by Mara Lynne
Of course, he had to carry her against her will to the house. She’s as stubborn as a toddler in temper tantrums. Now, she’s safely secured inside the Etheridge stronghold where no one can hurt her, or throw eggs or rotten tomatoes at her, and yet she refuses to talk to anyone, most especially to him.
So, Damien decides to approach her, this time less lenient.
When he enters her room, Angel curves on the bed like a ball. She wore an oversized shirt that barely covers her thighs and had a neckline that falls off her shoulders, showing off her clavicles. How Damien envies Hunter in so many ways. One of which is getting to see Angel in this state each morning. He wakes up to have his fingers run against the silkiness of her skin, to feel her warmth. These Hunter have and will continue to experience until he does something.
Her food is untouched, and the fresh set of clothes at the foot of the bed is still folded and layered. The Pine Valley Mansion is temporarily unmanned—the helps were relocated to Princeton by his father except for one hostler who live in the cottage near the stable—so Damien had to look for clothes that might fit Angel from his closet.
“I would like you to know,” he begins, “that it is your safety I am after. I took you here because I had to. I can’t let them harm you.”
“No one’s harming me, Damien!” she spitefully replies.
He lets out a laugh of disapproval. “Oh, really? Throwing eggs at you did you no harm?”
“No!” she answers, then her voice tones down until it sounds like a whisper to Damien’s ears. “Compared to what I’ve been through, the eggs are nothing.”
“Eat!” He pushes the food cart close to her bed. “And we’ll talk later.”
It’s not best to talk when emotions are high. Damien knows he will not achieve anything.
Angel pulls herself together, and she sits on the bed, turning to face the door where Damien is heading to.
“I have to get back home before today ends,” she tells him. “Hunter will be looking for me.”
And though he wants her to stay, to force her to want to stay with him, he can’t. Damien knows he can’t do anything to change her mind so quickly. When she said she wanted to leave Pine Valley to be with Hunter, a strong tug on his chest almost rendered him breathless.
How can he make Angel want him again? How can he have her back?
It’s almost impossible now. She’s as stubborn as how she was seven months ago. She’s not letting him get into her just like how she did before. It seems like she built her own Great Wall of China just for Damien to be repelled.
But instead of disheartening him, it’s doing the opposite to him. He’s not going to stop now, is he? He’s not going to give up just yet without giving Hunter a damn good fight, right?
Not when he knows it’s not too late, when he knows there’s something left of him in Angel’s heart. He knew that after he saw Angel falter and cry for a moment at Hunter’s place, pleading him not to come closer to her. That some old feelings—that are never truly lost—only dormant and waiting to be awakened, will soon find the strength to overpower her.
That moment, he knew it is never too late for him.
He just has to find a way to make Angel see, to make her trust him again, to make her recognize the feelings she still has for him. He’s going to do just that, and yet it seems far-fetched for now.
Just how would she get her back?
Taking her to Pine Valley is not doing anything for him. He feels that he made an enemy of himself for his brash decisions.
He drives to town to purchase supplies like food and proper clothes for her. She can’t go walking around the house barely dressed though his blood rages with fire when he thinks about it. Technically, he and Angel have the entire house for themselves. No housekeepers except for a lone stableman who lives nearby. No guards. No gatekeepers. No Philip to see his every action.
It seems that more than a heavy rain is coming. The skies are turning dull and dark as a canopy of mad clouds force the sun to retreat early.
“Are you going camping, Damien?” the old man at the supply store just miles away from the mansion asks as he stacked batteries, a loaf of bread, and canned goods. Damien could have gone straight to town if the rain is a little lighter. It’s soaking the road, making it too muddy to drive through.
“There’s a storm coming,” the man adds, punching the items one by one in the counter. “Better buy everything you need now as I am closing down early.”
“I was in England for days, Ric,” he answers as he takes his wallet out from his pocket.
“I think you should not proceed with camping, son, even if it is just in that mountain of yours. I heard this is going to get worse.”
“Do you have female clothes on sale?” he asks without hesitation.
“Oh, my boy! You’re keeping a woman, aren’t you?” Ric’s eyes enlarge.
It won’t be nice to hear that he’s keeping his brother’s fiancé, will it?
Damien just gives off a smile.
“I’m sorry, boy, but no female dresses here,” Ric replies. “But I do have girly umbrellas and toddler tiaras. You know they are a bit in demand now because of that local reality show on TV.”
“Thank you, Ric, but she’s not seven years old.” Picking up the plastic bag with his purchased item, he strolls toward the door.
“I know!” Ric answers. “You better get yourself a wife now, boy! I heard your brother’s marrying.”
Why does everyone seem happy for Hunter?
Is it only him who wishes for his brother’s wedding not to take place?
If only he’s marrying another girl…
When he returns, he brings the supply to the kitchen, loads the flashlights with batteries, and checks the manor’s generator. The wind begins to howl, smashing the glass windows. Damien hurriedly checks all portals in the house, taking him more than half an hour to ensure that the doors and windows are strongly bolted. The mansion stands like a castle. Unfortunately, it’s only inhabited by the king and his queen for now. Without its men and staff, the king will not be able to keep the castle standing alone in this extreme weather.
He goes upstairs carrying a bowl of hot meat soup for Angel. Just as he reaches the landing, he sees the door on Angel’s room open, banging against the adjacent wall as the wind surges through the room like a tempest.
Quickly, he rushes to the door, dropping the bowl of soup when he finds out that Angel has fled. The curtains sway with the cold breeze of wind and rain that washes away the dryness of wood and nature. Pieces of bed sheets tied together fall freely out of the window, hanging only a few centimeters off the wet ground. Peering through the window, he sees Angel running for her life, barefooted, toward the thick woods, her soaked clothes sticking to her skin.
Without second thoughts, Damien storms out of the mansion and to the barn and takes out his horse. Murray, a well-built man in his early forties, is shocked to see the young master of the house free his horse from the chain and ride it like wild fire. He did not get a word from anybody that Damien was visiting, so he just stood there watching the young man rode his horse off through the storm, thunderstruck.
It’s easier to find and catch Angel on horseback than on foot. In this kind of weather, the woods are very dangerous.
“Angel!” he calls her on top of his lungs. Pulling the reign forcefully to stop the horse every time they reach an area in the woods covered by haze, Damien would call for her name many times. The trees have huge trunks, a good place for hiding, but he does not think Angel has time to relax. Leaving the mansion in this condition only to hide behind the trees and wait for the storm to pass is not a typical Angel Mohr thing to do. He knows her to be very impulsive and stubborn, so there’s no way she’d lay back and wait for the sun to rise. She’d use all the time available to escape. But certainly, she could have not gone that far, could she?
“Angel!”
The rain pours heavily, hitting his flesh like bullets. The sky roars, deafening
his ears, and streaks of light overpower the darkness second after second. But Damien fears for Angel more than what could befall upon him for pursuing her deep through the forest. This is the time of the year when the wild dogs are freed in the forest to breed.
He could only think of the blame he would willingly inflict on himself if something goes wrong with Angel. He will not and cannot forgive himself.
Prancing, its tail swoosh as its hooves thunder in sync with the fury of the skies, dancing with the angry wind and surging through the torrential rain.
They cross the raging river to get to the center of the forest which will lead him to the end of the woods.
“Whoa!”
Releasing and pulling the reign together, the horse stops at a mound of soft soil.
“Angel?” Damien mounts off, and his feet sink into the mud.
She is standing under a huge tree for shelter with her arms around her for warmth and her legs kissing each other. Carefully, he tries to get closer to her, but his every movement causes her to step back. Her eyes foster fear.
He could calm down now, he thought as his heart caught up with the situation.
Is it because of the storm?
Is it because she is cold?
Or is it because she has grown afraid of him?
“Take me back to Hunter,” she cries, shivering. Her tears mix with the pouring rain. “Please.”
“Angel…” He stretches his arm out for her to see.
“I want to go home, Damien.”
Seeing her beg like this, wanting to be with Hunter than him, puts an arrow right through his heart.
“Just come with me, Angel. It’s dangerous out here!”
“No! Not until you promise you’d take me back to Princeton.”
No. He does not want to do that. He does not want to give her back to Hunter.
“Angel, we’ll talk about this, okay. Just take my hand, please.”
Shaking her head, she replies, “Why did you have to come back, Damien? Why?”
This is not just all about her running away, is it? He did not see this coming—Angel asking him the question he’s been wanting to hear from her and at the same time avoiding to answer.
“You were gone. You were not supposed to come back,” she says, crying. “Everything is going just fine without you.”
“No, it’s not,” he answers, fixing his gray gaze on hers.
“I swore to myself I will never forgive you for what you did to me, Damien. After all that, I don’t think you deserve my forgiveness.”
“I understand, Angel, but I am here hoping I could change that—your mind, your heart.”
It’s not that easy, he thought.
“I loved you, you bastard! You hurt me. I thought I was going to die. You horrible monster! I knew I should have not trusted you. I regret that day when I let myself be fooled by you. I should have not listened to you, Damien! I knew it was too good to be true.”
He moves forward, walking closer to her until he has Angel caged in his arms. She’s too cold and weak to resist him, too angry to notice his actions.
“And I love you still,” he says in a low tone, almost sounding like a whisper in a raging storm. “It has never changed, Angel.” He burrows his face at the curve of her neck, almost kissing her shivering skin. His arms pin her against the trunk of the tree. “You don’t know how much I regret everything I did.” He takes her face with his hands, cupping it, placing his forehead on hers. “Every single day of my life, I am haunted by that fucking mistake. I should have not left you. I should have listened to you, I know. But I did not because I was damn too proud. I was an idiot, oh yes, I was, Angel.”
“You’re a great liar, Damien…” she utters, too weak to push him away, too confused to stop him from being this close to her.
What’s happening to her? She knows this is not right. She is supposed to shun him, loathe him, and make him understand and accept the changes, but it’s not happening. She could not get her head straight, her thoughts clear, and her heart in agreement with what she believes should happen.
“I cannot stop, Angel,” he adds. “I just can’t.”
“You have to, Damien.”
“I don’t want to,” he counters, breathing just on top of her mouth.
Angel’s fingers reach for the neckline of his soaked shirt to keep her standing.
“I have stopped loving you, Damien,” she says, fighting the growing discomfort in the pit of her stomach. Her senses completely disagree with the warmth his body is producing despite the cold environment.
Before she could say another word, Damien smashes his mouth into hers, completely rendering her speechless and frozen. His tongue explores her, producing unwanted but pleasurable warmth all over her, coaxing her to open her mouth wider and her tongue to respond to him.
Long. Deep. Anguish. Regret.
He has sent his real intention through it, and Angel grasps his message.
Getting pressed deeper to the tree, she has finally lost all her inhibitions. She takes and drinks him all in, delighting herself with the hardness of his body, the strength of his grasp, and the wonders of his tongue.
“I don’t think you have,” he says after he breaks the kiss, pleasuring himself with the sight of Angel wanting more of him.
“Maybe I haven’t,” she replies, caressing the side of his face with her hands, watching his eyes dig deeply to hers. “But I’m no fool to believe in it again. I belong to someone else, Damien. I can’t love you now.”
Chapter 18 – By the Fire
Damien ties the horse’s rope around the wooden pole of the cottage which he easily identifies as the gamekeeper’s home. His family no longer employs one on a long-term basis since his father stopped engaging in hunting after he was elected in office. Some animal rights law he championed for years totally forced him out of this obsession. Hence, the keeper’s cottage is literally abandoned, although, once in a while, members of the household would visit it to check the supplies.
It is unsafe to continue riding back to the mansion. The rain has not stopped, and the thunderous growls of the sky still terrify Angel and the horse after it has exhausted itself from running.
“Damien,” she starts while watching him tend to the horse. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“It’s not safe to travel with this weather, Angel,” he answers while letting the horse drink water from his cupped hands. “Let’s wait for the rain to stop. You need not to be afraid.”
But she is.
After what happened a while ago, after she let him get so close to her, allowing him to see her weakness… After all that, she knows she has become more vulnerable.
“Your word, Damien. Please, I need to hear it one more time.”
He sighs, straightening his back. He turns on his heels to face her.
“I promise,” he reluctantly says.
But she knows Damien is not a man who walks the talk. She knows that all too well.
“I have to make fire now,” Damien whispers before crossing the doorsill of the cottage.
Angel stays outside and watches after the horse.
There’s an ash-free hearth at the left side corner, and beside it are piles of logs covered with cloth. Damien quickly loads the hearth with logs and starts a fire, and the cottage burns with heat and light. He flings off his shirt and hangs it on the railing near the fire. The cottage only has one room for everything and is free of any furnitures like tables, chairs, and bed. He begins to wonder how the gamekeeper could have lived here. It appears that all he got for himself is the floor, a few dry linen, logs for fuel, a kettle, and a pot.
Then he shifts his gaze outside where Angel is caressing the wet mane of the horse. Her legs are drenched with mud and rainwater, and her clothes stick to her skin like a glove, showing off her shape and shadows of her undergarment. She, in that oversized white shirt, creates an illusion of sensuality. Damien resists the urge to stare at her for long because if he continues this
insanity, he might lose his control and break his promise. His severe longing to quench his desire to kiss and touch her will have to end now. He better enjoy the disappointment, he thought—let himself suffer in this effortless seduction.
She’s not dressed for the cold weather, and she’s trying to preserve heat through her tiny body movements.
From the cupboard, he takes out a thick bedspread and spreads it all over the floor then another clean linen for Angel to use.
“I’m sorry I could not find you something appropriate,” he says as he hands her the linen.
“This would be fine. Thank you,” she replies, slightly taken aback by Damien’s bareness.
“I put up something for you to lay down at on the floor while we wait for the storm to pass.”
Peeking through the opening on the door, her eyes fall on the makeshift bed. It’s just the right comfort her body aches for now, so she walks inside, albeit hesitatingly. Even the now warm hearth did almost nothing to convince her.
She warms her limbs first before she strips the buttons off her shirt, looking over her shoulder to check on Damien who is still outside with the horse. Heaving a sigh, her memories with Damien starts crawling back to her brain again.
She clearly remembers that night on the lake—at the small cabin in the middle of the lake—when they both got soaked in the rain. That was a painful memory she can’t forget, and being with Damien right now makes it harder for her.
What is she scared of?
Damien?
No. She’s not scared of what he can do to her.
She is scared of Damien disarming her.
Right. She was wrong when she tried to make herself believe that her feelings for him are gone. They never disappeared. They are still there, forced down by anger. She tried to believe that it’s over between her and him, but now, she cannot deny the intense sensations she once felt for him are resurfacing, finding its way back to her heart.