A Cold Day in Hell

by Stella Cameron

  Then she cupped her breasts and studied them. She inclined her head. Sensation awoke in her flesh. Slowly, Eileen passed her thumbs back and forth over the tips of her dark, already budded nipples. She sucked in a sharp breath and almost closed her eyes. Other parts of her throbbed. Without giving herself more time to get into trouble, she got into the shower and let hot water beat down on her head and shoulders.

  Washing her hair usually distracted her. Not this time. While she let the water stream through her hair, dashing rivers of lather over her skin, she touched her breasts again, pulled lightly on her nipples and made herself stop when she wanted to stimulate herself.

  Panting, she leaned against the wall and this time she did close her eyes. She had been vulnerable to Angel before, but not like this. Eileen needed him.

  She toweled off and pulled on a pink cotton nightie. The dark, rigid tips of her breasts showed through. Anxiously, she tugged on a matching robe and tied it tightly at the waist. The suggestion was still there but not noticeable if you weren’t looking for it.

  Getting a brush through her hair wasn’t easy and she hadn’t thought to bring a dryer. She found a smaller towel and wound it around her head. Another glance into the mirror didn’t reveal a scrubbed-looking innocent. A voluptuous, flushed woman, who looked ready for a long night without sleep, stared back at her.

  She returned to the bedroom, steadied herself, and walked out into the passageway.

  Angel walked back and forth at the other end. He saw her and smiled, and his gray eyes turned black, thrilling her, tensing her body all over.

  “I thought I’d have to come rescue you,” he said. He’d had to stop himself from going in there. “Five more minutes and I’d have been in on my charger.”

  She flipped him an arch look as she walked by. “Where do you want me?”

  “Anywhere I can get you,” he said before sanity took over again. “In my office. To the left.”

  Eileen heard what he said but pretended she hadn’t. Angel’s office wasn’t at all like Finn’s. Emma’s decorating touch hadn’t entered here. White walls, a single good Chinese rug in shades of red, a desk, credenza and bookshelves, a whole wall of crammed bookshelves. Apart from two deep cane chairs with gray cushions, that was it; although pale coffee-colored grass shades were lowered over the windows.

  She looked at the chairs. “Should I sit in one of these?”

  “Yes. They’re more comfortable than they look—or so I’m told. I never use them.”

  As soon as she was seated, he gave her a brandy and dropped to sit, cross-legged, in front of her. Eileen hiked her legs sideways onto the chair—they had to be cramped—and tucked her bathrobe around them. She looked into the brandy as she swirled it. “Thank you for letting me use the bedroom here. I hope they’re finished with my house by tomorrow evening.”

  Her lowered eyes made him think she was trying not to look at him. “At least they let you get some things. Matt was in such a mood, I was afraid he’d refuse.”

  “He’s got a lot to deal with.” She sipped from her glass and puckered up. “Mmm, that’s good, but it’s strong. This was a horrible day.”

  “Not really so horrible until later,” he told her. “I thought our walk had promise.”

  He got a piercing look. “It had promise of turning into a row and don’t pretend you didn’t know that. You and Finn ambushed me with Matt. Not that it matters now.”

  “Matt’s going to have to question a lot of people. He’ll have to just about take this town apart and people aren’t going to like it.”

  “No.” Her expression turned sad. “That poor man. No one deserves to die like that.”

  When the crime-scene team had arrived and set up their lights and paraphernalia, all too soon the full extent of what had happened to the dead man, at least on the surface, was revealed. Angel frowned at Eileen. She’d taken what must have felt like multiple punches to the gut and kept calm. A lot of men as well as women would have passed out, or at least thrown up when the layers of garbage were carefully removed from above the body and the damage was laid open.

  “I think they’ll get whoever did that to him,” Angel said. “The Dumpster was picked up today, it shouldn’t be hard to pin down the window of time when he could have been put in there. And the medical examiner will have plenty to say.”

  “I’ve been thinking about Ona, too,” Eileen said. “She’ll be devastated. He was probably killed in her kitchen, wasn’t he?”

  There was little doubt that the guy had been shoved, head-first, into the deep-fat fryer. Angel looked away. “Probably.” Gently he smoothed his fingers up and down her shin and rubbed the tops of her feet. “Try not to keep thinking about it. We can’t change anything.”

  She shook her head no.

  “Chuck’s going to keep on being a nuisance. I think that worries me almost more than anything—other than the bullets flying around.” Flopping back into the chair with her glass balanced on her thigh, she stared at the ceiling. “Can you believe we’re talking about these things? Only days ago I was looking forward to Christmas. Now all I’m looking forward to is keeping all of us alive—if we’re lucky.”

  “Do you think Chuck’s capable of killing someone?” he said, thinking aloud as much as asking the question.

  Did she know the answer to the question? “If he was, he wouldn’t take potshots at his son. Or are you talking about Chuck killing that man? Oh, Angel, he—”

  “No, I’m not. I do want to know if that’s Bucky Smith. I couldn’t identify him.”

  She shuddered. “Senseless violence.”

  “Hang in with me,” he said. “Would Chuck want to kill you?”

  “I don’t know anymore.” She stared at him and her eyes filled with tears. “Why would he? He left me, not the other way around. Surely, I intended to divorce him, but he got there first.”

  “Either someone wants to get rid of Sonny and me, or you and Aaron. With that shot in your backyard, Aaron chalked up another arrow in his direction.”

  “In the bathroom at your house, you must have been the target. The more I’ve thought about it, the more convinced I’ve become that whoever was on the roof didn’t know I was there.”

  He raised his brows. “What would he think I was doing in that tub? I wasn’t washing my back. And you’re one distinctive woman, Eileen. You were seen.”

  “And the first bullet went off the rim of the tub right beside my head,” she said, gradually pulling the towel from her wet hair. “Why would someone want to kill me?”

  “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “There’s nothing logical about it. Have some more brandy.”

  She did, and she observed the way his throat moved when he followed suit. Whatever happened, she would not be a ninny and lean on him.

  He had strength, both physical and mental. Leaning on him didn’t sound so bad.

  “Nothing much gets done till someone dies,” she said and heard the flatness in her own voice. “I mean, it’s like when someone’s missing. You have to wait first to make sure they don’t come back. Then it’s just as likely they’re never found and if they aren’t there’s no body and the killer gets away—”

  “Yes,” he said firmly, rising to his knees. He rested his forearms on the arms of the chair and his face was very close. “Don’t forget I’m here. This isn’t the first time…I’ve had some experience with criminals. They come in all shapes and sizes and they’re always mean and often stupid. I don’t mean completely stupid, just that they make mistakes and get caught.”

  “But not till after they kill someone.”

  Fury surged through him. He wanted to get his hands on whoever was doing this. “Often they get caught before they pull anything off. And this one’s not a pro.” Best not to tell her that was the reason he had become certain she and Aaron were the targets rather than either Sonny or himself.

  “I’m okay.” She was whining too much. No one liked a whiner. “A good night’s sleep and I’ll be a n
ew woman.”

  His grin let her breathe again. He didn’t have her pegged as a scared, would-be victim. She swallowed more brandy and savored its aromatic burn all the way down.

  Angel really was close to her. His thighs were a scant inch from her legs and he didn’t make any attempt to back off, even when he tilted his glass. He lowered his brandy and peered through it. “I like being with you,” he said. “A lot. More than a lot.” He put his glass on the floor and played his fingertips over her collarbones. “I’d like to stay here with you tonight.”

  Her stomach flipped and that tingling she’d begun to know so well started all over again. “Mmm. You’re going back to your place.”

  “No, I’m not. Matt’s got a cruiser going up to the house regularly. If someone wants to find me, they’ll call.”

  Eileen glanced at his mouth and away. She fidgeted in the chair.

  Angel leaned slowly until he could kiss her and when their lips finally parted again she was breathless. She looked at the open neck of his shirt, at his chest.

  “Look at me,” he said.

  She shook her head no.

  “Why?”

  “Because I want you.” She covered her mouth and mumbled, “I can’t believe I said that.”

  Neither could he, but he’d handle it. “I’m glad you did,” he said, preparing to kick himself if she agreed and backed off.

  “Me, too,” she said, and returned his kiss, slowly, deeply.

  Angel held her by the shoulders and gave as good as he got. Better.

  She muttered into his mouth and he arched his head back.

  “Brandy,” she said, her eyes huge, dark and shimmering. “My glass.”

  He smiled and took it from her to set beside his own. “Don’t they say good loving is a cure-all?” Homing in, he nipped at her bottom lip, sucked it lightly into his mouth. “I think they do. And if they don’t, I do.”

  They kissed for a long time. Eileen knew she couldn’t do anything to stop what would happen. She didn’t want to.

  Keeping hold of her shoulders, Angel studied her. She looked kissed. She looked sexy, but not the relaxed sexy of aftermath. His lady was on alert as much as he was.

  Briefly, he considered how deep he was getting with her. Only very briefly. The answer was—real deep, and he was okay with that.

  She didn’t try to stop him pulling her legs from beneath her, sitting on the floor and massaging her feet. Each touch made her jump, and not because she was ticklish. He rubbed the bottoms of her feet with his thumbs, worked toward her ankles and smoothed softly but firmly over her calves and shins. The brush of his fingertips behind her knees zapped her nerves.

  “It’s getting late,” she said.

  “You sound hoarse.” He gave her another heavy-eyed, provocative grin. “It must be almost time for bed.”

  “I didn’t know you were so traditional,” she told him. This new woman she’d discovered in herself was a little wild, at least in comparison with the old Eileen.

  “I like the pink,” he said and she didn’t doubt he could see her nipples, hard inside the soft cotton.

  His hands traveled her thighs. Her bottom slid forward and he smiled that knowing smile. Fingertips in her groin sent her against the back of the chair again and she grabbed at his hands.

  “You don’t like that?” he said.

  A slow throbbing contraction and rush of dampness made her hot.

  “Don’t you know?” Angel said and spread his fingertips over her belly. His thumbs settled in slick folds. “You still don’t know if you like it?” His voice sank low.

  “I like it,” she told him.

  With her lips parted and her breath coming in short spurts, she undid the buttons on his shirt. Leaning just a little nearer to him intensified the pressure on her clitoris. She couldn’t concentrate. The buttons slid through the holes by feel. She bowed her head and tugged the shirt open, kneaded his pecs and used her fingernails on his flat nipples.

  “Gimme a break,” he said. “Let me…hell, that’s good. You feel so good, so sweet. You’re wet, honey. You’re driving me mad.”

  Eileen panted. His thumbs moved harder and faster and she hung on the edge, waiting to tip over, urging him to tip her over.

  He took one hand away to open her robe, and fastened his teeth and lips on a nipple. The erotic pulling through wet fabric speared her.

  Pushing to the edge of the chair, gripping his shoulders, Eileen whimpered when release broke over her. She all but fell on Angel and he held her while her climax wracked her in waves, and while she tore her robe and nightie over her head.

  “My God,” he said. Looking up at her he pinched his thighs together, willed himself not to come like that. With her hands above her head, her breasts swayed, full and rounded, the nipples distended. Big, dark, distended nipples. He covered them, reared up and flicked them with the tip of his tongue. Every sound she made drove him wild.

  On his feet, he shucked his pants and lost the shirt fast. He twirled her around and sat on the chair, pulled her down astride his hips and sank into her so hard he watched her face for signs of pain. Eileen’s eyes were closed and she smiled.

  Angel tensed every muscle, pushed on her knees to get as close and as deep as he could. Eileen caught him around the neck to keep her balance and do her part to drive them both to a mad seeking.

  He jerked, jerked and poured into her. His grip on her slackened as his head fell back against the chair and he flowed into hot, dark mindlessness.

  “Angel,” Eileen moaned, her voice high. “Don’t stop.” He felt her body locked around him and bent toward her again.

  He felt her rapid build, the convulsive urging in strong, slick places. She tried to kiss him and Angel opened his mouth against hers. He took her sobs into his throat and with one last, huge effort, stood up, staying inside her, and half ran, half staggered the length of the corridor to the small bedroom.

  They landed, locked together, on the mattress, and immediately climaxes shot through them. Through a haze, Angel wondered if either of them would survive this in one piece, but Eileen was already pushing a hand between them, touching him again.

  “Are you a sex addict?” he murmured into her ear. She nodded and he said, “What a relief.”

  22

  The back of Eileen’s neck was soft and smelled of soap. They lay on their sides, her bottom tucked into his pelvis, on the bed in the room where he’d only slept alone before. Holding her in his arms, smoothing the undersides of her breasts, he decided he never wanted to face the bed again without her.

  Warm, soft, she revolved to face Angel and held him. In the darkness he could see the glitter of her eyes. She kissed him. Angel rose over her and took her face in his hands. He made the kiss leisurely and explorative. When their mouths parted, she trailed her tongue to his ear and nipped at the lobe.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Grateful,” she said, and chuckled. “Mmm, I didn’t mean that to sound the way it did.”

  “You didn’t?” He liked her rapid comebacks.

  She thought about it. “Yes, I did.”

  “Me, too.”

  A cell phone rang, hers, and they fell together in a heap on the mattress.

  Angel kissed her. She traced the outline of his mouth with the tip of her tongue.

  The phone rang a third time and they kissed hard, clung together as if they would never let go. Eileen pulled away and went for her phone. “It could be Aaron,” she said as she flipped it on. “Hello?”

  She listened and repeated, “Hello.”

  “Who is it?” Angel asked.

  “I don’t know. They hung up on me.”

  “It could have been a wrong number,” Angel said. “If it was Aaron and he wanted to reach you, he wouldn’t hang up like that.”

  He was right. “Mmm.” Eileen snuggled into him again and he held her. She felt safe.

  She felt sleepy. “Are you tired?”

  “Exhausted,” he said an
d she felt him smile against her shoulder. “But getting stronger. And stronger.” His head slipped beneath the sheet and he kissed her breasts with little kisses and big, open-mouthed kisses—closer and closer to, but never quite touching, her nipples.

  “You’re a tease,” she said. “I’m not tired anymore.”

  Her phone rang again.

  On the fourth ring she answered, “Yes?”

  “Hi, darlin’, please don’t hang up.”

  “It’s too late for calls, Chuck.”

  23

  If he was a nice guy, he’d leave the room and let her talk to her ex in private.

  Angel didn’t like nice-guy odds.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, Eileen hadn’t said a word since she’d told Chucky boy it was too late to be calling. She found the switch that turned on a nightlight and threw an indistinct beam across the sheets.

  He got up and walked to the only window. Fumbling, he lifted one side of the shade and peered out. Over the rooftops, vapor lights let him see the back of the parking lot in front of Eileen’s store, and a new condominium complex. Fog gathered, almost obscuring the colored lights looped around the entire perimeter of the property and festooned in every tree and shrub. It was past time when anyone was moving about in that eerie world that seemed to mock any celebration.

  “Are you drunk?” Eileen asked abruptly.

  The corners of Angel’s mouth twitched. Chuck Moggeridge was taking too long to get the message that Eileen didn’t want him.

  Turned half-sideways, he studied her. Her hair still looked damp and it fell past her shoulders in dark tangles. A frown pulled her fine brows together and downcast eyes threw the curved shadows of her lashes onto her cheeks. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her.

  Eileen felt Angel looking at her. He smiled. She didn’t. “I don’t think you believe a word I say,” Chuck said to her on the phone. And he did sound as if he’d been drinking. “I don’t have any rights. Don’t deserve any. But I’m still askin’, will you marry me again, sweetheart?”