Borrowed Angel Page 7

  He didn’t want to touch, but his fingers were already moving. He touched the cold stone, then the warmth of her body. Fire seemed to singe him, sizzling down the length of him. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted her before. Now he knew that she could be an angel, breathing life into him, crying out with surprise and pleasure, arching to his touch, writhing beneath the rhythm of his hips. Now he knew how her breasts could swell in his hands, how his touch could bring her hot and moist and make her want him in return….

  He drew his hand away from her, gritting his teeth, swallowing hard, as if he could swallow down the rise in his anatomy. Damn her for stumbling half naked into his life, for tearing him to pieces with this desire. If he thought that he could wake her rudely and have his fill of her, he might have done it. But something warned him that that wouldn’t be the end of it.

  That would only make him want her more.

  She was a sultry temptress and an angel all in one. Peaceful and pure in sleep, sensual in movement. And whenever her eyes looked at him, it was with a shimmering, dazzling light to vie with the sun.

  A borrowed angel, at best, he reminded himself sourly. And he had already borrowed her. A shower was in order. He was not a slave to his wants and desires, and he would walk away without touching her again.

  Cursing and furious with her and with himself, he got up.

  He showered in the icy water for a long time, then dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. Coming back into the bedroom, he saw that she still slept. She had not moved. He tensed and his body went hot again. Swearing soundly beneath his breath, he turned around and strode out of the room.

  He had to get rid of her.

  He hurried to the front door and flung it open. The wind and rain had stopped. The sky, though, was gray. The destruction before him was complete. Each plant in his yard had been ripped from the ground and tossed everywhere.

  He walked outside carefully. Storms could toss up some mean snakes, too. He stepped over the debris and looked out to the road and the canal. He couldn’t even see the road, and the water had risen very high. If he was lucky, maybe he could make it as far as Wendy’s house in a day or two.

  No one was going anywhere that day.

  He muttered an expletive and stomped back to the house. He had always loved the solitude he found there. Today, though, he despised it. Solitude was only good when he was alone. This wasn’t solitude anymore.

  He made coffee, almost cracking the pot as he set it over the sterno burner. He closed his eyes and started to breathe slowly. It’s what his grandfather would have told him to do. Close your eyes and remember that for all men, there was a greater purpose. Peace did not come from without; it came from within.

  He opened his eyes. At the moment he was convinced that his grandfather was full of rot. He had no peace inside himself whatsoever.

  With a sigh, he poured himself a cup of coffee. The storm had moved on. Maybe it would return—hurricanes had been known to double back on places where they had already done destruction—but right now he desperately wanted some daylight.

  He went to his office, opened the shutters and looked out the window. He had always loved it here. He loved the tall grasses and the cranes and egrets and great herons. He loved the sunsets that stretched on for eternity. The Everglades wasn’t for everyone. It was a wild and lonely beauty. It was his heritage, and the swamp had shielded his people when nothing else could. Though peace had failed, though war had failed, the swamp had endured. The Indian had never been removed from the Everglades, and he still had his tenacious hold here on the land. In the nation of greatest plenty on earth where political refugees flocked, the Seminole still fought to be an ordinary citizen. Eric believed in the future. Change came slowly, but he believed it came. Wendy had taught them all that men and women were all alike. His white mother had fallen in love with his Indian father and they had combined their dreams of happiness. It was a good world, a good fight, and he loved it.

  It was all that he had.

  He sat down with his coffee, smoothed back his hair and picked up some of the research notes that Wendy had left him last week. His eyes strayed to the mantel and the pictures there. Wendy and Leif, hugging and laughing, in the airboat. Wendy and Leif, Eric and Elizabeth, together. Then there was the newest picture—Wendy and Brad and Josh. Brad the proud father, Josh a beautiful baby, and Wendy looking beautiful because she was always beautiful, inside and out. Eric smiled slowly, and his eyes touched upon Josh’s face. He knew that he was as much an uncle to Brad’s son as he would have been to his own brother’s. Love was always the tie that bound men, not blood.

  “May I have some coffee?”

  The soft words startled him so badly that he rattled his cup against his desk.

  She was dressed in his robe again. She’d been in the shower. Every trace of makeup had been washed away and her face was even more beautiful without it. Her hair was wet and slicked back and her ears were stripped of the emeralds.

  Her eyes, though, still dazzled. Just like jewels.

  Eric stretched out a hand, grudgingly indicating that she should take the swivel chair in front of his desk. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll get you some,” he told her.

  She sat, folding her hands in her lap. He walked into the kitchen and poured her coffee, then realized he hadn’t asked her how she liked it. Black, he decided. If she wanted sugar and dry creamer, she could come back for them herself.

  He walked back to his office with the coffee and handed it to her. She nodded without looking up at him, her fingers closing around the cup. Long, elegant fingers. Her nails were glossed with a fiery orange-red color that complemented her hair.

  He remembered those nails, never hurting as they raked over his flesh, bring him alive. He remembered those elegant fingers stroking his shoulders, clinging to him….

  “There’s sugar in the kitchen,” he said curtly, walking behind his desk. “Help yourself.”

  She didn’t move. Her gaze rose to meet his at last. “The wind has stopped. Can I get out of here today?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “There’s just no way. The roads are flooded. Power lines are down.”

  “Oh.”

  She stood and started to wander toward the open window. The V on the robe dipped low. It wasn’t her fault. It was just that the garment had been made for a man, not a woman. She was tall, so it didn’t hang ridiculously, but watching her move was still the most disturbing thing that he had ever seen.

  “It’s beautiful out there,” she murmured.

  “What?” he snapped. Sitting behind his desk, he swirled around. She had her hand on her throat and was staring out at the endless sea of grass. She didn’t look his way, and he wondered at her words.

  “I rather thought you hated the swamp.”

  She flashed him a quick smile. “Oh, I do. But seeing it from here, it’s beautiful.”

  “Beautiful and deadly,” he corrected. Just like you, angel, he thought, then he almost laughed aloud at himself. She wasn’t deadly; it was his soul she was consuming alive. He started to stand but sat back down quickly because she was walking by him to the bookshelves. He loved to read and he had everything—research books by the scores, classics, ancient masterpieces and contemporary spy thrillers. She honed in on his research material, running her finger over the spine of a book entitled Seminole.

  “It means runaway, right?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “That’s the general consensus.”

  “But you’re not the only Indians down here. The Miccosukee live in the same area, too, right?”

  His eyes narrowed sharply and Ashley was pleased. She knew something about the area, and a lot more than he would suspect about North American Indians.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  Smiling very sweetly, Ashley continued, “Two separate and distinct tribes, although they weren’t recognized as such by the American government until fairly recently. Two different language
s, although both peoples practice some of the same feasts and rituals, such as the Green Corn Dance.”

  “How do you—” he began, but broke off quickly with a shrug. “What did you do? Go and watch the alligator wrestling? Take a stroll through the village?”

  She ignored his question. “Why do you hate me so much?” she asked suddenly. “Someone in your family was obviously white. Hawk—that’s your father’s name, I assume. So your mother, maybe?”

  “She was Norwegian,” Eric admitted with irritation in his voice.

  Her eyes widened tauntingly. “Well, that’s certainly white,” she muttered.

  He didn’t reply. His hands folded in his lap, and he stared at her. His life was none of her concern.

  Ashley turned back to the books, wishing she could quit feeling like crying. He was acting as if nothing at all had happened between them. Well, two could play that game. She could play it very well.

  She faced him. “When do you think that I’ll be able to get out of here?”

  He shrugged. “Tomorrow, the next day. It may take a whole week for the rescue people to get out here.”

  “A week!”

  “Don’t worry. As soon as the water in the canals is down a little, I’ll get you over to Wendy’s.”

  “Wendy’s?”

  “My sister-in-law’s. I think you’ll be happier there. Brad can take you into town as soon as possible.”

  “Your…brother?” Ashley said.

  “My brother is dead. Brad is Wendy’s husband. He’s with the Drug Enforcement Agency in Fort Lauderdale.”

  She nodded and sat down. Silence fell between them. Ashley lifted her hands, then let them fall back to her lap. “Well, thank you.”

  He stood abruptly then, almost knocking over his coffee. “Wait a minute,” he told her curtly.

  He walked out of the room. Ashley leaned her head back. She was still exhausted even though she had awakened so late. She felt as if blood and life were drained from her.

  He reappeared carrying a pair of jeans cutoffs and a short-sleeved tailored blouse. “Here. Try these.”

  The clothing fell on her lap. She looked up at him. “Your wife’s?” Ashley asked.

  He shook his head. “Wendy’s. She’s much shorter than you are, but I thought that they might do.”

  Ashley nodded slowly. “Fine. Thank you.” He wasn’t about to let her touch anything that had belonged to the woman with the raven hair and warm smile.

  “Maybe you could read,” he told her.

  He wanted her out of his office. She smiled. “Sure.” She walked over to the bookcase and purposely picked out Seminole. “Maybe I can find out what gave you your warm and witty personality.”

  Eric didn’t respond. He watched her as she walked out of the room with the clothing and the book.

  Ashley went into the bedroom and changed. The shorts were very short, but they fit. The blouse was a little better. She decided they were better than worrying about losing the robe at any minute.

  Worrying…

  How on earth was she going to endure the day? It was terrible just being near him. It was awkward and painful. She hadn’t expected anything from him, not flowers, not avowals, not commitment, but neither had she expected the ice, the absolute coldness, his acting as if he really did hate her.

  There was a knock on the door. Ashley hesitated, but he didn’t wait. He pushed the door open and stepped through but kept his hand on the knob.

  “I just—I just wanted to say that I was sorry.”

  “Oh?” she said. “About what?” Being rude. He knew that he had been rude.

  “About last night.”

  Ashley gritted her teeth. “Last night? Just how do you mean that you’re sorry, Mr. Hawk?”

  “Too much Jack Black—”

  “I see,” Ashley broke in coldly.

  “No, you don’t!” he countered. “I’m trying—”

  “I don’t think that you’ve really tried to do anything in years!” she told him.

  “Oh, really?” He paused, his jaw twisted, his fingers tightening on the doorknob. His eyes narrowed as he stared at her, his muscles constricting. “Just what do you know?”

  “Enough,” Ashley said defensively.

  “You don’t know anything.”

  “I know enough not to deny what I’ve done, or felt!” she cried.

  He took a step toward her and she didn’t know why but she panicked. She backed away to the bed, picked up a pillow and held it before her like a shield. He kept coming toward her. “You don’t seem to know anything!” she told him. “Not about honesty or courtesy.”

  “I don’t?” He was closer. But smiling, she realized. She smiled, too, as he snatched the pillow from her. She grabbed the second pillow.

  “You don’t remember how to laugh or how to have fun. Or how to apologize or—Wait!”

  He was almost on top of her and not listening at all. She thrust the pillow against his chest to stop him, but he deflected her move with his own pillow and she staggered down to the bed. “Wait!” she cried, “you’re not listening—”

  She struck again.

  He staggered back, his hair tumbling over his forehead and his eyes. He stopped in his tracks, staring at her. And then he started to laugh.

  “Eric…”

  Disheveled, striking, sexy, he leaped down beside her, still laughing. He caught both of their pillows and cast them aside, sweeping her into his arms. She shrieked in protest, trying to regain her pillow as a barrier against him, but she couldn’t begin to counter the strength in his arms.

  Her hands went still upon his upper arms and suddenly she was breathless. For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Her wet hair was in wild disarray and fell over his fingers. Her eyes were alive with laughter.

  “I’m not half as bad as you say I am,” he told her.

  “No?” she asked, moistening her lips.

  “I really am sorry,” he said softly.

  “Do me a favor?” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “Don’t be. Sorry, I mean. I wasn’t.”

  He shrugged. “All right. If it was nothing—”

  “I didn’t say that it was nothing. It was everything. Think what you like, I can’t change you. But I don’t do things like that. Ever. It meant everything.”

  When his smile faded, the laughter left her eyes. He pulled away from her. “Don’t say that.”

  “Damn you, will you stop that! How can you so horribly ruin something that was decent and wonderful.” He stared at her blankly. Ashley knew that he saw her as the sophisticate, the big-city girl with tons of experience. She knew then that he was just the opposite, that he might have been in love once, but that nothing had been special to him since. “Don’t you—” she began, then broke off with a sigh. “Never mind. Just move, please!”

  But he didn’t move. He was staring down at her as if he hadn’t even heard her. He smoothed a tangle of hair from her face, his green eyes intense and brilliant. Then he leaned back and gave himself a shake. “What?” she murmured.

  He seemed to regretfully push away from her and stand. He took a step but then turned back. He reached out a hand to her, and a rueful smile touched his lips. “Once more, Miss Ashley Dane, I’m truly sorry that I’m such a rude bore. Try to forgive me?”

  She hesitated.

  His smile deepened. “Honest. I’m sorry—About being rude, crude and abrasive. And have it your way—I’m not sorry at all about last night. I enjoyed every second. Every touch, taste, scent and move.”

  That wasn’t exactly what she had wanted. His words brought a deep flush to her cheeks, and more. They brought back memories. Of his hands, of his lips…

  She lowered her head and accepted his outstretched hand quickly. He helped her up.

  “Want more?” he asked softly.

  “What?” she murmured, looking up and meeting his eyes in confusion.

  “I could go on,” he told her blandly. “About last
night. About everything that I liked about last night. In detail.”

  “No! No, that’s all right.”

  “All right,” he said agreeably, then laughed at her perplexity. The sound was easy and good, and she was glad of it. His fingers curled warmly around hers, and she was glad of the touch, too. Their eyes met, and his gaze was warm.

  But maybe that wasn’t so good. Her breath quickened and her heart took flight, and she was left wishing desperately once again that she could leave him then. Right that very second.

  There were murderers out in the swamp. Even if he didn’t believe her, a murder had taken place. There might be extreme danger for her. But she could hardly think of it now that she was with him.

  Because it wasn’t her life that was in peril then, she knew; it was her heart.

  CHAPTER 5

  Warily, Ashley followed Eric into the kitchen. He went to the refrigerator and felt around inside. He seemed satisfied. “Still cold,” he told her.

  “Without the electricity?”

  “I’ve got synthetic ice blocks in there,” he said. “They’re great. Well, what will you have?”

  “What are my choices?”

  “Oh, koonti bread, alligator tail. What’s your preference?”

  She didn’t know if he was teasing her. With her nose imperiously high, she took a stool by the counter. “I’ve had alligator tail, Mr. Hawk.”

  “Have you?” He turned around with a wry smile. A little shiver shot along her spine. She wished he wasn’t quite so attractive, not that he was attractive in any nice, civilized way. He called upon something primitive inside of her with the curve of his lip and the sure, casual sway of his walk. The way he stood now, black hair falling over his forehead, that smile in place, somehow suggested energy and passion and something wonderful and vital that was just barely leashed.

  “Yes,” she said with dignity and arrogance. Then she smiled, too. “They serve it at Disney World.”

  “Disney World!”