourself.” His questing finger brushed the underside of one breast. “Might be an idea...”

  I scooted toward him to allow a couple more inches reach. Part of me was astonished at my shameless behavior, but I couldn’t help it. This man aroused me by his presence alone, and when he touched me, I was powerless to resist. Whatever he wanted, I was all-in.

  He flicked a finger across one peaked nipple. My eyes slid closed, my mouth dropped open, and with a sigh, I surrendered to the boneless heat his touch infused. He tweaked my nipple again, and leaned across my belly to give me a hot kiss on the mouth.

  Then he stood, leaving a wash of cold air in his place. “Hold that thought...”

  I kept my eyes closed against the lamplight, trying to retain the feeling of abandon.

  Holding on to the liquid heat of him until he returned.

  I kept track of him by sound as he turned off the porch light, locked the doors and closed the blinds. Then he turned off the lamp with a click, and I opened my eyes to darkness, with only the shine of his eyes to show me the way.

  He led me into my bedroom then stood beside my neatly made bed, watching my face in the dim glow that slipped through the closed blinds from the streetlight. “Is this what you want, Casey?”

  “Yes,” I whispered. My hands roamed the dips and curves of his muscular arms and shoulders. Boldly, I cupped the hard bulge that pressed against his jeans. “I want this.” I nipped at his mouth with my teeth. “I want you.”

  I laid my cheek on his chest and slipped my hands into the waistband of his jeans—one in front, one in back. He was like a big, muscular, living, breathing teddy bear. He felt so good, and smelled even better. I felt the vibration of his voice through the hard wall of his chest, and realized he was saying something. “Huh?” I breathed.

  He stilled my exploration by backing away from me, taking my hands in his and holding them between us, clasped as if in prayer. “Are you sure?”

  No way, answered the tiny flicker of my rational mind I could still hear. What was I doing, starting something with Ian when a big part of me felt obligated to Melody’s family? I went up on tiptoe and kissed his sexy mouth. “I’m sure.”

  He nipped at my lips. “This time, I came prepared.”

  “I know. I’m still sure.” I slid my hands out of his, and turned away to peel back the quilt and the top sheet. The smell of fabric softener floated briefly in the air, reminding me of Maryann, when I showed her how to run a load of laundry.

  Which reminded me of Amy, when she put her arms around my neck and begged me to come more often.

  Which reminded me of Jake, when he added a whole stick of butter to the mashed potatoes when I wasn’t looking.

  Which reminded me of Ben, when he brought steaks from the grill, holding the plate high and trailing his free hand along my waist.

  Then Ian touched my shoulder, and thoughts of anyone else floated away like dandelion seeds on a gentle breeze. He turned me toward him. His wide palms skimmed along my ribs, under my sweatshirt. I raised my arms, and he pulled the shirt over my head and tossed it to the floor.

  He cupped my breasts. His thumbs rasped against the distended nipples and shock waves of pleasure rocked through my chest and belly. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful it makes me ache to look at you.”

  I ran my hands under his sweatshirt, up the hard plane of his abdomen to his chest, learning the textures of his heated skin and crisp hair. He let go of me just long enough to take off his sweatshirt and unbutton the top button of his jeans.

  I reached down to help.

  Ooh, mama. He was wearing button-down jeans. My appreciation of his sex appeal soared another notch. I’d always thought button-down jeans were sexy—the one-by-one loosening of buttons prolonging the anticipation—and on this man, they were almost unbearably so. I popped the next button loose, then another and another. I felt him grin against my mouth, and a second later his jeans fell to the floor.

  My sweatpants followed. I moved back to step out of them, and got a good look at the naked man standing before me. My hands dropped to my sides.

  I was used to seeing men with perfect bodies. I had danced with plenty of them. But Ian was more than just a beautifully formed body. He exuded a raw masculine grace I was sure God intended to be the ideal for his sex. Everything about him turned me on, both the things I could see, and the intangible essence of him I could only feel by the answering response within my own soul.

  “Casey?” His deep voice was tentative, questioning. I realized I’d been standing like a zombie, staring at him.

  “You’re beautiful,” I whispered.

  The sound of my voice released us both, and we lifted our hands, each to touch the other’s body. My fingertips grazed his chest, drifted down the arrow of hair that led to his impressive erection. I closed my fingers around it. “If I had any sense,” I joked, “I’d be terrified. Think it’ll fit?”

  Ian made a sound that might have been a chuckle or a groan. “I hope so. God, I hope so.”

  We tumbled backward onto the bed, a tangle of entwined limbs and exploring tongues. The brush of cool sheets ignited my sensitized nerve endings, setting me on fire for him.

  I kissed his neck then sucked l
ightly, not enough to leave a mark. The scent of his bare skin sent an image through my brain of the night he’d found us after the wreck. But the image blended with my passion, infusing a sense of safety and comfort. He had saved me then. He was saving me now.

  His lips touched mine. His fingers slid between my legs. “Ahh, Casey,” he murmured. “You’re so hot, so wet.”

  I sighed into his mouth, but couldn’t speak.

  He stroked me with a slow, deliberate rhythm, setting off fires of wanting that sparked and swelled and swirled through me. “Come inside me.” I dropped my trembling knees open against the cool sheets. “I’ve waited so long for this... so long for you.”

  His hand stilled for less than a heartbeat. I sensed a slight pulling away, a distancing of what had felt like a soul-connection between us.

  Then he kissed me, and his masterful lips almost persuaded me that I had only imagined the disconnect. I kissed him back, kept my hands moving along the hard planes of his shoulders and back while he put on a condom. But I felt an invisible wall grow between us.

  If I’d known him better, I would have insisted we talk about my intuition that I’d said something frightening enough to make him pull away. But it had been more a feeling than an overt action, something I might not be able to put into words, something produced by my vivid imagination rather than anything Ian had done or felt. I closed my eyes and concentrated on tactile sensations.

  The silky-rough surface of his tongue stroking mine.

  The sweet slide of his fingers over my breast and down my ribs.

  The hard strength of his hairy knees nudging my thighs.

  “Open to me, love,” he crooned, and I realized he wasn’t the only one who’d closed himself off. I had brought my legs together, stiffening against what felt like an invasion. The mutual bond I imagined had melted away to reveal what we really were—two almost-strangers exchanging comfort and gratification with each other.

  Ian slid a gentle hand down my arm in a soothing gesture. His body was poised above mine, the powerful arm that supported his weight trembling with restraint. “Let me love you.”