Night Angel

by Renee Reeves

  "Jesus Christ."

  Jake's voice, low and harsh came from way above her. Chest heaving Morgan lowered her trembling hands to the ground, gripping the short stalks of grass as if they were a lifeline. She didn't need to look up at his face; the short expletive told her everything.

  He knew.

  * * * *

  "Why didn't you tell me your woman's been abused? I mean, Jesus Christ Nick, judging by her knee-jerk reaction to my hand it would have been a damned important bit of information."

  Nick straightened slowly from his crouch in the middle of the small pen and stared hard at his brother. “What the hell are you talking about?"

  The gelding, alarmed by the large creature now standing near him, snorted and stomped, then began pushing his chest against the bars to escape.

  Jake's face was set in tight lines, a sure sign he wasn't joking. “Morgan. Someone's abused her."

  Nick turned his attention back to the horse, knowing he had only a short time before the animal went berserk. The gelding had put up with his presence in the pen enough for today. Holding Jake's gaze with his own he let himself out of the enclosure and leaned back against the bars, crossing his arms over his chest. Keeping his voice level he asked, “I already suspected that. Want to tell me what the fuck happened since I seem to recall telling you not to scare her?"

  Anger spiked Jake's voice, “Shit Nick, you're acting like I did it on purpose."

  Nick kicked a clod of dirt, watching as it exploded and the remaining dust settled a few feet away. “Yeah, hell ... you're right. I'm sorry.” Apparently this was his week for acting like an ass. Nick ran a hand over his hair, “It just pisses me off that my suspicions were right."

  His brother's worried green eyes met his, then fell away to watch the horse.

  "So,” Nick turned and wrapped the lead line he was holding around one of the metal bars, then faced his brother again, “spit it out."

  Nick watched as Jake sighed, still looking a little put out. His younger brother had always been a softy and easily got his feelings hurt, a trait Jake had inherited from their mother, along with her brown hair and green eyes.

  "Well, when I first got there she seemed overly apprehensive, but I just figured it was because she was alone and didn't know who I was. But then she relaxed and we were walking and talking, heading for the barn. I was telling her about the horse and she asked who Dalton was. One of my tools fell onto the ground. We both reached for it and I guess I moved too fast or ... something and she just freaked out, thought I was about to plant her a facer."

  Nick stared off into the distance, picturing her slight figure in his mind as she had struggled with the board and how she had cowered against the side of the barn. She would be no match for any man wanting to take his fists to her. He drew in a deep breath, looking hard at Jake. “How was she when you left?"

  Jake shrugged, sliding a hand through his brown hair, “She seemed to be alright. When she realized what she had done I thought she was going to cry. I think she did, because she pointed me to the boards and then ran into the house. I didn't see her again until I knocked on the door about two hours later to tell her I was leaving.” He stopped; glancing at the horse behind them, then slowly shook his head. “It's a shame, she seems really sweet. Pretty too with all that hair.” Jake ignored his brother's scowl and clenched his fist, studying it, “I'm having a really hard time picturing some bastard using her for a punching bag. He must have been some mean SOB."

  Nick rubbed a hand over his jaw, then his hair, then his jaw again, wishing for a shower and a shave, but the horses would keep him busy for at least another few hours. “Yeah, I wish I'd had the chance to meet the fucker. I'm thinking it was her husband."

  Jake's head snapped up, “Shit Nick. What the hell are you doing trying to get into her pants if she has a husband?"

  Nick rolled his eyes and pushed off the wall, giving Jake a dark look. “He's dead. She's a widow. I found out yesterday when she was trying to repair the whole fucking barn by herself."

  "He would seem the most logical suspect then. Wonder how he died."

  "Don't give a shit. When's Lindsey picking him up?” Nick asked, throwing a hand in the direction of the Thoroughbred colt, who was watching them over his stall door, ears pricked in expectation of a treat.

  Jake walked over to pet the animal, rubbing between the youngster's ears and around his muzzle. “Should be gone by Friday. Lindsey was in a fit after you left. Threatened to call the cops."

  "He was damn lucky I left without breaking his nose.” It was said without heat, just a statement of fact. “Did you get the boards cut up?” he asked as Jake disappeared into the feed room and then reappeared with the oat cart. Instantly the barn was filled with frenzied whinnies and banging oat buckets with Sultan leading the chaos.

  Jake raised his voice to a near shout, “Yeah, I marked each one so you'd know where it goes, but now my ribs are aching like crazy. You owe me."

  Nick winced as Sultan slammed a hoof against his stall door, making the iron and wood rattle on its hinges. “I'll get him.” Nick scooped up a can full of grain and headed down the aisle, ignoring the outstretched heads of several pleading horses. “Sorry. You guys will have to wait on Jake."

  He entered the stall and immediately the old horse quieted, politely waiting until Nick had dumped every last oat into his feeder before beginning to eat. Nick grinned, moving slightly to the side so the Arabian's silky muzzle could disappear into the feeder. Holding the oat can by his side Nick leaned one shoulder against the wall and stroked the old horse's neck, running his fingers along the muscles flexing under his touch. At twenty-seven years old the Arabian gelding was still beautiful, slightly sway-backed now, but with a shining chestnut coat and the extremely delicate dished profile characteristic of the breed. Nick stroked the horses glistening hide, carefully inspecting him for injuries.

  "It's been ten years old guy, and you still think I'd forget to feed you.” He smoothed his hand over the gleaming coat, remembering when it had been dull and stretched tightly over visible bones. After being almost starved to death by his previous owner it was no wonder that the horse got impatient at every feeding time. “And look at you now.” Nick grinned at the quietly munching horse, knowing he was being completely ignored as Sultan lost himself in the seventh heaven of sweet oats.

  Patting the horse one last time he rolled the heavy door open and stepped into the aisle way. He saw Jake giving oats to Raina, Sultan's girlfriend, and a slight twinge of guilt beat at him as he walked up to the front of the barn. He'd had plans to move Sultan into one of the empty stalls near the barn entrance so he was always first in the feed line and also closer to Raina, but distractions in numerous forms had occurred the past couple of days and he had yet to get the padded rubber in place on the walls.

  Definitely a job for this weekend.

  "Hey. Nick.” There was a note in his brothers’ voice that pulled him up short. “Did you notice her scars?"

  Nick frowned, baffled, “Whose? Raina? She doesn't have any scars.” At least none that could be seen, he thought.

  "No, I mean Morgan's. The ones on her cheek."

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  Chapter 11

  The distant sound of a hammer drew her from the bathroom and into the kitchen. Nick's big black Dodge was parked at the end of her driveway. Surprised by a brief jolt of pure joy she hurried back into her bathroom to check her appearance, wincing at the face staring back at her. Pale and red-eyed from working late nights on her paintings she looked like a living ad for zombies. Since she'd had no plans today she hadn't bothered with any makeup, but now she grabbed up her Dermablend corrective foundation and carefully applied a light layer, paying special attention to the five silvery scars on her cheek. Jagged and ugly she had hoped that after four years they would have faded more, but unless she was wearing the special makeup they were one of the first things people noticed.

  Morgan opened the jar of sealing po
wder that had to be worn with the makeup to make it stay on and dusted a light layer across her cheek. Satisfied she squinted at herself in the mirror, carefully examining her work. Her cheek looked almost flawless, reminding her of how it used to be before Richard and how he had laughed when she had mentioned plastic surgery. He'd said that there was no way she was going to erase his ‘mark,’ that he wanted her to remember who she belonged to and what happened when she got mouthy.

  It had worked. Everything he had done to her had been very effective. He would have been proud of himself.

  The hammering stopped, drawing Morgan out of her bathroom and across her bedroom to the big picture window near the bed. From it she had a clear view of the barn and Nick working beside it. Dressed in his usual jeans and a T-shirt he was standing by the two wooden saw-horses Jake had put up the other day and was in the process of measuring a gap along the barn's foundation. The same gap she had struggled with the other day. As she watched, helplessly admiring, he raised the hem of his shirt, displaying a set of abs that could have been carved in stone. Her fingers clutched the curtain, eyes glued to his deeply tanned six-pack, devouring him, tracing the rippling of muscles up the sides of his body as he stretched his arms over his head and, before her dumbfounded gaze, shrugged out of his shirt.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  Morgan's mouth went dry, her blood turning molten in her veins. A pool of creamy wetness centered itself between her thighs.

  Naturally dark skin stretched tightly over wide heavy shoulders and a broad, ridged chest. Muscles rippled and flexed in his arms as he lowered the shirt to his side. His body was smooth except for a light furring of dark hair that covered his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.

  Morgan's brain ceased to function. If possible the man looked even bigger half-naked and had a body that would make a Greek God bow down and cover himself in shame. Awesomely commanding to look at, he would make any woman in the world drool in an agony of lust and trembling need.

  Morgan gripped the curtain in her fist, waiting for the habitual fear to surface, for Richard's legacy of terror to take hold of her. Eyes following his every move she waited, but the panic never came, leaving her confused and wholly aware of her physical response to Nick's body.

  Seeming completely unaware that he was being watched, he rubbed the shirt across his abdomen and up to his chest and shoulders, wiping away the sweat as he went. Her eyes followed every move, every dip and swell of muscle ... and she finally saw that the tattoos on his arms were thick chains. Shaded black and grey they wrapped each of his biceps several times from his elbows to the tops of his shoulders, where they curved around and trailed down either side of his spine, ending midway down his back. Morgan stared, riveted as the chains flexed with each muscle. Her hand hovered over the window, her fingertips barely touching the cool smooth glass while unconsciously she caressed each link.

  In another display of purely unconscious masculine power, he walked over to one of the piles of timber Jake had left and effortlessly hoisted at least ten of the long boards onto one broad shoulder, carrying them back to his work area.

  Oh ... wow.

  Morgan let the curtain flutter back into place and just stood there, feeling faint, unable to get his image out of her mind. A pulse had begun throbbing between her legs, making her loins feel empty, unfulfilled and she shifted, squeezing her thighs together to try and ease some of the ache.

  My God, she thought, I've never been this turned on in my whole life. And if the man could do that with just an innocent little strip tease, what in the world could he do if he actually ever touched me?

  * * * *

  "I—I brought you something to drink."

  Nick quickly wrote down the measurements he had just taken and straightened from bending over the saw-horses. He had sensed her approach long before she had appeared in front of him looking fresh and absurdly fragile in a yellow sundress. Today her hair was flowing loose around her shoulders with strands trailing down her back to hit the backs of her knees, drawing his eyes to slender, lightly sun-kissed legs and sandaled feet. Her toes were painted a shimmery, pale pink.

  He breathed in her scent, enjoying the sensation of the mysterious floral fragrance tickling his nostrils.

  A tall ice-filled glass of water was held out in front of her as an offering.

  Three seconds and already she was testing his resolve. He reached for the glass, letting his fingers brush against hers.

  "Thanks.” He took a long swallow, then set the glass on one of the boards he had already cut and relaxed against it, studying her. Less than five minutes in his presence and she was already nervous, her cheeks bright and rosy and her gaze bouncing around, trying to land anywhere but on him. Of course, by the quick sneak peeks she kept taking at his naked torso he figured that might have something to do with it.

  "I ... I didn't think you would be back.” When he said nothing she bit her lip and gestured to the freshly patched barn. “You, um ... you really didn't have to do all of this."

  "I wanted to."

  "Oh. Well, then...” Her full mouth trembled a little, and she let the sentence hang, seemingly at a loss as to what to do now. Nick studied her face, searching for the scars Jake had seen. It was hard to tell because he was no makeup expert by any means, but he thought her right cheek looked more heavily made up than the other.

  What else had been done to her? He glanced at her leg but couldn't see any scars, or anything outwardly wrong other than she limped, but she had said it was an old injury, one she was used to.

  "I, um ... I guess I'll leave you alone then...” She backed away, ready to make her escape.

  "What perfume do you wear?"

  "What?” She stopped, gold eyes wide with surprise.

  "Your perfume,” he repeated slowly, “what is it?"

  "Oh, ah,” she fiddled with the fabric of her dress, then twirled a strand of hair, making Nick wonder if she was this nervous around everyone, or just him.

  Or was it men in general?

  "Cashmere Mist."

  "Hmmm. Nice.” Exotic. It made him think of sweaty nights and writhing bodies. Of her, sitting astride him, wearing crotchless panties and nothing else except this intoxicating fragrance. Her head would be thrown back with that long, silky hair brushing his legs. He bit back a groan and turned slightly away, hoping she wouldn't notice that his pants were getting a little snug.

  Damn. If she were his he'd buy her a hundred bottles of the stuff, and anything else she wanted. Preferably things that were clingy, barely there and mind-blowingly sexy. When she began nibbling her lip and edging away from him he realized he was still staring at her, practically eating her alive with his eyes.

  "Stay,” he requested, turning back to his measurements and subtly adjusting his jeans. He grabbed his shirt up and shrugged into it, hating to put the sweaty thing back on, but sensing it would make her more comfortable. “I could use some company, and it'll make this go faster."

  Christ, he was a glutton for punishment.

  He pulled out his pencil, making notes that had already been made, letting her decide whether to flee or brave his company.

  She hesitated for a long moment, “Um ... about the other day..."

  He waited, making no effort to push for an explanation. When she didn't continue he glanced back at her, then cursed, wishing he hadn't. His cock, still semi-hard, started throbbing in earnest when the tip of her small pink tongue came out to stroke her plump bottom lip, making it glisten wetly. Images of her tongue on other parts of his anatomy burst into his brain like a rocket launch.

  Innocently unaware of the direction his thoughts had gone she continued to stand there, frowning and staring past his left shoulder, fussing with a thick strand of hair, “I-I just want you to know that it had nothing to do with you. In case—in case you thought that."

  Well ok, this is a start. He slammed a lid on the sexual imagery his brain was conjuring and quirked an
eyebrow at her, silently encouraging, dredging up the patience he reserved solely for his horses. A faint blush stained her peachy skin and she bit her lip, uncertain now.

  He decided it was time to take pity on her. “I had hoped so,” he teased, shocking himself. He never teased. Ever. It wasn't his nature. But here he was, doing just that. “I admit I did take it a little personally. It's not flattering to a man when a woman runs away from him screaming."

  She blushed, looking away from him. But when she turned back her expression was guarded, wary. Small white teeth nibbling that luscious bottom lip again. He could almost see the exact moment she decided he was trying to make her relax, because her stance loosened up and she smiled shyly, flashing him a slight dimple. “Yeah ... that was embarrassing. You probably thought I was crazy,” her cheeks flushed brighter, “I'm sorry.” Glancing down she started fussing with the creases in her dress. “It was, um, nice to meet your brother, you two seem very different."

  Nick took up the change of subject without comment. “Yeah, Jake knows how to charm. I'm the one people try to avoid."

  "Oh, no, that's not why I—."

  "I know,” he cut off her hurried explanation, “I realize that, especially after what Jake said happened between you two."

  Her eyes teared up and she hung her head as if ashamed, making him feel like a bastard for bringing it up. But damn it, he wasn't used to pussyfooting around.

  Quickly he closed the few feet separating them. Stopping when only a few inches separated them he palmed her chin, tilting her head up to study her. He could tell his closeness made her nervous, frightened even. Her mouth trembled and her gold eyes were wide, the pupils dilated. He didn't like it. Not one damn bit.

  "Please, I-I don't like to be crowded,” She pleaded, trying to back away.

  He kept his touch gentle, but didn't let go.

  "Tell me why, Morgan."

  Silence.

  "Did your husband hurt you?"

  More heavy silence, but beneath his finger he felt the pulse in her neck leap.

  To Nick, it said everything.