My Angel (18 page)

She rested against him, her mind and nerves spent. To save her immortal soul, she could not move.

His strong hands soothed and comforted her now that he'd brought her to heaven. Still, all Angela could do was cling to him, hiding her face in the shadows he'd made for her. Pretending he hadn't just touched her intimately on a train where anyone might know what they did left her embarrassed but with no regrets.

Where this man was concerned she would never have reservations or regrets. She had desired him from the moment she had set eyes upon him, had known he was meant for her and her alone.

"I would give you more," he said, still stroking her back, "but someone might notice." He laughed softly, his voice intimate and suggestive.

She lifted her burning cheeks high enough to look through the dirty, smudged window into the train. No one paid them any heed. No one knew or guessed what they had just done. Life went on as it had a few minutes earlier. The train rumbled down the tracks, and the people inside slept uncomfortably on the hard seats.

She began to relax, her tension easing as sleep began to close in around her. Sheltered in his arms, she saw his hardness beneath the fabric of his trousers. She wanted to see her dark, mysterious warlord naked again. She wanted to see his arousal and touch and stroke him as he did her. She wanted to feel him deep inside her.

"We'll go inside now." He swept her into his arms and carried her back to their bench. Settling her on his lap, he let her rest her head against his chest.

"I love you," she said so softly that he barely heard her, but he did and he smiled, a possessive male smile.

He held her tightly and he pretended they slept comfortably, side by side, in his personal car. His angel was like no
woman he'd ever met. Strong and sure of herself, she gave him her loyalty, and he admired her bravery and her innate goodness. Now, besides pillows and a soft bed, he had other plans for Angela and their first union. He intended to make everything perfect for her.

Patience had always been his strong suit, and although he knew Angela was ready and eager for him, he would make her wait. Anticipation would make the loving sweeter and even more enduring.

They were headed to
New York
, and what better place was there to treat Angela to all the luxury he could afford? In
Cheyenne
he'd wired ahead to the Waldorf Hotel and reserved a suite of rooms for their short stay. By his calculations they could waste two days in the luxurious rooms. He would take her to a play or an opera. He'd wine and dine her in the best restaurants. He meant to spend hours making love to her, showing her all the ways he knew of to give and receive pleasure.

~ * ~

Sam Chamberlain wiped the back of his hand across his sweaty brow then pushed hard on the door in front of him. His shirt stuck to his clammy skin, and a line of perspiration beaded on his upper lip. Unseasonably warm weather beat down on the sidewalks and streets of the city. A dry, hot wind whirled between the buildings even while thunderclouds gathered on the horizon.

Stepping from the telegraph office, he strode with his hands clenched at his sides through the streets of
Kansas City
, a man determined to defend his daughter's honor. After he caught Devil Blackmoor, he had every intention of staking him out on the hot desert sand, and asking questions later. He had visions of stripping Devil's flesh from his body slowly, one narrow piece at a time.

Taking a shortcut to the train station, he turned, moving quickly through an alley that ran between a quiet row of houses. All he could hear were his own footsteps and the whistling
wind. The uncanny silence warned him of danger, but not soon enough.

He felt the blade of a knife against his throat, a powerful arm across his chest. Survival instincts kicked in and he tensed, waiting for the right moment to fight back.

"What do you want with the prince?" the man holding the knife at his throat asked while the arm around Sam's neck tightened.

Sam drew in a shallow breath, thinking hard. He tried to keep his voice calm and his wits about him. It wasn't easy. "I don't know who you're talking about. I don't know any princes. Let me go and you can explain yourself."

"It is you who needs to explain. Why are you following the prince?" The man's voice was harsher now and obviously impatient.

This man holding him hostage was danger personified. Sam felt the hardness of him, the breadth of him, and knew his attacker could deliver whatever he promised. Death, it seemed. "I've never met a prince."

"Liar." The word came out in a raspy whisper. "I've no use for liars. You will tell me the truth or you will not live to regret it."

Sam felt a drop of blood slide down his throat, then another. The burly arm around his chest tightened until he could gasp only a tiny drop of air. He found himself slowly drawn into the shadows of the alley he'd carelessly walked down. His life flashed before him.

"You've got the wrong man." He choked out one painful word at a time. Sam tried to reason with the giant. "I'm willing to cooperate."

"I think not. I heard you asking questions in the saloon a few minutes ago; then I followed you. Tell me what you want with him and I'll let you go."

"Now who's lying?" Sam asked. "You're not about to let me go."

"You have one second. Talk."

"All right." Sam agreed rather than waste time, still unsure
who this prince was--but he did know who he'd been asking questions about.

The man's arm tightened around Sam's chest. He found it harder to breathe, and speech wasn't any easier. He had the most uncomfortable thought that the man wanted to know about Devil Blackmoor. The man couldn't be a prince. Or could he?

"The man I'm looking for kidnapped my daughter. I have every intention of finding him and bringing him back for trial." Sam didn't dare tell this man that he meant to stake Devil out and let the buzzards see to his end.

"Now who's lying?"

When the man's arm tightened once more, Sam grunted.

"The prince wouldn't do that. He has no need to abduct a man's daughter. Women follow him like bees to honey. Some are after his money and title. Others want his body. He is, some would say, an insatiable man, but he would never kidnap a woman. Your lie is laughable." The man behind Sam loosened his hold. "He is traveling with a woman, his newest mistress. I'd advise you to look to the woman you call daughter for answers, not to the prince."

"My daughter is a virgin, and I don't like what you're implying." Sam's jaw tightened and he spit the furious words at the man.

The man laughed and let go of Sam, his knife still ready. "I imply nothing. I state only the truth. According to the messages I've received from the prince, the woman is planning on making the trip home to
Russia
with him. There is nothing you can do to stop the prince from doing whatever he pleases."

"And I suppose you make sure he gets whatever he pleases.'' Sam barely controlled his fury. Facing his adversary, Sam knew he'd encounter death if that was what this man intended. At least two hundred fifty pounds of pure muscle stared him down.

"That is part of my job," the man agreed. "I also protect the prince with my life."

"Then you're going to have to make sure I stay alive. If the prince"--and Sam let the word
prince
hang on the air in a derogatory manner--"wants to keep my daughter happy, that
is, you'd best see that I'm still breathing when I meet this paragon."

The man smiled broadly. "I've no intention of killing you." On his pants leg, he wiped Sam's blood off his knife and held out his hand. "It is the American custom for friends to shake hands in greeting. My name is Misha. I am cousin to the prince, and his protector and confidant."

One eyebrow quirked, "Friends? That is debatable. You and I are at cross purposes," Sam said, his tone rife with sarcasm now that the knife wasn't slicing his neck open. He extended his own hand. "Sam Chamberlain."

"Well, Sam Chamberlain, we have much in common. I want to keep the prince happy and you want to protect your daughter. I believe that at the moment your daughter is keeping my prince very happy indeed."

As if Misha noticed the immediate scowl those words brought forth, he tempered his next words.

"Alexi will not hurt her. It is not his way. He will make love to her, protect and cherish her as long as she is a willing partner, and then he will let her go, making sure she will want for nothing the rest of her life. You have naught to fear from Alexi."

"He will marry her," Sam gritted out between clenched teeth. He was determined to set Misha straight. "He will marry her or he will die refusing me. I care not which happens. She will never willingly be his mistress."

"He cannot wed her. He is duty-bound to bring an heir into the world, and he could never marry a commoner. His grandmother already has his mate picked out for him."

"There is nothing common about my daughter. His grandmother can unpick his mate." Sam's voice resonated deep in his chest, his fury growing with each arrogant statement out of Misha's mouth.

Misha looked down at Sam. There was a condescending air about the giant, yet there was sorrow in his eyes. "I understand how you must feel, but it is already too late. Come," he said. "We've a train to
New York
to catch. I'd advise you to go home, but I doubt you'd listen to me. Shall we speak more of
this while we ride? Perhaps I can make you realize what is at stake here."

"Perhaps I can enlighten you." Sam's voice took on a decided chill. "He will marry Angela."