Angel Burn (33 page)

I stood up, my heart hammering. “Wait. Can I just  . . . ?” I trailed off as he turned to look at me.

“What?” he said, rising to his feet.

An embarrassed laugh escaped me. I shook my head. “Just — before you put that on, can I  . . . ?” In slow motion, I went over to him. I reached out toward his chest and then stopped, my fingers hesitating an inch from his skin. “Is — is this all right?”

Alex stood very still, a soft smile on his face. “Anything you want is all right.”

Gently, I ran my hand across his chest, exploring it. My breath felt tight in my throat. He was so beautiful. His muscles were toned, defined, his skin warm and smooth. Stroking my palm up over the line of his collarbone, I felt the firmness of his shoulder, the strength of his bicep. I traced my fingers over the black
AK,
following the lines of the letters. Alex hardly moved as I touched him, his eyes never leaving me.

Finally I sighed and dropped my hand. I tried to smile. “I’ve sort of been wanting to do that ever since that first night in the motel room,” I admitted.

His eyebrows shot up. “You have? But you hated
me
then.”

“I know, but you were still gorgeous.” Unable to stop myself, I trailed my hand across his torso again. “Anyway, I didn’t hate you. I really wanted to, but I think I knew even then —” I broke off as heat swept my cheeks. I had almost said the words; I’d almost told him I loved him.

“What?” asked Alex.

I couldn’t meet his gaze. I stared at the table just behind him — the mess of cards on it, the lantern giving off its quiet glow. “When you gave me your shirt to wear that night, I could feel you. I could feel your essence.”

The world went still. We were standing only inches from each other, not touching. Outside, I could hear the faint murmur of the wind blowing through the trees.

“What did it feel like?” he asked in a low voice.

“Like  . . .  coming home,” I admitted.

My chest clenched as I looked up at him. His eyes were locked on mine. Taking my arms, he sat us both down on the bed. “Willow, you know that you said you couldn’t tell how I felt at the rest stop?”

I nodded, and he took my hand, laying it flat on his chest with his own hand resting over it. “Can you tell now?” he asked.

His heart beat firmly under my hand; my own pulse was pounding so hard that I could barely think straight. Closing my eyes, I took a deep, steadying breath, and then another as I tried to clear my mind, to feel what he was feeling. For a moment there was just the softness of our breathing — then all at once it washed over me in a great wave.

He was in love with me, too.

I opened my eyes. Alex was still holding my hand to his chest, watching me, his expression more serious than I’d ever seen it. Unable to speak, I slowly dropped my hand and wrapped my arms around him. His own arms came around me as he rested his head on my hair.

“I really do, you know,” he said, his voice rough.

“I know,” I whispered back. “I do, too.”

For a long time we just held each other, our hearts beating hard. My eyes were closed, my face pressed against the warm dip between his shoulder and neck.
Alex.
I felt a happiness so great that it was like a deep stillness within me, as if something I’d been looking for my entire life had just slotted into place, making me whole.

Finally Alex drew back. Stroking my hair from my face, he kissed me slowly, and I wanted to melt. “I can’t believe that I can just do that whenever I want to now,” he whispered. “You may not be getting much done for the next few weeks. Or months, or years.”

Years.
My heart skipped, hoping that was true. “I think I can live with that,” I said. Hardly able to believe that I could touch
him
whenever I wanted to, either, I slid my hand down his arm, feeling the different textures of him: hard muscle, smooth skin. “Do you want to go to bed?” I asked softly. Then, for the second time that night, I felt my face flame at the question.

Alex smiled and touched my cheek. “You still mean sleep, right?”

“Still sleep.” My skin was on fire.

“Just making sure. Yeah, sleep sounds good. I’m sure I’ll manage to drop off. Eventually.” His smile turned teasing. “Do I have to put my shirt on?”

I couldn’t help smiling, too, though embarrassment was still singeing through me. “No, I’d rather you didn’t,” I admitted.

We turned out the camping lantern and got into the sleeping bags, where we lay in each other’s arms listening to the soft sounds of the wind outside. The bed was narrow, so that it was almost like trying to balance on a diving board — but I’d never felt so comfortable or safe in my life than there with Alex’s arms around me, my head on his chest.

He touched my hair as we lay in the darkness, smoothing its long strands across his torso.

“Is it bothering you?” I asked.

“No, I love it; it’s so soft.” I felt him twining his fingers through, playing with it gently. “I was right, you know,” he said. “Those guys in Pawtucket are complete idiots.”

I smiled. “So would you have taken me to the prom, if you went to Pawtucket High?”

“Yeah, definitely,” he said. “I bet you’d look so beautiful  . . .  even more than you usually do.”

Warmth filled me. I straightened up slightly, trying to see his face in the darkness. “You really think that, don’t you?”

“What, that you’re beautiful?” Alex sounded surprised. “You are. The first time I saw you, you were wearing these pink pajamas and a gray T-shirt, and you were making coffee  . . .  and I just couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

I couldn’t believe that he actually remembered what I’d been wearing. “And the first time I saw you, all I could think of was doing this.” I traced his lips with my finger; he took my hand in his and kissed it.

“So would you have worn a tux to the prom?” I asked as I nestled back against him.

Alex’s hand moved to my shoulder, rubbing it lightly. “Do the guys wear tuxes? Yeah, I guess I would in that case. I’d have to at least try to look as good as you.”

I imagined him in a crisp black-and-white tuxedo, and smiled as I ran a finger over his chest. “You know that half the girls in school would have been after you.”

He gave a soft laugh. “If they were into someone who was flunking out  . . .  I don’t think I’d do too well with having to go to class when a bell rings or caring about homework. . . .”

“A bad boy — even better. You’d have done well in Spanish class.”

“If I ever went to it.”

We lay in silence for a while; Alex’s arms felt so warm and safe that I was starting to get sleepy. “Say something in Spanish,” I mumbled.

He kissed my hair. “
Te amo,
Willow,” he said quietly.

I came awake, smiling into the darkness. “What does that mean?” I whispered.

I could almost hear his own smile. “What do you think it means?”

I hugged him, kissing his collarbone and wondering if it was possible to actually die of happiness. “
Te amo,
Alex.”

You’d think that a cabin in the middle of nowhere, with no TV or electricity, would be a place where you’d start to go pretty seriously stir-crazy soon. But it was the exact opposite. Being with Alex, in a place where we could relax instead of being constantly on the run, was just  . . .  magical. That first morning, I woke up to find him lying on his side with his head propped on his hand, looking down at me and smiling.

Tingles swept over me; it was like waking up and remembering that it’s Christmas. “Good morning,” I said, drinking him in. His eyes looked almost pure blue in the morning light; there was a faint hint of stubble on his jaw.

“Morning.” The muscles of his chest moved as he leaned over and kissed me. Long, slow, deep. He smelled of sleep and a warm smell that was just Alex. I felt myself falling.

“That  . . .  is such a nice way to wake up,” I murmured when the kiss ended.

Alex stroked my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Not as nice as just waking up and seeing you there, lying beside me. I thought for a second I must be dreaming.”

“Was it a nice dream?” I asked. I couldn’t stop smiling.

He grinned; his dark hair was rumpled from sleep. “Oh, yes. It was a very, very nice dream.”

We kissed again. It grew deeper; Alex wrapped his arms around me, drawing me close against him. His back was smooth and warm. I ran my hands over it as we kissed, loving the feel of his skin, and almost went faint as his lips moved briefly to my neck and then found my mouth again. In my entire life, nothing had ever felt as good as Alex kissing me like that. When we finally pulled apart, both our hearts were pounding.

I cleared my throat, skimming my fingers along his forearm. “Alex, you, um  . . .  you know that I’ve never —”

“I know,” he broke in softly. He reached for my hand, linking his fingers through mine. “Willow, it’s OK. We’ll do whatever you want. I just want to be with you; I don’t care.”

And I had known that he would say that, but it was still good to hear it. I let out a breath. “Kissing like that is so — amazing,” I said. “Maybe I could just get used to that for a while.”

“Yeah, OK.” Propping himself on his elbow again, Alex gazed down at me. He touched my hair, toying with a long strand. “You know, just — being here with you, having you here beside me — it’s incredible. When you’re ready for something more, then great, but I really don’t mind.”

Love for him rushed through me. “It’s incredible for me, too,” I whispered.

He smiled and tickled my face with the strand of hair. “And anyway, this means that we get lots of kissing practice, right? So you can get used to it?”

The thought sent warm shivers through me. “Oh, definitely.”

“I think that can be arranged.” He kissed me lightly and we lay smiling at each other, with the sleeping bag soft around us and the sound of birdsong outside. Sunshine angled in through faint cracks in the cabin wall.

“So what do you want to do today?” said Alex after a while.

“Be with you,” I said promptly.

He waggled his eyebrows at me. “Yeah, as if you’ve got a choice.”

“Even if I had a choice, that’s what I’d choose.” I stroked my hand across his chest, savoring the feel of his heartbeat under my fingers. “That’s what I’d always choose.”

It was so peaceful up at the cabin, with only the mountains and the sky, and the occasional wheeling hawk for company. As the days passed, Alex and I spent so much time just talking — it felt as if there weren’t enough hours in the day for all that we wanted to say to each other, all that we wanted to discover. We both knew that we couldn’t stay up there forever, but I think we both wanted to believe that we could — that there weren’t any angels in the world, any Church of Angels fanatics who were trying to kill us. And sometimes I could actually forget all of that. Sleeping in Alex’s arms at night felt so warm and safe; waking up beside him was like a sunrise inside of me every morning.

He was so easy to live with. We just
got along,
on the most minor things, like how often we wanted to clean (which was every couple of days or so, when the mess in the cabin started driving us crazy), and who was going to do which chore. Not that there were that many of them. Mostly I cooked — which was just heating up cans — and Alex cleared up afterward.

Then there was kissing him, touching him, being touched by him. Simply being near Alex was enough to make my pulse shoot up. It was funny, because all of that made me feel so totally human: Alex’s hands warm on my skin, the heat of our mouths together, so that I was plummeting, soaring — what could be more human than that? But that moment in the desert when the truth finally hit me had blasted away any tiny thoughts I might have had about this angel thing being a mistake. No matter how human I felt when I was with Alex, I wasn’t. It wasn’t a boy with a girl; it was a boy with something half human.

The thought made me feel so wistful sometimes, like gazing out through a rain-streaked window. It was if something I had never fully appreciated before was now gone forever. Knowing that I was only half human meant that I couldn’t even wonder about a future with Alex, not really. For whatever this
thing
was inside of me, it meant that I might be the one to destroy the angels  . . .  and that they wanted me dead. How much time did either Alex or I actually have?

I hated thinking about all of this; I wanted it just to go away, forever. Alex seemed to sense that it wasn’t my favorite subject. Mostly we didn’t talk about it very much; we just savored being together. We went for long walks; we spent a whole afternoon having leaf-boat races in the stream; another one checking out the prospector’s device behind the cabin. It worked by dumping silt from the stream into a cradle and then filtering it out — you could still see where whoever had originally lived there had dug big chunks out of the bank in places, searching for gold.

“I wonder if he ever found any,” I mused, touching one of the cradle’s legs. It was half rotting, its wood a soft gray.

Alex was crouched on his haunches, examining the rusty screen that the silt sifted through. “It’d really be too bad if he didn’t, after going to so much trouble.” Then he glanced up at me, raising an eyebrow. “Hey, how come we’re both calling him ‘he’? It could have been a girl prospector.”

I laughed. “I guess you’re right. God, I never thought
I’d
be sexist.”

He shook his head. “You’d better be careful about that. They’ll kick you out of the girl mechanics’ club if they find out.”

“You won’t tell them, will you?”

“Hmm, let me see. . . .” Standing up, Alex brushed his hands off on his jeans, shooting me a considering glance. “How much is my silence worth to you?”

I twined my arms around his neck, pulling him down so I could peck his cheek. “There, is that enough?” I asked innocently.

“Ha. In your dreams.” He drew me back to him with a grin. As his lips met mine, I could hear the trickling of the stream and the faint, faraway cry of a hawk. When we finally pulled apart, he looked at the cradle and laughed. “You know, it was probably some grizzled old guy with a beard who chewed tobacco and smelled bad.”