Kiss an Angel (38 page)

She wore her green silk robe with Chinese flowers and birds all over it, and Heather was so glad to see her she was ready to throw herself into Sheba's arms, until the awful look in her eyes made it clear that she had overheard everything.

Heather ducked her head and her tears began to fall anew. Now Sheba hated her, too. She should have expected it. Sheba hated thievery more than anything.

Sheba's voice shook. "I want to talk to you, Brady."

"Later. I have some business to take care of."

"We'll talk now." She made a sharp gesture with her head.

"Go to bed, Heather. Your father and I are both going to deal with you first thing tomorrow morning."

What do you care?
Heather wanted to scream.
You hate Daisy.
But she knew that wouldn't mean anything now. Sheba was as tough as her dad when it came to following the rules of the circus.

Her father's grip loosened ever so slightly, and Heather fled. As she ran toward the safety of her bedroom, she knew she had lost her last chance to make him love her.

19

Brady was furious with Sheba. "I don't need you sticking your nose in this."

"I'm giving you some time to cool off. Come in here."

He stomped up the steps and yanked the metal door open. He was too distraught to pay attention to the costly built-ins and expensive furnishings that made Sheba's RV the most luxurious in the circus. "She's a thief! My daughter's a goddamn thief! She deliberately framed Daisy." He pushed aside a set of hand weights to slump down on the couch, where he thrust his fingers through his hair.

Sheba pulled a bottle of Jack Daniels from an overhead kitchen cabinet and splashed a generous amount in two glasses. Neither of them were big drinkers, and he was surprised when she downed the contents

of one glass before she brought the other one over to him. As she walked, her robe rippled around her hips, distracting him, if only for a moment, from his distress.

Sheba had a way of turning his brain to mush. It wasn't a feeling he liked, and he'd fought against it from the beginning. She was a man-killer—stuck-up, hardheaded, and spoiled. In any situation, she had to have the upper hand, something he'd never give a woman, no matter how much she attracted him.

And there was no doubt in his mind that Sheba Quest attracted him. She was the most exciting woman he'd ever met. And the most infuriating.

She handed him the whiskey in a heavy tumbler and sat next to him on the couch. Her robe parted, revealing her leg from thigh to calf. It was long-muscled and flexible, and he knew from watching her as she worked with the flyers how strong she was. The RV was scattered with the training equipment she used to keep herself in shape. She'd installed a metal exercise bar about a foot from the top of the arch that led to her bedroom in the back. A mechanical treadmill sat in one corner along with assorted hand weights.

She leaned back into the couch pillows and shut her eyes. Her face contorted, almost as if she were getting ready to cry, which wasn't something he'd ever known her to do. "Sheba?"

Her eyes shot open. "What's your problem?" She crossed her leg like a man, ankle over knee, the

position so brazen he couldn't understand how she still managed to look so intensely feminine.

He saw a patch of purple silk between her legs and found a target for his pent-up rage. "Why don't you

sit like a lady instead of a slut!"

"I'm not your daughter, Brady. I can sit however I want."

He'd never hit a woman in his life, but at that moment he knew his head was going to explode if he didn't hurt her. With a motion so quick she didn't see it coming, he grabbed the front of her robe in his fist and pulled them both to then-feet. "You're asking for it, babe."

"Too bad you're not man enough to give it to me."

He couldn't remember ever feeling such rage, and Sheba became the target for all the emotions that seethed inside him. "Aren't you slumming, Sheba? Can't you do any better than me? I'm a butcher's kid from Brooklyn, remember?"

"You're a crude, loudmouthed bastard."

She was deliberately taunting him. It was as if she wanted him to hurt her, and he was only too happy to comply. With a vicious yank, he pulled open her robe and wrenched it off.

She was naked except for purple silk panties cut high on her thighs. Her breasts were large, with dusky brown nipples the size of half dollars. Her stomach was no longer flat, her hips rounder than they should have been. She was voluptuous, full-blown, past her prime, and he'd never wanted a woman more.

She made no attempt to cover herself. Instead, she looked him in the eye, and with an audacity that robbed him of his breath, she styled. Arching her back, she set her left leg gracefully in front of the right. Then she curved one palm over her buttock. Her breasts lifted, and he was lost.

"Damn you."

She taunted him. "Work for it, Brady. Work for it."

He reached out for her, but he'd forgotten how quick she could be. She darted to the side, her red hair flying, breasts bouncing. He lunged after her, but she darted again. And she laughed, an ugly sound. "Getting too old for this, Brady?"

He was going to tame her. No matter what he had to do, he'd bend this woman to his will. "You don't have a chance," he sneered.

"We'll see about that." She snatched up one of her hand weights and flung it across the floor at him like a bowling ball.

Despite his surprise, he easily sidestepped it. He saw the glitter of challenge in her eyes along with the sheen of perspiration gilding her breasts. The game was on.

He feinted to the left, then made his move to the right. For an instant, he threw her off, but just as his fingers brushed her arm, she leaped straight up in the air and caught the exercise bar set into the archway.

With a cry of triumph, she began to swing her lower body. Back. Forward. She arched her spine and pumped her legs, using them to ward him off. Her breasts swayed in invitation, and her tiny purple panties slid just low enough to disclose a few tendrils of dark auburn hair peeking over the top. He had never seen anything as beautiful in his life as Sheba Cardoza Quest, the queen of the center ring, giving him this very private performance.

It could only lead in one direction. He pulled his T-shirt over his head, then kicked away his sandals. She swung and watched him as he stripped off his shorts. He didn't like wearing too many clothes, and he had nothing on beneath.

Her eyes inspected every part of his body, and he knew she had to appreciate the quality of what she saw.

When he took a step closer, she kicked out, and he caught her ankles. "Well, now, what do we have here."

He slowly spread her legs in an aerial split.

"You're a devil, Brady Pepper."

"You should know." He touched his lips to the back of her knee, then traced his way upward along the long, hard muscle of her inner thigh. When he reached the strip of purple silk, he paused for a moment to gaze into her eyes, then he dropped his head and nibbled at her through the delicate fabric.

She moaned and draped her thighs over his shoulders. He caught her buttocks in his palms and continued his moist caress. Her position shifted as she released the bar. He delved deeper with his mouth while she rode his shoulders and pressed against him.

She ducked her head as he carried her along the passageway to the spacious bed in the back. They fell on it together. She went wild when he whipped off her panties and buried his fingers inside her, then began to feast on her breasts.

She twisted her body so that she was on top and tried to mount him, but he would have none of it. "You're not in charge here."

"You think you are?"

"I know it." He flipped her onto her stomach, then pulled her to her knees so he could enter her from behind, only to discover he couldn't take her that way. He couldn't deny himself the sight of watching

that haughty face when he entered her.

Before he had a chance to move away, she made a growling sound deep in her throat. In one powerful motion, she turned her body and kicked her leg over his head so she lay on her back looking up at him. He could feel her sexual arousal as powerfully as his own.

Her chest heaved. "You're not going to break me."

"Maybe I don't want to."

His words surprised both of them, and for a moment, neither spoke.

Sheba licked her lips. "Good. Because you can't do it." Reaching up, she caught his powerful upper arms in her hands and pulled him down on top of her. This put him in the dominant position, but because she had invited it, he didn't feel the mastery he wanted. He punished her with a deep, hard entry.

She countered by lifting her hips to welcome him, and her throaty whisper fell softly on his ear. ''Take your time with me, you bastard, or I'll kill you."

He laughed. "You're a pip, Sheba Quest. A real pip."

She balled her hand into a fist and smacked him in the back.

The battle for mastery was on, and by unspoken agreement, the one who shattered first was the loser. An acrobat and an aerialist—the flexibility of their well-trained bodies filled their lovemaking with infinite possibilities. They reveled in their need to conquer, but each erotic punishment they inflicted on the other they also inflicted on themselves. This forced them to bring their rapier-sharp tongues into the battle.

She said, "I'm only letting you do this so you don't hurt Heather."

"Like hell."

''It was the only way I could think of to give you time to cool down."

"You're a liar. You needed a stud. Everybody knows how much little Sheba needs her studs."

"You're not a stud. You're a charity."

"Alex was the only man you wanted for anything more than stud duty, wasn't he? Too bad he didn't

want you back."

"I hate you."

On it went, the wounding and punishing until, at some point, the vicious words stopped. They clung together, soared together, and in one shattering moment, lost themselves to everything else.

Afterward, she tried to fling herself from the bed, but he wouldn't let her go.

"Stay here, babe. Just for a little while."

For once, her sharp tongue was silent, and she curled into his arms. Strands of auburn hair, like burnished ribbons, trailed across his chest. He felt her tremble as she spoke.

"Daisy's going to be a heroine now."

"She deserves to be."

"I hate her. I hate him."

"They don't have anything to do with you."

"That's not true! You don't know. It was all right when everybody thought she was a thief. But not now. Now he's going to think he won."

"Let it go, babe. Just let it go."

"I'm not afraid of you," she said defiantly.

"I know you're not. I know."

"I'm not afraid of anything."

He kissed her temple and didn't call her on her lie. She was afraid all right. For some reason, the queen of the center ring didn't know who she was any longer, and it scared her to death.

* * *

Alex gazed blindly into the darkened window of the Hallmark store. Three doors down, light shone from the doorway of a small pizza parlor, while next to it, the neon sign of a dry cleaner, closed for the night, flickered wearily. He'd long ago stopped holding the theft of the ticket money against Daisy, but he'd never really believed she was innocent. Now he had to face the fact that he was part of the terrible injustice that had been committed against her.

Why hadn't he believed her? He prided himself on being fair-minded, but he'd been so certain that her desperation had pushed her into the theft that he hadn't given her the benefit of the doubt. He should

have known that Daisy's strong moral code would never allow her to steal.

She shifted at his side. "Can we go now?"

She hadn't wanted to accompany him on this night walk along the deserted strip mall that sat across the highway from the circus grounds, but he knew he wasn't ready to go back into the cramped confines of the trailer, and he'd insisted. As he turned away from the display of ceramic angels and photo albums, he felt her tension and saw how worried she was.

Inky curls tumbled around her cheeks, and her mouth looked soft and vulnerable. A sense of awe swept through him that this sweet little feather head with the will of iron was his. He brushed his thumb over her cheek. "Why didn't you tell me about Heather?"

"We can talk about it later." Her gaze darted impatiently toward the highway, and once again she turned to get away from him.

"Hold on." He caught her gently by the shoulders, and she stomped her foot like an angry toddler.

"Let me go this minute! You should never have let Brady take her away like that. You saw how angry

he was. If he hurts her—"

"I hope he blisters her butt."

"How can you say that? She's only sixteen, and this has been a terrible summer for her."

"It hasn't been too hot for you, either. How can you defend her after what she did?"

"That's not important. The experience toughened me up, and I needed that.

Why did you let him take her away when he was so angry? You practically gave him permission to brutalize her. I expect better of you, Alex, I really do.

Now, please, I'm begging you! Just let me go so I can make certain she's all right."

I'm begging you.
Daisy said that all the time. The same words that had poisoned Sheba Quest's spirit two years ago when she'd pleaded for his love rolled off Daisy's tongue without a second thought. In the morning she'd stick her toothbrush in her mouth and call out, "Coffee! Please! I'm begging you!" Last night, she'd tickled his earlobe with a soft, sultry whisper. "Make love to me, Alex. I'm begging you." As if he needed to be begged.

But begging didn't threaten Daisy's pride at all. It was simply her method of communication, and if he were ever foolish enough to suggest that begging might be demeaning, she'd give him that pitying look he'd come to know so well and tell him to stop being so stuffy.

He ran his index finger over her bottom lip. ' Do you have any idea how sorry I am?"