Stone Angel (10 page)

No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t
convince herself that she truly hated him. Even with all the
evidence stacked against him, she didn’t know if she believed that
he had meant to give Sophia up to the Others. Her mind was
whirling; a thousand thoughts trying to solidify into one
conviction. Maybe he really had had second thoughts. She hoped so.
She hoped—

She gasped when he grabbed her shoulders. He
turned her around, spinning her effortlessly on the marble floor of
the entryway.

She caught a glimpse of rugged, scowling
face, his blazing blue eyes, the scar on his forehead and the mouth
about which she had never stopped dreaming. Then she was enveloped
in his arms, her face turned up to his, his lips on hers, his
tongue claiming and taunting.

Their kisses had always been tender before,
when he was wooing her. But this was different. This was emotion,
strong as a hurricane, buffeting her with passion, impatience,
demand.

His embrace was strong, holding her
possessively, trapping her against his warm, muscled chest,
enfolding her in his smell of cloves and orange spice and that
indefinable erotic smell of aroused male. He brushed aside her
surprise just as he brushed the blonde hair away from her neck. He
dealt impatiently with her feeble attempts to escape, teaching her
to kiss more deeply.

He tasted of cherries and cedar from the
wine.

She loved those cherries. She loved that
wine.

When he had thoroughly subdued her, he pulled
back. “What do you mean, I already did? I already handed over
Sophia or I already broke your heart?”

He was asking if she loved him, now or
then.

He didn’t deserve to know that she had loved
him once.

She didn’t know, didn’t want to know, if she
loved him still.

She was tired of this Pandora’s box of
confused feelings. She no longer wanted to think; her heart
couldn’t take any more.

She wanted to forget.

Maybe Liam was a liar. Maybe he had betrayed
Sophia. Maybe tomorrow he was going to betray her to the Sculptor.
Or maybe he was going to fulfill their mission, take Irving's
money, and run.

She just didn’t care anymore.

Because one thing she knew Liam was good for;
for tonight, he could make her forget her pain, her loneliness, her
fears.

Grabbing his neck, she pulled his face to
hers and kissed him.

She stopped trying to think, stopped
attempting to decide where she stood with Liam and where he stood
with her.

She would savor this moment, this passion.
She would use him to forget her heartache and her loneliness.

And tomorrow she would rescue Sophia and
live. Or she would fail, and die.

Even if Liam truly meant to help her, even if
he did help her — the odds were irrevocably stacked against
them.

For a boy who had been raised as he had,
without kindness or pity, and with the odds already irrevocably
stacked against him, the fact he agreed to help her meant … meant
she did mean something to him. And whether she liked it or not, he
meant the world to her.

Liam drew back, supporting her as she
wobbled, woozy from their fiery kiss. He stood panting for a
moment, capturing her gaze, demanding the truth, looking at her as
though he wished to decipher her thoughts, read the desires of her
heart.

Then he nodded, as if he understood, and
without a word, he reached down and picked her up, hugging her to
his chest as he walked up the stairs.

She clung to his neck. She rested her head
against his shoulder. She felt his arm muscles clench around her,
holding her effortlessly. He ascended the stairs as though she were
nothing, as though she weighed little more than a feather, a flake
of snow. His tightening jaw was the only indication that his
emotions were in a state of upheaval, that he felt as much conflict
as she did.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he
turned right, walking briskly past the oil paintings that lined the
hallway until he reached the door of her room. He paused, and
Amanda realized it would be next to impossible for him to hold her
and open the door. In the split second where he made a move to put
her down, she decided she wanted to stay in his arms, protected
from her thoughts and from the world.

“I’ve got it,” she whispered in his ear,
reveling in the shiver that ran through him at her breath on his
neck.

She extended her hand to the dark bronze
handle and pushed the door inward.

Turning sideways, Liam walked through the
doorway, nudging the door closed with his foot. With a glance at
the simple, sturdy wooden desk, he carried Amanda over and placed
her on its cool surface. Gently, he reached up and moved her chin
until she was forced to look into his eyes, his beautiful blue
eyes. Eyes that had laughed with her so many times in the past …
were completely serious.

“Now, what’s this about me breaking your
heart?” Liam’s voice was so quiet, so forceful. He would keep
pushing her for answers, answers she couldn’t give to him.

She could feel the tears pushing at her eyes
again, threatening to burst through her reserve, her control.
“Liam, it no longer matters.”

He leaned down, placing his arms on either
side of her, his palms flat against the dark sheen of the desk. “It
matters to me.”

LIAM’S BREATH fanned Amanda's cheek, his lips
so close, so tantalizing.

She couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t let her
guard down enough to tell him that she had adored him, had wanted
to be with him forever. What good would it do now? Their love was
an impossible concept; the odds were stacked against them. And she
simply could not let her emotions get in the way of protecting
Sophia. She had done so once before, and now they were all paying
the price.

Sophia was paying the price.

So instead Amanda trailed light airy kisses
along Liam’s neck, building up to the moment when she slowly,
warmly sucked on his ear lobe. “I would love … a wee dram … of
whiskey.” Taking his head in her hands, she directed his gaze to
the small side table with a crystal decanter.

“Now?” He couldn’t have looked more
horrified.

She leaned back, put her hands against the
desk, and smiled. “Liquid courage.”

“Yours or mine?”

Her smile faltered. “Mine.”

He swallowed. “First time?”

“Yes. When would I have had the chance?”

“I dunno. High school?”

“Pimply-faced boys.”

“Nursing school?”

“Married doctors and linen closets. It never
appealed. And I had to get home. It was no big deal. I was never
tempted.” She swung a nervous foot. “Until now. Scared?”

“God, yes.” He swallowed again, and as if he
couldn’t believe it, he repeated, “Your first time. I’m your
first…”

“Lover. Yes.”

His
complexion was pale. His voice was gravelly. “Thank you, Irish
whiskey sounds
great
.”

That was
reassuring.
Not
.

He let her go. He stepped away. Turning to
the decanter, he filled the glass next to it with a healthy
splash.

When he returned to her, the color had
returned to his face and had been replaced by a different reaction
than she had ever imagined. He now looked possessive. Proud. Like a
man who had been given the gift of trust.

He held the glass to her mouth and watched
her sip.

She could feel the fire burning her throat,
warming her stomach.

“I love to watch you drink Irish whiskey,” he
breathed, “the way your lips curl around the amber liquid, the way
you lick the rim of the glass.”

It was not the alcohol that make her relax;
it was the hungry look on his face and the tone of his voice.

He turned the glass and placed his lips
exactly where her lips had been, and took a sip. Then he put the
glass down and pushed it aside, and she pulled Liam in, rubbing his
neck with her right hand. Gently, she turned his face toward her,
kissing her way leisurely toward his lips, smelling the faint aroma
of his spicy aftershave. When she reached his mouth, she tenderly
kissed the corners of his lips.

That was when his control broke, as she had
known it would.

Cupping her cheek with one large, warm palm,
he reached behind her to lose the ponytail that held her hair in
check. The honey strands fell around her shoulders, as he ran his
fingers through them, savoring the softness, smelling the lingering
perfume of her lavender shampoo.

“I have dreams about your hair. You used to
wear it down so much more. Now, it’s always up.” Liam’s voice
sounded gruff. “Every time I’ve seen you, Miss Prim and Resentful
Nurse Amanda, this is what I’ve wanted to do.” Grasping her hair at
the nape of her neck, he tilted her head back.

He claimed her, sucking gently on her lower
lip.

In answer she nibbled his upper lip, running
her tongue inside his mouth. He tasted like Liam, familiar, warm,
generous, kind … the way she remembered him tasting, with a
tantalizing edge of red wine and almonds.

He continued to ply her with kisses, driving
into her mouth over and over with his tongue. Leaving one hand
tangled in her hair, he moved the other to the sash of her ratty
old robe. With a skilled flick of his wrist, he loosened the knot,
opening it, then released her, and stared.

“I’ve never had any pretty nightgowns,” she
explained. “I mean, what’s the point if no one ever sees you?”

Then she realized … Liam was transfixed by
her body beneath the tissue-thin material of her shirt. Transfixed
and fascinated.

Slowly she leaned back and put her hands
against the cool wood of the desk.

His gaze followed her every movement. “Oh,
darlin’, what you’re wearing will do fine.”

He pushed her robe from her shoulders,
letting it pool at her wrists where they rested behind her.

She shivered.

He grasped her thighs and moved them apart
enough to accommodate his hips. Leaning forward with exquisite
slowness, he pulled her shirt from first one shoulder then the
other, planting kisses as he went.

He stared at her lips, tender from so much
kissing, at her tousled hair, falling down her shoulder, covering
one breast. His hands smoothed along the side of her shirt, chafing
her straining nipples.

She whimpered with need.

He pulled her upper body forward, releasing
the robe from her wrists, then sliding her shirt over her head.

He paused again, viewing her breasts as if
every new revelation left him breathless. “You are the most
gorgeous woman I have ever seen.”

Amanda smiled, basking in his praise. Feeling
bold, she moved his hands down to the waistband of her boxers,
while simultaneously thrusting her hips up off the desk.

He whisked the shorts and her robe from
beneath her bottom.

She was naked. Fully naked.

And his eyes looked wide and star-struck.

As she lowered herself, and her warmth
contacted the coolness of the desk, she gasped and clenched her
thighs.

He sighed as if she had fulfilled his every
fantasy. “Now, now, don’t be making me finish right here and now.”
He enveloped her in a warm hug that quickly became a trail of
kisses.

Amanda sighed as his mouth closed around her
nipple, hungrily suckling on it. He cupped her other breast with a
warm hand, lightly flicking the tip of her nipple before moving
over to suckle it as well.

His other hand dipped into the glass of
whiskey, and Amanda gasped with pleasure as he wet her nipples and
proceeded to thoroughly lick the whiskey off. When he had sucked
the warm liquid off of both her breasts, he placed her hands around
his neck. His hands travelled behind her to rub down her spine.
They cupped her buttocks.

Amanda pushed him away and crossed her legs.
“You know, Mr. Gallagher, it’s not really fair that I’m naked and
you’ve still got your pants on.” Her voice was husky. Not quite
steady. “Get comfortable. Stay awhile.”

Liam stared at her. At her full lips, her
pert and creamy breasts, the blond hair between her legs barely
visible. Then like a man with his pants on fire, he shed his
jeans.

He wore no underwear.

And while she had seen her share of naked men
— she was, after all, a nurse — she’d never seen one with quite
that physique in quite that state of readiness.

Picking up the glass, she drank the
whiskey.

It burned.

She burned.

“I sleep naked,” Liam said. “I pulled my
pants on to go get a midnight snack. Didn’t know there would be a
boxer competition later.”

She smiled. She nodded. She put the glass on
the desk. With her eyes fixed firmly on his face, she uncrossed her
legs — just uncrossed them, didn’t spread them — and motioned him
forward.

Liam gently pressed his warm palms against
her inner thighs and opened her wider.

“Liam, I’m cold.” Amanda’s nervousness was
getting the best of her. Her voice had a bit of tremble in it.

“You need someone to keep you warm.” Liam
pressed his palm against the light thatch of hair between her
legs.

Amanda jumped with the electricity of his
touch, clasping her thighs tightly around his hips.

This time when Liam pressed her legs apart,
he knelt in front of her.

He was going to keep her warm with his
tongue.

He planted slow, hot kisses along her thighs.
Murmuring appreciatively, he licked her outer lips. When he sucked
on her, Amanda writhed. When he pushed his tongue inside of her,
she shivered. When he breathed warm puffs of air onto her clitoris,
she leaned her head back and moaned, long and low and
pleasured.

She wasn’t done yet — although she was close
— when he leaned back on his heels.