Somebody's Angel (#5 in a Military Romance / BDSM Romance series) (Rescue Me)

by Masters, Kallypso

So what was keeping him from taking their relationship to the next level?

  * * *

  Angelina shivered as she watched Marc sleeping. Much more soundly than he did on most nights. After she’d hit some kind of trigger for him in their scene earlier, she’d have expected him to be restless. Tormented.

  Instead he’d reclaimed authority over her with a vengeance and had laid siege to her body, giving them both incredible orgasms. He certainly hadn’t let her give him one. Was controlling his own orgasms—sometimes to the point of having none for days—another way he maintained a wall around himself?

  She sighed and lightly fingered a lock of his hair, careful not to wake him. Running scared. After all these months, he hadn’t come close to engaging his heart and soul in this relationship. If not tonight, perhaps he never would trust her not to harm him. He went through the motions of what was expected of him as her lover and partner, but only so far before he shut down. Getting him to bottom for her tonight had hit a nerve with him and opened her eyes to some things. Marc wanted to be in control of everything. While she didn’t mind his controlling her in the bedroom, she wasn’t going to relinquish authority to him over everything in her life.

  Is that what Marc wanted—needed? Why hadn’t she noticed his insecurities before? Well, because Marc masked them. Hell, he’d worn a mask since the night they met. Literally then, but despite her having destroyed the actual wolf mask he used to wear at the club, he continued to conceal his inner self from her. Not just her but from his friends, as well.

  Who hurt you so badly you can’t open up to me, Marc?

  Melissa for one, but Angelina was convinced this went back farther in Marc’s past. That bitch had no emotional hold on Marc from what she could see. Angelina didn’t know what had happened with his last girlfriend and didn’t really want to know, but history had a way of repeating itself. She didn’t want to be yet another of Marc’s ex-girlfriends.

  Mama hinted that Marc’s and Gino’s birth parents hadn’t been shining examples of what a little boy would need to feel safe and secure in the world. Maybe she could talk with Savi about it, once she got to know her better. Getting a therapist’s perspective on how to give Marc what he needed might free him from whatever chains prevented him from experiencing life and love to the fullest.

  Angelina tucked a loose tendril of hair into the curls on the top of his head and whispered, “I can give you what you need if you’ll only let me.” He grimaced but didn’t awaken.

  Angelina snuggled closer to him and closed her eyes. She wasn’t going to get the answers she needed tonight, but she definitely needed to find out more about Marc’s childhood.

  An unknown number of hours later, she awoke to find the sun streaming through the drapes and blinked. Her hand reached across the mattress. Gone. Marc had gotten up early. She glanced at the open bathroom door but didn’t hear any sound. Tamping down the disappointment that they wouldn’t make love this morning, she tossed the covers aside and sat up, waiting for the fog to lift from her brain.

  Where have you run to now, Marc?

  Chapter Eleven

  Angelina tried to focus on preparing the antipasti for Damián’s birthday dinner party tomorrow night, but her mind kept wandering to the meeting with Mama D’Alessio ten days ago and what Marc planned to do about what they’d learned. Marc’s talk with his mother left more questions than answers, and they were no closer to figuring out what had happened back then than they had been before. Each day, he shut her out further. He hadn’t said a word to her about it or the pitiful scene where she’d tried to get him to relinquish control to her, hoping to get him to trust her more. Why couldn’t he see she could help provide support if he’d just let her be a part of his life?

  Why can’t you trust me, Marc?

  Instead, his mask remained firmly in place again. He insisted that nothing be said about any of this to their friends. They’d probably be as disappointed as Angelina that Marc didn’t trust them with such personal information that might also help them understand or help him.

  But an intimate relationship like theirs required a level of trust and sharing unlike what he might have with friends. If Marc could exclude her from something this important, what else would he deem too personal for her to be a part of? How could they have a future if he wouldn’t share his life—good and bad—with her?

  The chopping knife slipped, and she sliced the skin over her knuckle. “Ow!” Tears sprang to her eyes, not so much from the cut as from the release the pain gave her. She needed a good cry over the dismal future she saw with Marc.

  “God, Angie! What have you done?” Karla came over and quickly took Angelina by the wrist of her injured hand, cupping her own hand beneath to catch any drops of blood.

  Angelina tried to wave her away. “It’s nothing. Occupational hazard.”

  Ignoring her, Karla dragged her over to the sink where she ran cold water on the slightly bleeding cut. “Bull. I’ve never seen your knife slip before.”

  When the water ran clear, Karla grabbed a paper towel and wrapped it around Angelina’s sore finger. “Put pressure on that. Where do you keep the Band-Aids?”

  After Angelina indicated the corner cabinet where they kept first-aid and over-the-counter remedies, she moved toward a bar stool at the island.

  “No, Boots!” Marisol jumped down from the stool she’d been sitting on and chased the kitten through the kitchen and into the foyer, nearly toppling Angelina on her way to a chair. Her legs felt a little shaky, probably because she and Marc had been up half the night ignoring each other. She couldn’t sleep without him next to her, and at two o’clock in the morning he’d finally gone to a spare bedroom leaving her to toss and turn alone.

  “Angie, you look like you haven’t slept in days. And not for any good reasons, either. What’s going on?”

  Angelina sighed. “I think I’m losing him, Karla.”

  “Who? Marc? That’s crazy! You two are perfect for each other.”

  “I’d like to think so, but he keeps putting up walls, blocking me out. I don’t think he wants me to stay here with him.”

  “Should I ask Adam to talk with him and see what’s going on?”

  “No!” The look of surprise on Karla’s face caused Angelina to ease off. “I mean…he doesn’t want anyone to know what’s going on. It’s personal. I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget about this. Let’s check on the cake.” Angelina pulled away and stood, going around the island to open the oven. She tested the cake with a toothpick. “Almost.”

  Karla wrapped her arms around Angelina from behind and hugged her against her ever-increasing baby bump. “Adam has a way of getting these stubborn guys to see things more clearly. Maybe you can encourage Marc to open up to him.”

  Not wanting to discuss the problems they were having any longer, Angelina nodded. “We’ll see.” She prepared a place on the granite countertop to cool the cake.

  “I know what ‘We’ll see’ means, missy.” Karla stroked Angelina’s back. “Hon, even if he won’t open up, any time you want to talk or need a shoulder to cry on, you know I’m here for you.”

  Angelina’s throat closed off as she fought back more useless tears. She nodded. “I know. I’m sorry I can’t say more, but Marc’s a very private man, and this is the way he wants it.”

  “I don’t expect you to divulge anything to me. I’ll just hint to Adam that he needs to keep an eye on Marc and, if there’s an opportune moment, try to get him to confide in his former Master Sergeant.”

  Adam never stopped caring about the Marines who had served with him, so keeping a watchful eye on Marc wouldn’t violate any confidences or be out of the norm. “I think that would be a good idea.”

  “Besides, he already knows something’s up. I can see it in the way he watches Marc when you two come to the club. If Damián hit Adam’s radar as having a problem, Adam would haul him into his office by his ear.” Karla laughed sharply before growing serious again. “For some reason, he tends to
give Marc more time to mull things over on his own.”

  “Maybe I’ve been doing that, too. Marc might need to be pushed—or yanked by his ear.” Angelina smiled at the image of her boy from their recent role reversal.

  Karla shrugged one shoulder. “Never hurts to try.”

  “Well, actually, I did try once. It didn’t work out very well.” Angelina didn’t elaborate. “What if I lose him, Karla?” Her throat closed up, and she blinked to try and dry her eyes.

  Karla wrapped her arms more tightly around Angelina’s shoulder. “You aren’t going to lose him. Stop worrying!”

  If only she could. But Angelina had a feeling things were coming to a head and could go either way with them. Marc’s view of the world had been shaken to the core. Everything he thought he knew about himself had been yanked out from under him. She didn’t care if he was a D’Alessio or a Solari or a Jones. She just wanted him to be the Marc she had come to love. She wanted to have him by her side. Always.

  * * *

  Marc had barely spoken to Angelina since Damián’s party last night. While everyone else was around, he put on a strong game face. No, another mask. Tonight, the tension sizzled between them, but she could get no response from him. Something had changed. What?

  Even getting bratty to provoke an erotic spanking, hoping the release would be good for them both, hadn’t worked. He’d threatened a punishment session instead. So she had backed off and given him his space. He’d promptly gone to ground in the bathroom where he’d been for the past thirty minutes. His Navy days usually had him in and out in just a few minutes—unless he invited her in there with him.

  He hadn’t this time.

  Sitting at Nonna’s vanity, one of the few pieces of furniture she’d brought to Marc’s house, she brushed the tangled mess from her separate shower earlier. Marc used to brush her hair at night before bedtime. Dio, she loved it when he did that; her scalp tingled at the memory.

  But that was before.

  The bathroom door opened, and Marc entered the bedroom, his hair wet from his marathon shower. He wore nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, and her breath caught in her throat looking at his lean, hard body. They hadn’t made love in…forever. He hadn’t even gotten her off since the night they’d returned from their trip to Aspen Valentine’s weekend. Intimacy between them in the month before that had been nonexistent.

  He shucked the towel, giving her a brief glimpse of his sinfully delicious body only to crawl between the sheets without a word. He opened his latest Italian murder mystery, shutting her out much as he had been doing for weeks.

  Angelina stood and faced the bed, reaching for the top button of her blouse and working her way down slowly. If Marc would look her way, perhaps she’d be able to entice him into engaging in some make-up sex.

  Only they hadn’t broken up. They hadn’t fought. They were stuck in limbo.

  She removed the blouse and tossed it at the foot of the bed, hoping to capture his attention.

  Marc turned the page and kept reading.

  She reached for the clasp of her bra behind her back and released her neglected girls before she tossed that scrap of lace a little closer to where Marc lay stretched out. He didn’t seem to notice. She sighed.

  Maybe there was no hope for them. She certainly wouldn’t continue like this, two strangers coexisting in the same house.

  Angelina fought to tamp down her frustration, but she loved him too much to let him bury himself alive.

  “I’m worried about you, Marc.”

  He looked up from his book with a vacant stare. “Why?”

  In what universe could he not see he had a problem? In Marc’s, where he thought he could mask all emotion and fool the world.

  “I don’t want to see you hurting like this.”

  “I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

  Clearly he had no intention of allowing her to take care of him.

  He set the paperback across his lap, open and face down. “Oh, before I forget, I’m leaving for Italy in the morning. I’ll probably be gone before you wake up. Should only be a few days.”

  Angelina’s heart banged against her chest. “Italy?” There had been no mention of his leaving the state, much less the country. No mention, either, of her going along, even though he knew her passport hadn’t expired from the times she’d visited Nonna in Marsala. It wasn’t as if she had a job to tie her down either. Not even a nibble at a sous chef’s position.

  “What’s in Italy?”

  Was Marc going to look up his biological father?

  “Evelyn gave me the number for Solari. I’m meeting him for lunch day after tomorrow.”

  How long had this been in the works without him saying a word? And why did this surprise her?

  Still, the thought of him going alone to confront the man who had rejected and ignored his own son wrenched Angelina’s heart. Marc was vulnerable right now. That bastard could hurt him. She wanted to be there to pick up the pieces, to comfort him—if he would allow her inside his inner sanctum.

  Trying to sound casual, she continued to brush her hair. “Take me with you.”

  “This isn’t a vacation, pet. I’ll take you on holiday to Italy another time.”

  Stunned, she turned toward him. If he’d slapped her across the cheek, he couldn’t have hurt her more. She slowed her breathing to regain control, but it was a losing proposition. When he picked up his book again, Angelina slammed the brush onto the vanity. “I don’t want a damned vacation to Italy! I’m trying to get the man I love to let me be a part of his life again.”

  Who was she kidding? She’d never been a part of his life.

  His eyes widened in surprise. At least he noticed her. His gaze lowered to her bare breasts then back up to her eyes. He made her feel the only part she’d ever have in his life was that of a sexual partner. Sorry, the sex was great but not enough.

  “You are a big part of my life, cara, but I don’t want you going with me. This is between him and me. You don’t need to be a part of that.”

  The backs of her eyes stung. She spoke just above a whisper. “Too late, Marc. I’m already a part of it, whether you accept me there or not.”

  Marc ran his hand through his hair. “Angelina, this is something I have to do alone.”

  She saw the hurt in his eyes but what about her pain? They were supposed to be a couple, to share each other’s ups and downs. If he was cut, she bled.

  She didn’t want him to get hurt while she wasn’t there to make it better for him.

  “Stop shutting everyone out, Marc.” She came around the bed, and sat down on the mattress, reaching out to stroke his arm. When he shook her off, yet another rejection, she turned away. The dream of any future together with Marc blurred in her tears until it became impossible to see anymore.

  He doesn’t trust me.

  She stood and turned her head away, dashing the sudden tears from her eyes. She’d dreaded this moment since Valentine’s weekend, but it became clear to her there was no hope he’d ever change.

  Angelina cleared her throat. “I don’t think this is going to work.”

  “I won’t know unless I try.”

  She faced him as he picked up his book again.

  “I don’t mean meeting your birth father, Marc. I’m talking about us. I can’t love someone who is incapable of loving me back.”

  He laid the open book on his chest, like an armor shield over his heart. “What are you talking about? You know I love you, Angelina. I just have a lot on my mind lately. If you want to go up to the playroom,” he said as he glanced at the clock on the nightstand, “we have an hour or so before I should catch some shuteye.”

  He’d confirmed her doubts.

  Angelina swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I don’t want to play or have sex. All I want is for you to trust me.”

  He huffed his irritation. “I trust you more than any woman I’ve ever known.”

  “That isn’t saying much, is it, Marc
? What woman have you ever trusted?”

  She had his attention, but his own Italian temper flared. “I let you tie me to the fucking bed, Angelina. I let you put a ball gag in my mouth and a blindfold over my eyes. What more do I need to do to prove I trust you?”

  A lump lodged in her throat as she pictured the little boy who had been Marc being cast aside by his birth mother. He couldn’t have much of a conscious memory of those early years, but clearly they had made quite an impression on his emotional development.

  What might he have been like if that hadn’t happened?

  If wishes were horses…

  Understanding why he couldn’t trust her didn’t make the knowledge any easier to accept.

  Even with the scene he spoke of, he hadn’t let his defenses down the way she did in a scene when she submitted fully to him. He’d continued to shut her out then, just as he was doing now.

  Maybe he needed time to sort this out? But could he do so without help? Sometimes he could confide better in his Marine buddies. “Have you talked about what’s going on with Adam?”

  “No. He doesn’t need to be bothered right now with all that’s going on with Karla and Damián.”

  “Marc, it’s not a bother for friends who love and care about you to want to help.” Had he ever relied on anyone to give him what he needed? “I need to know where we go from here.”

  “Look, pet, I have a lot on my mind right now. I can’t deal with you, too.”

  Angelina balled her fist and drew in a slow breath, initially wanting to pound on the door he’d metaphorically slammed in her face. They stared at one another in silence for a long moment, and she watched him withdraw further into himself.

  She’d lost him.

  Ha. Joke’s on you, Angie. You never really had him.

  He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m just going away a few days. Why all the drama?”

  Her throat constricted forcing her to clear it again. “Marc, I won’t continue in this relationship if you won’t trust me.”

  An expression of pain crossed his face before the mask once again went into place before Marc sighed. “Look, it’s been a hell of a day. I’m tired.” He placed his book on the nightstand. “Let’s get some sleep. I have an early flight to catch.”