Teresa Medeiros - Once An Angel

no mistaking the watchful stance of the dark figure framed in an upstairs window. Tucking the shawl around her, Emily bowed her head and strode quickly toward the house.

Shadowy shapes cavorted in the firelight, their bronze bodies sheened ivith sweat. They leaped and twirled in a feral frenzy, rolling eyes and thrusting hips to the hypnotic chant of the sea and the

thundering rhythm of Emily's heart. She stood in their midst, her sheer nightdress dancing in the

balmy wind.

The natives parted ranks and that's when she saw him-a dark figure emerging from the bush, a

panama hat tilted low to hide his eyes. She tried to move, tried to run, but the sand sucked at her

ankles. It was too deep, too thick.

Toying with her, the man drew a cigarette case out of his pocket and slipped the thin cylinder between

his chiseled lips. He struck a match, and in that brief flare of glowing ash Emily saw ill his eyes-not

the molten brown of Nicky's eyes, but ruthless gold. Justin's eyes.

He advanced on her, stalking her with the lean, deadly grace of a tiger. As he passed through the

shadows cast by the feathery branches of a punga tree, he became a tiger, padding toward her on all fours. His powerful muscles shifted in lethal synchronicity as he crouched for the kill. Then he was

Justin again, flicking the burning cigarette into the night.

Emily stood frozen. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Bewitched by his approach, she realized she didn't want to move. Tears of shame trickled down her cheeks as she realized she was willing to pay

any price to feel his embrace one last time. He slipped behind her and wrapped his strong arms around her waist. He had the eyes of a tiger but the hands of a man. They were so warm, she could feel her

flesh melting beneath their heat. Her head fell back in surrender.

The heat from the flames climbed as he bent his leg between hers, dipping low to mold the muscular planes of his body to her own. His palm drifted down to cup the damp fabric of her nightdress to her breasts, then to the throbbing flesh between her legs. She could feel the dark, watchful eyes of the

natives on them, but was helpless to stop his sensual mastery of her body and soul.

Through a haze of dark pleasure she felt a new weight, heavy and cold, against her belly. Her gaze

drifted down to see the pistol gripped in his beautiful hand. With exquisite tenderness he trailed the

barrel between the aching fullness of her breasts and up until she felt the icy press of the muzzle against her temple. She writhed against him.

At the exact second his artful fingertips pressed her into ecstasy, his mouth sought and found hers, his

kiss so sweet and fraught with tender promise that it made her sob . . .

. . . then he pulled the trigger.

Emily sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath. The flames of her dream were gone now, leaving her drenched with sweat and shivering among the twisted bedclothes. Her bedroom was dark, the fire

almost out. She kicked the sheets off her ankles, remembering how the sand in the dream had held her fast. Her body still tingled as if from a lover's touch. She glanced at the door, half wishing the knob

would turn, the door would swing open.

Justin's mocking words came back to her: I have no intention of going where I'm not wanted.

Justin was wrong. She wanted him badly. She wanted him to cradle her in his arms, to reassure her

that Nicky was lying about her father's death, to chase away her doubts and nightmares with his tender kisses. But he'd kissed her in the dream, hadn't he . . . ?

Shuddering, Emily threw back the covers and padded restlessly to the hearth. Justin obviously had every intention of keeping his word. They'd barely spoken after Nicky's departure. Supper had been a stilted affair with the duchess and Justin's sisters casting puzzled glances between their guarded faces.

She stabbed at the glowing embers with the poker, hoping to stir the dying fire into flame. Beneath her clumsy probing, the last burning coal crumbled to ash. She dropped the poker and hugged herself, shivering. The sweat was drying on her skin and her bare feet felt like ice. Glaring at the door, she made her decision. Without bothering to grab her robe, she threw open the door and plunged into the black corridor.

* * *

Emily quickly realized it must be very late. The candles left burning at bedtime had all guttered in their sconces. The darkness enveloped her in its unrelenting folds. As she navigated the corridor, her toes slammed into the taloned base of an occasional table. Swearing under her breath, she caught a teetering china figurine before it could fall.

She continued on, hugging the center of the corridor. A loose board groaned beneath her weight. She froze, foot poised over the next board, waiting for a bevy of servants to come rushing up the stairs or

for Harold to pop out of his bedroom and hit her over the head with something, believing her a burglar. The silence held its breath along with her.

She dared to move on, wandering the long corridors until she stood before the door to the master suite.

Its carved mahogany splendor dwarfed her. She lifted a hand to knock, then drew it back. Was this how Justin had felt at her door-like a desperate pauper come to beg?

She brushed back her curls, then lifted her hand again. She still could not find the courage to shatter the fragile silence. So she folded her trembling fingers around the brass handle and gently eased the door open.

As Emily peeped into Justin's room, an unbidden rush of fondness flooded her. She should have known

he wouldn't be sleeping at this late hour. He sat propped against the pillows, reading by the flickering

light of a single candle. The heavy curtains of the four-poster had been drawn back and tied with incongruous lengths of hemp.

The downy comforter rode low on his abdomen. His chest was bare, his hair tousled. The candlelight danced off his gold spectacles. There was something so compelling about eyeglasses on a handsome man-such a teasing hint of leashed potential that Emily felt her breath catch with desire.

He looked up then to find her peering in at him. His eyes darkened with surprise, then displeasure.

Seeing no chance of honorable retreat, she crept into the room and stood shivering in the middle of his Aubus-son carpet. A fire stoked by fresh coal crackled on the grate. Justin laid aside the book, then

drew off his spectacles and folded them on the nightstand. Emily approached the bed. It loomed over

her, sumptuous, warm, and inviting. Unlike its occupant.

"I … um … I wanted . . ." She stammered, unable to find her words beneath his harsh gaze.

He threw back the comforter and bounded out of the bed, dragging the sheet around his waist. Emily realized he was nude beneath it.

He paced the bedroom in long strides. "So this is what it's come to between us. You think you can waltz in here after you've made it clear what you think of me." He paused in his pacing to glower at her. "Do you think me so desperate I'd take any scrap you'd care to throw my way?"

Dumbfounded by his impassioned speech, Emily felt her mouth fall open.

He raked a hand through his hair and circled her. "How could you expect me to face myself in the

mirror tomorrow if I compromise my honor for a few fleeting seconds of ecstasy?" He caught her by

the shoulders and gave her a hard little shake. "Do you think you're so charming in that silly little nightdress that I can't resist tumbling you? Do you think I have no pride when it comes to you?"

"B-b-but I-"

"Well, you're right," he shouted. "I don't!"

With that, his lips came down on hers. Emily tilted her head back, giving the full measure of her mouth

to his possession. His tongue plundered her with warm, rough abandon. She answered his desperate plea with a soft swirl of her own.

He swung her around to the bed and laid her beneath him. His hands tore at her drawers, shoving them away with none of the artful preliminaries he excelled in. It was as if he were afraid any hesitation might give the lonely night cause to take her back. He pressed himself into her, groaning when he found her as ready for him as he was for her.

Emily wrapped her arms around him, shivering at his rough urgency. She had been cold before, but now

a molten fire was spreading through her blood. His tongue invaded her mouth, taking her there just as

his hips were taking her lower. There was a savage edge to Justin's love-making she'd never experienced before. Both shock and pleasure rippled through her as he dragged her hips to the edge of the bed and stood between her legs, spreading and molding her until she could feel each of his fierce strokes pounding at the mouth of her womb. She wanted to scream beneath the force of it. She bit her lip, tasting blood. She felt her eyes roll back as her body threatened to succumb to that dark netherworld between pleasure and swooning.