My Angel (62 page)

He would make amends, if she'd only let him.

"You wouldn't fight me?" He was asking, he realized.

"I don't want you to do this," she said weakly, her voice a ragged sigh.

The words knifed his heart. She didn't want him to make love to her, but if he kissed her, if he seduced her, she wouldn't tell him no. "I understand," he said. But his patience was at an end. All he wanted was a kiss--one of her soft soul-shattering kisses--and he'd leave her alone until she understood he meant to do right by her.

He wouldn't compromise her.

This time they would do it all her way.

The right way.

~
 
* ~

She'd never felt so unsure of herself in her life. Devil had appeared out of nowhere and stolen her heart. How many times had he already done that?

Too many to count.

Fool.

Still, when he pulled her close, when he lifted her chin gently so that his mouth could cover hers, she let him. His tongue exploring, teasing her lips apart, warmed her soul, touched a part of her that had been dead for so long. His powerful, hard shoulders were beneath her fingertips, and she didn't want to let him go. Not now. Not ever.

She explored.

Need blossomed within her. She ran her hands up his thighs, resting them on the seat of his denims, then up his long back until they sifted through his hair.

A whimper of desire pulsed in the back of her throat. She opened to him, accepting his kisses and the yearning she felt inside. His hands were exploring her, resting for a moment on her hips and then moving along her sides until his thumbs touched the undersides of her breasts. Her blouse fell open, and she felt the fabric of his shirt against her tender, swollen nipples.

"Alexi." His name on her lips made him groan his desire, his hands roaming over her breasts. His tongue was deep inside her mouth, plundering.

All she could think was that it had been so long, so very long. She wanted his touch, yearned for his kisses, but she knew she had to have his love first.

That thought--along with his mouth descending to cover a nipple--was like a splash of frigid water on her senses. She gasped a soft "no" and pulled away. Her face heated with embarrassment, desire and anger.

How dared he come here and start what was supposed to be dead and gone? There could be nothing between them. He would only trample her fragile emotions into the dirt.

Frantically pulling her shut together, she bent down to retrieve the sleeping child. Once again he was faster, scooping little Alexi into his arms, a wistful look on his implacable features.

"I won't be your mistress," she told him. "I won't!" This time her words took on a new strength and determination.

"I thought you knew the offer was rescinded a long time ago," he said, his voice husky with need, his eyes reflecting a deep sorrow.

"Don't touch me again,'' she told him, her arms outstretched for the child he wouldn't hand over.

His look was filled with the pain of rejection, but his determination never ceased to amaze her. "I will have you, angel. Don't ever doubt it. You're mine. I thought you understood."

"Never."

The lines of his face deepened, and his eyes lost the warmth of the passion they'd just shared. "Never is a long time." His words were soft and deadly.

"You can't seduce me." She shot out the challenge before she had a chance to think of the consequences.

His smile was roguish. He had been walking toward the horses, but he stopped midstride, his chin tucked neatly into his shoulder as he looked back to her, his eyes all she could see. Everything about him was cool assessment and arrogant command.

She balked.

He could seduce her with that look, and he knew it. She melted with a word of love, with a touch. Only a few seconds ago she'd been sweet and hot and wanting him more than life itself.

She stiffened and moved to the horse.

"I think it's time we moved on," she said.

"Perhaps it is," he said, his words a sultry promise, taking on a meaning all their own. "It seems we have company."

~ * ~

"Hello, there." The voice echoed between the mountains.

"Ivan." Alexi strode forward, the babe still tucked neatly in one arm. Ivan stared at the child, then at the boy's mother, and a look of tender amusement twinkled in his eyes.

Sam rode from the protective cover of the stand of aspens.

"Papa."

Foreboding gripped Alexi. He didn't like the look on Sam's face. For that matter, he didn't like the knowing grin plastered on Ivan's smug countenance.

The two of them had put their heads together, and he didn't think he would like what they had come up with.

"What do you want?" One-handed, Alexi helped Angela into the saddle then mounted Jabbar. The babe chortled and cooed delightedly.

"To escort the two of you to a wedding."

Ivan's voice was soft and cajoling. Alexi had never heard his friend sound so insincere in his life.

"Whose?" Angela's voice trembled with what sounded to Alexi like indignation.

He knew her father was behind this, because even as she asked the question, Sam pointed the shotgun at Alexi's heart.

"Yours and Devil's," Sam said with an irritating calm that rocked Alexi to his soul. When he'd talked to Sam earlier, the man had promised to stay out of this and let him mend the broken fences between them.

Alexi could have strangled Angela's father without a thought. All the steps he'd taken--the care he meant to woo Angela with--had now gone up in smoke, because they were being forced to wed by her father.

"No." She bristled like a little wildcat caught between two grizzlies.

He didn't like her answer at all.

"Would you rather he shot me?" The moment the question left his lips, he was sure he'd regret the answer.

She took long enough to form a reply. And with eyes wide and clear she said, "Yes, Papa. Shoot him."

Sam looked stunned. Ivan appeared ready to throw himself in front of the shotgun, even though he'd been an integral part of all this chaos.

"Not until you have his name all nice and legal, Angela. Then I'd be happy to oblige you."

Chapter Twenty-two

Helpless
would sum up all the feelings that churned inside Alexi when he stopped in front of the log cabin and saw White Flower standing beside the door, a shotgun in her hand and a cartful of suitcases and boxes next to her.

Then all sense of control left him when the preacher stepped out of the house, Bible in hand. He could feel Angela stiffen. All the arguments she'd fired at Sam on the way down from the meadow had bounced off Sam's thick skull.

In a few minutes Angela would be his wife.

It was what he'd wanted for over a year now.

She'd be a little hellcat in his arms until he could wrestle with her feelings and convince her he wasn't all bad. That thought sent myriad sensations storming through him like a
Texas
twister.

Too little, too late,
kept popping up in his head. He was over a year too late in marrying her, and he hadn't even had a chance to propose. What woman wouldn't have a bee in her bonnet?

He needed to pull her aside and find out what she was thinking. But he wasn't sure she'd tell him.

She'd had lots of time to succumb to his charms, and it seemed she still wanted to make a point--that point being that he was a low-down, dirty polecat.

He couldn't argue with her there.

But he meant to spend a lifetime making it up to her, if she'd let him.

"Dearly beloved..."

That snapped him to attention. He'd only half concentrated on the unfolding events. He wasn't even sure when he'd dismounted. Angela stood beside him, a nosegay of wildflowers in her hand and tears staining her cheeks.

This wasn't supposed to be happening this way. This hadn't been the bargain he'd struck with Sam. He'd wanted a willing bride.