Borrowed Angel

by Heather Graham

  Except that it wasn’t an amusing situation at all.

  “I really did. I saw someone murdered.”

  “Who?” He picked up his drink and handed her the bourbon and ginger ale, then steered her toward the living room. He sat her down on the sofa and took a seat beside her.

  “I don’t know who,” she told him earnestly.

  “Then—”

  “Honest to God, I’m not hysterical, and I’m telling the truth. I saw three people—”

  “You don’t know who any of them were?”

  She shook her head. “They were in yellow slickers.”

  “How did you come about seeing them?”

  She hesitated.

  “Come on,” he urged her. “Explain. Why weren’t you with the Tylers?”

  “Tara’s baby. One more shot was needed, but Rafe and I didn’t think Tara should stay any longer—”

  “They’re good friends of yours?”

  “The best,” Ashley said solemnly. “Why?”

  He shook his head. “No reason.” But there had been a reason, Ashley thought. “Come on. Tell me the rest,” he said.

  “There’s very little to tell. I already told you about Harrison, and you already gave me your reaction.”

  He shrugged. “I said I understood how he might have gotten carried away. I’m not sure how many emeralds that ad will sell, but men across the country will be racing for cold showers.”

  “I wonder if that’s an insult or a compliment, Mr. Hawk,” Ashley said sweetly.

  “It’s a statement of fact, and that’s all,” he told her. “You were talking about a murder.”

  “Tara and Rafe left because of the storm and the baby. I stayed behind for the last take. Then Harrison said that he wanted to talk to me.”

  “So you just blithely went along.”

  “I didn’t want to cause a scene. I had other friends there who might have tried to help me and Harrison could have hurt them.”

  “Hurt them. How?”

  “In New York, when they wanted to work again.”

  “The almighty dollar, huh?”

  “No. Survival, Mr. Hawk.”

  “You must really scrimp and save to survive.”

  “Cameramen do not make fortunes.”

  “Finish the story.”

  “I’m really trying. It’s just that you really are capable of being one nasty—”

  “Injun?”

  “Mr. Hawk, I don’t care if you’re a spaceman!” Ashley straightened, putting all the distance she could between them. He could anger her so easily and so quickly. She didn’t understand it. He came close, and then it was as if he wanted a wall between them, as if he purposely built barriers. “You’ve problems, sir.”

  “No, I don’t,” he murmured, his dark lashes covering his eyes, his head lowered as if he spoke to himself. “Except with…you.”

  He looked up quickly, as if he hadn’t said the words. “All right, I’m sorry. What happened next?”

  “Harrison got carried away in the bushes. I got away from him and started running. Then I saw them. There were three of them, all in slickers. Two of them were arguing with the one in the middle, I think. Anyway, the man to the left drew out a knife and stabbed the man in the middle. Then he threw him right into a canal.”

  “Then?”

  She frowned, then shivered. “Then they looked at me.”

  “Who were they?”

  “I—I don’t know. The rain was coming down so hard. The victim’s back was always to me, and I couldn’t begin to see the killer’s features. I ran. I ran and ran—and I ran into you.”

  “Why did it take you this long to tell me this?”

  “Because…”

  “Because I might have been one of them?”

  “I have no way of knowing.”

  “Um.”

  Ashley swallowed some of her drink, deep in thought. She reached out suddenly to touch his arm, her face full of hope. “If I couldn’t see them, then they couldn’t see me, right?”

  He hesitated. “If they were there, and you saw three figures, you can be sure that they saw you.”

  “How?”

  “Unless they were completely blind, they would have seen a woman dressed only in a bikini bottom and those emeralds sparkling all over the place.”

  “Oh,” she murmured, lowering her eyes. Then she stared at him sharply. “You said ‘if’!” she accused him.

  He shrugged. “Yeah. I said, ‘if.’”

  “You don’t believe me!”

  “There’s a very bad storm out there, you know.”

  “So what?”

  “So how can you be absolutely sure of what you saw?”

  “Because I’m not blind! I’m telling you the truth, the absolute truth.”

  “I’m sorry, it just doesn’t make sense. That’s my property you were running around on. Most people would have been wary of the storm, and if they didn’t have to be out in it, they wouldn’t have been. Maybe—”

  “There are no maybes,” Ashley said stiffly. She grated her teeth. He didn’t believe her, and that was that. She was a featherbrain to him. One who saw things.

  “In the morning, things might look different.”

  “They aren’t going to look any different, but you’re not going to believe me no matter what I say.” Ashley finished her drink and set the glass on the table. He was still watching her, still clad in his towel, still with the same dignity. “You’ve no right to judge me, you know.”

  “I’m not judging you. I just—”

  “You’ve been judging me since you brought me here. No, you were judging me when you watched us shooting the commercial. I can wear a bikini and I happened to be modeling Rafe’s emeralds, and so I’m a featherbrain.”

  “You’re a featherbrain because you have a tendency to act like an idiot,” he corrected her warily.

  “I didn’t know about the eye of the storm.”

  “You didn’t know that this whole place could be dangerous, storm or no storm.”

  Ashley shook her head, and stared at him, her eyes as brilliant as the emeralds she wore. “No. None of that is true. You judged me from the very beginning. You assumed that I was a stupid, chattering fool because I was a model. And you assumed that I would be a prejudiced against you for being an Indian.”

  “I—”

  “You did, deny what you like. Well, you’re wrong. I come from New York City, and every kind of people live in New York. The United Nations meets there, you know.”

  “Does it really?” he inquired politely, settling back. “They haven’t invited the tribe in yet, you see.”

  She smiled sweetly. “You, Mr. Hawk, are the bigot.”

  “The hell I—”

  She didn’t know what she was doing, but she reached across and caught his chin in her palm, squeezing his jaw. “Yes, Mr. Hawk, you, not I, are the prejudiced one. I didn’t make a single judgment on you. Not a one—”

  “Except that I might be a murderer,” he said, freeing his jaw from her grasp. He held her hands tightly.

  Ashley tossed back her hair. “That wasn’t personal. You just happened to be in the swamp. While you—”

  “Yes, do go on.”

  His eyes glittered, his tone was dangerous, and his fingers were warm and strong on hers. She didn’t care. She lifted her chin. “You almost came right out and said that I deserved whatever I got from Harrison—because of a commercial! And, of course, I must be stupid. And I must be careless of others and crude because I have money, too. So before you ever got to know me, Mr. Hawk, you had me branded. I was a foolish, stupid, callous, rich girl. Right?”

  He was smiling. There was a certain cynicism there, but still it was nice, and a warmth spread throughout her. She felt as if she had reached him—reached in and touched just a little bit of him.

  “I made only one assumption,” he told her.

  “And what was that?”

  Outside the wind raged and the rain poured dow
n. But at that moment, she knew only the power of his eyes as he stared at her for a long time. Then he released her fingers and touched her cheek, and she didn’t draw away. He smoothed back a tendril of flame-colored hair. “I just assumed that you were every bit as sexy and beautiful and sensual as the woman who was perched on that rock and totally destroyed my equilibrium.”

  Ashley smiled slowly. “Is that a compliment?” she whispered.

  “The highest.”

  She thought that he was going to kiss her. That he would pull her against him, cradle her in his arms and kiss her.

  And if he had, she wouldn’t have protested. She wouldn’t have been able to do so. She had studied the fullness of his mouth time and time again now, and she knew that his kiss would be instant wildfire.

  And so little lay between them. If he kissed her, more could follow. She had ached too many times to stroke his shoulders. She had been fascinated by the ripple of his muscles, by his hard, lean belly, by the copper glow of his skin, so dark against her own. If he kissed her, more would follow, and she wouldn’t protest. It wouldn’t matter that she had spent all the adult years of her life taking the gravest care in every relationship, in learning to distrust, to search out the heart. None of that would matter, because it would be him. That she barely knew him wouldn’t matter. She wanted him. She ached for him.

  He did kiss her—but not as she had expected. He didn’t draw her near. He sought out her eyes, then he leaned forward, and his lips just brushed hers.

  Instant wildfire. The briefest caress, his lingering nearness, ignited deep yearnings within her. His fingers grazed her cheek and touched her jaw. They slipped around her neck, and he drew her close. His tongue traced the outline of her lips, then probed deeply into her mouth, and she was enveloped by the sweetness of the sensation. There was no hesitation about him. His fingers slid beneath the collar of the robe and over her shoulder, curling over the bare flesh of her breast, exploring the shape and weight and contour. His palm scorched her nipple, and she choked a cry of ecstasy.

  He drew away abruptly. His touch ceased, his lips left hers. Startled, and suddenly ashamed, Ashley closed her eyes and leaned back.

  She had known that he thought little enough of her already. She should never have allowed this.

  Eric stood and looked down at the woman on the couch. A fierce shudder suddenly went through him. He’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life, but it was more with Ashley Dane. He’d never seen anyone more sensual. The sound of her voice was in his head, in his soul and body.

  Maybe it was her hair. As red as fire, long, thick, a fascinating and feminine cape about her shoulders and face. Maybe it was her eyes, so darkly lashed, so emerald. Her skin was fair and slightly tanned. She had no freckles, just a smooth, perfect complexion. All of her was smooth and perfect. Her breasts were full and firm, the flare of her hips was as evocative as the rounded firmness of her derriere. And her lips…

  They were moist from his kiss. From the contact that had left him shattered and barely in control—and hating himself and hating her even more.

  His wife had been dead for a long time now. Almost four years. And it wasn’t as if there hadn’t been other women since.

  But he had never seen their faces. Never.

  Certainly not as he saw Ashley Dane’s. She drew out every primitive ache and longing inside him. She touched his senses and his soul. She was like a perfect angel cast down from the heavens.

  Not an angel. A tormenting little witch. One covered in emeralds and dripping with wealth and savvy and he sure didn’t need to be touching her. She needed to be back in New York City. She didn’t belong here in the swamp. She didn’t know the swamp, its people or wildlife, and she could never appreciate its beauty.

  He shouldn’t touch her. He would get burned.

  “My room is yours,” he told her curtly. “You may as well get some sleep. I’ll be in the guest room if you need me, but I really can’t see why you would.”

  He turned around and left her. He didn’t see her eyes open wide with shock and hurt. He didn’t see anything at all as he walked blindly into his office, slammed the door and cast himself down on the couch.

  He didn’t see….

  But he still felt her. He stretched out his fingers, closed them and stretched them out again. And still, he felt her. He felt her breast, heavy in his hand, felt the pebble-hard peak of her nipple, the very softness of the silky skin surrounding it. He felt her cheek, her face, the slope of her shoulders, and whether he opened his eyes or closed them, memory taunted him.

  She had been so cold when he had carried her here. He had tried to warm her. After he had assured himself that she breathed and that her heart beat, he had cleaned away the mud and stripped off the soaking bikini bottom. He hadn’t meant to pause, but he had. She had looked very beautiful and perfect, and she had somehow seemed as pure and sweet as well.

  Angelic…

  An angel, yes, perfect and pure, and so enticing that the whisper of her breath haunted his soul mercilessly. She had lain upon his bed, and all of her had been more glorious than anything created on earth.

  God had created that beauty, he had thought.

  Maybe, just maybe, he had hoped that she would be vain and callous and shallow.

  It might have been guilt. Because he really had thought that she was more beautiful than any other woman he had ever seen, including his wife. Maybe he had determined to dislike her from the very first.

  He rolled over, groaning. She made him think, and he hated to think. He hated to remember love.

  Eric lay there in the darkness and breathed softly for a long time. Then he rose and went out to the living room. He picked up a candle and carried it with him into the kitchen. He dug beneath the counter until he found the Jack Black. He reached for a glass, shrugged, then just swallowed a whole fiery gulp straight from the bottle.

  It felt good going down. It warmed the part of him that had grown cold.

  It eased the parts of him that had knotted with lust and desire and yearning.

  He turned around at last and carried the bottle into his office. He closed the door, tightened the towel around his hips and lay back on the sofa. He stared into the darkness and frowned.

  Her story couldn’t be true. She believed it herself, but it just couldn’t have happened. No one would have been out in the swamp in the storm.

  Not an Indian, not a white man.

  He sighed. It didn’t matter; there was nothing he could do. It would still be some time before the downed wires were fixed, before the roads were cleared.

  When the rains stopped, he would see what he could find.

  In the meantime, it seemed to make some good sense to drink himself to sleep.

  * * *

  All through the night, the wind howled.

  Ashley lay awake for a long while, listening. Sometimes it seemed that the wind and the rain would destroy the house, but the building always stood firm. Ashley reflected that Eric Hawk would not be here if his house hadn’t been built strongly to weather the elements. Just as he would weather them himself.

  She twisted, wishing that she could sleep, wishing that she had never allowed him to kiss her. She wasn’t accustomed to feeling so miserable. Nor was she accustomed to being the one doing the wanting. She’d been hurt one time, but she had weathered it well. She knew how to take care of herself. Perhaps her life was easy now because Tara was her best friend and the shadow of Rafe’s power fell her way. Life was charmed, but only to a certain extent. She was still independent, and she still had the Harrison Mosby types to deal with, and she still had attitudes like Eric Hawk’s to deal with.

  She gave up trying to sleep while listening to the fury of the wind. Swinging her feet over the side of the bed, she stood and walked back to the little table. She picked up the picture again and wondered about the woman with the long black hair. Who was she? His wife, his friend, his lover? All of the above?

  The woman meant somethin
g to him. A chill passed over Ashley’s heart, and she was suddenly convinced that the woman was dead. If not, she would be here in this room, not Ashley.

  Curious, she picked up a candle and walked over to the armoire. She hesitated, then opened the pine door and looked in.

  It was as she had expected. The closet was filled with a woman’s clothes. Ashley gently touched the shirts, blouses and skirts. There was an array of styles. Denim jeans and T-shirts, attractive dresses and a beautiful sequined evening gown.

  The colorful clothing of the Seminole nation was there, too. Beautiful beaded blouses and skirts, with bands of red and yellow and black—striking and typical.

  In the rear of the armoire, Ashley found a gown in a clear wrapping. It was a wedding gown, an antique one, more cream than white from age. It combined the elegance of European fashion with Indian beadwork. It was one of the loveliest things Ashley had ever seen.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  She almost dropped the candle as she spun around, so startled that she cried out softly.

  He was there again, standing in the doorway, his hands on his hips.

  He was wearing a pair of jeans now, but his feet and chest were still bare. She couldn’t see his face, but she knew that it was filled with fury.

  He strode into the room with such purpose that she cried out again, jumping out of his way. He didn’t come near her, though. He slammed the armoire door shut.

  “You’ve no rights here!” he lashed out suddenly.

  Ashley sniffed the scent of Jack Black in the air. She backed away from him, wishing that she had never met him. “I didn’t mean any harm.”

  “You’re a snoop!”

  “I wasn’t snooping!”

  “What were you doing?” he demanded.

  “Looking! Just looking.”

  “What—”

  “All right! I was trying to figure out why you act like such a complete bastard!”

  “Why, you…!” he muttered. Then he added with a bitter growl, “You had no right to look in there.”

  “You have no right in here!”

  “It’s my room.”

  “I’m a guest,” she declared.

  “An uninvited guest.”