Angel of Desire (11 page)

His little spy tasted as good as he'd known she would. Lord, she was sweet. And soft. Her lips were warm and avid, although strangely inexperienced.

She was kissing him back with such fervor that their teeth clinked, but he could sense her curiosity, her uncertainty. "Open your mouth for me, Sister Rachel." His thumb tugged gently downward on her chin.

She did as instructed. When Shade's tongue slid seductively between her parted lips, she let out a soft cry.

Rachel had no idea that men and women kissed in such a manner. At first, she felt self-conscious and awkward for allowing such intimacy. She remained still, accepting the tender invasion, offering him the sweetness he craved.

Gradually the kiss became deeper. And hotter. The sensations were disorienting, worlds different from anything Rachel had ever experienced before.

Shade's bold tongue plunged then retreated, then plunged again, taking what his aching body craved. His arousal was hard against her belly and each time his raiding tongue dove deeply into her mouth, he pushed against her, creating a firestorm within her awakening flesh.

Her whimper of longing was nearly drowned out by his own groan of need. She twined her arms tightly around his neck; her tongue mated with his, at first tentatively, then with a burning passion that equaled the flames blazing like wildfire inside her.

Her straining breasts were flattened by his chest; a thick, aching heaviness had settled between her thighs. In an instinctive attempt to ease it, she pressed against him, unaware that her hips had begun to move erotically against his tumescent flesh.

Shade was used to having his body burn in response to a woman. He was accustomed to a woman's touch making his blood hot and he knew the ability of a woman's mouth to fog his mind. But this was different.

Never
had Shade experienced such passion from a mere kiss. The more he drank, the more he wanted. Lord, he couldn't get enough of her. Never had he wanted a woman more than he wanted Rachel Parrish at that moment. He wanted her with an intensity that bordered terrifyingly on need.

Which was why he forced himself to pull back.

Silence descended. It took Shade a full minute to control himself. It took Rachel even longer.

Her breathing was ragged, her senses were reeling. She was shaken. And ashamed. She could not believe she'd responded to him in such a wanton fashion!

In a regrettable display of distressingly feminine pride, Rachel had wanted Shade to find her desirable. She'd wanted him to react to her as an attractive, alluring woman rather than some colorless, celibate nun. She had wanted him to respond to her like a man to a woman.

And he had. The unfortunate problem was that she'd gotten far more than she had wished for. Because Shade had responded with more passion than she ever could have dreamed possible. Kissing Shade had been like riding astride a wild tiger: thrilling and dangerous all at the same time. It was a ride she knew she was going to have to pay dearly for, a ride she must never dare take again.

Shade was studying her, his expression shadowed and brooding.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you, Sister Rachel?"

"As are you, Mr. Blackstone," she murmured.

"Sounds like we might just be a match made in heaven, Sister."

Her ravished lips curved in a faint, secretive smile. "Perhaps we are."

Despite the fact that Shade was standing too close, despite the fact that her body was still racked with feelings she could not understand, Rachel was almost beginning to relax.

She should have known that the congenial moment couldn't last.

"Or hell," he taunted.

The brief truce was over; the old Shade was back.

"Did you kiss me in order to make me talk?" she demanded.

He surprised her by laughing at that. "Actually I'd prefer you didn't talk. At least not while I'm kissing you. It should have been more than apparent, Sister Rachel, that I kissed you because I want to. And because no matter what you say, you wanted to kiss me, too."

"Heaven help me, I did." She was gazing up at him with regretful fascination.

"I told you, heaven doesn't have a damn thing to do with what's going on here, sweetheart." His fingers cupped her chin, tilting her head to his liking.

Even as she told herself it was wicked, Rachel made no attempt to move away. Instead, she stood still. Waiting.

And then he was kissing her again.

Every nerve ending in his body had narrowed down to his lips, to the ultrasensitive tip of his tongue. The unfamiliar, amazingly erotic sensation fascinated him.

Heaven
. He took his time, drinking from Rachel's lips with a slow, lingering pleasure that made it seem as if time had stopped, just for him. For them. Shade savored Rachel's sweet taste and, for the first time in his rocky life, found himself almost believing in the mythical nirvana.

Not only did she resemble an ethereal angel who'd stepped into his life from the ceiling of some medieval cathedral, she kissed like one, too. Her lips, which had revealed her inexperience, now moved on his with a silky, sensual skill.

The kiss was more than a meeting of lips and teeth and tongue, it was a mating of minds. Of hearts. Of souls.

As he drew her closer, sinking deeper and deeper into the prolonged kiss, Shade felt as if he'd waited his entire life for this suspended moment in time. For this woman.

Rachel's mind was clouded with a gilt-edged haze, her resolve, her innocence, her mission, all were forgotten as she felt herself drowning in his warmth, his taste, his scent. Her fingers clutched at his shirt; she arched against him, needing, demanding more.

Another moment of this and Shade knew he'd be lost. Seducing Rachel would not be all that difficult. Hell, if the way she was moving that lush little body against his was any indication, it would be a piece of cake. All it would take would be a little kiss here, a lingering touch there, and she'd be his. At least for the afternoon.

As his aroused body screamed for relief, Shade contemplated going for it.

But common sense, along with a strong self-survival instinct that had kept him alive against all odds during his turbulent, dangerous lifetime, reminded him that it was imperative that Rachel surrender not only her body but her will, as well.

She was still lying to him, dammit. She was still keeping secrets. Secrets that could prove fatal.

So, as difficult as it was, his mind forced his body to forgo what could only be a partial, temporary victory.

When he attempted to end the kiss, Rachel whimpered a faint protest. The soft sound caused his lower body to press painfully against the unyielding zipper of his jeans.

With a self-control that surprised even him, Shade managed to back away yet again from temptation. Both literally and physically.

Rachel stared up at him, her unguarded heart shining in her eyes. If she was faking, Shade considered, the woman was wasting her time playing spy versus spy. Because anyone with that much acting talent definitely belonged in Hollywood.

"Later," he said, his voice roughened with unsatiated need. Unable to resist the silent appeal of those lustrous pewter eyes, he ran the back of his hand down her face and was rewarded by her tremor of lingering desire.

"There can't be a later."

Caught up in his own regret, Shade didn't find her wording peculiar. Later, when his body had cooled and his mind had cleared, he wondered why she had chosen the word
can't
rather than the more decisive
won't
.

"Now that's where you're wrong, Sister Rachel." He traced her bruised lips with a slow, lazy, arrogant thumb. "There most certainly will be a later. And believe me, sweetheart, it's going to be well worth the wait."

Still shaken, Rachel decided that it was time—past time—to make herself perfectly clear regarding her unwillingness to become yet another of Shade's conquests.

"If we're going to be traveling together, we must set some rules."

"We already have rules, remember?" He couldn't resist reaching up to play with a tendril of hair that had sprung loose of its pins. "My rules."

While he absently played with the honey curl, his dark eyes took another slow tour of her now taut body. "You're about an eight."

"An eight?"

"Don't worry, I'm not rating you. If I were, you'd be at least a twelve on a ten-point scale."

Those chauvinistic words should not have given her so much pleasure. But heaven help her, they did. Rachel felt the color rise in her cheeks and wished she could stop this embarrassing habit of blushing.

"I was referring to your dress size. You're an eight, right?"

"Oh."

She had no idea. How was she to explain that the concept of ready-to-wear had not yet been conceived in her day. As for the dresses she was wearing on this trip, Joshua had arranged to have them waiting for her in her hotel room.

Rachel belatedly realized that Shade was waiting for an answer.

Deciding that there was probably no more knowledgeable expert on female bodies than Shade Blackstone, she said, "An eight should be fine."

He nodded his satisfaction. "I thought so." She watched as he picked up the phone and dialed. "Hi, it's me," he said when the voice on the other end of the line answered. "I need some clothes. No, not for me, this is for a woman."

He held the phone away from his ear for a minute. "Come on, Liz," he protested, "I told you, this is strictly business. Size eight. The sexier the better." He grinned. "Ouch. Is that any way for a future doctor's wife to talk?"

His voice was warm and friendly and intimate. It was also missing the gritty edge she was accustomed to hearing whenever he talked to her.

Experiencing an unsettling stab of something that felt like jealousy, Rachel turned away and began to pretend interest in the leather-bound books lining the library shelves.

"I'll need some ID, too. I told you, she's a midwife. No, wait a minute," Shade corrected on second thought. "That sounds too respectable. It's also too dangerous, considering how the general feels about foreign medical people operating in his little fiefdom."

He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "How about administrative assistant? That's the kind of ambiguous term that can mean just about anything."

He fell silent again, making Rachel wish she could hear the other side of the conversation. For a woman accustomed to being able to view the entire world—at least the part she was responsible for—Rachel was finding her limited knowledge of what was going on around her increasingly frustrating.

"That's my girl," Shade wound up the conversation. "Thanks, sweetheart. I owe you one." He replaced the receiver in its cradle. "Your new wardrobe will be delivered by dinner."

"I'm so pleased."

Her short tone earned only a shrug. "You wanted to go to Yaznovia, sweetheart. Well, now you're going."

"By your rules."

She picked up a round black marble paperweight from its antique brass holder atop the desk and, for a rash, fleeting moment, actually considered throwing it at Shade's frustratingly arrogant head. With effort, she managed to constrain herself to merely passing it from hand to hand.

He nodded. His eyes turned hard. "Always." The single word, spoken so quietly, and with such repressed violence, was, Rachel knew all too well, a warning.

Chapter Six