Christmas Angel

by Amanda McIntyre

  “Did she find it—the thing she wanted most?”

  The silver-haired man smiled. “When she no longer needed it to achieve her purpose, when she realized the desire inside of her was all she ever really needed, she brought it back to me.”

  Shado met the old man’s steady gaze.

  “Make your move, Detective. What is it you want, even if you think you don’t deserve it?”

  A sense he was looking in a mirror came over Shado. This was no ordinary game of checkers. This was no ordinary storekeeper. “Did you let me win?”

  Burt held up his wrinkled hands. “Oh no, I never stand in the way of a person’s deepest desires. Need and want are twins; don’t you see? You wanted the dress when you came in; you needed it for some special purpose—to satisfy a desire deep inside. There’s always risk when you go after what you desire most—but the greatest risk, sometimes, is not taking one.”

  Much of what happened, he would probably later chalk up to the whiskey, but for the moment he listened carefully. And though it smacked of something Oprah might say, he had a strange feeling the message was for him and him alone. He stood and zipped up his coat. “Thanks. It’s been great to meet you, but I really need to get going.”

  Without a word, the old man moved at his own pace, retrieving the gown and folding it carefully in tissue. He placed it in a large box wrapped in gold paper.

  With a final flourish, he plopped a giant red bow on top. “It’s in your hands now,

  Detective.”

  “She’s going to love this,” Shado responded. “Are you certain I don’t owe you something for it?”

  The stranger’s eyes twinkled when he smiled. “Seeing a heart receive its deepest desire is my reward, but it wouldn’t hurt for you to tell her, while you’re dancing, how beautiful she looks in it. She’ll appreciate the compliment from you.”

  He nodded, shook hands with Burt, and started back through the narrow path of crowded antiques. At the door, he paused and turned to ask the man when he’d mentioned anything about a dance, but he was gone, disappeared presumably behind the office curtain. From somewhere back in the building, he heard someone whistling a Billy Joel tune. Shado shrugged, amazed by his good fortune and anxious as a kid on Christmas morning to give Angel the dress.

  ***

  Angel was jarred awake at the sound of the key in the lock. She rubbed her eyes, unaware of how long she’d slept as she waited for him to return. Whether she should tell him what she’d discovered in the book or ignore it as purely a coincidence unsettled her. He moved quietly, trying not to wake her as he removed his coat and boots. She toyed with turning on the light and asking if he wanted to continue their conversation. Instead, she lay in the dark, pretending to sleep, and watched as he placed a large box on the recliner.

  Wrapped in shiny paper and festooned with a luxurious red bow, it looked as though it had been plucked from one of the holiday commercials on his television set. He stopped in the bathroom. Once the light went off, she waited to hear his bedroom door quietly close then tossed off her afghan and crept to the chair, curious to know whom the gift was for. Debating whether to wait until he told her to open it or peek inside.

  A quick glance down the hall verified all was silent, and she picked up the present and carefully carried it to the couch. She turned the light on low and held the box in her lap, listening carefully for his approach. In the soft lamplight, the gold wrapping looked rich and elegant, shimmering in her hands. She turned the package upside down, worrying her lip, wondering if there was a way to open it without breaking the ribbon. A surprised gasp flew from her throat as the bottom slipped from the lid by weight of the contents and fell into her lap, spilling another parcel wrapped in thin, white paper. She stared for a moment at the object and spied a small seal holding the seams together. Carefully slipping her finger between, she eased off the seal and peeled back the covering to reveal beautiful lace fabric.

  It appeared to be a gown of sorts—a very fancy gown. Mesmerized by its delicate beauty, temptation prompted her curiosity, and she lifted the dress by its shoulders, her breath catching as the skirt unfolded and draped in a shimmery cream-colored river over her lap. It was exquisite. Angel stood and held it against her, smoothing out the residual wrinkles. It was her size, the style she imagined skimming over her curves, but why? Why would he have bought her such an exquisite gift? Unless it wasn’t meant for her. She pressed her lips together, considering that it was meant for someone else—perhaps the woman in the photograph?

  She searched the box, inside and out, looking for a label, something to identify to whom it belonged, finding a small tag labeled Timeless Passions. What kind of man would be so cruel as to leave such a present in plain sight of another woman? The best thing to do was to return the gown to the box and wait until he woke to ask him about it. Pride, however, moved her to the toss it over her arm and march down the hall. She paused briefly, took a breath, and let herself in.

  “Are you asleep?” she whispered, easing open the door.

  The light from the living room filtered past her, offering a dim view of Shado lying on his back, his arm thrown over his forehead.

  “Not quite.” He sounded groggy.

  She stood at his bedside and bit back the desire to ask him where he’d gone, why he smelled like a saloon on a Saturday night, and oh, yes, there was the matter of the dress.

  “I see you found the box.”

  “I did. It’s quite beautiful.”

  “One of a kind,” he replied leaning up on his elbow to look at her. “Do you like it?”

  She held the dress up in the shadowy light. “What woman wouldn’t?” She

  placed it with great care over a chair and sat down on the edge of the bed. “We need to talk about what happened.”

  He nodded. “I know. There’s a lot we need to talk about, but the truth is I’ve been fighting with myself all day over what’s right and wrong and debating what I need and what I want.” He sat up and faced her.

  “And what conclusions did you come to?” she asked. The scent of his skin radiated heat to her senses, causing her pulse to quicken.

  “That I don’t want to think anymore tonight.” He leaned toward her, nuzzling the curve of her neck. She’d intended to ask him if he’d bought the present for her or the woman in the photograph, but her mind dissolved to ash at his touch. His hand seared her thigh. She wanted to tell him she’d come to terms with the fact he was committed to another—the mother to his child—but the idea grew less important with each passing moment.

  His mouth drifted over her cheek, hovering near her lips, waiting, gauging her reaction. She had the power to get up and walk away, to end this before placing her heart at risk, but when her lips brushed his, she knew it was too late. His mouth captured hers in a series of fiery kisses as he pulled her down on the bed, unleashing a passion both thrilling and frightening. The weight of him covering her body was more than glorious, more than right. Succumbing to his exploration, she turned her head, allowing him to leave a trail of heated kisses down the curve of her throat. His fingers tugged aside her shirt, searching for more flesh to sample. Her body responded in a rush of euphoric splendor, and as she floated in a dreamlike state, the words pressing her mind slipped from her mouth. “Is the dress for me?”

  His seduction halted as he propped up on his elbow and looked down at her. “Yes, of course.” A curious smile quirked his lips. “I thought maybe you might like to get out of here for a few hours, and the Policeman’s Ball is coming up.”

  “And you want to take me?”

  “Well, to be honest, it was Gleason’s idea. He thought I might be driving you crazy.”

  “Detective Gleason is a wise man,” she teased and drew him into a kiss that left no question of what she wanted—what she needed. She felt safe, free from the concerns plaguing her mind, free of the fear. In his embrace, time stood still. Nothing could touch them. The taste of whiskey on his tongue gave her pause of whether he was ful
ly aware of his actions, but need won out over logic as he lifted her shirt and drove her to a frenzy with teeth and tongue. She braced herself against his muscled shoulders, relishing their sheer strength, how they bunched and moved beneath her fingers. Her body was on fire, needing more—needing him. “Shado.” She lifted her hips to his, sensing his hard length. “I need you.”

  Without warning, he clamped his hand over her mouth and lay still on top of her. “Be still.”

  Frozen, she lay beneath him. His eyes were fixed on the window leading to the alley. The same one he’d come through so effortlessly during the snowball fight.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he pressed tighter, leaned down, and whispered, “Don’t speak. Move with me…slowly.”

  He slid carefully to the edge of the bed, dropped silently to the floor, and then pulled her down beside him. Pressing a finger to his lips, he crept around the end of the bed, staying low. She peered over the edge of the mattress, stifling a quiet gasp as she noted the shadowy figure on the fire escape. Fear bubbled inside her, and she held her breath. A brief rattle of the window startled her, but thankfully it was stuck. After what seemed an eternity, the shadowy figure disappeared. Her hands were shaking. Fear gripped her throat. She remembered being afraid like this once. It nearly paralyzed her, but she somehow managed to survive.

  In the next instant, Shado appeared at her side, drawing her close. “It’s okay,” he stated softly. “He’s gone.”

  Angel fought to control her fear. “Who…was it?”

  His thumb brushed over her cheek, and she realized he wiped away a tear. “I’m sorry to have frightened you, but I didn’t want to scare him and risk he’d do something to put us both in danger.”

  “Who do you think it was?”

  He sighed. “Probably one of Espinoza’s men. I can’t be sure though.” He searched her face. “More importantly, are you okay?” He had a strange look, as though he was about to be sick.

  “I’m okay…a little frightened.”

  “You’re trembling.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “I thought this was a good idea, assumed you’d be safe here, but I was wrong. You shouldn’t be here.” He shook his head and looked away, lost, it seemed, in his own dilemma.

  She searched his profile. “If you feel I should leave, that my presence is putting you in danger, I will. But if this is about my safety, then I believe I’m in the best place I could be, with you.”

  “No, it’s not you, Angel. It’s me. You don’t understand.”

  “Then help me. Stop pushing me away.”

  He stood and pointed at the window. “Look what just happened. I can’t ever get away from my work. It’s my life and now it’s following me home. My job endangers not only me, that I could handle, but it puts everyone around me at risk, and…that I can’t handle. You deserve better than living in fear of what loony tune is going to sneak in a window.” He sat on the edge of the bed and folded his hands over his knees.

  She rose to her feet. “Deserve? Is that how you plan to get around this?”

  He shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

  “Why don’t you tell me the truth?”

  He shot her an irritated look. “The truth? I am being honest as I can. Weren’t you listening? Being with me has put you in danger. I don’t have a normal life, Angel. There’s good reason why I’m alone.” He snorted and shook his head in disbelief.

  “Is that what made your wife take your son and leave?” she snapped. Angel hadn’t intended to resort to cruelty for answers, but if they were being honest, she needed to know.

  “My…what?” He seemed confused. All she needed to do was reach out and touch him, to wipe the sadness from his face. “Did you say…wife?”

  Restless to get things out in the open, she planted her hands on her hips and leaned toward him. “I mean the woman and little boy in the photograph, the one you don’t seem to want to talk about.”

  Confusion and pain contorted his expression. “She’s not my wife. She’s my brother’s wife. The little boy is Danny Jr. My brother’s son.”

  “Your nephew.” Angel sat down beside him. Of course, now it made sense, except for why he should have such an unusual sense of personal responsibility for them. “Where is your brother now?”

  “Dead.” He turned away. “Please don’t ask any more questions.”

  Her heart stopped. She reached out to touch his shoulder, but he jerked away from her.

  “Don’t.” He shook his head. “Just…don’t.”

  “I want to understand.” He was there, on the verge of whatever darkness he clung to that was responsible in part for not allowing him to have any sort of personal happiness. “I want to help you, like you’ve helped me.”

  He looked at the ceiling, his eyes closed. “You can’t help, Angel. I don’t need anyone’s help.” He dropped his gaze to hers.

  Her eyes welled, but she looked away, refusing to let his stubborn hide see her cry. She waited, but when he didn’t continue, she stood with a sigh. She’d let him wallow in his bitterness, but she didn’t have to take the brunt of it. “Fine. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be in the other room.”

  He caught her arm as she turned to leave. “I’m sorry.” He studied her.

  She shrugged. “No need to be, you prefer your life alone. It’s who you are.” She tugged gently away, but he held tight.

  “It’s not who I am. It’s who I’ve become.”

  “You have a choice, Shado. Everyone has a choice.”

  He looked up at her, the desire to respond—perhaps open up to her—but a breath away. “I don’t want you to leave.”

  Her mouth lifted and she tried to smile. “But you don’t want me too close.”

  “Not true. It’s…complicated. There’s stuff you don’t know about me.”

  “So you keep telling me.” Angel dropped her hand over his. It was true, he had his secrets, but didn’t she also? She knelt in front of him. “Shado, there are things you don’t know about me, too.”

  Was she deserving of a man like him? If, in fact, the impossible were true, and somehow she was the woman listed among those who had lived and worked at the Sweet Magnolia—then how many men had she slept with? Surely, though, if any had touched her heart half as much as Shado, she’d remember. “I don’t have all the answers, but I know I feel something for you.” Angel searched his steady blue eyes, the color of an afternoon desert sky. The soft sound of a piano filtered through the haze in her mind, and she envisioned herself leaning atop it watching as a woman with beautiful deep auburn hair played a melody both sad and sweet.

  She blinked away the image and met Shado’s puzzled expression.

  “What is it? You remembered something.”

  She slowly shook her head, not able to accept how readily the pieces of her puzzled past seem to be falling into place. “Just a piano and a woman.” What would happen when she suddenly remembered everything? Could she go back? Would she want to, and most important—would she have a choice? Something close to fear snaked up her spine prompting her to lean forward and brush her lips to his, letting them linger in the hope he wouldn’t push her away again. His fingers touched her face, searching, holding her close, before he brought his mouth to hers in a soul-searing kiss.

  Chapter Eight

  God, how he wanted to forget. Three years of tormented sleep, the images of his brother’s lifeless body lying in the dark alley. Her arms curled around his neck, deepening the fiery kiss, her sensual touch freeing his desire. It wasn’t fair to her, but she felt so damn good, so soft, willing, and sweet. He needed her, needed her warmth, needed the life she’d brought to his cold, dead heart. Fearful he might awaken from this dream, he captured her mouth, pulling her to his lap and held her close. She leaned back and lifted her shirt over her head, watching as he cradled her breasts in his palms, weighing, caressing, and teasing. His body grew hard, wanting to sink deep into her and claim her as his own. His heart thro
bbed against his chest as he looked up at her.

  “Too many clothes.” She trailed her fingertip over his lower lip and stood, peeling down a pair of his boxers. God Almighty, Victoria’s Secret had nothing on the woman in his Hanes.

  “Your turn.” She drew him to his feet and unsnapped his waistband, moving close, standing on tiptoe to touch his lips. Her delicate fingers eased over his crotch, and he sucked in his breath, fighting for control.

  He grabbed her shoulders, reclaiming her mouth in a frenzy of carnal exploration. “This is insane,” he whispered against her temple. She pushed his pants low on his hips, freeing him, sliding her palm over his cock. Taking his face, she kissed him, maneuvering him to sit on the edge of the mattress. Nudging between his knees, she teased, gently caressing until he thought his eyes would roll back into his head. Threading his hand through her hair, he swallowed hard, watching her attentive pleasuring. He gripped the bedcovers, twisting them in his fist, hanging onto his last thread of sanity until he could take no more. He pulled her to the bed, stood, and shoved his jeans to his ankles, kicking at them furiously. She lay back, her blonde hair spilling around her head, teasing him with her smile. With final kick, he sent the pants across the room and knelt over her, kissing her, relishing the softness of her skin. She held his gaze and wrapped her legs around his waist, moving her hips to welcome him. There was no need for words. He remembered how perfect they fit, how tight, the sounds coming soft from her throat.

  The shrill ring of the phone jarred him and for an instant, stunned him that anyone should be calling at this hour. Need pulled him toward her, duty caused his to surrender to reality. Again, the shrill ring demanded his attention. “Fuck,” he mumbled and pushed his feet to the floor. He plunged his hand through his hair and reached over to snatch the receiver off the hook. His erection, hard and painful, made it damn difficult to get comfortable. “Jackson,” he growled.