Errant Angel

by Justine Davis

  But she would remember. She would always, always remember. With a shiver, her fingers curled around the pendant.

  They weren’t there.

  It wasn’t just that they weren’t answering. They weren’t there. For whatever reason, they had shut down the channel altogether. She couldn’t even send the message to signal them to call her back. They had at last, apparently, abandoned her. She was alone.

  No, not quite alone. Dalton was here. He was here, he was gazing at her with that look, and his fingers were gently stroking her chin, her cheeks, her nose, her lips. He was here, and in this moment he seemed more powerful to her than the bosses ever had. For all their wisdom, all their wondrous powers and technology, they had never been able to give her one basic necessity, because they lacked it themselves. Even they didn’t completely understand the workings of love.

  But Dalton could show her everything she’d never understood.

  “Angie,” he said again, a mere breath of sound.

  In that instant, as his whisper of her name sent that almost familiar frisson down her spine, Angie made one of the decisions she had become infamous for.

  “Yes,” she murmured.

  Dalton went very still.

  “Please, Dalton.” She tried to concentrate, but his fingers were still at her lips, and she was having difficulty thinking of anything except that she wished he would replace them with his lips. “I need to understand. I know it’s why I get in such a muddle sometimes, because I’ve never really understood what all the fuss was about.”

  It was true, she thought. She just didn’t know. It wasn’t her fault. Even the bosses seemed to agree now, with all their talk of having recruited her too young.

  Dalton was looking at her, the heat in his eyes touched with confusion, and she realized how strange her words must have sounded to him. And she also realized that she would have to be careful, on guard with her thoughts because of this strange connection that had sprung up between them. But none of that changed her mind.

  “Teach me, Dalton. I want to learn.”

  He groaned, low and deep in his throat. Then he pulled her into his arms.

  Eight

  She’d heard all the phrases. Falling in love. Swept off your feet. The heat of passion. Logically, she’d understood the words. She’d seen them in action. She’d even, on cases, sometimes made sure they happened. But never had she ever truly known what they meant. Until now.

  The moment Dalton’s mouth came down on hers she knew. She knew that this was something bigger, more powerful than anything she’d ever dealt with before. She knew that she was about to learn what she’d longed to know for so very long. At last she would understand.

  And then she didn’t know anything except the rising, expanding heat that radiated through her with a speed that took her breath away.

  When she felt him probe her lips with his tongue she parted for him without thinking. She remembered so vividly the hot, male taste of him, the intimacy of his invasion of her mouth. Knowing what was to come did nothing to lessen the impact; when his tongue brushed hers, she felt fire leap along her nerves.

  Barely aware of what she was doing, she reached up and slid her hands around his neck, her fingers sliding through the thick, dark silk of his hair. She could feel his heat, warming her, yet it was nothing compared to the heat burgeoning inside her. A heat unlike anything she’d ever known, a heat that caused an urgency in her, an urgency she didn’t understand, a striving for something she couldn’t name.

  She only knew that he held the answer, and that she had to get closer to find it. He was so tall, so big and solid, that she had to stretch to do it. She pressed herself against him, thrilling to the rough sound that rose from deep in his chest as she moved. He began to move then, his hands sliding up and down her back, his mouth devouring hers as if he were starved for her taste.

  She could hardly believe that the low moan she heard was coming from her. She sounded so...needy, as if even the deepness of this kiss wasn’t enough. Then Dalton’s hands moved again, slipping down to her hips, and he pulled her hard against him.

  Even that wasn’t enough, and she twisted against him, trying to get closer still. She heard him suck in his breath, then let it out in a harsh groan. Only then did she realize the significance of what she’d been feeling, the meaning of that rigid column of flesh that was pressed against her belly. Tentatively she shifted her hips, using her body to caress him.

  He growled something she couldn’t understand, muffled by her own mouth. Then he broke the kiss. He drew his head back, but made no move to release her body. His breath was coming in deep pants, and she understood why; the cavernous garage was suddenly short on air.

  He simply stared at her for a long moment. Silence spun out between them, but Angie could see by the clenching of the muscles along his jaw, by the tightening of his lips, that he was trying to regain control. And if he did, she knew, he would leave her. She felt suddenly bereft.

  “You promised you wouldn’t stop,” she said, not even caring that she sounded like a mournful child.

  Dalton groaned again. “God, Angie, don’t. Don’t look like that. Don’t sound like that.”

  “But you said—”

  “I said too damn much. I always seem to, around you.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide with puzzlement. “You...don’t want to, now?”

  He laughed, a short, harsh, rasping sound. “I don’t want any of this. You’re making me feel, lady, and I don’t like it.” Then he moved his hips sharply, nudging her with his swollen flesh. “But I don’t seem to have much choice. I want to, all right. But if we don’t slow down, it’s liable to be right now, right here in the back seat of your damned car.”

  Angie blinked. She had, over the years, seen people make love in far more bizarre places than this. In fact, cars seemed to be quite popular. But perhaps Dalton didn’t like the idea. “Is that...wrong?”

  She heard his breath catch. “Lady, you turn those big brown eyes on me and nothing seems wrong. But I’m not prepared for this.”

  Involuntarily, her gaze slipped downward, to the obvious bulge straining at the worn denim of his jeans. Admittedly she didn’t know much, but he certainly seemed ready.

  With an odd, choking sound, Dalton grabbed her hand and dragged it down between their bodies until her palm rested against his zipper, over the place she’d been looking at. Instinctively her fingers moved, tracing his erect length, stroking as her eyes widened in wonder at the size and heat of him.

  “That,” he said tightly as her fingers moved over him, “is not the kind of prepared I meant. I meant prepared to keep you from getting pregnant.”

  “Pregnant? Me?” Angie blinked again, startled into stillness. “I can’t.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She nodded. The bosses had made certain of that, just in case, although with the powers they’d given her it was unlikely she’d ever run the risk of being raped. Of course, if the bosses had truly deserted her....

  She didn’t care. She wanted this. She needed this. She needed Dalton.

  She resumed her caresses, and this time he released her hand, giving her the freedom to do as she would. He shifted his body to make it easier for her to touch him, and his hands slid up to cup her head, his fingers threading through her hair as he tilted her head back for another kiss. Another searing, piercing, mind-clouding kiss.

  No wonder people couldn’t think rationally at times like this, Angie thought dizzily. No one could think at all, feeling like this. On that realization she gave up the effort, surrendering to the rising wave of luxurious heat and the thrill of feeling and hearing Dalton’s response as she continued to stroke him.

  She only realized when she felt cooler air on her skin that he had unbuttoned her dress. She felt a qualm as he moved to cup her breasts, but the moment she looked down at his strong, work-roughened hands against her soft, pale flesh, it vanished in a new wave of sensation. Then his thumbs crept up to fondle
her nipples, bringing them to taut, exquisitely sensitive peaks, and she cried out in amazed wonder.

  When he moved to unfasten her bra, she felt no qualm at all, only a growing need to feel his touch on her naked flesh. When the lacy fabric fell away, instead of moving to cover herself, she found herself arching her back, thrusting her breasts upward, shamelessly begging for skin against skin.

  He obliged her with a smothered groan, his hands moving, his fingers tightening around the tips of her breasts just enough to make her gasp at the pleasure it gave her. Then he was plucking at that aroused flesh until it darkened to deep rose beneath his touch, and she moaned as her nipples contracted into pebble-hard nubs that seemed to beg for even more. Although what more there was she couldn’t imagine.

  And then he showed her, moving swiftly to take one tight little crest into his mouth and suckle deeply. The shock of his wet heat made her cry out as fire swept through her, seeming to flare and then condense into a hot, pulsing glow somewhere low and deep inside her.

  His tongue flicked at her, and she arched again, convulsively. He moved to her other breast and repeated the caress, and Angie heard her broken little moans begin to run together into one continuous sound of whimpering pleasure.

  Her fingers trembled as she tugged at his shirt. She thought, in some tiny part of her mind that hadn’t already been turned to cinders by his passionate heat, that she should be able to do this by merely thinking it done. But she couldn’t focus her powers, not when he was drawing her nipple so deeply into his mouth, not when she could feel every tug of his lips and tongue in that place of pooling, growing flame. It was all she could do to keep the mental wall between them intact; she sensed he would not welcome the opening of that link just now, and she wasn’t sure she could deal with it herself.

  She kept fumbling with his buttons. When he realized what she was trying to do, Dalton helped her. He yanked away his shirt without ever taking his mouth from her; she vaguely heard the dance of popped buttons across the garage floor.

  The sensation that spiraled through her when she first smoothed her hands over the bare, sleek skin of his chest was as powerful as what she’d felt when he’d touched her. It was something she hadn’t expected—yet another thing she hadn’t understood—that touching the other person was as thrilling, as arousing, as being touched. The generosity she’d seen in true lovers was so much more fathomable to her now....

  And that was the last rational thought she had. Dalton had finished unbuttoning her dress and it fell away from her body. He froze for an instant, staring.

  “Oh, God. Stockings. You’re wearing stockings.”

  She felt herself color. “I...don’t like panty hose.”

  The truth was, she’d never gotten used to them. Other items of newer, fancy lingerie—although some of it was entirely too racy for her modest tastes—certainly appealed to her after a young womanhood spent in corsets. But panty hose had always made her feel too constricted. So stockings and garters it was, and she was much more comfortable that way.

  She’d had no idea it was to such masculine taste, as well. But she couldn’t deny the flare in Dalton’s eyes in the moment before he closed them, as if the sight of her was too much for him to bear.

  “Dalton?” she whispered.

  “Just...give me a minute.” His voice was thick, rough.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Just that...it’s been a long time, Ange. If I don’t slow down now, I might hurt you.”

  “Oh, no. You couldn’t do that.”

  His only answer was a low sound of fierce intensity. She didn’t want him to slow down, she thought. She wanted to understand. She wanted to know. She wanted Dalton to teach her. She wanted Dalton period. And she wanted him now. He might have been waiting over a year, but she’d been waiting a very, very long lifetime.

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and lifted herself up until her breasts, nipples still wet from his mouth, rubbed temptingly against his chest. She felt him tremble as if a convulsion had swept through him, rippling through every muscle in succession.

  “Don’t wait, Dalton,” she whispered. “And don’t go slow.”

  A low, growling sound ripped from his throat. He exploded into movement, picking her up in strong arms in the same instant as he shoved the driver’s side of the front seat of the Chevy forward out of the way. He deposited her in back, every muscle straining to do it carefully and slowly enough not to hurt her. He pressed her back on the seat, dragging her silk panties down her stocking-clad legs with one hand while the other fumbled with his belt buckle and then the snap of his jeans.

  She moved to help him, lingering for another long, slow stroking of the ridge of flesh behind it before she reached for the tab of his zipper and pulled it down. As if that final caress had pushed him past the limits of his restraint, he took her helpful hand and put it around his waist, then shoved away interfering cloth. With his knees, he pushed her thighs apart. For an instant he stared down at her. And in a voice that sounded like velvet spread over gravel, he gave her a last chance to change her mind.

  “Angie...you want this?”

  “I want you,” she corrected, a little breathlessly. “And I’m tired of waiting.”

  With a low groan, he moved swiftly, lowering himself to her and into her in one smooth thrust.

  Angie had known it would hurt, had prepared herself for it, but she hadn’t dared—and hadn’t wanted to—invoke her ability to make it not hurt, for fear it would open the channel between them. Her breath caught on a little cry of pain.

  Dalton froze, then moaned under his breath. “Damn, Ange, why didn’t you tell me? I can’t stop now.”

  “Don’t you dare stop.”

  Her voice was full of awe. She’d expected the pain, but she had never expected, hadn’t known enough to expect this incredible fullness, the wonderful feeling of having his body inside hers. She’d of course known a woman had the capacity to take a man, but she’d never realized how exquisitely tight the fit could be, how utterly intimate the process was.

  With a strangled-sounding apology that she hushed, Dalton began to move. His hips rocked against hers, driving him even deeper, then drawing back. She heard herself whimper at his withdrawal, but it coalesced into a throaty sound of pleasure as he filled her again, and again. She moaned at the sweet rhythm, marveled at the luscious friction, and cried out at the wonderful fullness as he buried himself in her to the hilt.

  He murmured her name, low and rough, and began to move faster. Something about his increased pace beckoned to something deep and primal inside her, and she found herself lifting her hips to meet his next thrust. The movement brought him to her very core, and Dalton cried out, sharply, in a tone so ringing with pleasure that Angie shivered with delight. She understood at last the true miracle, the renewing circle of life, as man and woman came together in the age-old way to create life.

  She felt a pang of regret that there would be no child from this union, and another at the thought of a tiny, dark-haired, green-eyed baby. But then Dalton slipped his hand between them and caressed her in a way that made her forget everything except the heat of his body and the touch of his hand. She lifted her hips again, straining, breathing harshly now, knowing that the final answer was within her reach, as long as Dalton didn’t stop that slick, sliding caress, as long as he continued to fill her with the thick, hard flesh that was driving her to the brink of madness.

  She felt him hesitate, frozen above her. Then a sharp, hissing gasp broke from him and he drove deep, gripping her shoulders to brace her for his forceful thrust. He cried out her name as his body arched, his head thrown back, his hips grinding hard against her.

  He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen—in all of her travels, in all of her years—and the sight of him, of the sheer, undiluted pleasure that drew his face taut, and the feel of him as he erupted into her, flooding her with liquid heat, sent her spiraling upward, her body gathering itself until his last con
vulsive movement shattered her. His name ripped from her throat as she clenched around him, tightly, drawing another cry from him, but she was barely aware of it over the waves of hot, rippling sensation that swept her.

  He collapsed atop her, panting, his arms wrapped around her shoulders, his long legs tangled with hers, his slowly ebbing flesh still inside her.

  And as Angie looked at him, marveled over the pure male beauty of him, and at what he had just shown her, she wondered how long it was going to take her to make up for what she’d missed.

  * * *

  A last echoing shudder rippled through Dalton. The sheer intimacy of what had happened overwhelmed him. He couldn’t look at her. He kept his face buried in the curve of her neck and shoulder, knowing he couldn’t meet her gaze, not after this. It was all he could do to speak.

  “Why, Angie?”

  He felt her go very still beneath him. “Why?”

  “You know what I mean.” He hadn’t meant to sound harsh, but it came out that way anyway.

  “I...didn’t think it mattered.”

  His head came up then. He stared at her incredulously. “You didn’t think it mattered that you were a virgin?”

  Her eyes were calm as she looked up at him. “It was my decision, Dalton. And one I’ve waited a very long time to make. I’m not sorry. Don’t you be.”

  He nearly groaned out loud. He didn’t need this. He didn’t want this. There was too much responsibility in being a woman’s first man. That was why he’d never done it before, despite the energetic efforts of a few teenage groupies in the past. He’d said it was because they were jail bait, but in truth it had been more because he didn’t find much that was attractive in women who found their self-esteem in whom they slept with—the hottest new race car driver, in his case.