LOVING HIS
ANGEL
A Rock Star Romance
ANGEL SERIES
Part 2
by
Megan Hetherington
Copyright @ 2018 Megan Hetherington
All rights reserved
ISBN 13: 978-172121275
ISBN 10: 1721212752
This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to real events, real people and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organisations or places is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission. Apart from small excerpts that are used in book reviews.
Acknowledgements
To my husband, Paul, ten years on and still as strong together. My wonderful children who have grown into the most beautiful adults. My beta readers whose feedback is priceless. Ran at Designrans for another fantastic sexy cover. All you romance readers out there - always believe in a happy ever after. It’s the only way.
Author Profile
I’m a wife and mum who loves losing myself in romantic fantasy. Writing is my passion and I do it listening to music and drinking coffee (who am I kidding, more likely to be red wine). I also love to travel and places I’ve been often pop up in my books. When I’ve got a deadline to meet I can usually be found gardening or watching historical romance films.
Reach out to me at
[email protected]
or find out more at https://www.meganhetherington.co.uk.
ANGEL Series
So this is book number two in the ANGEL series.
The first book, Falling for his ANGEL is available for purchase on Amazon. It is advisable to read Falling for his ANGEL first, as there are a couple of story lines that follow through from the first book to this one.
That said, Loving his ANGEL has been written with some bits of backstory to hopefully keep the reader aware of what has gone previously.
Hope you enjoy!
Chapter One
The paramedics were running alongside the stretcher. Jonny only just keeping up with them. Double doors swinging back in his face every ten metres. Pale yellow walls flashing by.
Cursing himself repeatedly for not intervening when she said she didn’t feel quite right earlier in the day. She looked fine when she first mentioned it. Then it all went downhill so quickly.
The handover was seamless. They lifted her body across from the ambulance stretcher to the hospital bed, which they quickly pumped up to a height that seemed too excessive for the young doctor who appeared out of nowhere.
No-one seemed to be rushing or panicking. All just relaying numbers and medical terms to each other. Vital signs recorded calmly onto a clipboard.
Feeling anxious, his heart beating so hard and loud, he was sure everyone could hear it. Convinced he was asking questions, but no-one was answering or even acknowledging him.
He had never been in any hospital before. And why would he have? Jonny had the perfect childhood. Never any drama. Growing up had been easy for Jonny, he excelled at anything he cared to turn his hand to. One of his favourite challenges as a seven year old was to climb through the nine trees that lined their street without touching the ground. He never once fell out.
Having never been to one of these sterile places he had not contemplated whether he liked them or not. There had been no need. He knew now though. He hated them.
It was mainly the smell. It invaded his nostrils and put his teeth on edge. What did it remind him of? Chemicals? Launderette? Yeah clean, but with the anticipation of pain. That was it, a dentist’s surgery.
Her cheeks looked as if they had been slapped over and over. Perspiration trickling down the side her face, unchecked onto the white sheet.
Moans. Soft moans, muffled by the mouthpiece they had strung around her head.
Eyelids flickering. A rapid, barely there, motion as if she was dipping in and out of consciousness.
Toes curling, in socks that might fall off on to the immaculate floor at any moment.
A thought flashed into his mind. What if he was to lose her? He couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not ever.
The machines that had been wheeled in were frightening to look at. Plastic lines now hooked up to a drip and protruding from a cannula inserted into the back of her hand. A dark blue fabric band wrapped tightly, buzzing as it constricted around her upper arm. A crocodile clip on the end of a finger. The beeping and flashing lights making it all seem so very serious.
If he wasn’t an apparition, then he was looking on to what was undoubtedly the worst moment of his life.
A feeling of intense panic took over him. Breathing speeding up and a deafening heartbeat. Jonny was sure he was going to vomit, or faint, or both.
His vision blurring. Everyone in the room disappearing down a tunnel; the edges fading. Their voices becoming distant.
A nurse removed the mask from her mouth and nose. Free of the mouthpiece she screamed. An inhuman noise Jonny had never heard her make before. Followed by a stream of obscenities directed specifically at him.
“Sorry,” was all he managed to whisper before everything went black.
Chapter Two
Eighteen months earlier…
“Do we have to have that picture, staring me in the face each time I come through the door?” Jonny stood in front of the three foot wide image of “that day in Marseilles”. The intense sun rays through the open door illuminating the wall hung work of art and bringing it to life. A piece Eliza had commissioned a local Spanish artist to paint on canvas. Jonny thought it a good impression of the photograph that had been in all the papers within hours of their reunion. Her copper coloured hair and the baskets of purple-blue irises were all the painter had used colour for. The rest, hues of black and grey. As much as he admired the artistry of it, he was at the lowest he had been in his life at that point and didn’t necessarily want to be reminded of it every day.
Eliza kicked shut the heavy carved oak door behind her and set down the hessian cloth wrapped root ball of the olive tree she had just bought. Lingering as she bent over to inhale its woody scent.
“Yes.” She hung her arms around his bronzed neck. Holding his gaze so she could bring him back from the God awful place he was re-living six months ago, to the perfectness that was their lives now. “Yes, definitely. It’s a constant reminder to me of how much of a bitch I was to you… and how I never, ever want to lose you again.”
Still back there, and not here, he continued to lament. “But I look like a heroin addict or something. Skinny and unwashed.”
“No you don’t. You look handsome.” She kissed him. A deep, reassuring, tongue engaging kiss.
“Sexy.” She locked her mouth on to his again. This time he fervently responded.
“Mine.” She continued, buttering the word against his lips.
It was too much. She was too much. She’d convinced him. Placing his hands on her backside, he effortlessly pulled her. She wrapped her long legs around his waist, anchoring her slender ankles together above his taut behind. He walked them into the bedroom.
“In the middle of the afternoon? Whatever next?” she mocked, breaking momentarily from a third kiss. Relieved that his eyes had brightened, gradually returning to the pleasures of here and now.
“I don’t care,” he rumbled. “You know I want you all of the time. Any time of the day or night.”
“Really?”
Her teeth clashing against his as she spoke whilst continuing to hold another kiss.
“Yes. Like last night, when you stood on the terrace admiring the sunset.” Lowering her down like a prima donna, her toes gently touching the cool marble tiled floor en pointe.
“Well you did have me then.” Removing the t-shirt over his head. Dark hair now tousled from the friction of the knitted neck pulling over it. Lightly tracing a finger slowly down his chest and around each of his abs. Self-inducing a throbbing ache in-between the top of her legs.
“Uhuh. And this morning when you were getting in the shower,” he continued. Undoing her blouse. A pause in between each button. Seductively slow. Salivating each time another inch of perfectly smooth flesh was exposed. Running a wet tongue over his lips. Knowing that when he put them to use they would inflict the perfect amount of pleasurable pain.
Buttons all dealt with, the loose fabric fell to one side of a pert breast, the other panel caught on a peaked nipple. Ever so slightly, he drew a thumb around each areola. Nipples lengthening in response. Gradually the pressure increased to a full caress, falling short of the squeeze she craved.
Teasingly he pulled his arms away, letting them drop.
“And you had me then too,” she sighed. Unzipping her denim shorts, she wriggled them free of her hips. Letting them fall down her legs to the floor, before kicking them away.
“Of course, and this morning when you were at the Centro de Jardineria.” Bending down to put his hot mouth on each nipple, sucking the first one in. Lathing it with his tongue. A thick, luscious tongue. Before nibbling on the sensitised nub.
She pulled her fingers through his hair as he moved onto the next one. Making sure each was given equal and deserved attention.
Groaning with pleasure she summoned up all of her attention to regain composure and sarcasm. “Errh, well that didn’t happen.”
Standing back up to face her. “That’s why I’m going to have you now.” Eyes fixed and determined.
Lifting her fists to her naked hips, she jutted one out in fake protest. “But my olive tree! They said to plant it straight away otherwise it will dry out.”
Jonny sniggered. Took a step back, wrenched down his shorts and held out his arms. “Well it’s up to you babes?”
Her pupil engorged eyes took on a dreamy look as she ogled his naked body.
Ripped. Tanned. Hard.
Biting down on the corner of her bottom lip she could do nothing but succumb. “I guess the olive tree can wait.”
Chapter Three
They boarded the small private jet they had chartered to take them to Schiphol.
It was just easier than coping with the other passengers on the scheduled flights between Ibiza and Amsterdam. On the last one they had taken, there had been scuffling in the aisle between fans, jostling to have a photo taken with Jonny and Eliza. The air crew were understandably not very happy, having to re-seat a number of passengers and delay the take off. After that, they decided to fly solo, wherever there wasn’t a first class cabin, to give them some privacy.
“Good afternoon. Are you both well?” The pilot today was their regular one.
“Afternoon José. Yes, we’re good thank you. I’ve brought my training manual. Thought I’d do some revision whilst we’re up in the air. Is it ok if I ask you some questions during the flight?”
The pilot took off his cap and placed it on the shelf behind him. His gelled back jet black hair not having moved an inch in the process.
“Yes, no problem Mr Harrison. I’ll be happy to help. So how many hours have you got in now?”
“Only twenty.”
“Any of that solo yet?”
“No, but reckon it won’t be long before I do.”
Jonny turned to Eliza, who was busy with the ritual of securing herself in the seat. Checking the blind went up and down. That the seat was fully locked in an upright position and the paper sick bag was within easy reach. He gave her an over the top smile. “Hey Eliza, I can take you up with me soon.”
Eliza visibly shuddered. She had made clear to him how concerned she was about him flying. The extent of the worry was beyond the personal dread she suffered when boarding a plane, it extended to anyone else in her life too. Jonny knew she still had issues about losing loved ones, but that couldn’t stop him from following his dreams. If anything, he genuinely believed it was part of the healing process for her. Not that he was a trained psychologist or anything.
“Do you still record the hours you’ve flown?” Jonny was interested in the pilot’s experience and was taking this opportunity to learn more about the work of a professional.
“Not really, it’s probably around twenty thousand, but then I’ve been flying for nearly twelve years now.”
Eliza pulled on Jonny’s sleeve and whispered in to his ear. “Twenty thousand? There’s a bit of difference between twenty and twenty thousand.”
“Yeah nineteen thousand nine hundred and eighty.” Jonny laughing at his own wit.
“You really are a dick!” Giving him a playful punch on the arm and then buckling and tightening her seat belt, indicating to Jonny to do the same.
Her eyes then closed tightly, fumbling with her hand to find his. Tightening her grip in a painful way as they took off. This was the way she flew almost everywhere. Blind.
***
They took a cab from Schiphol airport to their apartment in Jordaan. Still renting the place that Eliza and Dirk had originally shared; although Dirk had now moved out, jesting that they were cramping his style with their little love nest. “How am I supposed to keep up my reputation as the number one rock and roll stud in Dam, with you two loving it up all over the place?” he had moaned.
In truth, he bought himself a proper bachelor pad in a converted warehouse in Pijp. All exposed brick work and steel girders. He hadn’t been there long before one of his girlfriends moved her stuff in. There was talk of marriage and everything; on her part anyway. A subject Jonny had not broached with Eliza yet. One step at a time he had told himself. Not wanting her commitment issues to rear their ugly head again.
Jonny was still wearing his flip flops. A school boy error Eliza pointed out as he stepped out of the cab into a puddle. Dirty water squelching up between his toes.
“Friggin’ miserable place,” he muttered under his breath. He really tried to stop wingeing about living in Amsterdam to Eliza, but this time he felt justified. He could tell it annoyed her and although it was never meant as a personal attack, he was sure she always took it as such.
“So what’s the plan?” Thinking of his stomach. It had been rumbling rather loudly in the cab and the one thing he did like about Amsterdam were the restaurants and cafés.
The tunes from his empty stomach hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Get something to eat whilst the apartment warms up?”
“Sounds good to me.”
He retrieved the small holdall and guitar case, the driver had taken out of the boot of the cab and unceremoniously plonked onto the wet pavement. “Heathen,” muttered Jonny. “Doesn’t he know that’s a Gibson Les Paul.”
Eliza punched the six-digit code into the newly installed lock on the glossy dark green door and climbed the stairs up to their apartment. Having misplaced their keys that many times on their frequent nights away gigging and extended trips to Ibiza, it hadn’t taken much to persuade their landlord to allow them to fit the device to stop him from having to come out to let them in each time.
Jonny trudged up the stairs behind her.
“Brrr. It’s bloody freezing!” Over-dramatically rubbing his bare arms and vibrating his lips.
He went to the boiler cupboard in the kitchen to fire up the central heating, before heading to the bathroom to wash his feet in the bidet. He knew what the bidet was really for, but thought it was perfectly suited to washing feet, on this occasion anyway.
Eliza opened the internally fixed wooden shutters, nestling them back into the deep reveals at either side. Pausing at the last window
to look out on to the street and canal below. Leafless trees; large wheeled bicycles locked to railings on the bridge over the canal; pretty painted narrow boats moored to the bank edge; five storey houses across the canal, nestled together, all listing to one side or the other. Some painted with black tar.
Feet feeling fresher, Jonny ventured in to Dirk’s old bedroom. It had become more of a dressing area since he had left. Dirty washing on the floor; garments drying on racks; a huge ironing pile on the bed. Everything seemed to get dumped there now. He picked out a warm looking navy blue sweater with a fisherman’s roll neck from the ironing pile to put under his obligatory leather jacket. Holding it out in front of him, before deciding it didn’t need ironing. Really, anything he chose to wear that was on the ironing pile, never got ironed. A quick shake and smooth over was fine in his book.
Feeling warmer he went back into the living area. “What you looking at?” He padded across to Eliza who was leaning against a cast iron radiator underneath one of the huge sash windows. The ancient radiators clunking and gurgling; warm water starting to flow through them from the boiler. He snuggled into her back, pulling long trusses of hair over her shoulder so he could put his face side on against hers and share the view onto the Jordaan street scene.
“Just the vista. It’s always the same, but it’s getting less… less familiar somehow. If you know what I mean?”
“Hmmm,” he murmured into her ear, enjoying the softness of her cheek on his. Breathing in the scent of her favourite Chanel perfume dabbed on behind her ear.
“I feel like we maybe need our own home.” She turned her face to his to gauge the reaction.
He looked at her bemused. “Our home?”
“Yeah, our home. Solimar is great, but it always feels like it’s just a holiday place. And anyway it’s yours. I bought it for you. I think we should have somewhere else too. Not this place. Somewhere that’s ours.”
His heart beat strengthened and then paused. Wow. A commitment-like statement coming from Eliza. Now there’s a thing. He didn’t want to brush it off with the ironic remark that was in danger of stumbling off his lips. Instead he agreed, “Yeah. I’m up for that.”
Loving his ANGEL_A Rock Star Romance Page 1