My Angel

by Christine Young

  "You should be,'' Alexi said, not knowing whether to shake some sense into her or take pride in her courage. She was a feisty, daring little thing, stubborn to a fault.

  "I've had my fill of this," the man holding the derringer said. He moved slightly.

  His trigger finger twitched.

  Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The gun exploded. Angela anticipated him and dove in front of Alexi, knocking them both to the ground.

  "Son of a bitch," the gunman hollered.

  From his position slightly beneath Angela, Alexi had hardly enough time to raise his arm and fend off the blow directed at him by the second man. The knife slipped through his shirt and the flesh of his arm. He heard Angela groan.

  Ignoring his wound, Alexi rose to his feet. He readied himself for the next attack. It came from both sides. With practiced speed, he ducked and kicked out. The first man caught one of Alexi's feet in the chin and was thrown back against the wall. The impact caught him so hard the assailant slowly sank to the ground. The other man turned and ran.

  Barely winded by the quick exchange, Alexi watched the man run just long enough to reassure himself he was not going for reinforcements.

  He knelt beside Angela, who had not moved. He saw the crease of the bullet against her forehead, and the blood. Her face was pale, her hair in disarray around her shoulders. He touched his finger to the pulse at her throat. It was strong and steady, and he breathed a silent prayer. The bullet had only grazed her, the impact stunning her. Alexi prayed she would waken, but not, he thought wryly, until he had her on the Mystic, safe and sound and bound for Europe.

  Once out of the harbor there would be little she could do to protest a journey she had once been eager for. Quickly he tore a strip of cloth off his shirt and bandaged her head. Then he saw to his own wound, binding his arm tightly. Blood soaked the cloth. He tore more strips until finally the bleeding stopped. Then, sweeping Angela into his arms, he moved down the sidewalk toward the hotel.

  Bold as brass he walked into the lobby, explained to the man at the desk what had happened and ordered a carriage to take them to the docks and another to bring their bags.

  Once in the carriage, Alexi held Angela on his lap. With her gently cradled in his arms, he remembered the first time he had held her like this. His heart swelled with tenderness and the need to protect her.

  "Allah, but what would I do without you? I could have lost you tonight." As if the impact of all that had transpired suddenly hit home, Alexi shuddered. A cold sweat had him shaking uncontrollably. She had taken a bullet meant for him. She had thrown herself in front of him to protect him. No woman had ever cared so much for him she would risk her own life.

  "Little fool," he whispered. "Allah protect this woman." Alexi buried his face in her hair, moisture rising to his eyes. He heard the beating of her heart and the steady, deep breaths of sleep. Her pulse was strong, and he felt sure she would awaken in a few hours with a grating headache, but otherwise fine.

  During the ride to the docks rain started to fall, a fine drizzle at first then turning into a torrent. Lightning lit up the eastern sky and, with Angela still in his arms, Alexi had to run up the gangplank to his room. Even then they were both soaked through to the skin. She looked so fragile and helpless, but Alexi knew better.

  He laid her down on the bed and undressed her completely. The sight of her stirred the most primitive urges within him. He wanted her again. But this time he wanted her to know real pleasure.

  He cursed himself for a fool. She wasn't conscious, and here he stood lusting after her body, a body he knew she'd given to at least one other man.

  Does the past matter so damn much?

  The only answer he could come up with was no. The past was simply that--the past, and best forgotten.

  The knock at the door brought him back to the present and the deep, all-consuming ache in his groin, an ache that had left him only once since his first encounter with the devil incarnate in front of him. He chuckled softly at the illusion. Yet he knew that in heart and deed she was an angel, his very own wanton angel. He covered her with a blanket.

  "I didn't expect you so soon," the captain of the ship said. He stood in the doorway to Alexi's cabin, his hat in hand, in dress uniform.

  "Nor did I think to be here until late tomorrow." Alexi let out a long, slow breath. "Can we leave on the tide?''

  "We can set sail as soon as the storm passes."

  "Good, then do so. And Misha?"

  "He left the ship. Said he had one last thing to tend to before sailing. Should we wait for him?" the captain asked.

  "He can fend for himself. He knows exactly where I am. If he chooses to show, he will. If he doesn't, he must have a damned fine reason for leaving me high and dry to protect myself and my little charge."

  "Leave you high and dry? Never! You know I'm as good as your shadow." The booming voice exploded from somewhere behind the captain. "I have my own stories to tell, but all in good time. Besides, I saw the fight. You had everything under control, and you would not have welcomed my interference."

  Alexi grunted.

  "You would have allowed her to run off and leave me?"

  "Of course not." Misha laughed and slapped Alexi on the shoulder. "You were spoiling for a fight, and don't deny it. Don't you feel better all ready?"

  Alexi felt relief instantly, and as if the presence of Misha here on the ship gave him leave to succumb to the wound that had been bleeding now for several hours, Alexi slumped to the ground.

  Despite the fog surrounding him, Alexi heard Misha swearing at the captain then Misha picked him up from the floor as if he were a rag doll and laid him next to Angela on the bed in his cabin.

  He shivered then began to sweat. Heat swept through Alexi. Even in his sleep, he knew a fever raged within his body. Nightmares flowed, one into the other. He was in the desert with his father, the oasis miles away, and yet he saw the line of trees clearly, smelled the water, felt the cool liquid lining his parched throat. Ivan appeared out of nowhere, bringing wine and food, laughing outrageously. They were both young and hot-blooded.

  He heard bells, and the enchantment the women his father procured for him would bring. There were two tents set up for their use. One, of course, was for his father, the other one for him. If any of the women suited him, he would be allowed to buy them for his own personal use, and begin his own harem.

  Alexi had never done that--bought women to keep as slaves. He was content to pick from the newest women brought to the harem. His father allowed him to do that. Once he'd used the women, they would be touched by no one else, not even his father.

  But that was years ago.

  None of the women had ever stirred him as Angela did. Angela, his fiery angel of retribution. Even now while his mind wandered back to the desert sands, he felt her cool soothing touch upon his fevered skin.

  Angela... She'd been small and tight when he entered her. She had not been used by many. But she'd lied to him. Still, he'd find a way to forgive and get on with their life together.

  The memory sparked a hollow chord of discontent and he allowed his mind to wander back to the tent and the dancing women. Scarves fluttered, and the women swayed enticingly to the music of the desert.

  The music haunted his soul.

  Adara...

  Adara had been the first woman to show him the ways of love and pleasure. Fire and tempest had been the result of that union, but there had been no other satisfaction. Alexi had learned then that women served little use besides momentary delight.

  Until Angela had robbed him of his soul. Angela was a fever within him, stirring up a tempest of carnal pleasures and sexual yearnings he could not live without. She enticed then held back favors. She played games, but when he had been sheathed so deeply inside that he touched her womb, he had for a moment believed he touched her heart.

  That moment had been short-lived. It had taken less than a second to realize that Angela's maiden shield had already been br
oken, and not by him--less than a second to understand what a fool he'd been.

  He'd been on the verge of proposing marriage. He thanked Allah he'd not been so rash.

  The coolness of a cloth washed over his chest. He opened his eyes, the light blinding, yet the vision in front of him was beautiful. Angela, his very own angel, administered to his needs. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders.

  "About time you came back to the land of the living," she told him. Her voice was soft, and he could have sworn he'd died and gone to heaven.

  "I didn't know I'd left."

  Her expression changed to grim determination, her eyes hollow. "Since I know you'll live"--she rose from her place by his side--"I won't waste any more time here."

  His hand was around her wrist before she could leave him. "You're not going anywhere, not until you tell me why you were leaving me."

  "I don't owe you an explanation or anything else," she told him as they made eye contact. "You don't own me."

  Her tone was cool, and he felt a stab of regret at the way he'd acted in the hotel, ruefully admitting he should not have left her in bed--alone.

  "You owe me your life," he said, and immediately regretted the statement but could think of no way to take it back. He owed her more than he could ever repay. It was a bullet meant for him that grazed her head.

  His point made, she blushed a deep crimson. "I could have handled them. You didn't give me a chance to defend myself. They were nothing."

  That much was true, he admitted reluctantly. Even with a wounded arm, it had taken him little time to overcome them and send them packing.

  "Angela." He wasn't about to give up. "Why were you leaving the hotel? I told you to pack your clothes and stay put. We had an agreement, you and I."

  She tugged on her arm but he wouldn't allow her to escape until she answered. "I don't obey orders. I told you that a long time ago. And as far as I'm concerned what you did last night rendered our agreement null and void."

  "What I did last night? You will obey…"

  "I think not," she said casually, and, applying pressure to his thumb, she quickly made her escape.

  Chapter Nine

  "Misha."

  She heard him yelling for the burly giant who had stayed by his side throughout his illness, dispensing orders as rapidly as Alexi himself.

  "Misha! Get her now." His impatience knew no bounds.

  Not wishing to meet up with Misha, and knowing Alexi would order his man to bring her back to him, she scampered out the door and down the long hallway, with every intention of losing herself on the huge ship.

  Luck was not with her. Misha appeared on the stairway leading above decks, and as if guessing his master's thoughts, he pointed her in the other direction, a grim expression on his face.

  "I do not relish the thought of chasing after you. Unlike Alexi, I have no reason to treat you gently."

  Misha was taller than Alexi by at least five inches, and his shoulders were broader, his arms even more muscled. He had the same aristocratic way Alexi had of expecting all orders to be obeyed before they'd even been spoken. Misha's eyes were an iron gray when he was angry and almost a pewter color when something amused him. They were pewter now, and his lips twitched with a threatening smile.

  "Alexi wants you, not me," she said a bit too quickly. Misha did laugh.

  "I see through your ploy." His hands rested negligently on his trim hips. "Now what on earth did you do to get him in such a foul humor?"

  "Nothing." She tried to push past him and was stopped instantly.

  "Turn around and go back to him or I'll be forced to drag you to his room," Misha said, still chuckling softly.

  "What Alexi wants, Alexi gets," she told Misha petulantly. "Drag me."

  That stopped his laughter. Misha's eyebrows drew together into a frown. "That is true," Misha told her, his voice holding within it a wealth of amusement once again. He made no attempt to lay a hand on her, just stared at her, waiting patiently.

  With a muffled oath, Angela walked back to Alexi's room. Almost as soon as she stepped inside she heard the latch turn. She was locked inside a room with only one bed--with Alexi. He would pay for this.

  He grinned at her, his smile devilish.

  Her heart turned over. Angela didn't move from her spot by the door. She couldn't. She wasn't ready to forgive Alexi.

  "Come sit." Alexi patted the place on his bed she'd occupied earlier, his smile growing even broader.

  She shook her head, intending never to willingly allow herself close to this man again. He would seduce her if she let herself get too near. One touch and she'd melt into his arms. He'd kidnapped her, stolen her away from her homeland, and called her a liar.

  "You're afraid," he taunted. He smoothed the covers down and leaned against the headboard, his bare chest looming above the sheets.

  She swallowed hard. "No. Wise beyond my years," she returned, not daring to move closer, yet wavering in her resolve. The man had an iron grip and a will so strong she doubted she'd ever win a battle waged against him.

  He smiled then, and the sight of it went straight to her heart. Oh, how she turned to molten fire with one look from him. She willed herself to control the vacillating emotions inside her.

  "Come and sit down. I won't touch you."

  Once more she shook her head no. "I'm fine here," she squeaked, then swallowed hard, trying desperately to regain control of her voice. The man planned something, and she didn't intend to fall so easily into his schemes. He would explain his own actions to her, and he would tell her why he left her so suddenly the night before.

  "Why did you call me a liar?" she asked, blurting out what was uppermost on her mind.

  All signs of amusement left Alexi, his expression turning hard and cruel once more. It seemed she'd said something wrong again.

  "You would have been better off not reminding me of that.''

  Forgetting her vow to stay as far from Alexi as she could, Angela stepped forward, her fists clutched at her sides. "I want to know," she said, her eyes beginning to fill with moisture, her heart swamped with pain. "I'm not a liar."

  "I believed you," he began so softly she stepped closer. "I believed you when you told me you were a virgin.'' His tone was bitter now, and his words were edged with ice. "You lied to me, and I'm afraid I cannot forgive so easily."

  "I am. I was," she amended, dropping to her knees beside his bed. "Why do you say such a thing?" she asked, completely baffled, her heart in her throat, tears stinging her eyes. "Alexi ..."

  His laughter echoed around the room, raising goose bumps on Angela's arms. "I might forgive you the lie if you would only admit to it now. Tell me the truth, angel, or forever hold your tongue. You cannot think to carry on this charade. I'm no fool you can wrap around your little finger. I know a virgin when I have one."

  His words bit deep. They were hurtful words, tainted with bitterness and regrets Angela didn't understand.

  So very confused, Angela stared at him, silent tears of pain and betrayal sliding down her cheeks. "I cannot lie, Alexi. Please don't make me. As God is my witness, I'd never lain with a man until you."

  "Son of a bitch, Angela, the proof was there, or not there, inside of you. Did you truly think I would not notice the lack of your maidenhead? I told you before, I'm no fool."

  Every emotion inside Angela cried out in denial then she realized she'd felt no pain, nothing.