Angel of Desire (20 page)

"I am." She gave him a wobbly little smile that did nothing to ease the cold hand that had begun to squeeze his heart. "Really."

Early warning bells were tolling. All Shade's instincts were telling him that once again Rachel was not revealing the truth. But feeling too mellow to argue at the moment, he decided to put the problem aside. For now.

After all, he tried to reassure himself as he extricated himself from her embrace, she'd had a long and trying time delivering that baby. Perhaps it was only exhaustion that had her behaving so strangely.

"I'll be right back." He brushed his lips against hers and left the bed. Rachel squeezed her eyes tight and vowed not to cry. She'd just experienced the most exquisite, thrilling lovemaking any woman from any century could have hoped for. The man responsible for that had just told her he loved her. Unnecessarily, since his hands and mouth and body had demonstrated that, but it was, Rachel decided, nice to hear the words.

She'd been given more than many women were blessed with in several lifetimes. So why was she feeling so horribly bereft?

Because she'd also discovered one more thing about herself she'd never known. She was a greedy woman. She wanted more than just this stolen time apart with Shade. She wanted tomorrow. More than that, she wanted all their tomorrows.

What she wanted, she realized bleakly, was forever.

It was also impossible.

Shade found her lying on her back, her arm over her eyes, looking small and frail and heartbreakingly vulnerable. He knew he'd hurt her, albeit briefly, knew it couldn't be helped, but he also knew that after that initial pain, she'd gone on to enjoy herself.

Despite all the missing facts about her life, Shade had come to know Rachel well enough to know when she was lying. And her orgasm definitely hadn't been faked.

"Whatever it is that's bothering you can't be all that bad," he suggested quietly. The mattress dipped as he sat down beside her, sending her sliding against his bare leg.

Rachel removed her arm and looked up at him, her eyes as unpromisingly bleak as her expression. "That's what you say now."

"Answer me one thing." He began soothing her deflowered flesh with the warm wet towel. When he viewed the dark stains on the soft flesh at the inside of her thighs, he felt a stab of guilt along with an unmistakable surge of masculine possession. Rachel was his. For now. Forever.

"Anything." Her frank answer, the first since he'd known her, surprised Shade. He took one look at her face and knew she meant it.

"You're not here to kill me, are you?"

"Of course not!" Her eyes widened, not with pleasure, but shock that he'd even suggest such a thing. After what they'd just shared.

"I didn't think so." When he brushed the towel over the swollen pink bud, Rachel flinched. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Actually," she admitted on a nervous little laugh, "pain had very little to do with what I just felt."

Shade laughed. "You are," he murmured against her smiling lips, "the most incredibly responsive woman I've ever met."

His stroking touch between her legs, meant solely to soothe, was arousing her anew. "I am, aren't I?" Her soft voice was tinged with a beguiling blend of wonder and feminine pride.

"Absolutely." Although Shade's body was reacting painfully to her uncensored response, he reminded himself that taking her again, so soon, would be unreasonably selfish. "Are you hungry?"

"Hungry?" It was difficult to think when his lips were plucking so enticingly at hers and that delicious heat was building yet again between her legs.

"For food. From the table you set, it looks as if Burke's cook went all out."

She glanced over at the food she'd completely forgotten. "She did. And I suppose I could eat something." Her tone indicated it was not her first choice, either.

"What would you say to smoked pheasant and caviar in bed?"

"I'd say it sounds horribly decadent."

He winked and gave her another quick, hard kiss. "That's the idea."

He left the bed and went over to the table. It was the first time she'd seen his naked back close up. Rachel was aghast.

"Oh, my God," she cried.

He spun toward the door, half-expecting to find the general's entire secret-police squad standing there with machine guns. He had already retrieved his pistol from the table when he realized that Rachel's look of horror was directed at him.

"Your back," she murmured in explanation. She shouldn't be surprised. After all, she'd been forced to witness the terror the general's men had inflicted on Shade. But to see those horrid scars in person…

Shade shrugged. "They're only scars, Rachel. Nothing to get so upset about." Unwilling to discuss those hellish days with her so soon after experiencing heaven, Shade turned back to the table and began slicing the pheasant.

Rachel slipped from the bed and went over to stand behind him. "I hate him," she whispered hotly as she ran her palms over Shade's shoulders and forced herself to look unflinchingly at the vivid proof of the general's evil soul.

Those wide shoulders moved in another shrug beneath her hands. "Well, you're not alone there."

Hate was forbidden in Rachel's peaceful realm. Another rule broken. With scant regret.

"I hate him for this." She pressed her lips against one long, ragged welt that snaked from his shoulder to his hip. "For this." She kissed a row of round white circles she knew to be the result of a lit cigar. "And this." Another jagged line, white rather than red, but just as ugly.

His broad back was covered with the red and white lines, a virtual road map of the tortures he'd survived. He stood there, his fingers curved around the edge of the table, as Rachel kissed every one. "Someday he'll pay for this."

Never had any woman treated him with such an outpouring of love. "He will. In spades," Shade agreed gruffly. "But, if you don't mind, sweetheart, I'd rather not talk about that bastard right now."

When he turned, took her in his arms and shared another of those long, wonderful kisses that made her toes curl, Rachel decided he was right.

Fate had granted them this stolen time together. It would be wrong to allow such a horrid man as the general into their magical realm.

He released her, then spread the glossy black caviar onto a cracker and held it out to her. "Gotta keep your strength up. We still have another twenty-four hours before we leave for the compound."

Another twenty-four hours. Well, it wasn't the lifetime she'd wished for. But it would be enough, Rachel vowed. It would have to be.

"We'll have to spend such time wisely," she suggested after she'd finished chewing. The caviar was definitely better than it looked.

"Of course." He filled a plate with various goodies and walked the short distance with her back to the bed. "Any ideas?"

She cocked her head, listening to the gunfire she hadn't heard while making love. "I suppose it's too dangerous to go sight-seeing."

"Absolutely." He handed her a glass of wine.

She sipped the ruby cabernet as Shade piled slices of pheasant onto freshly baked French bread. "And there's no electricity, so the television won't work."

"That eliminates spending the day watching soaps," he said agreeably. "Or playing 'Wheel of Fortune.'" Besides, he thought, gazing at the naked nymph sitting cross-legged amid the love-rumpled sheets, he'd already spun that fickle wheel and come up a grand prize winner.

"True." She nodded solemnly as she allowed him to feed her another bite of caviar. "I suppose we'll just have to rely on our imaginations."

"Sister Rachel," he said with a bold, rakish grin, "that is, by far, the best idea you've come up with yet."

They continued to share the wine and eat the excellent meal in comfortable harmony. By mutual unspoken agreement, they kept their conversation to happy topics: the baby they'd delivered together, the special pleasure of waking up on a winter morning and discovering the world wearing a soft cape of pristine white snow, the joy of seeing a brilliant rainbow after a late summer thunderstorm.

Shade told her all about his house, including the bit about the raccoons, which made her laugh, as it had Marianne. Immersed in the sheer enjoyment of being with the woman he loved, Shade failed to notice that Rachel, as usual, told him nothing about herself.

Later, physically satiated and happier than he'd ever thought he had a right to be, Shade drew her down beside him and wrapped his arms around her. And then they slept. The peaceful, unfretful sleep of innocents.

When Shade awoke, he found her gone. Cursing, he sat bolt upright and reached for the pistol he'd placed on the floor beside the bed, just in case.

And then he saw her sitting in a chair by the shuttered window. She'd gotten dressed again, which he thought was both a disappointment and a waste of time. Since he had every intention of stripping that T-shirt and tight jeans off her.

He was picturing the enjoyment of doing precisely that when her expression stopped him cold. Ice skimmed up his spine. The hairs at the back of his neck prickled.

"There's something I have to tell you."

He'd been waiting for days for Rachel to open up. And now, finally, it appeared she was ready. Unfortunately, from her flat tone and the regret he viewed in those remarkable gray eyes, Shade had the feeling he wasn't going to like what Rachel was about to reveal. Not even a little bit.

He was right. What Shade had no way of knowing, not yet, was that what Rachel was about to say would turn his entire world, as he'd always known it, upside down.

Years of practice allowed him to keep his own expression inscrutable, his voice steady.

"It's about time."

Chapter Eleven

SHADE STARED AT HER.

He'd known Rachel was an enigma. He hadn't realized she was crazy. She certainly didn't act like a nut case. But from what she'd been telling him for the past twenty-five minutes, it was obvious that the luscious lady either had one hell of an imagination or was one taco short of a combination plate.

"Let me get this straight," he said in a calm tone designed not to set off the crazy lady. "You believe you're an angel."

"I
am
an angel," she corrected quietly.

"A guardian angel." He'd thrown on a pair of jeans and his shirt—not bothering to button it—before she'd begun her story. Now, still barefoot, he began pacing in long strides.

She nodded, pleased he was proving so accepting. She'd feared, knowing Shade's cynical outlook on life, that convincing him would prove difficult. "That's right. I'm your guardian angel."

"Yeah. That's what you said. Along with all those other guys."

"I've had quite a few assignments. But I've been with you since—"

"The day I was born," he broke in. "I was given to you by your boss, Jeremy something-or-other."

"Joshua."

"That's right, Joshua. The former actor. The guy I saw in the restaurant."

So he had seen them together. Rachel was not surprised. "I warned Joshua he was taking a risk approaching me in public that way."

"Yeah. His wings could have caught on fire from all the candles on the tables."