Fallen Angel (Hqn) (20 page)

“Jesus. I can’t imagine being them.”

“Me, neither. To lose a kid like that…” Oran shook his head, his gray eyes distant, and Declan knew he was thinking of Erin. “Anyway, I think this could be something, Dec. I just have a feeling.”

“Can we get a photograph of her?”

“I should have it tomorrow. But people change a lot from childhood to adulthood. It may not be conclusive.”

“Even if it’s not, I could show it to Angel. Maybe she’d recognize herself. Or it would trigger some memories, if it is her.”

Oran nodded. “It might. How’s she doing, anyway?”

“Good. Better. She’s pretty amazing. She just accepts everything. She’s so calm.” Declan shook his head. “She’s not what I would have expected. She’s so damn smart. And insightful. She knows a lot about people, especially considering she’s hardly been exposed to any most of her life.”

“Huh.”

“What does that mean?” And why did he feel so defensive?

His father shrugged, wiped his mouth with his napkin, taking his time. “Seems to me there’s something more going on than appreciating how intelligent she is. I could be wrong.” He shrugged again.

Declan looked at him, his body tensing. But maybe this was part of it all. Coming clean with his father about something—anything—might be something he needed to do. And who else could he talk to about this?

“You’re not wrong, Dad.”

Oran lifted an eyebrow, nodded. “I can’t blame you, Dec. She’s special, this one.”

“Yeah.”

“She seems sweet. That same sort of intrinsic sweetness your mother had. They’re the same kind of gentle souls. She would have liked Angel.”

He felt a hard twist in his chest, thinking about his mother. Wishing she was there. But she’d been gone a long time. Time to accept that, along with a lot of other things in his life, just as his father said.

He rubbed his fingers over the scar on his jaw.

Like the loss of Abby, which he realized was becoming more distant the longer Angel was with him. The fact that his father had a right to move on. To have a life, after all these years.

“Yeah, I think she would have,” Declan agreed.

“Ruth likes her. I know it’s not the same. I don’t ever expect it to be, Dec. I’m not trying to make it the same.”

His dad’s gaze was sharp on his.

He nodded his head. “Okay, Dad. Okay.”

Oran watched him for a moment, then stood up. “All done with your stew? Or do you want some more?”

“I’m done. Thanks.”

Oran nodded and took the bowls to the sink. “So, I’ll call when I have a photograph. Meanwhile, I’m trying to locate the parents. Trying to figure out how to work the system in Norway.”

“I appreciate it.”

“I have more time, being retired. You just worry about work. Taking care of Angel. And, Dec…”

“Yeah?”

“Think maybe you’d like to go fishing sometime?” His father kept his features relaxed, but Declan could tell from the set of his shoulders that he understood how loaded this simple question was, between the two of them. Oran shrugged. “You know, when you have a day off?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Say it like you mean it.

“I’d like that, Dad.”

His father gave him a small smile. There was nothing triumphant or smug in it. Just pure pleasure that he was obviously trying to hold back. Trying not to make too big a deal out of it.

“Okay. That’d be good, Dec.”

“Okay.” Declan pushed his chair back. “I should get going. I don’t like to leave Angel alone too long.”

“Liam’s with her?”

“He hardly leaves her side.”

“He’s a good dog.”

“Yeah.”

They smiled at each other. And even though it was over something as easy as Declan’s dog he recognized that they were finally on the same page about something. That it had been happening, bit by bit, ever since Angel had come into his life. That it was necessary. That he
wanted
it.

They said their good-nights and he got back in the truck and headed home. The drive wasn’t long. He followed the familiar roads, passing the state beaches, the small clumps of night-dark forest, the occasional house or bed-and-breakfast inn. He rolled down the window just to hear the quiet roar of the ocean, to smell the damp and salty air. To feel the old familiarity.

He loved this coastline, this town, more than he’d wanted to admit. Wasn’t that really why he’d come here, after all that had happened to him in the military? And wasn’t it natural to crave comfort, the familiar? Why did he think he had to make excuses for himself? That just wanting to be there wasn’t a good enough reason? Didn’t he at least deserve that comfort?

He’d spent most of his adult life beating himself up over one thing or another. And it was time to stop. He thought he’d been taking responsibility for his actions. But maybe what he’d been doing was taking the coward’s way out, after all. Running from his fears by pretending they didn’t exist. By pretending he didn’t feel anything at all. Love. Desire. Even anger.

He’d been pretending he didn’t love his father. That he wasn’t angry with him. And it was all bullshit. The anger had been there, simmering beneath the surface. He’d avoided dealing with it by avoiding his father. For ten fucking years. And he’d lost out. On time. On love. Because he’d convinced himself he wasn’t worthy of it.

It was Angel who’d convinced him otherwise.

He stepped on the gas. He couldn’t wait to get home to her. To see her. Tell her everything.

Light shone through the windows and on the porch when he swung into his driveway. He got out of the truck and moved to the porch, opened the door.

Angel was sitting on the sofa, her drawing pad in her lap. She was wearing nothing but one of his big, bulky sweaters, her lovely, bare legs crossed beneath her. Her hair was streaming over her shoulders, pooling on the cushions beside her like liquid gold. She looked up and smiled at him.

“Declan, you’re home.”

“Hey.”

He leaned down and kissed her, and she pressed her lips to his eagerly, her flesh soft and sweet. He opened her lips with his tongue, slipping into the pure warmth of her mouth. Her hands came around the back of his neck, holding him, and he slid his into her hair. So soft—her hair, her mouth. He was growing hard already, just from the heat of her wet tongue on his, the silk of her hair, for God’s sake.

He wanted to feel it draped all over his body. He wanted to feel
her
draped over his body, all long legs and silken skin.

He moved over her, slipped her sketch pad from her hands without looking at it and set it on the coffee table. It was easy enough to undress her. He just slipped the sweater over her head, his hands going immediately to her full breasts.

“Ah, Declan, yes…” she murmured as he brushed his thumbs over her hard nipples.

She was unbuckling his belt, helping him kick his way out of his jeans, then his boxers, helping him get out of his shirt. He was aching, he wanted her so badly. Needed her.

He pushed her down on the sofa, covered her naked body with his, pressing his cock against her smooth belly, his chest against her plush breasts. She sighed, opened her thighs for him, and he felt how wet she was, his cock resting against her cleft.

He kissed her cheek, her jaw. He kissed her neck, where she was warm and fragrant. He kept kissing her, using lips, then tongue, sweeping it over that tender flesh. And she was moaning, squirming, pressing her damp mound against him.

He was rock-hard, desire a hot, keening pulse. Their hips moved in tandem, pressing, rubbing, need growing, spiraling. And all he knew was the incredible wet heat of her pussy against him, the taste and the texture of her skin beneath his tongue, her quiet sighs and moans of pleasure, the hardness of her nipples crushed against his chest.

Hard and soft, texture and flavor. And his heart hammering in his chest, going a thousand miles an hour. Need and pleasure and love.

Her hips moved faster, the slick lips of her sex soft and swollen, sliding against him. He thought he might lose it. Come all over her. Lose his mind.

“Angel, I need to be inside you.”

“Yes. I need you, Declan.”

“Fuck. Hang on. Let me get a condom.”

“Declan, don’t go. Don’t let me go. Be inside me.”

He pushed himself up on his arms so that he could see her face. It was absolutely torn with desire. Her blue eyes were gleaming, her cheeks flushed. She had never looked so beautiful to him. But she was his responsibility. He couldn’t forget that.

“Angel, you could get pregnant.”

“I know. I need you now, Declan. Please.”

Angel watched as his brows drew together, desire and confusion warring on his face. His mouth was dark and lush.

“Angel, I can’t—”

“Please, Declan. I understand. I want all of you.
All
of you. Do you understand what I’m saying? I’m not a child. I know what this means.”

He reached up and held her cheek in his hand, his pupils widening, his features softening.

“Jesus, Angel.”

“Come into me, Declan. Come inside of me. Let us be together. Let us be one. I understand, and this is what I want, more than anything.”

She reached up and pulled him toward her, kissed him hard, her tongue delving in and searching. She breathed him in, took in his breath as he exhaled. And opened for him.

Just the tip of his cock, at first. He paused, his arms shaking. He pulled away, whispered against her mouth, “You’re sure, baby?”

“Yes. I’m sure. I swear it. I love you.”

She wrapped her legs around his back, her hands going to his hips and pulling him in closer. He was watching her, his face loose with desire and wonder. He kept his gaze locked to hers as he slid inside, inch by inch.

Pleasure shimmered through her like something transparent, weightless, like light itself. It grew, rumbled down deep, like the sound of thunder—that same kind of elemental power as the man she loved drove deeper into her body.

“Yes, Declan,” she murmured. “All of you…”

She smoothed her palms over his stubbled cheeks, exploring his features with her fingertips. And he began to move, a gentle, thrusting rhythm. Desire was like some small, lovely shiver, making her clitoris go as hard as his cock. She became hyperaware of everything—his thick shaft sliding in and out of her, silken and sleek without the barrier of a condom. His skin, hot against hers. The scent of him: earth and man, sweat and sex, heat and the heady scent of desire itself. And with all of her senses she felt the sheer power of being female. Of being a woman with a man, the two of them together, and the way they each built upon the desire of the other.

“Declan, wait.”

“What is it, baby?”

“I need to be on top. I need to…be in control.”

He smiled as he shifted, turning their bodies until he was sitting up on the sofa, his back against the pillows, her legs straddling his lap. She poised over him, reached down and stroked his hard cock with her fingertips.

“It’s beautiful, you know,” she told him.

“Is it?”

“Yes. As you are beautiful to me.”

He was quiet. But she could see his chest rise and fall with his panting breath.

She touched one finger to the tip of his cock. Watched as his stomach muscles clenched. She glanced at his face, saw the look of concentration there as he watched her every move.

Keeping her gaze on his, she kept that one fingertip on the swollen head, and slipped her other hand between her own thighs. She pressed two fingers into her own damp heat, gasping a little at the sensation. Watched Declan’s sharp intake of breath as he saw her do it. She pulled her fingers from her body and held them to his lips. He leaned forward, took her fingers into his mouth, and sucked.

The heat was stunning, just his mouth around her fingers. She felt it as if he was sucking on her nipples, on her clitoris. And as he sucked, she ground down and impaled herself.

He groaned. Her body clenched with a pure, piercing pleasure.

She rose up on her knees, letting him slide almost out of her, then coming down hard. His hands went into her hair, his fingers threading into the long strands that cascaded over their joined hips, pulling tight. She loved it, that added sensation, that almost-hurting. Loved that he was really losing control as she surged down onto him, over and over. He thrust up into her body, driving deep, but he was letting her control the motion.

He held her fingers to his mouth, sucking, kissing her fingertips. His gaze on her face was like another sensation, dark and full of need. And love.

“Come on, Declan. Harder. Love me harder.”

He thrust faster, deeper, their hips clashing, crashing into each other. As he closed his eyes, his face torn in ecstasy, pleasure came down on her like a wave. She tumbled into it, her body clenching, her sex going tight.

“Ah, Declan!”

She felt his come, hot in her body. Lovely. She swore she could smell it, sharp and earthy and
him.

“I love you, Declan. I love you…”

She was still coming, still shivering with it.

He released her hair, and held her hand in his, kissed her palm. “Love you, baby. My baby.”

He pulled her down, onto his chest. With her head resting there, his heartbeat was a steady cadence against her cheek, his arms around her.

She had never been so happy. Had never known it was possible.

They sat together for a long time. Outside, she could hear the quiet night sounds. Wind in the tree branches, some small animal scuttering, crickets singing. Inside the house was nothing more than the sound of Declan’s breath and her own, the soft snores of Liam on the floor, the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. All of it warm and familiar. Safe, finally.

For the first time in her life, she realized she was living without fear. Some of it was the way her life had changed, of course. And some of it was her talks with Ruth. Liam’s steady devotion. But mostly, it was Declan.

Declan.

She had never been able to
count
on someone—on anything—the way she could count on him.

She breathed him in, as she so often did, that warm scent of the earth and the forest. She lifted her head and placed a kiss on his jaw, on the scar there.