Nobody's Angel (26 page)

Marc looked down at the coffee mug. “Look, I just needed to help her get over a hurdle. There’s nothing between us.” His gaze met Luke’s again. “But I don’t want her to be alone. Which one of us is going to go in there?”

Hell, Marc had more of a claim on her at this point. He couldn’t just show up in her bedroom like he had some right to be there.

“Go. She’ll be more comfortable with you.”

“Don’t call Tony. She doesn’t want her brothers to know, and I plan to honor that wish—unless they need to know.”

Luke knew it was a bad idea to even entertain the thought of bringing her to Denver with them. What were they supposed to do with her when they got there? He had a one-bedroom townhouse. Marc had plenty of room, but did he want to throw them together? Could he compete with Marc? Even if Marc said there was nothing between him and Angel, what about her? She’d sure sounded interested in him in there.

Damn.

What now?

* * *

Marc eased back into bed with Angelina and stretched out on his back, afraid if he touched her, she’d awaken. Or that she’d awaken parts of him best left sleeping.

His movements didn’t cause her to move a muscle, so exhausted was she from the attack by Asshole—and more pleasant activities. She needed as much rest as she could get.

The coffee had revived him, not that he would have let sleep claim him tonight. Someone needed to watch over her in case Asshole returned.

But what the fuck was going to do about Luke? He had no clue the man had something like that eating away at him. Hell, Marc knew first-hand how that kind of guilt could mess with a man’s mind. He’d been counting on Luke pursuing her, if for no other reason than to keep him away from her. Telling her about Maggie’s death in connection with her papa’s would just drive her away from Luke. Marc wanted his friend to establish some kind of relationship with her to keep himself from giving in to his own attraction to her.

Yeah, he wasn’t sure when or how it had happened, but he’d begun to fall, and fall hard, for the little angel lying beside him. When was the last time he’d spent the night in bed with a woman—well, a sleeping woman, that is? He could easily have slept on the sofa and sent Luke in here. He told himself someone needed to be with her because of Asshole, but, in truth, he just wanted to be near her.

He covered his eyes with his forearm and saw images of her smooth skin covered in gooseflesh as he’d traced patterns over her skin. Of her nipples puckering. Of her mouth open and gasping in wonder as he’d discovered her G-spot. His cock tightened. He’d been hard since dinner.

Why hadn’t he buried himself inside her? She’d have welcomed him. Shit, she’d even begged him. So, when had he developed morals about such things? He told himself, it was because he hadn’t brought any condoms. But, if he’d been determined to have sex with her, he’d have found a box of condoms somewhere in town, even if he had to hit every gas-station head within the city limits. No, a lack of condoms wasn’t the issue.

Angelina was the issue. Vulnerable, curious, and very Italian Angelina.

What the hell power did she have over him? Was it about the rescue at the club last month? Or finding her bloodied and bruised in her doorway last night? His guts twisted at both images.

But Italian? That created a major conflict for him.

No, not because of Melissa. He’d come to realize rather quickly that he’d never loved her. That had been carnal, pure and simple. Well, maybe pure wasn’t the right word.

Fuck, he couldn’t have loved anyone back then anyway. He was shit-hot, the Italian stallion of Aspen; a gift from the gods to all womankind. He snorted in self-derision. Of course, it didn’t help that the women had laid themselves out before him as if on a smorgasbord.

Angelina stirred and he turned to watch her sleeping. She wasn’t a gold-digger like Melissa either. She was exciting, curious, and full of life. She also was sweet. Hell, she could have been his sister, Carmella. Okay, he wouldn’t go that far. Then again, maybe the fact that she did remind him of Carmella made her so dangerous to him. He wouldn’t want any man hurting his sister. With his track record, he had no doubt she would be yet another casualty of Marc D’Alessio.

The thought of
being
dominated might terrify her, but he was equally terrified of dominating
her
. He’d failed her once, albeit unintentionally. But what if he did so again, this time intentionally or recklessly?

She scared him shitless.

But she wasn’t his, so why was he even entertaining the thought of anything more? Marc suffered a pang of guilt that he’d unleashed the submissive buried within her tonight. If Luke didn’t swing that way, it could create problems for them in a future relationship. But better they deal with it sooner than later. If she ignored her sexual nature and chose a safe marriage, she’d only have regrets later because she’d denied and closed off a vital part of herself.

Marriage. Marc certainly wasn’t looking for those shackles. He’d come too close with Melissa and then Pamela to ever chance taking that path again. But Luke was the marrying kind. Angelina deserved someone like him. Stable, faithful, trustworthy. Hell, Luke would probably even play at being Dom if he knew that would please Angelina.

Not the same as being a natural Dom, but perhaps that would be enough for Angelina. Most men could get excited about bondage games, at least. He had no doubt she would surrender to restraints again, with a man she trusted.

Now how was he going to get her to trust him and Luke enough to agree to going to Denver and staying with one of them until things blew over with that abusive bastard Allen Martin?

Chapter Fifteen

A buzzing in her ears caused Angelina to swat at empty air over her face. The buzzing sounded again. Opening an eye to see what flying pest had invaded her bedroom on this early fall morning, she found herself curled up on an unfamiliar and very hard surface. The firm arm supporting her shoulders finally registered in her addled brain.

Mio, Dio!
Heat flooded her cheeks and she fought the urge to spring up and run away. Marc’s chest.

Buzzzzz.

The source of the annoying vibration registered in her head at last. Her phone. She raised up and saw her handbag sitting on the nightstand. How had it gotten in here? It sat next to a bowl of water, a washcloth inside it, a Hershey bar, and Nonna’s pattern-tracing wheel. She remembered some of the items from last night. Too bad they hadn’t gotten to the chocolate, though. Her stomach growled.

When the buzzing stopped, her attention was drawn back to Marc’s massive chest. His right forearm covered his eyes. Was he sleeping? She couldn’t tell. His breathing seemed slow, shallow.

Half sitting now, she tried to ignore the pain radiating across her shoulders and cheek, and in all of the muscles she’d used to fight off Allen’s attack last night.

She brushed her cheek against the springy hairs on his chest, which tickled the whisker-burned skin on her chin. Last night, she’d run her fingers through those soft, coarse hairs. Unable to resist, she splayed her fingers open and dove into the soft sprinkling of hair again.

Her hand gravitated to his pectoral, and she flicked a thumbnail over the pebbled nip. She felt his heartbeat kick it up a notch under her cheek. Knowing he wasn’t sleeping, she grew bolder and let her hand trail down his right side, until she brushed over what felt like puckered flesh.

Marc’s body grew tense as her fingers explored the area—about the size of a silver dollar. Raising up, she leaned over and the angry-looking pink and white scar sucked every ounce of air from her lungs. The silvery ridges on the puckered skin told of a deep and violent injury. She touched him, wincing as if she might hurt him. Tears sprang to her eyes. Here she was complaining about some minor aches and pains, when Marc had been seriously injured.

“Long time ago,” Marc said.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“Fallujah.”

Oh, God. Iraq. He’d been wounded. “Oh, Marc, I had no idea.”

“It’s nothing compared to what happened to some of the men with me.”

She scooted off him and looked into his sad green eyes. She’d reminded him of a nightmarish time in his life and now wanted to comfort him. Taking his arm, she pulled him toward her; eventually, he complied and rolled onto his side. Okay, he obviously wanted to turn, or she wouldn’t have gotten him to budge. Once there, he stared, waiting, but said nothing.

Thoughts of the pain he must have experienced when wounded caused a tear to spill from her eye. She blinked rapidly to dry her eyes. “If you ever need to talk about it, I’m a good listener.”

He remained silent, serious. She didn’t think he would say anything. Didn’t most of veterans keep their private hell to themselves or share only with those who had been there? Compelled to find some small way to honor his sacrifice and his injury, she moved his arm, exposing the scar to her gaze, then bent over and kissed the puckered skin. She heard his sudden indrawn breath as her lips touched his warm and battered skin. With the tip of her tongue, she laved the area and placed tiny kisses all around it.

His hands grabbed her upper arms and he pulled her away. He cupped her cheek and turned her face toward his. “That’s about the sweetest kiss I’ve ever received,
cara.
” His voice sounded husky with emotion and more tears spilled down her face. He brushed her hair back from her face and studied her as if he couldn’t quite figure her out.

Needing more intimate contact with him, she reclined facing him and leaned toward him, opening her mouth to capture his lips in an inquisitive kiss. In one fluid motion, he rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. Grabbing the back of her head to prevent her escape, he deepened the kiss. Just when she thought her lungs would explode, he broke away.

“
Buongiorno
,
bella
. I like how your body wakes up. Am I still your Dom this morning?”

The phone buzzed again. “I’d better get that.”

He chuckled, obviously aware of her evasion to his question. Was he still her Dom? Did she want him to be? Did he? Oh, God. He’d be leaving soon. Better that they just put the whole Dom/sub thing behind them.

She reached over to pick up her handbag, but the buzzing stopped by then. She realized it had been voicemail, not an incoming call. Still, she needed to see who called. She didn’t have any catering jobs this week and sure could use one. Opening the handbag, she retrieved the phone, glancing down to see it had been Mama.

She laid it on the nightstand when Marc’s hand cupped her left breast and squeezed the nipple until it swelled, distracting her. He wrapped his arm around her back and rolled them both over until their positions were reversed and he propped himself above her chest on his elbows. As he had done last night, his lower body pressed hers into the mattress. His erection, very much concealed in his pants, bobbed against her mons.

Marc hadn’t even come yet. What was he waiting for? Several times she’d offered to take care of his needs, but each time he had stopped her.

Her heart constricted with regret. He and Luke had made her feel safe for the first time in seven years—and sexually alive for the first time in…forever. How cruel was fate to give her a glimpse of such carnal deliciousness, only to sentence her to a life of sexual blandness?

Marc pinched her right nipple, reclaiming her attention, and her clit throbbed its response, eagerly awaiting his further ministrations. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“That I’m going to miss you and Luke when you’re gone.” She closed her eyes. No sense wondering about what could have been. She was a pragmatist—and she wasn’t going to Denver. Between Papa’s death on the mountain there and her disastrous trip to the fetish club with Allen, the city held nothing but bad memories. If she’d trusted her instincts and stayed away last month, she wouldn’t have suffered at Allen’s hands.

Marc bit her nipple. “Ow! What was that for?”

“You were thinking unpleasant thoughts again.”

Angelina rubbed her nipple. There were some things she wouldn’t miss about Marc. He was dictatorial, domineering…

Attentive, adorable.

Whoa! Marc? Adorable? She really needed more sleep. Well, she had the whole afternoon to nap after they left. This morning, she didn’t want to miss a thing by sleeping. But she needed to call Mama back. And find a toothbrush. And make them breakfast. And take a shower. Not necessarily in that order.

Marc’s hand returned to stroking her breast. The man certainly had a fixation. He bent down to take her nipple in his mouth, his teeth trapping the base of the swollen button as his tongue flicked over the sensitive tip rapidly. She inhaled sharply, grabbing the sides of his head, then held her breath. Her clit throbbed, answering his tongue stroke for stroke.

She closed her eyes, giving in to the sensations. “Oh, God.”

He released her nipple and when he didn’t go further, she looked down at him. He glanced up and smiled. “I’ll never get my fill of your breasts.”

His words suffused her with warmth from the top of her head to her curled toes. She still couldn’t get used to the fact he found her so sexy. Of course, he’d have to get his fill very soon, because he’d be leaving in a few hours.

Sobered by the thought, she gave him a nudge. “I need to make a call.”

He sighed and rolled off of her and she moved to sit up on the side of the bed. Ow! She couldn’t stop the groan that escaped. The pain in her shoulders at the exertion brought her hands up to massage the tender muscles. Marc knelt behind her and brushed her hands and hair aside. He gently, but firmly, eased the tense and knotted muscles, careful to avoid the bruises.

She sighed and picked up the phone again. “I really do need to call Mama back,” she said, hitting a speed-dial number.

* * *

Marc smiled and pinched her nipples again for good measure. He’d bide his time.

“Hi, Mama.”

He let his fingers trace a path down her sexy back. He’d first been turned on by this view last month at the club. The catch in her voice as she chatted with her mama made him smile. She waved him away several times, like a pesky fly. She might want to ignore or dismiss him, but he chose to ignore her wishes at the moment. His time as her Dom was dwindling and his fleeting sub deserved his undivided attention.