I'm No Angel (13 page)

“But not anymore?”

Tom shook his head. “Pop used bribery. He said he'd buy me a piano if I'd touch one gator and one snake every day for a month. Took a few weeks before I got the nerve to do it and once I did, and I didn't lose a hand or my head or anything else, I decided I liked the thrill. Before long I was posing with the things while tourists took pictures.”

“And you got your piano?”

“It wasn't much of a piano and it had to be tuned, but every night I'd sit down and play silly little songs while Pop rocked in his chair and smoked his pipe.”

“No lessons?”

Tom shook his head. “I can't read music, either. I just listen to the songs and play what I hear.”

“Did you ever think about becoming a concert pianist?”

“If I became a concert pianist, playing would become a job instead of a passion.”

“Was wrestling alligators a passion or a job?”

“I liked working with the gators. I liked the tourists. But I could take it or leave it. Pop and I sold the farm a few months back and I haven't missed the place. But there's not a day that goes by when I don't want to sit down at the piano and play.”

“Is yard work a passion of yours, too?”

“More a labor of love,” Tom said. “Or does that sound too sentimental?”

“I wouldn't have expected words like that to come out of the mouth of an alligator wrestler, even a former alligator wrestler.”

“There's more to me than just what meets the eye.” He ran his fingers over the keys, wishing they were running over her body. “You said you knew Liszt. Do you know this one?”

Tom's hands glided over the keyboard, the rippling broken chords and seamless melody divided almost equally between both hands.

“It sounds familiar,” Angel said, “but I couldn't give you a name.”

“‘Un Sospiro'—‘A Sigh,'” Tom said, adding his own sigh to the notes he played. “After I went to live with my grandfather, I forgot pretty much everything about the first four years of my life. But I did remember the music. I didn't know why, it was just there, in my head. A couple of months ago I inherited a lot of things, including Mere Belle, and when I walked in the doors the first time, I remembered my mother playing this song.”

Angel frowned. “I thought she died in childbirth.”

“She did, but my dad had taped dozens of songs that she played, and after she was gone, he'd play them over and over again. This was his favorite.”

Angel closed her eyes while he played. She breathed deeply, her breasts rising and falling, almost keeping time with his music. He could easily get used to having her around—of course, he'd have to be able to touch her.

“We used to sit here on the bench listening to my mom play,” Tom continued. “Dad talked about her and about the plans they'd had for their firstborn child. I might have been a concert pianist if she'd lived. I might have met you when I was younger. I seriously doubt I ever would have wrestled alligators.”

“You might have grown up to be a jet-setting snob, and I might have ended up working for your wife or mistress, following you around, snapping pictures of you in indecent situations.”

Tom grinned. “Or I might have grown up to be the exact same man sitting beside you now.”

“That's the one I'd prefer.”

Angel touched his cheek softly. Gently. He fought the urge to grab her hand, to pull her into his lap and kiss her until her lips were swollen. He wanted to drown out his bitterness in the softness of her. But her touch was all too brief. She turned away from him, walked across the room, and looked out on the view of the swimming pool.

“That's one of the first things I had refurbished,” Tom said. “I try to swim at least twice a day. It's a luxury I didn't have before coming here.”

Angel opened the French doors and a breeze blew her honey-blond hair. Everything about her mesmerized him. Her soft curves. Her long legs. Her hooker heels and that tight red dress.

How he was going to keep his hands off her he hadn't a clue. And if he didn't keep his hands off her, he doubted he could go slow.

He wanted her. Plain and simple.

He pushed away from the piano and walked to where she stood in the doorway. Slipping his hands over her shoulders, he leaned close. His bristly cheek caressed her smooth skin. “Want to go for a swim?”

Her quick nod surprised him. He'd expected her to say no, to insist he take her home. But she'd nodded yes—that was a pretty damn good start to what Tom hoped would happen later.

He took her fingers and led her to the pool. Slowly, taking his time, he peeled off his shirt and stood before her in nothing more than faded Levi's and crocodile boots.

Angel's gaze trailed up and down his body, settling on his chest, except for that one brief instant when she zoomed in on his crotch. A gaze like that was destined to get her in trouble.

“Maybe this isn't a good idea,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “After all, I don't have a swimsuit.”

Tom unlatched his belt, popped the top button on his jeans, then the second button. “Swimsuits,” he said, flashing a grin in her direction, “are for wimps.”

“Is that so?”

He nodded. “Some people might disagree with me, but it's my expert opinion that wearing clothing of any type while swimming just gets in the way.”

He tugged her against him. Slowly, ever so slowly, his palms slid down her sides. He could feel the soft curve of her breasts, the slenderness of her waist, and the flair of her hips. He wrapped his fingers around the hem of her dress, peeled it
over her head, then dropped it on the cobblestone deck.

He felt her body tremble at his touch, at his gaze roving over her blessedly sweet breasts and skimpy thong. God, how he wanted to make love to her. Forget the swim. Forget playing the piano. He wanted to lose himself inside her, but something deep within him again screamed go slow.

With the tenderest of touches, he kissed her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her lips, her chin, then tasted her neck, his lips, his tongue lingering there for long seconds. Tasting. Tempting. And beneath his mouth he felt her quiver.

Again his hands swept over her cool, bare shoulders. Her pebbled nipples brushed over his chest, setting him on fire.

His fingers whispered along the curve of her spine, flared out over her bottom. Again she trembled. Again he touched. Explored.

When her breathing eased, when she seemed calm in his embrace, he slipped his thumbs under the straps at the side her thong and—

She slapped his fingers. “This is as naked as I get.”

“A guy can try, can't he?”

“He can try. And I can stop him.”

Tom's gaze darted to the knife and the white leather garter on her thigh. “What about the stiletto?”

“I only take that off when I feel I can trust the person I'm with.”

“Trust me, Angel. The last thing on my mind right now is hurting you.”

There was worry in Angel's eyes when he
touched the stiletto. A little more worry when his fingers slid beneath the leather garter and slowly, methodically dragged it down her leg. He peeled it over her high heels, then went back to the ties crisscrossing up to each knee, and just as slowly, he unwrapped each long leather strap, pressing warm, lengthy kisses to her calf, her ankle, the bridge of each foot until he tossed the shoes off to the side.

Her entire body wobbled. He thought she might turn to butter and melt right in his arms. Okay, so he was hoping she
would
turn to butter and melt in his arms. But she was still controlling her emotions. Fighting him every step of the way.

Wrapping his fingers around her waist, he rose just far enough that he could kiss her stomach. Her skin was cool; begging to be heated.

And again he felt her tremble beneath his touch.

She pulled away as if she were afraid of his fire and walked to the deep end of the pool, her stunning body radiating in the dim lights that shone down on the water, the palms, and the deep purple bougainvillea. Mounting the diving board, she walked to the very end, curled her toes over the edge, and raised her arms high over her head. Her full, round breasts rose, too. And then she dove, a magnificent, perfectly executed flight through air and into the pool.

She came out from under the wavering blue water in the shallow end. Her blond hair swept away from her face. Rivulets of water coursed over high cheekbones, over glistening tanned skin. Hard nipples beckoned to him.

Jerking off his boots, ripping off his jeans and boxers, he jumped into the water, executing a masterful, knee-hugging bomb. Water exploded around him. And to his surprise, so did Angel's laughter. And damn how he liked that sound.

He swam toward her, circled her, studying her body as the water rippled around her waist, hips and thighs.

At last he stood. Close. Real close. Half a head taller than her. Her breasts heaved, those budding pink nipples just barely above the water jutting out to meet him, but he kept his distance. Not touching her.

Yet.

He circled her again, then curled his hands on her shoulders, kneading the muscles running up her neck, along her shoulder blades. “God, you're tight.”

“It comes with the job. I'm always on edge.”

“Are you sure it has nothing to do with being here in the water with me? Naked? And knowing what's going to happen soon?”

“I'm not afraid of you, if that's what you want to know.”

“Something's making you awfully tense,” he said, massaging her shoulders. “If I'm reading you right, you're uncomfortable with the way I'm touching you.”

She swam away, to the far end of the pool, and Tom joined her, taking long strokes until he reached her. Through the water he could see her legs scissoring back and forth, keeping her head and shoulders from sinking below the water's surface.

He slid his hands around her waist and pulled her against him, his own legs moving with hers. He was hard. Damn hard, and he rubbed against her pelvis. He wanted her, and her eyes widened. Was it fear he saw?

He could ask, but he didn't want to get into some long psychological discussion right now. Didn't want her to tell him it was too soon.

Dragging her hands from where they rested on his chest, he placed them around his neck and then softly, ever so softly, he touched her mouth with his.

He'd tell her he wanted her, but there was no need for words. His body said far more than he could utter.

With his hands clasped around her waist, he kicked away from the deep end, needed to put his feet on something solid. As soon as his toes touched bottom and his shoulders were above the water, he deepened the kiss, savored her sweetness.

Angel tried to pull away, that damnable fear again creeping up on her, until his fingers swept into her hair. He didn't force her against him, he just cradled her head in his hands and tasted her lips with the tip of his tongue. Gently.

He heard her deep intake of breath. A soft purr; an even softer sigh. And at last she leaned into him, opening her lips and letting him taste the inside of her mouth just as she tasted the inside of his.

And then he danced with her. A serene waltz, their bodies cutting through the water, her soft breasts and pebbled nipples pressed against his
chest. He wanted to taste her. All of her. He wanted to be inside her, hot and tight and slick.

Her fingers were in his hair, tugging, but she wasn't trying to escape. She was grasping for more.

Fighting the urge to rip off her panties and take her now, right in the middle of the pool, he tore his lips from her sweet, hungry mouth and touched them lightly against the base of her throat.

A sigh tore from her lips and her head fell back as her breasts heaved against him. Her throat was warm and wet and soft, and as he kissed her she began to pant and her breasts rose higher. She seemed as desperate for more as he was.

He grasped her thighs and spread her legs to wrap around his waist, and then, when her fabulous, succulent breasts floated atop the water, he took one cold, beaded nipple into his mouth.

A deep moan escaped his throat. “Oh, God,” he whispered against her dusky pink flesh. He suckled her, teased her with the tip of his tongue, circling that nipple lightly, then firmly, kissing her puckered flesh before taking the other breast into the palm of his hand, kneading her, tasting the tempting, heavenly body that thrust against him as the water lapped around them.

Again he captured her mouth, with urgency now. With need. Desire. She was every bit as hungry for him as he was for her, and that spurred him on.

He lifted her in his arms, and her hands tightened around his neck so their lips wouldn't part. He carried her up the pool steps. Water dripped
from their bodies and the warm breeze hit them. It should have cooled him off, but he was burning, every inch inflamed. Throbbing with need.

He was careful not to slip on the marble floor, bounded up the circular staircase, and headed straight for the master bedroom at the end of the hall. There wasn't much in the room other than the intricately carved Italian Renaissance bed he'd bought yesterday morning.

He laid her on the high, soft, and thick mattress, and his body screamed at him to take her right then and there, to spread her legs and climb between them and thrust hard and deep, once, twice, three, four, five times, and come with an all-powerful force. He wanted her that desperately. That urgently.

He climbed onto the bed beside her, feeling the mattress give beneath his weight. He kissed her as his fingers slid down her belly, under the tiny scrap of thong she wore, through tempting curls, to the heat he longed to feast upon and make love to.

God, why was she so damn tense? He could feel it in her stomach muscles, in her shoulders, in the way her fingers grasped his hair, pulling painfully.

Opening eyes he'd kept shut so he could feel each stroke, each touch, each movement deep in his insides, just as he felt his music in his soul, he watched her eyes. They were tight. Her teeth were clenched.