Underworld Lover (A Guardian Angel Romance #2)

by haron Hamilton

  “I’m not looking for anyone to fix me. Time heals.” She felt warmth coming from her face. The spontaneous heat traveled down her spine. Something physical was emanating from her face.

  “Melanie.”

  She heard a voice. She looked up to see Peter’s dark features illuminated. The light seemed to throw him a bit off guard. Did she have some power over him? Where was this light coming from? For an instant his smile disappeared, then was replaced with something more dangerous. Anger?

  She remembered the other dark man she had met the day before yesterday—Josh. It was his voice she heard calling her name. The touch of his skin on hers had been pleasant. In Josh’s presence, she’d felt none of the repulsion and loathing she felt for Peter. She had smelled the roses, felt the cool petals brush against her skin. She’d felt his fingers on her flesh, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, or stuck between the wet line of her lips. She felt those lips touch hers and pray in an erotic kiss.

  If that other man were in front of her right now, she’d ask him to tuck her under his arm and take her home as fast as his car could go. Or perhaps drive her all the way to New York at a hundred miles an hour, without stopping. Away from this home, from this family. Away from this man now standing before her.

  “You are the second person recently to tell me it wasn’t my fault.” Melanie watched as dullness came to Peter’s dangerous obsidian eyes.

  As if struggling to regain his composure, he righted himself, then answered, “Obviously, my dear, you didn’t listen to the first person. Perhaps now you’ll listen to me. You shouldn’t trouble yourself with things beyond your knowledge.”

  “And you have that knowledge?”

  “Perhaps your friend was just giving you a line. Trying to get you to some place with him.” Peter gave a practiced smile.

  “No. I’m talking about it not being my fault,” she said.

  “But it isn’t.” He bowed to within an inch of her face. “And I’m offering you a better place.” Peter’s steady gaze chilled her again.

  “As if death was a better place,” she said. The pit of her stomach felt packed with cold tar. She saw a dank and sad place, and knew Felix was looking back at her from there.

  Chapter 9

  Melanie thought her mother, Georgia Worthington, was good at anything she wanted to be. She knew her mother as the more talented of her two parents, the smarter one, and the one who should have been the success in the business world. She had the gift of looking soft while being as ruthless and cutthroat as any person could be. After you’re left bleeding on the floor, dying, that’s when you realize you’ve underestimated her.

  Her mother’s palatial house was in order except for her rogue daughter. Mel almost thought her mother would have been happier if Mel had actually succeeded in killing herself along with Felix. Now Mrs. Worthington had to live with the taint of a daughter who’d consorted with a disturbed boy. The story was going round that Melanie had tried to make him change his mind. But obviously Felix’s parents weren’t buying it.

  Her mother was efficient and expert with social calculus. Melanie knew there were two reasons she’d been invited to dinner. One was to meet an eligible bachelor, completing some diabolical plan of her mother’s. The other was to clean up the mess Felix’s suicide had made. She wanted to be sure there was no resulting taint on her household. She needed to speak to Felix’s parents, and she couldn’t do it without Mel. They had to be brought “in line.” Had to get their stories straight.

  The burning hatred Melanie carried for her mother was eating a hole in her stomach.

  Although she had no appetite, Melanie obediently sat next to her mother’s right at the table, the place of honor. Perhaps it was the place a quick right hand could catch a gun or knife as it was brought out to do a dark deed. Across and one over from her sat the ever-confident Peter, next to her father. The placement afforded Mrs. Worthington additional moments to touch her daughter’s forearm and give her a smile carved out of granite with a jackhammer—her version of motherly love. The effect this false smile had on Melanie couldn’t have been greater had her mother clutched her with claws and drawn blood for all to see.

  Melanie was sure Peter understood, for while he looked on her with lust, he had a thoroughly devoted expression on his face as he fluttered his eyes discretely towards Melanie’s mother, without looking at her directly. Mel found this to be curious.

  Another male with mother issues. It did take her mind off the boring non-events at dinner.

  Even if she found Peter attractive in a strange sort of way, the fact that he could tolerate her mother was such a huge black mark in Melanie’s book, he wouldn’t ever be under consideration accepting a ride home from him. Even her fingers felt dirty where he had kissed them. No amount of rubbing them on the expensive linen napkin that matched the tablecloth would make her feel clean. The soil of his touch seemed to reach far deeper than just mere skin alone.

  Rescue was out of the question. She wanted to escape.

  Melanie wondered why her father didn’t seem to notice the way Peter looked at his wife. Every time Peter cast his attention her mother’s way, her mother would titter and blush.

  Mrs. Barstow had been placed on Peter’s other side, so Melanie had to sit next to Mr. Barstow.

  Throughout the meal, her father conducted numerous private conversations with Peter. As the wine flowed and the evening’s candles melted down to half their size, everyone grew quite loose and chatty. Although Peter had not looked directly at her mother much during the whole dinner, Mrs. Worthington was so charged with sexual energy, Melanie could almost smell it. No doubt about who Georgia wished she could go home with.

  Peter played along with her mother. He blushed when Mrs. Worthington slipped by him to pour wine or bring something to the table. She almost couldn’t keep her hands off him, yet he didn’t seem to find it embarrassing as Melanie did. Melanie’s father seemed not to notice.

  If she were truly wicked, Melanie could flirt with Peter in front of her mother. Her evil twin could get drunk and hang all over him, throw herself at him in front of her father. After all, she’d already paid the price. Even though her hatred was long and deep, she was done abusing herself, done with allowing herself to be a victim of her mother’s schemes. And her father was clueless. Melanie decided she would just outlast them, since changing the family dynamics would be impossible. And it wasn’t really worth it, after all.

  The Barstows left early, immediately following dinner. Mr. Barstow had become overwhelmed with sadness. Mel braced herself for the part of the evening when the gloves were going to come off.

  But even with Melanie’s best intentions, circumstances changed the end of the evening. Her taxi didn’t arrive, although everyone waited nearly forty-five minutes for it. Melanie thought it was silly that everyone kept pretending the call her mother made to the taxi company had actually gone out. She had to concede defeat, as she was getting tired. She accepted Peter’s gracious offer to drive her home.

  With Peter’s hands clutching the tops of her shoulders, almost causing pain, Melanie gave her mother a good night kiss and thanked her curtly. Her mother’s warm peck on Peter’s cheek was punctuated with a slight moan and sigh. They shared a knowing glance that sent her father into a frown. Melanie finally understood that her father was employed by her mother in a business of marriage and was responsible for providing all things pleasurable, as long as he could. And when he was no longer useful…well, there would be a grave somewhere no one would visit. Ever. Perhaps her mother was already looking for a younger man to satisfy certain appetites she no doubt still had.

  On the walkway leading from the front steps, Peter took her hand.

  “Be good, you two,” her mother called out into the night air. Suddenly free from the constraints of the stifling mansion, Melanie was possessed with an errant burst of rebellion.

  “Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll make sure he remains a virgin. I’ll save him for you!” Melanie
was sure her mother heard her caustic words as the murderous slam of the front door came a little too late.

  Peter was laughing so hard he almost fell over. “You are wicked, positively wicked, Melanie Worthington.”

  “Yes, I see you have that effect on me.” Melanie didn’t feel like laughing. “So I take it you like my family, especially my beautiful mother.”

  “Oh yes, but she pales in comparison”

  “If you value your life, you’ll not tell her that.”

  Peter chuckled. He looked up at the night sky, at the stars overhead, regarding them. He shook his head. “This is too rich. Beyond my wildest imagination,” he said as he snaked a heavy and very long arm around her waist and drew her to him like he owned her.

  Melanie pulled away. “I don’t like it when you do that.” They walked for a minute in silence, side by side. “You want to tell me what fascinates you so much about my mother, dare I ask?”

  “I could cut the enmity between you two with a knife. Women in battle are very sexy. I’m an ordinary man. I like to watch.”

  “Oh, God, I can’t believe you’re telling me this. I can’t believe I’m listening to this drivel.”

  “You both are equal in power, Melanie. Most people are uncomfortable with the display. I think that’s why the Barstows left early.” He shook his head, hands on hips. Melanie could see he was sparring with her.

  “Well, I think they’d be a whole lot safer at their own house. My family home is deadly.”

  Peter opened up the door to his red Maserati, and Melanie got in. “Indeed,” he said just before he slammed the door.

  After depositing his long, lanky body into the driver’s seat, he leaned over and said, “You are safe with me.”

  He gave Melanie a deep, penetrating kiss she could not break away from. The message was clear. He intended to claim her, and there wouldn’t be anything she could do about it. The time and place would be of his choosing. It was if she had no free will of her own.

  “Who are you?” Melanie blurted out as soon as she could pull her head back far enough to get rid of his probing tongue.

  “That’s complicated.”

  “Try me.”

  “I’m a man driven by passion. I’m the director of a very powerful machine, and I have the ability to fulfill all your dreams. Every one of them.”

  “Are you? Really?” Melanie saw his expression was almost euphoric, like he felt he was winning. She saw clearly he loved to win, above everything else. “I thought you worked for my father.”

  “I represent one very powerful organization. It’s what I brought to the partnership.”

  “You direct this organization?”

  “Yes, I do.” He gave her a confident smile and slipped his forefinger under her chin. “Let me bring pleasure to you, Melanie. Please.” He leaned closer to her. She could tell he wanted her to touch him. An invisible force kicked in, causing her to raise her right hand as if to put it to his cheek. She had to concentrate to keep it from doing so.

  “Stop it.”

  “What?” His eyes sparked as he parried back at her. In his eyes, she saw a flash of red.

  “You’re making me move my hand. I don’t want to touch you.”

  “Oh, but you do,” Peter said, eyelids at half-mast, his breath blowing over her face.

  Melanie’s hand lost the tug of war. It proceeded towards Peter’s cheek as Melanie watched with detached curiosity. When she looked into Peter’s dark eyes, she saw need there. This gave her an idea.

  Her hand barely grazed his cheekbone, and then her fingertips fluttered down to trace a path to his lips. His dark eyes began to water and he squirmed in the leather seat, repositioning his large frame. A faint frown line appeared at his forehead where his eyebrows drew closer together, as if seeking counsel with one another. The touch of her fingers on his lips parted them. The rise and fall of his enormous chest made her feel like she was standing in front of a blast furnace. Peter eliminated the safe space between them, moving aside her fingers, and claimed her lips again, fully possessing her mouth.

  She noticed it wasn’t unpleasant. There just was none of her desire there. Her free will was entirely absent.

  “Melanie,” he whispered softly. “You have tamed the most powerful man in the universe.”

  She used the trust he seemed to bestow upon her against him. He had let his power over her slip. “Are you really the most powerful man in the universe?”

  He pulled back, searching her eyes, and nodded. He held her hands in his thick, veined fingers, clutching her with firm resolve. She gave him the only words she had inside her.

  “And here I thought you were some powerful dark god or something.”

  Chapter 10

  Peter watched the human angel walk up the path to her apartment above the vacant storefront. He had been there already, the day before yesterday. He’d laid down on her bed, walked into her shower, and had stood there, smelling and feeling the remnants of soap, blended with the oils and scents of her body. He’d buried his head in her clothes closet and had pawed through her underwear drawer, squeezing the padded bras that felt so flesh-like.

  He had been truthful when he told her she had tamed the most powerful man in the universe. He felt absolutely tethered to the little blond waif, who had no idea who he was and what he could do to her. Part of him liked it that way. But he knew he would not be able to resist scaring her. It was impossible to keep him from pushing his love interests to the edge so he could save them. He loved saving them. That’s the part he did in secret and in private. His public persona was that he was ruthless. Fear was his constant ally.

  But now, as he watched her walk away, the back of her light tan pants holding up the delicious mounds of her derriere, he thought about what it would feel like to bite her, or perhaps put a tattoo on her ass—a devil, or a raven, something dark. He smiled when the delicious thought came to him. When she was his, he would mark her with a dark inked tattoo containing his favorite word: Mine. Yes, that would do. It would be almost worth it to have her slip, spend an evening with Josh, just to see the look on his face when he saw those words and knew he’d come in second. Second place, loser’s place. No place.

  Before she was totally out of sight, she turned and waved to him. Was that a little voluntary submission on her part? Was she succumbing to his powers already? He would train her so all he would have to do was think about something and she would be on her knees to perform whatever delicacy he wished. He could hardly wait.

  Melanie sighed with relief, knowing Mr. Maserati was leaving. Hard to miss him with the snarling roar his car made as he backed up and scorched the street like a seventeen-year-old. Men and their toys. No doubt he liked women the same way. Why were they always thinking she couldn’t put two and two together? So funny how fragile men’s egos were: the more the demonstration, the easier to topple the pillar.

  She halfway thought about making up some lame story about what kind of evening her mother would be thinking she was having. She couldn’t wait to make her mother ask the question; get it stuck in her craw.

  Melanie wondered when Peter had joined the firm. Must have been a recent thing, since there had been no mention of him. Not that her parents spent a lot of time or attention on Melanie.

  Tomorrow would be a busy day at the shop. She was starting to put up wedding and summer decorations. Several large boxes had been delivered late this afternoon.

  Melanie thought about the tall gentleman she had covered in roses and her heart flipped. Josh. How different he’d seemed from Peter. How…perfect.

  Maybe tomorrow. There was something there she needed more of.

  Chapter 11

  Josh was awakened by birds twittering about outside Helena’s house. He sat up, ready to do battle with the feathered creatures that disturbed his slumber. Then he remembered Melanie’s little courtyard sanctuary, covered in houses humans could purchase for a hundred dollars to add to their gardens. He snorted. As if birds needed encourag
ement to procreate, to twitter, to bounce around and do inane things without a care in the world except to look out for a fast dog or nimble cat.

  Or perhaps a dark angel with a pellet gun.

  No. He wouldn’t kill today. He could make this a day of rest. He chortled at the joke, quite sure no bolt of lightning could reach him here in the Underworld. He was safe in the dark world, far beyond Father’s meddling ways.

  He wondered if Father liked birds, since he made angels. Been a number of years since he had made any with wings, though. Probably wings scared people too much, Josh thought. Wait ‘til they get a look at Peter’s clawed, black-winged dark angels dripping in sandalwood oil and ashes. He knew there would be blood, lots of it, in the coming days. He bet humans wouldn’t want to look at another winged animal for centuries after they were hit by what he knew was coming.

  There it was again, the little twitter, the song projecting from a tiny body that seemed almost to explode it was so loud. Where do they learn this? Who teaches them to sing? He imagined what it would feel like inside a little blue egg under one of those little birds, listening, learning, and waiting to be born.

  He rather felt like that now.

  He nestled down between the light pink sheets and overstuffed rose-colored satin coverlet. The silks covering Helena’s canopied bed blew in the gentle morning breeze. He could smell her, Helena, with all the curves and all the practiced movements an experienced companion had. She was simply the best of the best. Her aura remained over his body like a thin veil. But even with all her moves, all the elixirs and spells she possessed, Joshua hadn’t been able to get it up. God how he’d tried.

  What is happening to me?

  The twittering got louder as the dark, carved door to the bedchamber opened and Helena, that vision of sexuality in her see-through pink peignoir, literally floated across the room, holding a steaming cup of coffee. He knew before he looked at it she put in a full one-quarter cup of heavy cream, making it a light caramel brown. She held the white mug with thin fingers, long fingernails painted a glistening red. Last night, her fingers held him in all the right ways as her mouth worked over his waiting member, welcoming him back home to the land of the living in the land of the dead. And yet nothing had happened.