Daman's Angel

by Charmaine Ross

  Pete watched Angel with a mixture of awe and suspicion. Daman knew what was going on in his mind. The same thing that had gone in his mind only last night. Pete was a cop and he wanted proof. Daman hadn’t expected him to believe what he’d told him, but he couldn’t ask what he was about to ask Angel to do without it.

  He rose and took Angel’s hand, bringing her into the room. He cupped her hand between his own, running his thumb over the back of her hand. It slid over her knuckles and he absorbed the silky feel. His own hands felt coarse by comparison. He wanted to bring her hand to his lips so he could breath in her fragrance, touch her skin with his mouth, taste her as he’d kiss her there. She was life, energy, lightness of being and he wanted to bask in her aura for now and all time.

  But time was something he didn’t have. Borrowed is the way he looked at it.

  He began gently, “Angel, I’ve told Pete about you.”

  Her eyes widened and her gaze immediately drew to Pete.

  “It’s okay. You can trust him. He’s my partner.”

  She looked back to him, trust infusing the question in her eyes. “If you trust him, I trust him.”

  “Angel. I don’t want to ask you to do this… and I wouldn’t if it weren’t absolutely necessary,” he clenched his teeth until his jaw ached, released and drew a breath. “I need you to show Pete that you’re an Angel. He won’t believe until he sees.”

  “You’ve told him,” Angel said.

  “Yes. But he’s a cop and like I did, he needs proof.” He inwardly cringed. He hated to ask her, wanted to keep her secret to himself. He didn’t want to share her majesty, didn’t want to let Pete in on her secret. He could happily covet it for the rest of his life—but that was too short, so he had to ask this of her. It was akin to telling God that unless there was proof, there was no belief.

  He’d been in that place and knew how easy it was to be there. After a time he’d liked it. It felt comfortable, not seeing the life, not letting anyone in. It was no way to live, but he didn’t have to try. Now it was all he could do but despair that his days of self-incrimination were nearly over. What he’d give to have them back and give them another way.

  Lesson learned too late.

  He pushed the thought aside. It would do no good to dwell. He had to concentrate on the here and now. There weren’t many of them left.

  “What would you like me to do?” Angel asked

  “Your wings…”

  Angel nodded and Daman stepped back away from her. She closed her eyes, bent her head forward so her hair fell as a curtain about her face. The outline of her wings faintly appeared. At first the kitchen cupboards were visible through them, then slowly they grew solid, extending to the walls of the cramped little kitchen. The whisper-soft feathers brushed the doorframe. The high arcs of her wings extended above her head and framed her face with breathtaking exquisiteness.

  It was a sight he could never grow used to. Daman’s legs crumbled beneath him, and with a shaking hand he managed to pull out a chair and collapse onto it. Pete’s mouth worked wordlessly. His ruddy face had become ashen, his shoulders slack. His fingers slid from the beer bottle and it tipped unheeded across the table, the last of his beer leaving a frothy wake.

  Angel moved toward Pete with willowy grace and bent down to him. Pete wordlessly slipped down in his chair, stopping when the nape of his neck caught on the frame. She placed her hands on his cheeks as would a mother to a child, moving so close their noses almost touched. Her face was serene, washed with care and love. Her wings folded forward and around him, enveloping the both of them, a cocoon of white gossamer feathers. A golden light illuminated from her wings as though they were lit from inside. The room glowed with the light, golden and dazzling. Multi-hued flecks of blue and red swirled in the light, bright twinkling stars, flickering and spinning faster and faster until they zapped like long streaks of light.

  Angel whispered words Daman couldn’t understand. Her tone was comforting and warm, prompting, asking. She stopped speaking. The lights grew so brilliant and the gold turned such a bright white, Daman had to shield his eyes. Pete sobbed. One gut-wrenching sound that pounded through the small kitchen. The light faded. The normal electrical globe gleamed so dull by comparison. Angel unwrapped her wings from around Pete and stood back.

  Pete’s eyes were bright with shedding tears. He rested his elbows on the table and covered his face with his hands, fingers raked through his hair. His frame shuddered as he gulped in air, trying to still his emotions. Daman had never seen Pete so emotional. He always kept himself on a tight lead, careful not to show anything behind his ruddy, efficient police-detective façade. He’d taken on the persona for so long, Daman doubted Pete had the ability to show anything of himself, except to his wife and kids. Angel watched Pete carefully, a serene smile on her mouth. She folded her wings behind her back and they faded from sight.

  Pete stirred. He rubbed his eyes and the moisture from his face before turning to Angel. He took Angel’s hands in his own trembling hands. He pressed her knuckles to his mouth. He looked up at her, eyes light, face open with enlightened happiness. “Thank you. So much. I’ve always wondered and now I know.” His voice was thick and hushed.

  Angel squeezed his hands. “He’s safe and happy.”

  “It’s more than I can ever wish for. How can I thank you?”

  She glanced at Daman and he let himself be drawn into her warm gaze. A smile touched her lips, pulling the firm ends upward. “Believe Daman when he asks you to.”

  Pete let go of her hands and turned his attention to Daman. He reached into his pocket to withdraw a handkerchief and rubbed his nose that was much redder than normal. “I saw my dad. He spoke to me, told me he lived on beyond his death and was always watching me. He asked about Sandra and the kids. Told me he’d seen them at their music recital and was proud. How could he know about that? The recital was last weekend.”

  “Ask me that two days ago and I’d have said you were crazy. Now, I’ll tell you what you saw was real. That was your dad and she is an angel.”

  Pete blew his nose. He smiled, shaking his head. “And I’ll give you all the help I humanly can.” He stood, took Angel’s hand and sat her in his seat. “I’ve got a sudden urge to go to my family and tell them how much I love them. Would you mind? I’ll be back early tomorrow, but just for now…I need to go.”

  Daman nodded. “I understand. Go. Enjoy. We’ll be waiting for you in the morning.”

  After a moment’s hesitation he bent to her and pulled Angel into his arms in a crushing hug. “Thank you. You’ve given me so much.” Then, to Daman, “We’ll get these bastards. I promise.” He picked his keys from the table and shuffled from the room, wiping his still-watery eyes.

  “I’ve never seen him like that. Half the time he’s one hard son of a bitch, and the other half he’s a rock. What did you show him?” Daman said.

  “I asked his father to come and visit him. I lifted the veil a little so they could see each other.”

  “You can do that?”

  She nodded. “If people ask, I can, although it’s not often done. Humans tend to rely on your mediums for correspondence between the worlds.”

  One desperate thought. Michelle. Maybe Angel could lift the veil for him and he could see her just one more time. Maybe. But Angel was here, and she sat across the dented, cheap pine table and all he wanted to do was talk with her and be in her company.

  He would ask her later. He’d asked so much of her just now helping Pete to believe. He’d taken so much from her and there was little he could give back. Where Angel was life, he was darkness. He’d seen so much murkiness for so long, there was nothing of himself that he could possibly give her. He could only take, but for now he didn’t want to.

  Tomorrow he would pay her back for all the wrong he’d taken from her.

  She was an Angel. A direct creature of God. He had no right to ask anything more of her. All he wanted was to spend ti
me with her. Just by being at her side meant he could mend a little of his torn, battered soul. Around her he could forget the bad in the world, the darkness he’d lost himself in and had in turn had come to like in a self-mocking way, as though that was all he could ever have, that was all he deserved.

  Of its own, his hand slid across the table and held hers. “Thank you,” he said.

  She blinked, her head inclined to the side. “For what?”

  “For showing Pete his father again. For doing what I asked. For being…” You. He wanted to say, but his throat closed over and he couldn’t say the word. To do so would mean he would entrap her more to this earth.

  Her silver-blonde brows pressed together. “For being what?”

  He shook his head. “Never mind. Just thank you for showing Pete who you are. He will never forget.”

  A smile pressed her mouth and the small kitchen brightened and lit with warmth. “You’re welcome.”

  He paused for a moment, enjoying just sitting and watching her. He would remember her like this always. Then the urgency of his situation dampened his mood and he hit rock bottom. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.” He stood, took her hand and brought her to her feet. “Come on. I’ll show you your room and you can rest. Do you sleep?”

  She rose and stepped toward him. Her earthy aroma enveloped him. His senses shuddered with an urgent craving. “I don’t know. I’ve never been a woman before.”

  His throat dried. “You’re an angel.” His voice was raspy.

  She shook her head. Her hair shimmered over her shoulders, framing her face in strands of silvery moonlight. “At the moment I’m both. In this body I can touch. Be touched. Feel. As a flesh and blood woman.”

  Her eyes roamed his face. His self-reserve faded as he fell into fathomless blue. Self-control was battered by an intense yearning to reach out to her. To have her in his arms. Touch. Explore. Knowing he shouldn’t, that she was completely untouchable and yet not finding the will to deny such a powerful ache.

  He cupped her face with his hand. His hand trembled with the touch as her need poured into him. Their connection was strong and fast. He swayed toward her, his eyes drawn to her mouth.

  “You are forbidden,” he said.

  “Who says that,” she whispered. Her gaze was heavy, pulling him toward her. He shuddered and, using the last reserves of his will, went to pull back. She moved her hand over his, keeping it placed on her cheek. Tingling warmth dispersed into his skin. He watched her fingers stroking his, almost hypnotized, drunk with a burgeoning craving to touch and be touched. She closed her eyes, pressing his palm to her face. “Something like this can’t be forbidden.”

  She took a shuddering breath. He willed himself not to sweep the mess off the table and lay her across it and love her then and there. Her eyes flew open. Her gaze was intent. She knew what he’d thought. She wasn’t upset by it, or horrified. Instead he felt her eagerness, her own craving blend with his. Intensifying their combining passion.

  He mustn’t. Yet couldn’t deny.

  She moved toward him, so close now he was impaled by his need, read the same need that glowed in her eyes. The overwhelming hunger that fogged his mind so that there was only here. Only now. The two of them. The complete capitulation to utter abandonment.

  With her. Only her.

  She leaned toward him, touching his mouth with hers. It was enough to drive him over the last verge of control. He plunged his hands to her nape, her back, capturing her in his arms. He slanted his lips over hers and when she opened her lips to meet him, he dove with his tongue, stroked, tasted the burning cavern within. Burgeoning want, need, kicked his gut, spiraling his senses into heady compete awareness of her.

  Damn it all if he went to hell. He’d have this to remember. He couldn’t die with such a powerful, surging need unexplored.

  She was pure temptation. It was a sin to give in to temptation. He’d learned that at the altar.

  And if he burned for eternity, then so be it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Unexplored appetite let her take what he gave. The more she felt, the more she wanted. Her mind, body, skin yearned to be touched. She wound her arms around his neck, locking him so close her tingling breasts crushed against his chest.

  She knew there was more, so much more than just kissing. She knew of it, had seen it, but experiencing it made one hell of a difference. Her body was weighted by an enslaving ache. Her insides were hollow. Heated blood flowed through her veins. And all that reverberated in her mind was how much she wanted this to be. With him. Now.

  There was no wrong, or right. No thought of who she was and what she had done to him as an angel. Here she was a woman in need and he was a captivating man whom she’d loved before she came to earth.

  His hand gradually slipped down her back and cupped the globe of her bottom. He drew her close to him so that she felt his erection jutting against her abdomen. She was no innocent. Centuries of living had allowed her to see all walks of life throughout the ages. She knew what men and women did.

  And now she knew why.

  She felt no apprehension. No shame. This was a pleasure of life. It was good, was always meant to be good. A gift. Being an angel she’d never fully understood the passion, the drive that made man and woman blind to everything else. She’d seen the physical side of love make humans stride to great lengths of compassion and she’d also seen it lead to death. It harbored the darker emotions, seen people blind to everything in their jealousy, had used it to make others bend to their will, had seen humans take what they want without the consent of the other.

  It had always haunted her, these two sides. Such extremes that could control humans. She’d watched, learned about the emotions, the rein of self-control it sometimes took to overcome the need. But learning and experiencing were two different things.

  Now she was here, in flesh and blood, willing and wanting just as much as Daman, she yearned to share her body. It was a gesture, a token, an offering where two souls might join and meld together in the physical world. She understood these building feelings, shared with the one you were in love with was so sweet, so beautiful, she knew why it made people crazy with the longing and the yearning for it. The wanting of it.

  His touch was magical. She wanted to feel his hands on her, wanted to touch him. The way her blood pumped this tingly sensation through her body, the way it pooled in other parts, making them throb and yearn with a burning fire. She wanted his hands to touch her there, to relieve the building tension that was increasingly blinding her to all else around her.

  He kneaded her buttock, pulling her against him in a quick, commanding movement. The head of his hardened penis jutted into her soft belly. Tingles swirled low in her abdomen. The same sensation pulled at her breasts, like there was an invisible thread that ran from her groin, through her stomach, along her quickly liquefying bones to her nipples. It swept her away, taking her to a height she didn’t know could exist.

  She drew her leg upwards, her inner thigh quivering as his rough jeans rubbed her skin there. His hand rounded her buttock and claimed beneath her leg. His fingertips massaged, his tips grazing the top of her sensitive inner thigh. An electric thrill zapped through her body, leaving a trembling ache in its aftershock. She inched her hips forward, pressing herself firmly against him. There was no question of her need.

  He groaned, his hands flying to her face as he deepened the kiss, savoring, delighting. His tongue swirled against hers. His lips crushing. He tasted of heady masculine spice, smelled of freshly crushed pine needles that did something to her mind and made her forget everything but the here and now. His wet, satiny lips moved against hers, claiming, commanding. She suckled, tasting, exploring.

  He withdrew all but the tip of his tongue. Inched it along her bottom lip, breathtakingly slowly. Her mouth hung open, her breath heavy, mingling with his. She tasted him in her mouth, on her lips. The slippery lightness of that erotic touch made her bel
ly swirl with molten urgency. Her spiraling need compelling.

  Demanding.

  He pulled back keeping his hands on her face. His eyes were clouded, mouth wet from their contact. His breathing was heavy, matching hers. A pulse ticked at the base of her neck. His eyes roamed her face, waiting.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  He blinked. His face hardened. A light blatantly burned in his dark eyes. There was no question. Only hunger. Intent. His gaze fell to her lips. They fell open. She inhaled quickly. The small noise trembled.

  It was enough to set him into action.

  Wordlessly, he swept her into his arms and took her from the kitchen, down the hallway and kicked open the closest of the bedroom doors. She held onto his neck, entwining her fingers behind his nape as he lowered her to the bed. He stood over her as she lay, his gaze caressing her feet to her face. His eyes blazed with resolute purpose. Her belly trembled.

  There would be no more waiting. She didn’t want to. Her fingers scrunched the bedclothes.

  He started at her feet, tracing his fingertips upwards along her ankles to her shin. Goosebumps scattered over her skin. Her attention was wholly captivated at the point of their contact. Upwards he went to her thighs, over her hips. Her groin throbbed and she clenched her lower lip between her teeth as he passed that area that called for his attention. His fingertips slid beneath her T-shirt to make skin-on-skin contact. Her stomach muscles clenched as he traced around her belly button, traveling on their path up her body.

  The tips reached the area beneath her breasts. With the barest of touches he sculpted her shape. She quivered, her body tense. He looked directly at her, impaling her with his sharp gaze. She held it, waiting while his fingers touched her breast as lightly as a feather. Her attention was riveted to it, her heated skin singing, sensation simmering. The quiet before the storm.