Fallen Angels: BeguiledWantonUncovered Read online

  WITH THANKSGIVING not too far off, many of the houses had Christmas decorations already up. All the shops he passed had their front windows filled with displays. But as he neared the address given to him by Alec, the spirit of Christmas melted away. Bright lights were replaced with boarded-up windows. Graffiti rather than green wreaths decorated the doors. None of it made any sense. Dane knew Angel had lived in a very upscale apartment complex while working for the Aeric Corporation. He knew from her file that she’d lost her job there after Derek had taken information from her to assure the success of a hostile takeover. But surely she wasn’t destitute. She’d made a good yearly wage.

  Wary of the denizens in the area, Dane parked his car in a garage and walked the last block to Angel’s home. The bitter November wind cut through his clothes and made him shiver, but filled with purpose, he easily ignored the cold. When he reached the brick three-family home that matched the address Alec had given him, he gave a sigh of relief. Calling the house nice would be too generous, but it was secure and well-tended, located on a quiet dead-end street of older homes. Angel and his nephew should be relatively safe here.

  At least until he moved them.

  The front door wasn’t barred. He entered a foyer of sorts and looked at the mailboxes. There was no listing for an Angel Morris, and he frowned. Then he saw an A. Morton and his instincts buzzed. Going on a hunch, he figured that had to be Angel. Why would she hide behind an alias, unless she had a reason to hide? He recalled his purpose in first starting this ruse. Though it was obvious she knew nothing of Derek’s death, he couldn’t discount the possibility that she might have helped set him up for the fall, even innocently. She certainly had plenty of reason to hate him and want him out of her life, and she professed to fear his family, so why then had she approached him today? Because she was surprised he wasn’t dead? Did she have contact with an insider who had informed her of his resurrection? Very few people were privy to the fact of his and Derek’s relationship.

  The apartment number listed was on ground level and he went to the door, then knocked, bracing himself for the sight of her again. She’d really thrown him for a loop with her sensual response to him. And he knew in his gut her reaction hadn’t been feigned. Just remembering it made his every muscle tense.

  “Come on in, Mick.”

  Dane tightened his jaw and his temper slipped. So the guy who’d been with her, Mick, was welcome in any time? Did she respond as hotly with Mick as she did with him? Dane turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

  Angel was lying on a sofa, her injured leg propped up on pillows. She wore only a flannel shirt and loose shorts cut down from a pair of old gray sweats. Thick socks covered her feet. She shoved herself half upright and stared at him in undiluted horror.

  Dane looked at her from head to toe, and as a man he appreciated the earthy picture she presented. But he’d use caution from here on out. Angel seemed to vacillate between fear and awareness. Dane decided that either way he’d use her emotions against her to find out for sure what her purpose might be.

  Her fair hair was tousled and spread out over the arm of the sofa. Her breasts beneath the worn flannel looked soft and full, without the casing of a bra. Her legs were very long and pale. He saw the vicious scars on her left leg, still angry and red, and his simmering temper jumped in a new direction.

  He closed the door quietly and her incredible green eyes went wide and wary. “Derek.”

  He indicated her cushioned leg. “You’re hurt worse than you let on.”

  Color washed over her face as she started to rise from the sofa. Dane was beside her in an instant. He caught her shoulders, pressing her back down, feeling the narrow bones beneath his hands, aware of her smallness, her softness. “Be still. It’s obvious you overdid it today. You shouldn’t have been up and around.”

  He perched on the sofa cushion next to her, feeling her apprehension while he examined her leg, trailing his fingers gently over her smooth skin. Just seeing the scars left behind made him wince in sympathy.

  She seemed to gather herself all at once. “Just what are you doing here?”

  “Checking up on you.”

  “How? How did you find me?”

  “I had you followed.” His gaze swung from her leg to her outraged face. “Why use an alias?”

  Angel paled a little. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your mailbox.”

  Rather than answer, she tried bluffing her way with anger. “That’s none of your business. And why do you care anyway?”

  He was good at lying when it suited him. “Because I have the feeling you’d never have let me get this close. But I second-guessed you, didn’t I?” He waggled a finger in her face, bringing back her healthy surge of angry color. “I think I’ll keep close tabs on you from now on.”

  She gasped and he added a not-too-subtle warning. “You can keep your secret, Angel—for now. But when I’m ready, I will know what’s going on.”

  Her lips firmed and her look became obstinate. But beneath it all, he saw a measure of pain. “You’re not completely mended yet, are you? Were you hurt anywhere else?”

  She gave him another stubborn frown and his attention dropped to her body. Holding her gaze, he asked quietly, “Would you like me to find out for myself?”

  She jerked and her arms crossed protectively over her breasts. “All right! I also had some bruised ribs and a few cuts and scrapes—all of which are now healed.”

  He continued to look at her, and she turned her head away. “My shoulder was dislocated, too.”

  “Good God. What the hell happened to you?”

  Even before she spoke, he knew no truths would cross her beautiful lips. Amazing that he could read her so easily after only knowing her such a short time, but he could.

  Her chin lifted and she said, “I fell.”

  “Down a mountainside?”

  “Down a long flight of stairs, actually.”

  Keeping his hands to himself became impossible. He cupped her cheeks in both hands. Whatever had happened, it had been serious, and talking about it obviously agitated her. “You could have been killed.”

  She started, and her eyes met his. For the briefest moment she looked so lost, he wanted to fold her close and swear to protect her. Idiot. Then she shook her head and that stubbornness was back tenfold, forcing an emotional distance between them. “My leg is the only thing scarred. Nasty-looking, isn’t it?”

  Without missing a beat, he said, “You have beautiful legs. A little scarring won’t change that.” And it was true. Her legs were long, smooth, shapely. He imagined those long legs wrapped around him while he touched her again, only this time she would climax, holding him inside her so he could feel every small tremor, every straining muscle. He nearly groaned.

  He let his hand rest lightly on her knee and moved his thoughts to safer ground. “You’ve no reason to be embarrassed, Angel. The scars will fade.”

  “You think a few scars matter to me?”

  He did, but he wasn’t dumb enough to tell her that, not when she was practically spitting with ire. She hadn’t forgiven him yet for Derek’s past sins, and for his own, in questioning the baby’s parentage. But she would. He’d see to it.

  He put his hand to her cheek and noticed again the way her pulse raced, how she held her breath. “I’m sorry you were hurt.” Then he kissed her. As angry as he was, he needed a taste of her again. She may have decided her little sampling of lust in the office was enough, but he’d found only frustration. He’d barely touched her, barely begun to excite her, and she’d heated up like a grand fireworks display, perilously close to exploding. He was still semihard because of it and caught between wanting to bury himself inside her, to see her go all the way, climaxing with him, and wanting to shake her into telling him what her ridiculous game was.

  At first she froze, but seconds later her body pressed into his. One small hand lifted to his neck and that simple touch made him shudder. He pulled back, not wanting t
o test himself. Angel stared at him, wide-eyed.

  “Nice place,” he said, hoping to distract her and himself. His gaze wandered around the sparse room, taking in the worn wallpaper and faded carpet. He didn’t really mean to be facetious, but she took it that way.

  “You don’t have to like it, Derek, since you don’t live here.”

  He dropped his gaze back to her flushed face. With one arm above her, his body beside her, he effectively caged her in. He could tell she didn’t like it; he liked it a little too much. “I want to know why you’re living here. What happened to your apartment?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I lost it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I hadn’t paid the rent.”

  He sighed. This was like pulling teeth, but she obviously wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “Okay, we’ll play twenty questions. Why didn’t you pay the rent?”

  Angel stared at him, then put one arm over her eyes and laughed. “God, you’re incredible. Everything is so simple for you.”

  Wrapping long fingers around her wrist, he carried her arm to her stomach and held it there. He felt her muscles clench. “Why didn’t you pay your rent?”

  In a burst of temper, she slapped his hand away and half raised herself to glare at him. “Because I had no money, you ass! I lost my job, thanks to you, and no one else would hire me for what I was good at. After you finished, I was considered a bad risk. I tried everywhere, and in the process, ran through a lot of my savings. For a short time, I had a job as a waitress, but then I had the accident and was laid up for a while. People won’t hire women on crutches, you know. My savings weren’t so deep that I could afford to stay in an expensive place, keep up my medical insurance, and pay additional medical bills besides, so I moved here. Satisfied?”

  Her shout had awakened the baby, and Dane looked toward the sound of disgruntled infant rage. Angel groaned. “Now look what you’ve done. Well, don’t just sit there, get out of my way.”

  Her mood shifts were almost amusing, and fascinating to watch—when she wasn’t ripping his guts out with regret for the way his brother had treated her. She started to sit up, and again he pressed her back. “I’ll get him.”

  “No!”

  He caught her chin and turned her face up to his. “Now or later, Angel, what difference does it make? I want to meet him. I promise, I’ll bring him to you.”

  She bit her lip and her eyes were dark with wariness, but she apparently realized there would be no contest if they tried to match strength or wills. At least, not at the moment. He had the feeling, on a better day, her strength would amaze him.

  Dane stared a second more, wishing there was a simpler way to reassure her, then went to fetch the baby. He followed the sounds of the cries to where Grayson was making his discontent known. When Dane entered the room he was assailed by the scent of powder and baby lotion, soft soothing scents. Grayson’s pudgy arms and legs churned ferociously, and with incredible care, Dane lifted him to his shoulder. The baby was soaking wet.

  Cloth diapers and plastic pants were on top of a dresser, along with a few folded gowns. Dane scooped up what he thought he might need and went back to the main room and the worried mother. Angel immediately reached her arms out.

  “No, he’s soaked, which means I’m soaked. No reason for both of us to become soggy. I think if you talk me through it, I can get him changed.”

  Angel’s mouth fell open and she stared at him as if he’d grown an extra nose. He smiled at her reaction.

  She looked dumbfounded and utterly speechless.

  “I know,” he said, grinning, “changing diapers isn’t part of my established repertoire, either. But I’m efficient at adapting.”

  In the short time he’d known her, she’d thrown him off balance more times than he cared to think about; it was only fair that he get a little retaliation when and where he could.

  He didn’t know a hell of a lot about babies, but he figured now was as good a time as any to learn. “Where should I put him to clean him up?”

  Finally managing to close her mouth, Angel fretted, then pointed to a table. “There’s a plastic changing pad there. You can put him on that and change him.”

  “Good enough.” Dane shook out the padded plastic sheet with one hand, spread it out on the table, and carefully laid Grayson down. The baby wasn’t pleased with delayed gratification, so Dane hurried. With Angel’s instructions, he got the baby diapered and dried and redressed, all in under five minutes which he considered a major accomplishment. Grayson had stopped squalling, but he still fussed, one fist flailing the air, occasionally getting caught in his mouth for a slurpy suck or two.

  This time when Angel held out her arms, Dane handed the baby to her. The entire right side of his shirt was wet and clinging to his chest.

  She looked away, pressing her face against the baby. “He’s hungry.”

  “Do you want me to get him a bottle?”

  “No.” Angel cleared her throat, then said, “He’s…breast-fed. I just…need a little privacy.”

  “Oh. Oh.” Dane looked at her breasts, imagined the process, and didn’t want to take so much as a single step from the room. He also couldn’t bear to hear the baby whimpering. “I’ll, uh, just go in the kitchen and try to rinse out my shirt.”

  “You do that. And stay in there while it dries.”

  He leaned down and caught her chin. Her eyes opened wide on his and she drew in a deep startled breath. “All right. But don’t always expect me to follow orders, honey. You’re going to have to get used to me being here.” Knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to stop himself, he leaned down and pressed a firm kiss to her mouth. It felt damn good. He walked out while she sputtered.

  He wanted to kiss her again, as a starting point, knowing where they’d finish. He wanted to show her he was no sloth in bed, contrary to her damn misconception. He wanted to find out the truth about his brother’s death and her involvement with him, and he wanted to protect her and take care of her and Grayson. There were a lot of wants piling up on him too quickly and contradicting each other.

  Christ, what had his brother gotten into?

  He pulled off his shirt and rinsed the damp spot under running water, then wrung it out and hung it over a chair to dry. The apartment, thankfully, wasn’t cold. He scratched his bare chest and looked around.

  Her tiny kitchen was all but empty. The cabinets held the essentials, but not much else. With further inspection, he found the refrigerator was in similar shape. Dane frowned, then began snooping. Hell, maybe he should call her Mother Hubbard.

  The conclusion he came to was not a happy one. Damn the little idiot, she should have contacted him sooner, before she got in such miserable shape. He immediately snatched that thought back because if she’d tried, she would have encountered his family, and the mere thought made him queasy. She was right to fear them.

  He had wondered what she was after, why she’d come to him if indeed marriage wasn’t her goal. Now he assumed sheer desperation had been her motive. She needed financial help, and as the baby’s father, he could give it. She was proud, and she claimed to have already suffered several rejections from Derek, a possibility that made Dane so angry he wanted to howl. But pride was no replacement for desperation, especially with a baby to think about. But if that’s all it had been, then why hadn’t she simply said so? Why come on to him, pretend she still cared?

  He sat in a kitchen chair, stewing, listening to her murmur to the baby, hearing the sweet huskiness of her voice. Goose bumps rose on the back of his neck. He called out, “Angel, why don’t you use disposable diapers? Aren’t they easier?”

  There was a hesitation before she said, “I don’t like them.”

  Which he translated to mean they cost too much. His fingertips tapped on the tabletop, followed by his fist. “Where did you take therapy for your leg?” He hoped it was someplace close, so she hadn’t had to travel too far.

  There was mumbling that he couldn’t decipher,
then she said, “I didn’t take therapy. And what do you know about it anyway?”

  He stiffened. No therapy? With a lot of effort, he curbed his temper. “I’ve seen similar breaks. I recognize the incisions on your ankle and knee where they inserted the titanium rod. It was a hell of a break, so I know damn well therapy was suggested.”

  Silence. He almost growled. He did stand to pace. “How long ago were you hurt, Angel, and don’t you dare tell me it isn’t any of my damn business!”

  Another pause, and a very small voice. “A couple of months ago.”

  It took him a second, and then he was out of the kitchen, stalking back to the couch to loom over her. She took one fascinated look at his naked chest, squeaked, and pulled her flannel shirt over her exposed breast as much as possible. Grayson’s small fist pushed the shirt aside again. But Dane was keeping his gaze resolutely on Angel’s face anyway. In a soft, menacing tone, he asked, “A couple of months ago, as in when the baby was born?”

  She gave a small nod. “Grayson was early, by a little more than six weeks. The accident started my labor.”

  His insides twisted and he could barely force the words out. “Who took care of you?” He drew a breath and felt his nostrils flare. “Who helped you when you were in the hospital? When you first came home?”

  Her gaze shifted away and she smoothed her hand over the baby’s head, ruffling his few glossy curls. The sound of the baby’s sucking was loud and voracious. “There was no one, Derek, you know that. No family, no close friends. Grayson and I helped each other.”

  Without meaning to, without even wanting to, he looked at the baby. Grayson’s small mouth eagerly drew on her nipple while a tiny fist pressed to her pale breast. His eyes were closed, his small body cradled comfortably to Angel’s. Dane felt a lump in his throat the size of a grapefruit and had to turn away.

  So he’d seen her breast? So what. He’d seen plenty in his day, just never any with a baby attached. He didn’t feel what he should have felt at the sight of her pale flesh, which was undiluted lust. Lust he understood, but this other thing, whatever the hell it was, he didn’t like.