Angel of Desire (12 page)

RACHEL SPENT THE DAY alone in the house. After warning her not to leave, Shade had left, declaring that he had things to do.

Although she could not admit it, his rash display of independent behavior terrified her. As she watched him drive away, back down the hill, she realized that for the first time in his life, Shade was truly alone. And all she could do was pray that he'd be safe.

Ignoring Shade's warning about the house being wired, at first Rachel considered risking his fury by going after him. But she quickly discovered that not only were all doors and windows wired with alarms, they were also locked in a way that not only kept intruders out but imprisoned any occupants of the house, as well. Unfortunately, the constraints of her mortal body prevented her from escaping such man-made technology.

Concerned for Shade's safety, she was nearly as nervous as she'd been during her trial. Such tenseness made her grow more and more irritated as time passed.

"It would serve him right if he got into an automobile accident on his way back to the city."

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than Rachel regretted them. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that," she said with a quick, pleading gaze heavenward.

As the hours dragged on, her nerves became more and more ragged. She tried to read, but after spending more than thirty minutes turned to the first page of
Gone With The Wind
, she put the thick novel down and turned on the television, hoping for some diversion.

Unfortunately, the afternoon soap operas were decidedly steamy, reminding Rachel all too vividly of the way she felt when Shade kissed her. She watched, fascinated for a few minutes, but when she began to yearn for Shade's forbidden touch, she changed to the movie channel which was playing
Three Days of the Condor
.

Unfortunately, the spy story hit also too close to home for comfort, so she changed the channel again, only to find the equally nerve-racking
Marathon Man
.

When yet a third choice revealed
Mad Max
, Rachel gave up on diversion and returned to pacing.

Finally, just when she thought she couldn't stand the suspense any longer, she heard Shade's car returning up the hill. Relief flooded over Rachel in waves. He was safe! Although it took a mighty effort, she resisted running to greet him. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he possessed the power to upset her.

He found her in the library, her nose stuck in a book. The late-afternoon sun was shining on her blond hair in a way that made the warm honey color gleam like gold. Once again he wondered idly what it would look like loosened from its prim bun.

"Did you have an enjoyable day?" he asked.

"Delightful." Her tone was rigidly polite as she put aside the leather-bound copy of
Huckleberry Finn
. "And you?"

Shade looked at her with amused annoyance. She was cocky. He'd definitely give her that.

"I got some things accomplished. Oh, I stopped by the house and picked up some stuff you might need. Toothbrush, toothpaste, that sort of thing."

He'd left her clothes behind with the suggestion that Marianne burn them. When Con's wife suggested giving them to charity instead, he'd argued that Rachel's drab dresses were ugly enough to send the average homeless woman into even deeper despair.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." They could have been taking part in a Miss Manners seminar. Although Shade was surprised to admit it, he decided he actually preferred Rachel when she was arguing with him. "Marianne sends her regards." She'd also warned him to be nice to Rachel, but Shade decided against telling the entire truth. After all, it wasn't as if Sister Rachel had been totally honest with him.

"How is she?" Honest concern flickered in her gaze.

"Holding up as well as can be expected. Oh, by the way, she wanted me to tell you that the ginger tea worked wonders."

"I'm so glad." Rachel's uncensored smile was echoed in her eyes.

Shade was already bored with this genteel, stiff conversation. "You should do that more often."

"What?"

"Smile. You're really quite lovely when you smile, Sister Rachel."

Her palms were damp again. As Rachel resisted the urge to wipe them on her skirt, she felt the embarrassing color rise in her cheeks and she lowered her gaze.

An expectant silence settled over the room. Shade tried to remember when he was last with a woman capable of blushing and realized he'd
never
been with a woman that innocent.

That thought led to another. He wondered how it was, that although Rachel was the exact opposite of his usual women, all he could think about was taking her to bed.

She was surprisingly attractive when she smiled, Shade considered. Despite the fact that she was decked out like some pale little sparrow, beneath the ugly camouflage he could see the possible makings of, if not a great beauty, a very appealing female.

Although she refused to meet his eyes, awareness hummed between them.

Just when she thought she couldn't take the provocative silence another second, the phone on the desk rang, shattering the expectant mood.

"Saved by the bell," Shade muttered, revealing himself to have been no less affected. He was already angry with himself for agreeing to let her tag along on what was bound to be a very dangerous mission.

The call turned out to be from a car phone at the gate. After working his way though what Rachel found to be an incomprehensible series of code words, Shade pressed the button that would allow the delivery van access to the house.

"Wait here," he instructed her in a gruff, no-nonsense tone.

She was becoming accustomed to the way Shade could switch gears without so much as a blink of those devastatingly dangerous green eyes. One minute he was a seductive lover; the next minute she was face-to-face with the grim professional who'd killed before. And who would, if necessary, kill again.

And if his stony expression wasn't enough to convince her that this was not a man to fool with, the gun he pulled from beneath his jacket definitely was.

He returned moments later, his arms filled with boxes, all bearing the name of a trendy Washington, D.C., boutique. "Go upstairs and try these on while I start dinner. There should be some makeup in there, too. Use it."

She stood where she was, not making a move to take the packages. "Don't you ever say please?"

"Not if I can help it." His eyes narrowed. "My rules, remember?" he said on a low, silky tone thick with menace.

"How could I forget," Rachel snapped. Her eyes were shooting little silver darts. "Since you're always reminding me." She snatched the boxes and shopping bags away from him and, with a haughty toss of her head, marched from the library. Shade leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe and watched her stomp up the stairs. Despite her innocent exterior, she was incredibly strong willed. Rachel Parrish was the type of woman who could run roughshod over the most patient, easygoing of men.

Fortunately, Shade had never considered himself either easygoing or patient.

Rachel tried on the various items of clothing, and managed with limited success, following the instructions some helpful saleswoman had colored onto a sketch of a woman's face on a piece of white paper, to apply the contents of several small black-and-gold boxes and bottles. She stood in front of the full-length mirror, staring at her reflection, desperately trying to recognize the unfamiliar woman.

She couldn't do it!

There was absolutely no way she could go out in public looking like this. Indeed, in her day, she would have been stoned for dressing in such an indecent manner in the privacy of her own bedroom.

She was simply going to have to make Shade understand that this was one time he was not going to get his way.

What the hell was she doing up there? Shade glared at the clock for the sixth time in as many minutes. She'd been upstairs long enough to try on Princess Di's entire wardrobe.

Suddenly worried that she may have actually found some way to escape, he took the stairs two at a time, coming to an abrupt halt in front of the bedroom door.

Did he say that beneath the camouflage of those ugly dresses he'd sensed an appealingly attractive woman? He'd been wrong. Incredibly wrong.

Because Rachel Parrish was not merely attractive. She was beautiful. She was stunning. Hell, more than stunning, he realized, the woman was drop-dead gorgeous.

She was clad in a scandalously short strapless black lace dress that hugged every lush feminine curve. It would make any red-blooded male all too aware of the fact that she was wearing little underneath it but perfumed and powdered female.

Her legs, clad in sheer black hose, seemed to go all the way up to her neck. They were also designed solely to make a man sweat. Her bare shoulders were as pale as snow, as luminous as moonlight.

Her breasts, displayed disconcertingly in that plunging bit of ebony lace, reminded him of movie stars of old. Back in the days when glamour and sex appeal were what counted. Lana Turner, Jayne Mansfield, Kim Novak and the incomparable Marilyn.

If Rachel had come into womanhood during the fifties, Shade decided, she would have immediately been declared a goddess.

"Hugh Hefner, eat your hedonistic old heart out."

Rachel didn't need to understand Shade's words to discern his meaning. Looking into his gleaming eyes created a sparkling, bubbly sensation inside her. She ran her hands down the embarrassingly short skirt. "I can't possibly wear this dress."

Her lips had been painted as scarlet as sin and glossed to a wet sheen that made him want to taste her all over again.

"The hell you can't. It fits like it was designed with you in mind."

"It's too revealing."

"That's the idea."

"And these shoes." She frowned down at the skyscraper-high black silk high heels. She'd never worn such unstable, impractical footwear. "I'll never be able to walk in them."

"Don't worry." His lips curved. "I'D hold you up."

She backed away, seeing him approach with seduction on his mind and in his eyes. "Shade—"

"Your blush is uneven."

He picked up one of the sterling-handled brushes, dipped it into the gold compact and, with a quick, expert touch, applied a sweep of rosy color up the slanted line of her cheekbone.

He leaned back, observing his handiwork. "Better." Another soft touch at her temple. "There, see?"

He took her shoulders and turned her back toward the mirror. He was, as usual, right. He was also far too experienced in such feminine skills. How many times had he lounged in bed after a night of making love and watched a woman apply her makeup? Too many times, Rachel warned herself.

"You're very clever."

"And you are incredibly lovely." Standing behind her, Shade held her gaze in the mirror as he trailed a finger over her shoulder, pleased to discover that her flesh was as soft and silky as it looked. "A luscious study in contrasts."

The hell with caution. Shade wanted Rachel Parrish. And he intended to have her. Now.

As it had last night, that thrilling, treacherous hand moved slowly down her neck. "With your proper little manners and your body built for sin."

"Please, Shade─"

"Shh." Unlike his earlier orders, there was no harshness in his voice. Instead, the deep tones swirled around her like ebony smoke.

"So many intriguing contrasts," he murmured. His fingertips were trailing dancing sparks across her wanning flesh. "Your jet-black dress. Your snow-white skin." He bent his head and pressed his lips against the flesh his hands had warmed. "Your ruby lips."

Their eyes met in the glass again—his dark and dangerous, hers soft and slumberous. "When I first saw you, you reminded me of an angel from some Renaissance painting or gilt cathedral ceiling.

"But I was wrong. You're not an angel." He turned her in his arms. "You're a witch."

His lips were a whisper from hers. She could feel their heat. "There was a time, my sweet witch, when you would have been burned at the stake for looking the way you do tonight."

His words, chosen for seduction, had the exact opposite effect. Memories flooded back. Excruciatingly painful, fatal memories that turned her heated flesh to cold marble.

She was freezing. A cold wind whipped through her, chilling her all the way to the bone. Smoke from burning torches filled her nostrils and made her eyes tear.

She was standing atop a hill overlooking Salem, surrounded by her neighbors, people who, before the horrors had begun, had been her friends. Sheets of sulphurous summer lightning flashed on the horizon.

Rachel could hear the steady droning of the prayers. She could feel the weight of the rope tighten around her neck. And then…

Shade felt her stiffen. She shook her head, scattering pins across the oak plank floor.

"Rachel!"

She was trembling, but not, Shade discerned, from desire. He tipped her head back with a fingertip to her chin. Her complexion was the unhealthy pallor of cold ashes.

Her eyes, rimmed with an attractively smudged line of charcoal, were wide and unfocused. They were looking beyond him, somewhere far beyond his reach. And in their depths Shade saw something that could only be described as terror.

Shade had seen many things in his life. But he'd never seen anyone as terrified as Rachel was now. And he'd never felt living flesh as cold as hers.

"Dammit, what's the matter?" He ran his palms up and down her icy bare arms, attempting to soothe rather than arouse.

Rachel closed her eyes, squeezing her lids as hard as she could, struggling to regain control.

Fighting to remember where she was. And why.

Bit by bit, the past faded away; reality gradually returned.

"Rachel?" Shade watched the awareness rising in her eyes as she slowly, tentatively focused on his face.

"Shade?"

Her ragged whisper, her soft, vulnerable gaze, tore at something elemental deep inside Shade. Something that was far more primal, worlds more dangerous than mere sexual hunger.

He put aside his suspicion. For now. For Rachel. "I'm right here."