Angels Fall

by Nora Roberts

  along with her, the breathless climb up, the windy flight down, and all the dangerous curves between.

  She was slight and tight with that smooth, soft skin seductive in its fragility. She fumbled at his shirt, and her breath caught, caught again and again, whenever he touched her. Wherever he touched her.

  So he savored and sampled and savaged while his control teetered on a slippery edge.

  Her arms tightened around him when he scooped her up, all but tossed her on the bed. Her gasp of excited shock was muffled against his mouth. In a kind of frenzy she fought to toe off her shoes, bucking her hips so he could yank the jeans down.

  His mouth tore from hers to feast at her throat while her fingers dug into the muscles of his back, his shoulders. Everything in her was rising toward that heat, the threat and the promise or it.

  When his mouth closed greedily over her breast, her heartbeat went to thunder. Her pulse exploded to a gallop.

  His weight pinned her, his mouth claimed her. Even through the silver haze of lust, panic began to crawl. She fought it, willing her mind to shut off, to let her body rule. But in the end they both betrayed her as her lungs simply shut down.

  "I can't breathe. I can't. Wait, stop."

  It took him a moment to understand it was panic, not passion. He rolled aside, then gripped her shoulders to yank her up to sitting.

  "You are breathing." He gave her a little shake. "Stop gasping for air. You'll just hyperventilate."

  "Okay. Okay." She knew the routine. She had to concentrate on each breath, on the physical act of inhaling slow and steady.

  Mortified, she crossed her arms over her breasts as she sat in a slant of moonlight. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Goddamn it, I'm sick of being a freak."

  "Then stop."

  "You think it's so fucking easy? Oh, I'll just be normal now. You think I like sitting here naked and humiliated?"

  "I don't know, do you?"

  "You son of a bitch."

  "There you go, sweet-talking me again."There was heat in her eyes, which he appreciated. But the shine came into them, warning of a )ag. "You start crying, you're going to piss me off."

  "I'm not going to cry. You asshole." She knuckled a tear away.

  "Now you've done it. I'm turned on again." He pushed her hair off her shoulders. "Did I hurt you?"

  "What?"

  "Was I hurting you?"

  "No. Jesus." She kept one arm over her breasts, covered her face with her other hand. "No. I just… I couldn't get my breath. I felt, I don't know, trapped under you, I guess. just a flare of claustrophobia, performance anxiety and so on and so fucking forth."

  "Oh, if that's all. I can fix it." He took her shoulders again, pulling her down to him as he lay on his back. "You can be on top."

  "Brody— "

  "Just look at me." He cupped a hand on the back of her head, drew her lips to his. "Take it easy," he murmured against her mouth. ''Or take it any way that suits you."

  "I feel clumsy."

  "No, you don't." He let his hands wander, watched the flush come back into her cheeks. "You feel smooth, a little on the slight side. But not clumsy. Kiss me again."

  She laid her lips on his and let go of the panic. His heart beat strong and steady against hers; his lips demanded that hers yield. The taste of him, once again, awakened all those long-denied appetites.

  Still when he lifted her hips, she started to protest, to pull away. But he held her, and his eyes trapped her, until he slid inside her.

  A shudder that was relief, pleasure, lust shook her. Then he began to move, and her body began to hum.

  She cried out as she stumbled over the first peak, a shock to the system, a sudden surge of sheer delight.

  She moaned as she reared back. As she gave herself to it, and to him. And at last, as she took and took.

  She climbed the next peak, dragging herself over as the orgasm seemed to rip right through her. She could feel him racing with her, beat for beat.

  God, thank God, she thought on a sobbing breath.

  When he pushed up to her, arms banding, teeth clamped on her shoulder, it was she who sent them both soaring over the last rise.

  SHE LAY REPLETE and dazzled, and grateful. And without a clue what to say or do next. But her body felt loose. Hell, she corrected, it was limp even if her heart was still banging like a drum in a marching band. It she could muster the energy, she'd go back on her word and cry.

  Tears of sheer delight.

  She'd touched and been touched: she'd given and she'd taken. She'd had an orgasm—at long, long last—so hard and bright it had been like a fat fist of diamonds.

  And she knew damn well she wasn't alone on that score.

  "I want to say thanks. Is that stupid?"

  Brody stirred himself enough to stroke a hand down her back. "Most women send me tasteful yet expensive gifts after. But I can settle for thanks, just this once."

  She snorted out a laugh as she pushed herself up to look down at him. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed. The expression of pure male satisfaction on it made her want to leap out of bed and do a victory dance.

  Oh yeah, she'd given as good as she got.

  "I cooked dinner," she reminded him.

  "Right. That counts." He opened his eyes, lazily. "How you doing, Slim?"

  "Truth? I'd stopped believing I would ever feel this way again. Just something else lost, and in the big scheme… Hell, in the big scheme, it's a damn big loss. So really, thanks for sticking it out, and that came out completely wrong." she said when he choked with laughter. "I'll just shut up now."

  "'That'll be the day."

  She toyed with his hair, and wanted nothing more than to nuzzle in and sleep. "I guess I should get dressed and go home."

  "Why?"

  "It's getting late."

  "You have a curfew?"

  "No. but… do you want me to stay?"

  "I figure if you stay the night, you'll feel obliged to cook me breakfast in the morning."

  A little glow spread just under her heart. "I could probably be persuaded to cook your breakfast."

  "I'm very persuasive in the morning." He tugged the spread and sheet down, then rolled her over. "Besides, it's not that late, and I'm not done with you."

  "In that case, I guess I'm staying."

  Later, when he slept, she lay restless and uneasy. She argued with herself, but in the end she surrendered and eased out of the bed.

  She'd just check—once, just once, she told herself, and found his shirt for cover before she tiptoed out of the room. Each creak of the board underfoot had her wincing as she crept down the stairs.

  She checked the front door first. See, locked, she told herself. Hadn't she locked it herself? Still, what harm did it do to check? The back door was locked, too. Of course it was. But…

  She eased her way to the back of the house, checked the locks. For a moment she studied his kitchen chairs. She wanted to prop one tinder the doorknob, and had to argue with herself against it.

  It wasn't as if she was alone in the house. She was with a big, strong man. No one was going to try to break in anyway, but if someone did, Brody could handle it.

  She made herself turn away from the door, from the chairs, and leave the room.

  "Problem?"

  She didn't shriek, but it was a close call. She did stumble back, slam a hip painfully against the doorjamb. Brody came the rest of the way toward her. "Maybe you are clumsy."

  "Ha. Maybe. I was just…" She trailed off, shrugged.

  He'd heard her leave the bedroom and figured she had to pee. But the steps had creaked under her feet. Curiosity had him dragging on his jeans and going down to see what she was up to.

  "All locked up?'" he said casually.

  "Yes. I just wanted to… I need to check that kind of thing before I can sleep. It's no big deal."

  "Who said it was? Is that my shirt?"

  "Well, yeah. I can't go walking around naked."

  "Don't see why not. B
ut since you didn't ask if you could borrow it, which is pretty damn rude, I think you'd better get your ass back upstairs and give it back to me."

  "You're absolutely right." Everything inside her relaxed again. "I'm so ashamed."

  "Ought to be." He took her hand, walked her back up the steps. "How would you like it if I paraded around in your clothes without permission?"

  "I don't think I would. Although, it might be strangely fascinating."

  "Yeah, like anything you've got would fit me. How do you want the door?"

  She just stared at him, and wondered he didn't hear her heart go thud at his feet. "Closed and locked, if that's all right."

  "Doesn't matter to me." He closed it, locked it. "Now give me back my damn shirt."

  DREAMING WOKE HER, a jumble of images, a quick pain. Her eyes flashed open. She wasn't in the storeroom; she wasn't bleeding. But the shadows and silhouettes of this room were unfamiliar, and had her heart skipping until she remembered.

  Brody's bedroom. Brody's bed. And Brody's elbow digging like a pickax into her ribs was oddly comforting.

  She was not only safe, she was damn near spectacular.

  He was a stomach sleeper, she noted as she turned her head to study him. And a sprawler. During the night he'd worked her over to the edge of the bed, leaving her a stingy triangle of mattress. But that was fine. She'd gotten several solid hours of real sleep in that miserly space.

  And before that, she'd gotten good use of every inch of that bed.

  She eased out of what bed she had and was vaguely disappointed that he didn't reach for her. Just as well, she told herself as she gathered up her clothes. She had things to do, including fixing breakfast with the limited supplies in Brody's kitchen.

  She crept out of the room and into the bath across the hall. When she pushed the lock button on the doorknob, it popped back out. After several tries she stood there, clothes bundled to her breast, staring at the knob.

  How could it not lock? There was a lock on the bedroom door, but not the bathroom? That was ridiculous, that was just wrong. It had to lock. But no matter how she pushed or twisted, it didn't stick.

  "I don't have to lock the door. Nobody broke in and murdered me last night, no one's going to break in this morning. Brody's sleeping right across the hall. Three minutes in the shower, that's all. In and out. It's all fine."

  His bath was twice the size of hers, with a standard white tub and shower. Dark blue towels that didn't really go with the mottled green pattern of the countertop. But still, nothing fancy, nothing strange. She stared at the door as she backed up to turn on the taps.

  She liked the smooth, sealed log walls, the floor tiles made to look like slate. He should have gone for gray towels, she thought, or tried to match the green in the countertop.

  She tried to concentrate on that idea, and the simplicity of the room while she backed into the shower.

  She grabbed the soap and raced her way through the multiplication tables. The soap squirted out of her jerking hand when the knock sounded on the door.

  Psychos don't knock, she told herself. "Brody?"

  "You expecting someone else?" He opened the door, and a moment later, tugged the shower curtain back an inch. He was buck naked. "Why do you care what eight times eight is when you're taking a shower?"

  "Because singing in the shower is too ordinary for me." She tried to figure out what to do with her hands without making it obvious she was covering herself. "I'll be out in a minute.

  "I think I saw all there was to see of you last night—or does water make you shy?"

  "No." She made herself drop one of her arms, then push a hand at her dripping hair. But she kept her free hand lightly fisted at her chest

  Ignoring the wet and steam, Brody reached in, tugged her hand down. And when she brought it up again, he lifted his brows and tugged it down more firmly.

  He gave the scar she'd tried to hide a glance, "Close call."

  "You could say that." She tried to angle her body away, but he made that impossible by tightening his grip on her hand, and stepping into the tub with her.

  "Are you worried about the scar because you think it makes you imperfect?"

  "No. Maybe. It's just not—"

  "Because you got other flaws, you know. Bony hips for one."

  "Oh. really?"

  "Yeah, and with your hair wet I can get a good look. I don't think your ears are quite level on your head."

  "Of course they are." Instinct and insult had her reaching up to check. He moved right in, wrapping his arms around her.

  "But, other than that, you're not half bad. I might as well make use of you."

  He backed her up against the shower wall, and did just that.

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  RATHER THAN a merry month, May plagued Angel's Fist with a series of wicked storms that thundered over the mountains and blew wild over the lake. But the days stretched longer with the light pulling farther and farther over the dark. Reece could all but see the snow melting along the lower ridges, while in her little valley the cot-tonwoods and willows began to haze with green.

  Daffodils popped in cheerful yellow even when the wind and rain pelted them. She felt nearly the same. She'd been blown around and she'd been drenched. But she, too, was starting to bloom again.

  And on this monumental day, she was going to venture beyond the Fist.

  For most women getting a cut and style was a simple part of life. For Reece. it held all the excitement and terror of a parachute jump. And like a novice jumper, she clutched at the door.

  "I can easily reschedule," she told Joanie. "If you're pressed today—"

  "I didn't say I was pressed." joanie poured pancake batter on the griddle.

  "Yes, but with the weather breaking, you'll probably be swamped at lunch. I don't mind pitching in."

  "I handled this kitchen before you came along."

  "Sure, sure, you did. But if you need an extra hand today—"

  "I've got two of my own. And isn't Beck standing right here?"

  Beck, sturdy as an oak, homely as a pot of overcooked rice, shot a grin over and kept shredding cabbage for coleslaw. "She'll work me to the bone. Reece, with you not around to stop her."

  '"You don't have that slaw ready by eleven sharp, she won't stop me from booting your ass, either."

  "Aw now, Joanie," he said, as he always did.

  "You want to be useful?" she said to Reece. "Top off Mac's coffee on your way out the door."