I'm No Angel (14 page)

“Easy, sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing her lips gently. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

He slipped his middle finger inside her. She
was hot and wet and tight and her legs were like a vise.

Muscles clenched inside her as he worked his finger in and out. God, he'd never known a woman to be so tight, to clamp around him. He slipped a second finger inside her, needing to release some of her tension, needing to stroke her deep and make her feel everything he wanted her to feel.

He swirled his thumb over that warm, tender little nub of flesh and nerves and her body froze. Her eyes flashed open in something close to horror.

“Stop,” she nearly screamed. “Please.”

It took a second or two for the words to register, and then he halted. His breathing came in ragged gasps as he withdrew his fingers. His entire body ached with the need to be inside her, but not like this. Not if she fought the pleasure he wanted to give her.

Not if she was afraid of him.

He rested on top of her, cradling her face in his hands and trying to understand what was going on inside her head. “What's wrong? Did I hurt you?”

Angel shook her head, then pushed at his chest and rolled out from under him. “I need to go.”

He grasped her arm, but not so tightly that she couldn't pull away if she was desperate to leave. “Maybe you should stay so we can talk about what just happened.”

“There's nothing to talk about.”

Angel tugged out of his grasp, rolled out of bed, and ran from the room, disappearing from his view, from his arms.

Tom's gut tightened. He'd had women leave his bed before, but not before they had sex. It was always afterward. After they'd found pleasure in each other's bodies and they'd both been drained of energy. There was usually a quick kiss, a smile, and a wave, because the women he'd known hadn't wanted a commitment any more than he had.

But Angel was different.

Damn it. He didn't want her to be different. He wanted to have sex with her. Wanted her to enjoy it. Didn't want any commitments.

Hell, he didn't want her to be scared. Or special.

And he didn't want her to run away. He wanted her too damn much.

 

What the hell was she doing? Angel wondered, as she breezed through the French doors, struggling to pull the tight spandex dress over her breasts, clutching her shoes plus her stiletto and garter in one hand and searching for her purse.

She needed to get away before Tom confronted her, before he called her a tease and a frigid bitch like the last guy she'd allowed to go almost as far as Tom had gotten.

But it didn't appear she needed to worry about that. Tom was nowhere in sight. He was probably fast asleep in bed, figuring she wasn't worth yelling at or berating.

She spotted her purse on top of the piano. Grabbing it quickly, she turned to run for the front door and her car, and ended up running into Tom's powerful chest. His fingers dug into her arms, holding her almost at arm's length.

Slowly she looked up and saw the chill in his eyes. She tried to avoid them by gazing at the door, by wishing that she could will herself through it, into her car, and into her home, where she could pretend that none of this had happened.

God, she needed to get away.

“I have to go home, Tom.”

“No, you don't,” he said brusquely. “We need to talk.”

“There's nothing to talk about.” She twisted out of his hold and ran for the door, but he caught her again, spinning her around, holding her tight.

“Tell me what the hell happened upstairs.”

“It's pretty damn obvious, isn't it?”

“The only thing that was obvious to me was that for some goddamned reason you were scared shitless. You were so damn tight I could hardly get my fingers inside you. But it was also pretty damn obvious that you wanted me to make love to you, and you can bet your bottom dollar I wouldn't have stopped and you would have enjoyed every second of it if you hadn't brought everything to a screeching halt.”

Her jaw tightened. “I brought it to a screeching halt because it shouldn't have happened in the first place.”

“You said the same thing about kissing me when we were parked in front of Frederike LeVien's place, but you know damn good and well you enjoyed that kiss and all of the others we shared tonight just as much as I did. You liked that lap dance, too. Didn't you?”

“Of course I did. But—”

“But what?” His hold tightened. His eyes blazed. “Do you have some dreaded disease you're afraid to tell me about? Are you going to turn into a frog if we make love?”

“Maybe I'm just frigid,” she lied, knowing he wouldn't want to hear and probably wouldn't care about the real reason. “Maybe I hate sex.”

“Bullshit. You were hot. You were wet. You were slick, and I could hear every moan, every purr, every growl deep down in your throat. I felt your muscles tighten around my fingers. I watched your breasts heave. Damn it, Angel, a woman who's frigid or hates sex doesn't react in any of those ways. A woman who's frigid or hates sex wouldn't be a turn-on to a man, and let me tell you, sweetheart, you turn me on more than any woman I've ever laid eyes on. Now,” he said, his breathing hard and deep, “are you going to tell me what the hell happened up there?”

She wasn't ready to tell him. How could she tell him what she didn't understand herself?

She jerked out of his arms and walked back to the open French doors. The cool breeze fluttered around her as she stared out at the brightly lit palms.

Behind her she heard Tom's labored breathing. Heard it calm, then felt his hands sliding around her waist, his fingers clasping over her stomach. He cradled her back against his chest, his cheek brushing against hers. He didn't say a word, he just held her close for the longest time. Comforting her in a way no man had ever comforted her.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she relaxed in his arms.

“Want a glass of wine?” he asked softly.

Angel shook her head. “No, but thanks.”

“Chocolate? I might have an old Hershey bar lying around somewhere.”

His teasing made her smile. It surprised her that he could laugh or even want to comfort her after what had happened, and she couldn't help but ask, “Why are you still holding me?”

“I like the way you feel.” His voice whispered against her cheek. “I like everything about you, Angel, and I'm not about to let you out of my arms until you tell me what's wrong. I can't help unless I know.”

Could she put her trust in a man she'd known only two days? Could she bare her soul to him?

She folded her hands over his, and his warmth and strength seeped into her. She felt his compassion and an unexplainable need that seemed so much like her own.

Slowly she let her words, her thoughts flow out to Tom. “Do you have any idea what it's like to want someone desperately? To want to be held and touched and kissed? To have your insides ache with a need you can't even express?”

“I'm feeling all of those things right now,” Tom answered.

Angel turned in his arms. Her breasts rubbed softly against his chest and her heart beat gently, as she looked deep into his eyes. “Before you had sex the first time, do you remember having dreams that it would be wonderful and exciting?”

He laughed, but Angel knew it wasn't her question he found funny; it had to be the memory of that first time. “It was a long time ago, but yeah, I remember those feelings.”

“Is it always wonderful and exciting for you?”

“I'm a man. It always feels good. Some times are better than others.” He kissed her softly, his lips lingered a moment, and then he pulled back just the slightest amount, and looked at her with gently caressing eyes. “Sometimes you know it's going to be good even before you get to the sex. There's a connection. Something that just feels so damn right.”

“And then it's great when you get to the sex. Right?”

“Well…” He laughed again. “Yeah.”

“This is crazy,” Angel said, bolting across the room. “I've told you way too much.”

Tom stopped her retreat, tugging her back into his arms. “You haven't told me a thing, you've just asked a lot of questions. But you know what?” His eyes narrowed. “I seem to be getting a pretty good picture of what's going on here.”

“What do you mean?”

“You're a tease, Angel.” She felt her body stiffen at his words. “You dress to kill wearing kick-ass high heels and tight dresses and stripping in front of a man and telling him he's not getting anything more.”

“You think
I'm
a tease?” she tossed back. “You've hit me with one sexual innuendo after another from the first second we met.”

“Yeah, but I'm not the one walking away right now.”

“Most men do.” Anger erupted inside her. “They get pissed off because I won't go all the way.”

“Does that piss you off, Angel, or do you se
cretly enjoy making men horny, letting them get to the point of no return, then slapping cold water in their faces by saying stop?”

Her back stiffened. “You don't know a thing about me.”

“But I want to.”

“You want a good roll in the hay. Nothing more.”

“If that's all I wanted, you'd be gone by now and I'd be at Jazzzzz or some other club looking for a woman who'd guarantee me a great time. But you're here. I'm here. And you know what, sweetheart, I'm not going to let you go until you tell me what's going on in that head of yours.”

The intensity in his eyes bore into her as if he really and truly did want to know what was troubling her. And God knows she'd looked long and hard for a man she could trust. It might be a mistake to open up to Tom. Then, again, it might be an even bigger mistake not to, because if she pulled away once more, he might give up on her completely.

“She ran her hands through still-wet hair. “If I tell you everything, you'll tell me I need a shrink.”

“I hate shrinks.” Tom's words were blunt. His smile soft, coaxing, and she found herself leaning into the comfort of his rock solid body.

“You're sure you want to hear this?”

“Positive.”

Angel took a deep breath, then let it all spill out. “Marrying Dagger was the biggest mistake I ever made. My dad told me not to. My brothers,
Emma, my mom. They didn't like him but, I don't know, I was young and rebellious and…”

“We've all done stupid things in our lives.”

“Yeah, but I married a man who slept with a knife, who introduced me to making love by teasing me with a blade, and kept on teasing me with it for seven long years because he couldn't get excited any other way.”

Tom's fingers clutched her arms. She could feel his anger. His concern.

“He said it was all fun and games,” Angel continued. “He said he'd never hurt me, but every time we were together I felt as if I were being raped, felt if I didn't spread my legs for him and let him do what he wanted, he'd use the knife on me.”

“Did he?”

“No, but the threat was always there.”

“Why didn't you leave him?”

“A million reasons, which seem ridiculous now.”

“Such as?” Tom asked.

“I didn't want my parents or my brothers to know I'd made a mistake. I didn't want to look like a failure. Most of all, I'd never believed in divorce. I always thought there was something wrong with a man or a woman who couldn't make their marriage work.”

“But you finally walked away?”

“My mom got hit with Alzheimer's and I watched how gentle my dad was with her. He brushed her hair if she forgot. He'd sit for hours reading books and magazines to her even though some days she'd just stare at the wall. That's when
I realized that if I ever got hit with a fatal disease, Dagger might slice my throat so he wouldn't have to deal with an invalid. That's when I realized I didn't have a marriage. I had nothing.”

“And now?” Tom asked.

“I've tried to wipe Dagger from my memory, and for the most part I've been successful. But when it comes to sex—I'm just so damn scared. Petrified. Afraid I'll be hurt.”

Tom smiled gently. “Kind of like me at four, when I first had to touch an alligator. Scared shitless until I knew I was going to get something good in return. All I had to do was relax, take that first step, touch the gator, and Pop bought me a piano, which was the thrill of my life.”

Angel found herself smiling. “That's an interesting analogy.”

“It
was
damn good, wasn't it?” Tom laughed as he stroked a lock of damp hair away from her face. “You might be scared of me, Angel, but just touch me—and let me touch you—and I'll prove you have nothing to fear. And then I'll show you how good it can be for both of us.”

“This isn't a ploy just to get me back into your bed, is it?”

“I could be a real asshole and tell you every lie in the book, but the truth is, touching you excites me, Angel. Looking at you, feeling you, watching you stroll around in kick-ass high heels makes me want you. I don't need a knife, I don't need threats, I just need you to say, ‘Make love to me.'”

“I'm still scared shitless.”

Warm fingers caressed her cheek, curled beneath her chin, and held her gaze captive. “Hurt
ing you is the last thing on my mind. Making you feel good, making you moan and squirm and come over and over again…that's what I want.”

A moment's hesitancy continued to hang over her. “You'll go slow?”

“If that's what you want.”

“You'll stop if I tell you to?”

He kissed her lips lightly. Gently. “I'm not going to hurt you, Angel. Trust me. Please.”

He swept her up in his arms and headed for the stairs. “I'm going to go slow, Angel. I'm going to make you feel all the things you should have felt for years. And if you get scared, if you tell me to stop, I'll stop. It may be the hardest thing I've ever had to do in this life, but I don't want to make love to a woman who's frightened. I want to make love to a woman who wants me.”