Angel Falls (Angel Falls Series, #1)

by Babette de Jongh

  In the car, my newfound friend—who didn’t seem stoned yet, so I felt safe getting into his car—introduced himself. Kyle Kelley—nephew of Ken Kelley the Kar-Wash-King, the over-confident entrepreneur I had declined to date. Kyle dropped me off at the curb in front of my house with a wave and a double-beep of his convertible’s tinny-sounding little horn. I ran inside, fed Chester and Lizzie, then took a bath. I powdered-up and slipped-on the sexy red nightgown I had packed to wear tonight.

  Because I didn’t need Ian—or any man—to enjoy the feel of satin on my skin, did I?

  No, of course not.

  Smelling fine and dressed like God’s gift to any man, I opened a bottle of wine and turned on the TV as the nightly news began. Not that I was planning to watch, because I wasn’t. I don’t watch TV. In particular, I don’t watch the news. Especially not the nightly news. Especially when everything about it was disturbing. Especially when—

  The phone rang.

  Miffed over my lost weekend with Ian, depressed by the nightly news, I didn’t plan to be Miss Mary Sunshine for anyone. I didn’t check caller ID before I snatched up the receiver and snarled a curt, “Hello.”

  “Lass, I’m sorry. I was wrong to get my knickers in a twist. Forgive me?”

  My anger dissolved. I was mad about what? I couldn’t quite remember. “Oh, Ian, I’m sorry, too.”

  “I’ve decided not to stay in Birmingham. Do you want some company?”

  My butterflies started fluttering. “Yes, please.”

  “I’m on my way, but it’ll still take me a couple of hours.”

  “Be careful driving.” I thought about that treacherous stretch of highway between him and me. “Take your time. I’ll wait.”

  “Okay, love.” His voice was a warm caress. “See you soon.”

  After an eternity, headlights projected a kaleidoscope of colors onto the living room wall, and I looked out to see Ian’s car at the curb.

  I ran to the bathroom, had a quick pee, washed hands, glossed lips, brushed hair, and made it to the door before he did. I tossed the hairbrush on the couch and opened the door before he could knock.

  “Mmmm...” It was all either of us said, too occupied with kissing for conversation. It was cold outside, and his leather jacket chilled my fingers, but underneath the jacket, his body was warm. Ian turned the deadbolt and dropped his overnight bag with a thunk. He walked forward with me in his arms, until the backs of my knees touched the arm of the couch. We tumbled back, his hard, muscular body on top of mine.

  Hallelujah, my body sang. Everything was right with my world now that he was here.

  “Ow.” He looked down, found the hairbrush and sent it clattering across the floor. “Thought I’d put my knee down on a hedgehog.”

  “How was the awards banquet?” I asked. “I’m so sorry I missed it.”

  He put a finger over my lips, shushing the apology. “Boring as hell.” He scooched us around until I was on top of him. With his hands caressing the silky fabric covering my backside, he started to kiss me but pulled away before our lips touched. “Hey, where’s your car? It’s not out front.”

  “I left a voice message.” I kissed him, since he hadn’t quite managed to kiss me. “Didn’t you get it?”

  He shook his head. “Bad connection, too garbled to understand.”

  Thank God. “I had a little car trouble on my way to Birmingham.... I was going to try to catch up with you.”

  “You were.” He trailed a finger along my cheek. “How sweet.”

  “I made it as far as River Road before Margot—my car—decided to give up the ghost. Smoke was pouring from the hood. I thought for a minute she’d catch on fire.”

  Ian snorted. “Probably be a good thing if she did. So what did you do? Did your father come and get you?”

  “Nah. It was dark already, and he doesn’t like to drive at night.”

  “Ben, then?” Ian asked, the caution in his voice cooling a little of the passion between us. His hands on my backside went still—a bad sign.

  I hurried to correct his mistaken assumption. “I got a ride from a kid who was down by the river partying.”

  Ian stood, dumping me onto the couch. “You what?”

  Uh-oh. I realized too late that I’d only made things worse. “You heard me, Ian Buchanan.” I hoped to ward off the impending argument by going on the offensive. “And here I am, safe and sound. No harm done.”

  He jumped in with both feet, about how I was too trusting, irresponsible, taking unnecessary risks, all sorts of stuff. If I’d ever read the newspaper, I’d know that strangers couldn’t be trusted, and even in small towns, teenage kids abducted women and yada yada. I stopped listening after that, but he yelled a bit more before he wound down enough for me to get a word in edgewise.

  By this time, I knew he was right and I was wrong, but of course I still got back in his face, about how I was a grown woman who’d been getting along just fine all this time without him telling me what to do. Lizzie whined and pawed at my leg, sending worried looks between us. I got up and flounced out of the room with my slinky nightgown billowing out behind me. I turned off the bedroom light and climbed into bed to wait with my arms crossed over my chest.

  Lizzie hopped up onto the bed and put her head down on her paws, looking out into the hallway. I heard Ian walking, his steps slow and measured on the wood floor outside my range of vision. I couldn’t tell where he was, exactly.

  Was he leaving?

  No. He was coming down the hall. I let out the breath I’d been holding. I heard the bathroom door close, the sound of water running... And then the silhouette of his strong body blocked the bedroom doorway, his muscular shoulders and arms silvered in stark relief from the hall light.

  I folded back the covers. “Come to bed.”

  He stopped beside the bed, and when he spoke, his voice came deep and serious. “Promise me you’ll never to do anything like that again. Even in small towns, terrible things happen. Even in Angel Falls, there are bad people who do bad things. That was dangerous, and you know it.”

  “I’ll try not to.” I had the feeling my light tone wasn’t doing any good. “Okay?”

  Ian growled at my stubbornness, but got into bed anyway. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll take a look at your car.”

  “Okay.” I turned toward him.

  “Your toes are like ice.”

  I stuck my feet between his legs. “Warm them up, then.” I slid my hands around his ribs. “And my hands, too, while you’re at it.”

  “Bossy lass,” he complained, his voice gruff. “Come closer.”

  And I did.

  In the morning, we swung past the fast-food drive-through for breakfast muffins and bitter coffee. I don’t know why, but a canned energy drink didn’t appeal to Ian, and it was the only thing left in the refrigerator. We were standing in front of my car before the sun had a chance to burn the dew off the grass. I stood back as Ian lifted the hood and peered inside. He made a tsking sound, and I figured I was about to get fussed at.

  “Casey.” His voice was quiet, but I wasn’t deceived. He looked over his shoulder at me. “When’s the last time you looked under the hood of this car?”

  Yep. I was right.

  I sniffed, trying to dredge up a little Black Swan. “I never look under the hood of a car if I can help it.”

  “And I’m guessing you’re about to explain to me why that is?”

  I licked my lips and thought fast. “What good would it do? I wouldn’t know what any of that stuff under there is supposed to look like anyway. How would I even know...?”

  “Well, I’ll bet you could figure this one out.” He motioned me toward him with one grimy hand.

  This was some sort of trick, I could tell. “I’d rather stay back here.” My view of his jeans-clad backside and muscle-filled T-shirt was much better from this distance anyway.

  “Get over here and look at this,” he growled.

  I eased forward, cradling my Styrofoam coffee cup
as if it offered some protection. Then I peered down into the black and gray mass of metal and hoses under the hood of my car.

  Ian stepped back, the long fingers of his grease-smeared hands spread on his lean hips. “You tell me what’s wrong with this car.”

  “Um...” Feeling like a murder suspect about to receive a life sentence, I leaned forward and took a closer look. “That fan-thingy in front isn’t supposed to be hanging by a wire?”

  He clapped his hands once, really loud, and I jumped like I’d been shot. Not life sentence after all; death sentence by firing squad. “You win the prize. That ‘fan-thingy’ is what keeps your engine from overheating.” His voice had an over-exaggerated patient tone that made me want to find the nearest hollow log and crawl into it. “And no, it is not supposed to be hanging by a wire.”

  Ian stared me down, his warm whiskey eyes colder than I’d ever seen them.

  Boy, he could be scary when he wanted to be.

  “This is a vintage car, Casey. You can’t take its care and maintenance for granted. How long have you been driving it like this?”

  I shrugged, staring down into my cooling coffee. Now was probably not the time to stand up to him. I should pick my battles, and this was one I couldn’t win. “You mean, exactly?”

  “How long has your car been overheating?”

  “Only when I drive a long way in stop-and-go traffic,” I said, oozing meekness.

  “For how long?” he thundered.

  “About... I don’t know, a couple of months.” More like four, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.

  Ian spun around to stare out through the trees. “Do you ever check the oil? The water? Anythin’?” His back was to me, his Scottishness rising, his voice just barely under control.

  “Sometimes my daddy checks it for me.”

  Ian looked heavenward but didn’t say anything. He walked to his car, opened the trunk, took out an old rag and wiped his hands.

  “We’re going to the auto parts store.” He slammed the hood and checked that the doors were locked. “This may take a while.”

  *

  “Come on, girls, get up.” I clapped my hands to perk up my advanced students. “I know it’s Monday, and I’m ready to go home, too. But give me a break. If you take too long getting your pointe shoes on, your muscles will get cold.”

  They hustled to finish taping blisters and wrapping toes in wool batting or gel pads before shoving them into the torture box. “Victoria, if you put one more bandage on your toes, they won’t fit inside your shoe. Enough, already!”

  “But my toes hurt.” She wiggled her toes at me and whimpered. “The blister on my baby toe is bleeding already, and we haven’t even done anything on pointe yet.”

  “They’ll get numb once we get going.” I turned toward the stereo. “Let’s do a quickie at the barre and then we’ll go right on to the center combination we did last week.”

  Quiet giggles erupted behind me, and someone said “whoo-eee” under her breath.

  I turned to see Ian leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. He wore those button-fly jeans that made me want to jump his bones, an ink-stained tee ripped at one shoulder, and a lopsided little grin that made it impossible for me to look away.

  But I did it anyway. “Keely, please get the music going—the third selection, for tendu and degage.” I gave quick directions for the combination. “Facing the barre, you’ll do echappe, echappe, releve, sauté. If you’re up to it, substitute entre-chat-quatre for the sauté. After four repetitions, follow with the coupe, sauté, coupe, sauté, pas-de-bourre over, pas-de-bourre under combination we did last week. Got it?”

  “Got it,” they replied in unison. Keely started the music, and I could hear the familiar thump-swish sounds of the class going through the combination. I walked toward Ian and tried not to seem overjoyed to see him.

  He leaned close and whispered in my ear. “I’d like to do a quickie at the barre...”

  Heat spread up from my chest to consume my face, but even in my embarrassment I could appreciate the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

  “Come to dinner with me tonight.” I could smell the tantalizing spice of his skin, feel the heat of his body reaching out to mine.

  I looked at the clock above the mirror, noting my students’ reflections as they executed the simple pointe warm-up.

  “I have another half-hour of class.” Less than twenty minutes, really, but it would take time for the girls to get their things together.

  “I’ll wait.”

  “I’m not dressed for dinner.”

  “I’ll take you and Lizzie home and wait while you get dressed. Better yet, I’ll take you both to my house and cook steaks on the grill.”

  “I have to take a shower.” The music ended and my students eyed us with interest.

  “I’ll wash your back,” Ian offered, enjoying my discomfort at having such a personal conversation while my students watched. The fact that they couldn’t hear a word didn’t matter.

  I scowled at him but I didn’t mean it. “Stand here quietly if you’re going to wait inside the studio. Don’t distract my girls.” And most especially, don’t distract me.

  After another warm-up at the barre, I called the girls to the corner of the room. “Piques from the corner, three en-dehors, pirouette, followed by one pique en dedans, ending in sauté arabesque then a deep plie, holding the arabesque for a beat. Then move out of the way quickly so you don’t get bowled over by the person coming up behind you.”

  Once they got going, four girls spun in a diagonal line from left to right, another four from right to left, creating a giant, motion-filled X. I looked over at Ian to see how impressed he was at my teaching finesse. But he wasn’t looking at the dancers as they executed the complicated pattern.

  He was looking at me, his eyelids lowered in a way that could only be described as sultry. Our eyes met, and I was sucked in, mired in the quicksand of his sex appeal. Not that I minded. Struggling against it didn’t seem to be an option anyway.

  “Miss Casey...”

  I jumped. The music had moved on to the next selection and my students waited for me to tell them what to do next. “Everyone spread out behind me. We’ll mark the step first. Starting right foot front, croise. Coupe chasse pas de bourre under....”

  I danced every step along with my students without looking at Ian. At the end of class, we rose from the deep curtseys of reverence and clapped the traditional applause for a class well-danced. Each student came to me after class for a hug and a lemon drop from the candy jar I kept on the stereo cabinet.

  The last girl in line hugged me and whispered in my ear. “Ooohhh, Miss Casey...” drawing out my name in the sing-song way girls use when teasing a friend. Then she licked her index finger and touched it to my shoulder, making a “tssss,” sound like steam hissing on a hot skillet. I knew what she meant, and she was right. Ian was hot, and I was obviously hot for him.

  “Don’t you have homework?” I whispered.

  She sent me a sly wink. “I’m going. You’ll have him to yourself in just a minute.”

  “He’s just a friend.”

  “Try harder, then,” she suggested quietly. “I think you could hook him.”

  I herded her out the door after her classmates. “I’ll see you next week.”

  “Love you, too, Miss Casey.” She giggled, brushing against Ian on her way out.

  “You didn’t have to come up all these stairs to ask me to dinner,” I told Ian as I locked the studio door behind us. “The phone works, you know.”

  “I wanted to watch you dance.”

  We started down the stairs. “What did you think of my girls?”

  “I wasn’t looking at them. I was looking at you.”

  “Did you draw any conclusions from your observations?”

  At the bottom of the stairs, he pressed me against the brick wall. Lizzie settled down at our feet to wait. “Several.” He kissed me, right there on
the sidewalk in front of the newspaper office. “Would you like to hear them?”

  “Ummm...” was as close as I could come to an answer.

  “I concluded...” he spread a hand against my back in an exploratory way, “that you aren’t wearing a bra.” He ground his hips against mine. “Shall I tell you what that did to me?”

  “I think...” I wet my lips with my tongue and saw his gaze drop from my eyes to my mouth. “I think I can tell.”

  “Did you know that your nipples stand out like little raspberries when you do those big jumps?” He brought a hand up to touch my breast.

  “Jetes.” I leaned into his hand.

  He brushed a thumb lightly across my nipple, and my knees trembled.

  I tried to find a coherent thought in the mush my brain was turning into. “You said something about dinner?”

  “I did.” He snapped his fingers to rouse Lizzie from her doze at our feet. She hopped into the back seat of his car as if she’d done it a thousand times, and I settled into the passenger seat.

  I could get used to this. Leaving work together every evening, going home together.

  The moon hung low, a glowing silver cradle suspended just above the road. A tender anticipation began to build in my stomach.

  “Put in a CD?” Ian turned on the interior light and passed a leather case to me.

  Flipping through the case, I noticed many of my favorites, but saw a few I’d never heard of before. I held one up. “Ry Cooder, Bop Till You Drop. Is it good?”

  “Yes.” He turned off the light. “You’ll like it.”

  After a while, Ian slowed the car, then turned onto the gravel drive that was almost hidden by a wall of trees. Lizzie sat up in the back seat, ears pricked. Ian stopped on the circular drive in front of his house, ignoring a separate three-car garage that sat at a slight angle to the house. He got out, opening Lizzie’s door first. “Come on, girl, we’re home.”

  Lizzie hopped out of the car and followed Ian around to the passenger side, doing the helicopter-wag with her short little tail. Ian opened my door, extending his hand but saying nothing. I put my hand into his, feeling light enough to float away.

  Inside the house, Ian gave me a little nudge in the direction of the master suite. “Go take your bath. I’ll feed Lizzie and get dinner started, then come in to wash your back.”