She melted closer to him.
She moaned softly.
His fingers stroked her, moved slowly down her back, and she responded to his sensual domination. His aristocratic command of the situation intrigued her. He took control of her mind and her body.
A tidal wave of energy and an overpowering lust surged between them, ripping through her until she longed to satisfy every carnal desire he might have for her. She wanted to please him in every way.
She didn't know how.
Never in her life had she experienced a maelstrom of emotions such as she felt now. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, imploring her to open. She did. With lips, teeth, tongue, he consumed and ravished.
It seemed she could deny him nothing.
Her heart exploded against her chest. Devil pressed her back, seducing her lips and the inside of her mouth. Without thinking of the consequences, she slid her hands up his arms, wrapped herself around him and kissed him back, pressing herself against him instinctively in a primitive, exciting dance passed down through all time.
Her fingers smoothed along the back of his neck; she longed to possess him. He possessed her. Once again his hands moved down the length of her back, pressing her close, and ripples of pure bliss pulsed within her.
He took everything she offered.
She purred softly in the back of her throat. Her fingers combed through his hair. She felt him pulse against her where they touched intimately.
Each new contact brought her sensations she'd never felt before. His erotic sensual flare, his knowledge of just the touch that would make her his, sent her closer to heaven than she'd ever dreamed possible. His masculine groan, his hardening body, shocked her to the tips of her toes. He cradled her in his arms, her imagination playing havoc with what little she knew about male anatomy.
He bedeviled her, caused her to forget all but the hard angles and planes beneath her exploring hands, his lips, the strength and power--the danger--of his flesh against hers. Tenderly, he kissed her jawline, stopping at her ear to nibble and taste and make her yearn for more.
"Hold on to me, angel."
Angel...
Feeling wanton, she did cling to him. In one smooth motion, and with her still in his arms, he slid off his horse.
His fingers toyed with the buttons running along the front of her bodice. Cool air touched her skin, then warm fingers. One by one he flicked open all the buttons.
Embarrassment had no place here. Reverence, yearning--those were the emotions she saw in his eyes when he parted her blouse. A few more seconds and he would see her, touch her. She needed his touch.
He smelled of fresh sunshine and danger. His every movement spoke of breathtaking adventure, knowledge of new places and exotic people, everything Angela wanted to experience firsthand, not read about.
He settled her on the prairie grass in the wide-open space. She couldn't think, didn't care if anyone happened along. On top of her, he covered her with the length of his body. His weight upon her was enticing--it felt so good she knew it was right. She belonged here--in his arms--beneath him.
"You're so damn sweet," he murmured just before his lips closed over hers once more. "Pure sugar."
Sanity rushed through her in a maelstrom of guilt and humiliation, her own wanton behavior hitting her hard between the eyes. She jerked from him. This was no game. She was about to lose her virginity, right here, in the wide open for anyone to see, to a man she knew only by reputation.
A man who advertised as a gun for hire.
Her father would kill him. And it would not be an easy death.
"Stop ..." The word didn't sound convincing even to her. He hesitated, watching her with calculated purpose and a knowing grin. Her fingers resting on his shoulders trembled violently. "Don't," she managed, her voice quavering with determination and regret. All it would take on his part was one more kiss and she'd be lost to the promise of carnal knowledge. Cold air and a terrible feeling of loss swept across her as he separated himself from her.
He leaned back on one elbow in casual repose. "Stop? Only a minute ago you were moaning and purring in sensual delight. Your body played mine; you strummed me with your long, delicate fingers. You liked my touch."
Dazed by the truth of his words, she somehow managed to respond. "You attacked me...." she whispered, barely getting the lie out. She gathered the bodice of her dress together, fumbling with the buttons in her haste. She did so badly at the task that he brushed her hands away and fastened her dress for her.
Her fingers were still trembling when she lifted her heavy mass of hair and began to braid it. Once again he stopped her. Taking her hair in his hands, he arranged the strands for her. They made eye contact. She wanted to see inside his mind, and she wanted to know what she'd stopped him from finishing.
Adventure had been at her fingertips, a breath away, and she'd rejected what he'd offered.
"I rescued you. If looks could tell the story, you loved every minute. Your lips are swollen from my kisses, and your eyes are flushed with passion."
The truth of his words sent a streak of wildfire through her. She ran her tongue across her mouth, testing his words. "I had no need of rescue."
One aristocratic eyebrow rose. "It didn't appear that way. You were racing through the trail, out of control, yelling your head off. If not yourself, you could have hurt your horse."
She flashed him a disdainful look and stood, brushing the dust and grass from her formerly canary yellow skirt. "You should have looked closer. I was not in danger, and I don't need saving. I can take care of myself better than most men."
From behind her, she could hear Devil Blackmoor chuckling. Striding to her horse she tried to ignore him, forced herself to keep going and not look back. Looking back could be the worst thing she'd ever done.
But she did look back.
He still sat in a negligent pose, a blade of grass between his white teeth, and a lopsided grin slanting across his arrogantly kissable mouth.
Just before she nudged her horse forward she heard him say, "I will find out who you are, Angel. I promise. And then you will need rescue from yourself."
~ * ~
As she rode from the scene, the day assumed a sudden chill, storm clouds brewing on the horizon and in Angela's heart. She veered Kangee to the right, heading into the forest and to higher, safer ground. Her mind and her body cried out to her.
Fool, fool, fool, her words said to the beat of her stallion's hooves. You made an idiot of yourself, Angela Chamberlain. What would your dear mother say to you if she knew what you'd done? And your father?
Alarm shot through her straight to her belly. She choked back a sob of fear---fear not for her but for Devil. If Sam Chamberlain knew what she'd just done with Devil, he'd ...
Sam Chamberlain's reputation was known throughout Colorado and the Dakotas. Where his enemies were concerned, he was ruthless. If Devil Blackmoor harmed Sam's daughter in any way, Devil would become a hated foe.
She closed her eyes, willing the picture of Devil staked out on the ground and at her father's mercy to vanish. Poor Devil--he didn't deserve Sam Chamberlain's wrath or Mother's. Hadn't she melted in Devil's arms, begging for more of his kisses? She'd liked his mouth on hers, the tender then possessive touch of his tongue deep inside her mouth.
A strangled noise rose from deep in her throat.
Angela leaped off Kangee before he stopped. A little brook stitched a path through the dense trees, and Angela strode back and forth beside the gurgling water, thinking--thinking and remembering.
Try as she might, she couldn't still her heart, and she couldn't keep her mind from Devil Blackmoor. Aristocratic, arrogant and all male, he intrigued and infuriated her.
He made her melt. And he was so very dangerous.
"I saw you and Devil."
"What?" Angela whirled around, practically falling full tilt into Rusty Limpkin's chest.
"Saw you kiss him and--"
"Why, you little scamp." An
gela reached for the knife she always kept around her waist, a weapon she used with expertise. It wasn't there.
"Lookin' for something? Dressed up fancy like you are, you must have forgotten your weapon."
Angela stepped forward, Rusty backward. "You're wrong if you think I'm going to let you blackmail me. And I know that's what you're up to. You didn't see anything because there was nothing to see. You hear me?"
He nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.
She would have wound her fist into his shirtfront, but Rusty was too quick for her. He darted sideways and out of the path of her fury. Keeping his distance, he backed toward his horse, which he'd tethered farther down the hill.
"Go on now. If you stick around here I'll make you sorry."
Distance from Angela seemed to give Rusty his courage back. He grinned widely. "I'm going to be watching you, Angela."
She pulled at her braid and the unruly strands of hair that had knotted at the base of her skull. "You stay away from me," she warned, knowing Rusty would do just as he pleased.
Rusty Limpkin was a certifiable nuisance. Ever since she had arrived in Denver, he'd been hanging around her. She couldn't turn around without him showing up beside her. Rusty Limpkin was a perverted Peeping Tom and full of mischief. Well, she'd know by the time she rode back to town whether or not he'd really seen her with Devil. If Rusty had any juicy tidbits to feed the other boys, he would do so and within hours the whole town would know.
Rusty's word didn't mean a whole lot; he'd been caught in more than one lie, and several grown men had threatened to slice and dice him if he ever lied again. But if her father heard anything, rumor or not, there would be questions to answer.
Her fists clenched at her sides, her nails biting into the palms of her hands, Angela glared at Rusty as long as she could see him. When he disappeared from view, she shook her fist at him. "Darn you, Rusty Limpkin. If you do anything that hurts my father or my mother, I'm going to boil you in oil."
With that said, Angela stripped off her stockings and slipped her toes into the frigid alpine water. Her breath caught but she didn't stop at her toes; she submerged both feet and waded until her teeth ached.
Nothing dispelled the confusion in her brain, not the comfortable forest sounds or the soft breeze caressing her hot cheeks. In a few minutes of divine pleasure, Devil had burrowed his way inside her heart and she could not shake him out. She didn't want to exorcise him. She was eighteen. She could do what she wanted. But she needed her parents respect. Defying them was not something she meant to do, not unless they refused to back down from their stand on the finishing school. She'd wither and die there. Angela knew her father would understand if he'd only stop to think. He'd left the East and a prominent position for the freedom in the West. He knew exactly how she felt.
If only he'd remember.
She found a soft spot of moss to sit on and, tucking her knees beneath her chin, she watched the stream go by. Just like her life, the water followed the path set before it.
She meant to control her destiny.
Finishing school back east was her father's dream, not hers. She wanted adventure and travel and a man who would cherish her for herself, not for the way he wanted her to be. Perhaps not in that order, but she yearned with all her heart for all three.
Devil touched her as no other man had.
Sheet lightning suddenly lit up the sky.
The mountain storm hit hard and fast. The deluge began after the awful rolling of thunder and then more lightning. Angela took cover beneath a canopy of solid granite to wait out the storm.
Chapter Two
Devil Blackmoor watched her ride away. He struggled for the indifference he usually felt with women, apathy inbred through decades. The woman he had just encountered stirred unwanted feelings deep in his heart.
She was a study in contrasts, sultry tawny skin coupled with shining hair the color of golden desert sand and the bluest eyes he'd ever seen, eyes that seemed to probe his darkest secrets and search for the man beneath the facade he'd carefully constructed.
Leaning back against the soft bed of grass, he cursed himself in three different languages. He'd lost control and that was unthinkable. He'd almost made love to her here in the wide open, where anyone could have come along and watched. Where his friend, cousin and self-proclaimed bodyguard would show up in a few seconds. Misha was always close by, too close at times. The thought made him groan.
Her silken hair running through his fingers, the satin feel of her flesh against his fingertips, the light in her eyes, darkening to the deepest blue of the ocean were images that remained vivid in his mind. More than he'd ever believed possible he wanted her, desired her with an intensity that surprised him.
When he made love to her, and he knew he would, he wanted everything perfect. Soft pillows, the scent of jasmine hanging in the air, muted light--he would make sure she had all of that and more. He wanted her to dance for him, in the way of his father's people, with Turkish music and the soft, billowing garments of the harem women. Without closing his eyes, he could see her in the transparent clothes, enticing him with the subtle sway of her breasts, the provocative flare of her hips and her smile. Hers was a smile he couldn't resist, one that made him lose all perspective. When she looked at him the way she had only moments before, he wanted to possess her so thoroughly she'd never glance at another man.
It was not in his nature to be possessive or jealous, but with this lady he felt both emotions. They were strong and insistent, encompassing every part of him.
She was courageous--she had fought him despite his great size. He admired courage, yet he'd never encountered bravery in a woman. She had been honest in her response to him, and he respected honesty and integrity. Her kisses were innocent yet wildly passionate.
He might not ever see her again.
His maternal grandmother had sent word over a year ago that he must return home. She'd handpicked a wellborn bride for him. All that remained was his approval of the lady in question. He'd received the letter but two days past. He didn't want to leave America, but duty to his people and his land prevailed.
He was a second son, and the duty should not rest in his hands. With his stepbrother's death, his life had changed. He could no longer do as he pleased. He didn't need a wife, yet once again the dictates of society mandated he wed and bear a legitimate heir.
In his mother's homeland he was a prince. In his father's he held great riches. In America he felt free.
He had come to America seeking adventure and had fallen in love with the wild, untamed land--wild and untamed, just like the wanton angel he'd encountered seconds ago.
A friend had called him Devil because he looked so fierce, and Blackmoor because he seldom wore anything but black. The Americanized name had become as much a part of him as the land itself. Advertising as a hired gun had put excitement in his life, yet he'd stayed on the right side of the law. Now his reputation preceded him.
He felt that Lawrence Stevens, his latest employer and powerful U.S. Senator, had taken advantage of him. Devil believed Stevens had lied to him about Emma and Dakota Barringer when he hired him to find the pair and bring them to Denver. He meant to find out the truth before he handed Emma over to Stevens, meant to discover who committed the crime, who really murdered Emma's mother. He wanted to know why Stevens was willing to put up a small fortune to have Emma in his hands and at his mercy.
And then he meant to find his angel.
My Angel Page 2