Fallen Angel (Hqn) (11 page)

He had known this woman for just over two weeks. And she’d been unconscious the first few days.

Crazy.

And yet here he was. She was in his home. He was telling her things he’d never told anyone else. And if he didn’t have her, he was going to lose his goddamn mind.

But that was completely off-limits.

He pushed back from the desk. He had better put himself to bed, or have a few more shots—or both—or he was going to drive himself insane thinking about this stuff. Thinking about her.

Angel.

He shook his head. Another shot of Scotch would only weaken his resolve, rather than help the situation any. And Lord knew he was weak enough already. He heaved himself out of the chair and shut off the lights.

Better just to crash for the night, sleep off the confusion, the doubts. His craving for Angel.

Not that he thought that would work. But it was better than waking up with a hangover and a load of regret in the morning.

He called to Liam and headed for bed.

* * *

S
HE
WAS
TRYING
TO
SLEEP
, but her mind wouldn’t still. She couldn’t stop thinking about her talk with Declan. She’d been lying there for hours, the sheets too hot on her skin, until she’d had to throw them off. The cast was unbearably warm and heavy, constricting, but there was nothing she could do about that. If only her body wasn’t so heated. If only she could stop picturing his face, his long and beautiful hands.

Declan.

He was such a good person. Better than he knew, she suspected. She could see his guilt, guilt that didn’t belong to him. If only he understood that.

She wished she could comfort him, but she sensed it was too soon for that. She would have to take that connection slowly. It was something he was afraid of. Tonight had been a start, though.

She had been told all her life that the most effective way to reach a male was through sex. It made sense to her. Sex was the most intimate and beautiful of acts. And she wanted him. Her body never stopped yearning for his. For the touch of his hands. Even for his gaze on her face. But how much better to touch him, to feel his body against her own?

She moaned, shifted in her bed, felt how very empty it was.

She would rather be in his bed. She wanted to offer herself to him. But she was unsure as to how—and when—to go about it. Nothing, not all of her training, had prepared her to deal with this. A man, rather than a god or a demon. Such a simpler being, yet infinitely more complex at the same time. But this much she knew: all males had that same drive, the same physical needs, man or god or animal. And
that
she knew what to do with.

Go to him.

Her body surged with wanting simply thinking about it. She knew what she had to do.

Sitting up, she found her crutches in the dark, and made her way to his door. It was closed, but not all the way; it was easy to push it open with one crutch. Liam made a small, sleepy sigh from where he was curled up on the floor, an enormous black lump she could barely make out. The only light was the half moon shining pale silver through the curtains, but it was enough as her eyes adjusted to the dark.

She could see his still form in the bed. He was lying on his back, the blankets bunched around his waist, and she saw for the first time his bare chest. He was beautifully formed, strong. She could tell that much even in the shadow of his silhouette. Her body heated even more.

Need to touch him…

She hobbled to the bedside, set her crutches on the floor, and sat on the edge of the mattress. It gave way under her weight, but he didn’t stir. Watching him, wishing he would wake up, see her,
want
her, she pulled her thin cotton nightgown over her head and dropped it next to the crutches.

The night air was cool on her skin, her nipples peaking. From the air, from being this close to him, naked. From the earthy scent of his body.

She slipped under the covers with him.

Declan…

Her breath caught in her throat as her arm brushed his shoulder. Lust kicked hard, shimmering over her skin, her sex tightening.

Need you, please, Declan…

She held her palm over his chest, let it hover there, waiting. Teasing herself. Then she lowered it, barely daring to let her fingertips brush his body.

His skin was soft, which surprised her. Soft skin, soft, silky hairs around the flat nipples. But beneath the smooth skin was hard, solid muscle. So different from her own body. Beautifully different.

He sighed in his sleep as her palm slipped over his flesh, and she answered with a quiet moan as her fingertips met his nipple. It was smaller than her own, flatter. Harder. Her sex went wet, her breasts aching. She squeezed her thighs together, but it only made her need worse.

“Declan,” she whispered, but he huffed out a breath and remained asleep.

She moved her hand down, explored the tight wall of his stomach. Such hard muscle there, rather than the curving, soft flesh of her belly. Below it would be his cock.

She wanted to touch him there. To touch a cock for the first time. To take it in her mouth, to taste his desire on her tongue. To bring him the pleasure she had been raised to bring.

Yes.

She was soaking wet, her thighs rubbing together. It wasn’t enough.

If only he would wake. Want her. Touch her. Fuck her. She was so ready. This was what she had been prepared for her entire life. And to give herself to this man,
this
man, who she had come to care for. To love. And who treasured her in a way she’d never dreamed of. He didn’t have to tell her so. It showed in everything he’d done for her, everything he continued to do.

Her heart surged, her body trembled.

Need you, Declan.

She moved her hand lower, let her fingertips feather over the velvet head of his swelling flesh, felt his body shiver, felt hers do the same.

She moaned. He groaned. And tensed all over.

“Angel? What…?” He sat up, knocking her hand aside. “Jesus Christ. What are you doing here? What are you
doing?
”

“I am here for you. I need you, Declan. And you need me.”

“What? I… No.”

“You do not want me?”

“Angel, we talked about this.” He ran a hand over his hair, scrubbed at his face. “Jesus.” He looked at her, and she could just make out the dark gleam of his eyes. “You have to go.”

“I want to stay here with you.”

There was a small edge of panic in his tone. “You can’t stay in here.”

“Declan, I want you. To give myself to you. This is right.”

“It’s
not
right. It’s all wrong.”

“How can this be wrong? It feels right to me. It feels perfect.” Tears were gathering in her throat, making it hard to talk. If only he would listen to her. “Declan, please. Have me.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, started to pace, seemingly unaware that he was naked, still hard.

“Angel, this is crazy. We can’t do this.
I
can’t do this. I have a responsibility here. I explained that to you. This is impossible. You have to go back to your own bed. And you have to stay there. This is
not
happening.” He came back to the bed, put his hands on her shoulders, holding on tight. “Do you understand? This will not happen. Not now. Not ever.”

The tears flooded her throat, her eyes. A sob escaped her. She couldn’t speak.

“Aw, shit. I’m sorry, Angel. Don’t cry. It’s not that I don’t want you. You have to know that. I just don’t see how this is possible. I’m supposed to watch out for you. Take care of you. Not take advantage of your gratitude.”

“It’s more than gratitude.”

“Maybe you think so now. That might change. I’m pretty sure it will. You’ll recover and become more used to the world. See more of it. And everything will change for you.”

“I won’t change my mind about you,” she said quietly, wiping at her eyes.

“I think you should talk this over with Ruth. Okay? She’ll help you to understand.”

“I understand, Declan. I understand that we are meant to be together. Why else would you have been the one to find me? Why else would you have brought me to your home?”

“It was some weird fluke that I found you. It was coincidence. I happened to be on the beach that morning, that’s all. And I brought you here because…I had to. No one else was going to take care of you.”

“You see? That’s what I mean.”

“Don’t, Angel. You’re twisting this around.”

“Declan, I would never do that.”

He sighed. “Not on purpose. I know that. Just talk to Ruth, okay? And let me take you back to your room.”

She was glad he was calming down. She pulled a long breath in, forcing herself to calm, too. This would perhaps take more time than she’d thought.

“And if Ruth tells me I’m right?” she asked him.

There was a long pause. “We’ll deal with it then.”

“You seem very certain she will agree with you.”

“Can we just get you back to bed? And, Jesus, where’s your nightgown? Here, put it back on.”

He handed her the bit of cotton and she obediently slipped it over her head as he pulled a pair of pajama bottoms from beneath his pillow, where they’d been bunched up.

“I’ll go back to bed. And I will talk with Ruth tomorrow.”

“Good. That’s good.”

She would do as he asked. For now. But she had felt his unconscious response to her merest touch. That had told her all she needed to know about his desire for her. He needed some time to accept it. To come to accept that she was right.

They were meant to be together. And they would be. That was the only thing in her life she was sure of.

CHAPTER SEVEN

D
ECLAN
DRUMMED
HIS
FINGERS
on the wooden arm of the olive-green chair in Ruth Hehewuti’s waiting room. It was a small space with only two other chairs, a table with a lamp and the requisite pile of magazines. A few Hopi artifacts, reflecting her cultural heritage, hung on the walls: coiled plaques made of woven sumac and willow, and a sepia-toned print of a Hopi woman in front of a pueblo.

It felt stuffy. Or maybe it was that he didn’t like waiting.

He realized how much noise his fingers were making, so he stopped the drumming, stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. The room seemed even smaller with him standing up.

To his relief the door opened and Angel stepped through.

“I’m all done, Declan.”

She smiled at him, and he went a little loose all over. A nice sensation.

“Hi, Declan. It’s nice to see you,” Ruth said.

She held out her hand to him, but it was a moment before he could make himself respond.

She was tiny, which always surprised him for some reason. She had dark eyes, nearly as black as her hair, which had a little silver running through it. It was pulled back into a tight bun, but her face was too softly featured for it to make her look severe. Long turquoise-and-silver earrings hung from her ears. She had a kind face, he realized. Maybe he was able to see that only in this context, where she was taking care of Angel. Being something other than his father’s girlfriend.

“Hi. Nice to see you, too.” He shook her offered hand.

“Shall we go talk for a bit?”

“Uh, sure. Angel, you don’t mind waiting?”

“Of course not.”

Everything was that simple with her. He liked that.

“Okay. I won’t be long.”

He helped her into the chair, realizing as he did that she was perfectly able to seat herself. He felt a little foolish doing this in front of Ruth—catering to Angel’s needs. But fuck it. Why shouldn’t he do whatever he thought was best for Angel, no matter who was watching? Ruth was Oran’s girlfriend, not someone who was here to judge him.

Not the way he was judging her.

He sighed inwardly as he straightened up. Ruth stood back to let him pass through the door into her office.

It was a comfortable room with a large, overstuffed sofa strewn with colorful pillows. A hand-woven rug covered the floor, and there was a shelf filled with Hopi pottery in intricate red-and-black designs, and a small collection of kachina dolls tucked between the rows of books. Ruth gestured to the sofa and sat in a matching chair across from him. The sofa was soft, but he felt better sitting straight up, leaning forward a little, his hands on his knees. More in control.

“So,” she said, still smiling, “first I want to make sure you know that Angel has given permission for me to discuss with you the things she tells me in session. And that as her guardian I feel it can be useful.”

“I’m not her guardian.” His fingers flexed, digging into the knees of his jeans.

“Not legally, no, but in every sense of the word, yes? You’ve given her a place to live, you take care of her. You’re the one helping to reintroduce her to the world.”

He rubbed his palms over his thighs, trying to rub out some of the tightness in his shoulders, his jaw, his chest. “I guess that makes sense.”

He still didn’t know why being called Angel’s “guardian” made him so uncomfortable. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be responsible for her well-being. He’d chosen to do it. And not because there was no one else around who was willing to help her. He
wanted
to. Enough that even if there had been someone else willing to step in and care for Angel, he probably would have fought them on it. Maybe he didn’t like being reminded about his sense of responsibility toward her because it made his intense attraction to her seem more wrong. Not that he was going to do anything about that.

“She trusts you,” Ruth went on, “which is the most important issue here, in allowing me to speak to you about what goes on in my sessions with her. But I also want to be clear that after the three sessions we’ve had, once while she was still in the hospital and twice here in my office, I feel she’s able and competent to make that decision. There is no breach of doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“I understand.” He glanced at the window, then looked back at Ruth. She was watching him, her face placid, as if she would wait forever for him to talk with her. “That’s been a question for me—Angel being capable of making decisions for herself. About continuing to live with me. About her future. About her work with you. So I’m relieved to hear it.”

“But you’re not entirely comfortable here?”

“Not entirely.”

“Do you feel there’s a conflict of interest because of my relationship with your father?”

He shifted, pressed his palms onto his thighs. Jesus. He really did not want to have to talk to this woman about his father. Didn’t want to be faced with the fact of their relationship. Better to avoid it, to talk about Angel. Wasn’t that what he was here for?

“That had occurred to me. I’ll be honest about that. But Stephen—Dr. Kane—assured me you’re the best person for the job so…Angel’s well-being is the priority. I can definitely work around any discomfort on my part.”

“I’m glad to hear it. She really does trust you implicitly, you know. I think it’s important for her to trust someone right now.”

He nodded. He wasn’t sure what to say. “So, what am I here to talk about, exactly?”

“I want to touch base with you about Angel’s progress from time to time. To let you know if anything important comes up. To give the benefit of my professional opinion as to how we can both best help her. And to hear your ideas.”

“I’m hardly any kind of professional. I don’t know if I’d have any ideas that would be useful.”

“You interact with her every day. I’m sure you observe things about her she would never think to tell me. About her day-to-day state of mind. Her emotional arc.”

“Are you concerned about her being depressed?” he asked.

“Are you?”

“I’ve thought about it. That someone coming out of her situation has to have some post-traumatic stress issues.”

“I understand you’re familiar enough with the term to know what that might mean.”

He glanced up, his eyes narrowing, his system kicking into high alert. “And by ‘understand’ you mean my dad’s been telling you my business.”

“Declan, I’m only addressing it because I believe it’s useful, helpful, for you to be able to recognize the signs. Because for many people that would be the case. But I believe Angel is different.”

“What do you mean?”

She clasped her hands on her lap, a small smile on her lips, her dark eyes crinkling. There was something about her that made him want to relax with her, even though he was fighting it, that made him lower his defenses.

“Among certain cultures, my own being one of them, there is a belief that some people come into this life as innocent souls. Pure souls. They can’t be corrupted. No matter what happens to them, they remain virtually untouched. It’s my belief that Angel is one of these people.”

“I don’t mean to insult you, Dr. Hehewuti, but that sounds a little far-fetched.”

“Please, call me Ruth. And yes, I’m sure it does.” She leaned forward in her chair. “I’m sure you’ve noticed her sunny personality. I truly don’t think there’s anything darker hiding beneath the surface. I don’t think she realizes the enormity of what she’s been through.”

“Are you saying it’s some idiot savant thing?”

“No, absolutely not. Angel is highly intelligent, and oddly well-educated for someone who’s spent most of her life isolated from the world.”

He nodded. “I think so, too. I can’t figure her out. How it’s possible that she’s come through this so intact.”

“I don’t think she’s been as traumatized by her experiences as one would usually expect. She has a tendency to simply accept everything at face value. I don’t feel it’s a defect in her mental or emotional capacities. I see it as a gift. And she has others.”

Ruth stood and went to the bookshelf, pulled from it a large pad of paper, flipped it open and handed it to him. On it was a drawing of a woodpecker, done in crayon, but in exquisite detail.

He looked up at Ruth. “What is this?”

“Angel drew it today.”

“What?”

“And this one the other day.” She flipped to another page and on it was a pencil drawing of a sparrow. Again, every tiny detail was flawlessly done.

“These are amazing. I had no idea she could draw like this. I think she mentioned she liked drawing, but I never thought she’d have this kind of talent.”

“When she told me she liked to draw I thought she might draw something that would lead me into her past. It’s something therapists use sometimes, to bring out suppressed memories in a patient.”

“And instead you got this.” He shook his head. “These are incredible.”

“She’s very talented. You should see these, too.”

She gestured for him to flip the pages. The first one was an image of Liam done in crayon, his big head, the sad brown eyes. His expression was perfect, the shading on the folds of dark fur incredibly realistic. He moved to the next page and was surprised to find a drawing of himself. His face, the expression wary. God, did he really look like that to her? But he supposed he did. He
was
wary. But again, the work was really something.

“I can’t believe this.”

“I thought it might be good if you could get her some paper and perhaps some charcoals to use at home,” Ruth suggested.

“Sure. Of course.” He closed the drawing tablet and handed it back to Ruth, who sat in her chair once more. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“Angel mentioned she’s talked with you, but I don’t know if her ideas about whether or not she’s actually given you useful information are accurate. You know about the woman who raised her? The one she calls ‘The Grandmother’?”

“Yeah. She talks about her a lot. She seems attached to her. I don’t get it. The woman obviously did some awful things to her. Things I can barely stand to imagine.”

Ruth nodded. “She was the source of the ritual abuse Angel suffered. The one who gave her the drugs, although there were others in that compound. I believe this woman is one of those charismatic leaders. There are clearly mental issues, possibly she’s bipolar or psychotic. Obviously I can’t make any sort of conclusive diagnosis, but she definitely is—or was—a dangerous person. Yet someone others would follow. Highly intelligent, from what Angel has said. Able to charm. She’s taken this Christian-based devil worship to an extreme. Twisted it and made it her own, created her own rules. Although Angel’s memories still aren’t clear, and it seems there was a group of other people involved that night, I absolutely believe that she was the one responsible for the attempt on Angel’s life. Angel told me today that The Grandmother was the one who put those cuts on her shoulder blades.”

“Yeah, those are crazy. What do you think those are about?” Declan asked her. “I have some ideas.”

“It appears—and what I know about this Grandmother woman’s beliefs make it more apparent—that they were to make room for wings to sprout.”

“Jesus. The woman is really sick.”

“Yes. But you also have to understand that she taught Angel, provided her with a home, and tasks that gave her a sense of purpose. Many parents don’t offer their own children more.”

“I guess so. But it all seems insane to me. Can she really love the woman? Or is it some unhealthy attachment Angel needs to learn to let go of?”

“Both, perhaps. Love is love, Declan. It doesn’t simply go away, no matter the source.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Why did he feel angry? Defensive, suddenly.

Ruth was watching him, her dark gaze on his face. She said very carefully, “No, I don’t think it does.”

They were both quiet for several moments. He knew she was thinking of his relationship with his father. He
was.
But he was not going to discuss that with her.

He clenched and unclenched his fists in his lap. When Ruth’s gaze flicked to his hands he stopped doing it.

“Are we done?” he asked. Demanded.

He didn’t mean to sound so harsh. Rude. But he had to get out of there.

Ruth maintained her serene expression. “Yes, for today. I hope you’ll come back and talk with me. I’d like to see you once each month, if that’s possible.”

“Yeah, sure. That’s fine,” he said. “Look, I don’t want to leave Angel waiting.”

Partially true, but a lousy excuse for his shitty behavior. Still, it would have to do for now.

He stood. So did Ruth.

“You’re going back to work soon?” she asked him.

“On Tuesday. I have Sundays and Mondays off, so I can bring Angel here to see you on Mondays. I have a medical services van scheduled to bring her here on Thursdays.”

Ruth nodded. “Good.”

“I figure she’ll be okay at my place while I’m at work. She can get around enough to fix herself lunch.”

“I think she’ll be fine. She’s not at all nervous about it. She tells me your dog, Liam, will be there with her, to watch over her.”

“He will. He’s totally in love with her already.”

Why the sudden ache in his chest?

“I’ll see Angel on Monday, then.”

“Thanks.”

She reached out to shake his hand once more, and he took it. She really was a tiny thing. Like his mother.

Don’t even go there.

He opened the door and found Angel reading a magazine.

“Ready to go, Angel?”

“Yes.”

Her smile was dazzling, as always, lighting up her face.

He helped her outside and into his truck, got in and pulled onto the highway.

“Hungry?” he asked her.

“I am.”

“Why don’t we stop somewhere for lunch? Are you up to it?”

“Stop?”

“Uh, there are places we can go for meals. Restaurants. Cafés.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve read about such places.”

“I’ll take you someplace quiet, since this is your first outing.” He turned to her, realization dawning. “Angel, this is your very first outing.”