Errant Angel Read online

  “An apology. I was wrong.”

  His grip tightened on the pen. He consciously eased it; he’d been breaking a few of them lately. “Wrong?”

  “It takes courage for a grown man to apologize to a kid. You’re no coward.”

  “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here.” The words slipped out—as so many seemed to do around her—before he could stop them. He hurried to change the subject. “Congratulate yourself, Ms. Law. You shamed me into it.”

  She watched him for a long moment, so steadily he almost looked away. But he couldn’t, he was fascinated by the way the simple gold knit dress she wore managed to be demure and yet utterly sexy at the same time. It covered her from neck to wrists, and fell well below those shapely knees he remembered so well, yet it clung to every curve as she moved, allowing him to picture perfectly the body beneath. Something he’d been trying to avoid doing ever since she’d slid out of that car and into his mind.

  “You know,” she went on conversationally, “I never thought I’d say this, but I think I almost like Angie better.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Angie. It’s much nicer than the stuffy way you say ‘Ms. Law.’”

  Her tone was too teasing, too friendly, and it would be far too easy to slide into that trap. He couldn’t let himself, she’d already dug her way into his thoughts, he couldn’t let her go any further. He turned abruptly to face her down.

  “How about just Ms. Do-gooder?”

  Her brows rose. “You say it like an insult.” When he didn’t respond, she went on. “Jimmy could be a good kid, Dalton. If I could just get him away from those older kids, the rough ones, and if you could stop telling him how rotten the world is, making him even more bitter—”

  “He’s got enough to be bitter about on his own. He doesn’t need any help from me.”

  “But he’s getting it from you, that attitude. And he’s heading for trouble. Those boys he’s hanging around with are an awful influence.”

  “And I’m not much better, right?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  She didn’t have to, he thought. It was obvious. “Make up your mind. First you’re mad because I sent him away, now you’re mad because I’m letting him come around again.”

  “I’m just worried about Jimmy.”

  “And you can’t let it alone.”

  She studied him silently. “You don’t think I should try to help him?” she asked at last.

  He shrugged again. “Help him all you can. The kid sure as hell could use it.”

  Her eyes went distant somehow, and he had that same eerie feeling he’d had before with her, that she was seeing clear through him.

  “And you would know, wouldn’t you?” she said softly. “Nobody ever helped you.”

  He had to stop this. He slapped the clipboard down on the workbench forcefully, and the sharp crack of sound made her start. The distant look left her eyes.

  “That,” he rasped, “is exactly what I mean. What you do with Jimmy is between you and him. But don’t be turning your benevolence on me, lady. I’m not buying.”

  “No, you’re running like hell.”

  He refused to rise to the bait. “I thought I was wallowing. Make up your mind.”

  She gave him another of those long, studying looks. When she spoke, her voice was soft, enticing and oddly mesmerizing. “Is this really how you want to live, Dalton? Forever?”

  He felt as if he were being drawn toward her, although he knew he hadn’t moved. Her gaze was intent now, as intent as it had been unfocused moments before. The strangest sensation filled him, and he heard the slow, whispered words he spoke as if they’d come from someone else.

  “The alternative is not living at all. Sometimes I think—”

  “No!” He drew back at the sharpness of her voice. He felt groggy, as he had felt trying to wake from a long, alcohol-induced sleep back in his party days.

  “No!” she exclaimed again. “Don’t ever think that. It’s not a solution.”

  “No,” he agreed, still feeling light-headed, only half aware of what he was saying, “it’s not. That kind of peace isn’t an option.”

  “Why did you come to Three Oaks, Dalton?” Her voice was soft again, coaxing. He let himself be coaxed, not quite able to remember why he shouldn’t. “After all the celebrity, all the big cities, why here, this quiet little place?”

  “I...wanted the quiet. So I would...always remember.” Was that him talking? He couldn’t be sure. “I have to always remember.”

  “Remember what?”

  The safeguards were strong, and he almost remembered why he shouldn’t tell her. But her voice was so gentle, so beguiling.

  “What I did...”

  He felt like he was swaying on his feet, and reached for something to steady himself. Suddenly the mist cleared and he shook his head. What the hell had just happened? It was fuzzy, whatever he’d just said, like a half-remembered dream.

  She was looking at him with an expression of compassionate understanding. A look that made him want to run to her for comfort as he’d never run to anyone in his life. A look that made him want to rest, to give up the burden, even if only for a while.

  All the things he could never let himself do.

  “Just leave it alone,” he said, his voice suddenly tight with strain; he had to stop this, stop her. “Jimmy may want your help. I don’t.”

  “I know.” Her voice was still soft, gentle, and those urges flooded him again. “You don’t want anything from me, do you?”

  Every muscle in his body went rigid at the words. What he wanted from her would shock her. What he wanted from her shocked him.

  What he wanted from her would send her running from him. And since he seemed incapable of running from her, that seemed the only answer.

  “Angie,” he said, purposely drawling it out. “I knew what I wanted from you the first time I saw you.”

  Her brows furrowed. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Yes, I did. I meant, what do you want?”

  She couldn’t be that naive. Not with those ancient eyes. “What any man wants from a woman who looks like you do.”

  She just waited. “Well?” she said at last.

  Dalton stared at her. Her eyes weren’t ancient, they were suddenly as ingenuous as a child’s. She looked as if she had no idea what he’d been insinuating. He’d never seen such a perfect picture of innocence. Not that his experience ran to innocence, of course. When he’d been racing, he’d gotten used to the groupies, had taken advantage of their presence and willingness. That is, he had until he’d realized he’d meant less than nothing to them; if he had an off year they’d flit away to the next champion, the next new up-and-comer, and never even remember his name.

  Even the women who’d come after him after the crash had not been innocents; they’d had their own agenda. They’d seen him as some heroically brooding character who’d just needed a good woman to heal him. It was one of the reasons he’d come here, to this quiet place, to avoid that kind of pursuit. He knew healing wasn’t a privilege that would be granted to him; the darkness inside him would never fade. He didn’t want it to fade, because then he might start to forget. And he didn’t ever want to forget.

  “Are you going to tell me what you want, or not?”

  “No.” It sounded like the growl of her engine idling. “I’m going to show you.”

  He moved then, that odd lassitude vanished. Before she could react he had her in his arms, and his head lowered quickly. He took her mouth fiercely, hungrily, with all the need he’d been smothering for days now. She went rigid in his grasp, but then, unexpectedly, she softened. He’d meant to scare her, to drive her away, but in the instant she sagged against him, all thought of anything except her lips beneath his and the feel of her body against him fled. Immediately he gentled the kiss, urging instead of demanding, giving as much as taking.

  He should pull away, he thought. He should have the moment
he realized this wasn’t working out the way it was supposed to—she hadn’t slapped him and taken off. But he seemed as powerless to stop as he had been to fight that strange fog that had enveloped him.

  He was shaking. Shaking. God, he’d only tasted her, gotten just a hint of the sweetness that awaited him; she kissed like an untried girl, primly, her lips together. Yet he was shaking.

  He felt her fingers at his nape as she clung to him. He felt the slim shape of her, and slid his hands down her back to pull her close, so close that he knew the picture he’d formed when he’d first seen this dress had been accurate. Achingly, sweetly, hotly accurate. Her hips were taut and curved beneath his fingers, her breasts full and soft against his chest. He could feel the twin nubs of her nipples, already drawn up tight. It was all he could do to keep from moving his hands to those soft curves, to seek out and caress the crests that seemed to be begging for just that.

  His body surged in response to the thought, to the hot, vivid images, reminding him with painful suddenness that he had been a long, long time without a woman. At the same time, his mind was telling him he’d never, ever had a woman like this one.

  He couldn’t stop. He feathered his tongue across her lips, gently, cajolingly. She hesitated, and he did it again, licking, tasting. He heard a tiny moan begin in her throat, and when her lips parted for it to escape, he was ready; he slipped his tongue into the beckoning heat of her mouth.

  She filled his senses like nothing he’d ever known before. Like a sunny day in May, when hay filled the air with its scent. Like the sea breeze coming in off the Pacific Ocean, so tangy you could taste it. Like the pure, clean desert air before the race filled the air with noise and fumes.

  It hit him then, with a shock that nearly doubled him over. For a moment he’d slipped back to the old habit of comparing everything to the places that had been his life for years—Indianapolis, Long Beach, Phoenix. And he had done it without a single thought of Mick.

  Guilt, harsh, corrosive, engulfed him. He didn’t deserve this kind of pleasure. Or any other kind.

  He wrenched his mouth away and stepped back from her as if she’d suddenly begun to glow red-hot. And when he looked at her slightly dazed eyes, he saw he wasn’t far from the truth; the heat of desire glimmered there. She swayed unsteadily, but he didn’t dare reach out to her. He didn’t dare touch her again.

  The heat in her gaze slowly faded, to be replaced with a growing astonishment.

  “Oh, my,” she said, her fingers stealing up to touch her lips.

  “Go home, Angie.” He barely got it out.

  She stared at him. What the hell was she doing? Why hadn’t she taken off running? Why did she just stand there, looking at him as if he’d discovered the cure for cancer or something? He had to get her out of here. This wasn’t going at all like he’d planned.

  “Angie,” he said, putting everything he could manage of threat and warning into his voice.

  “I... Couldn’t we try that again?”

  Oh, God.

  “Not unless you want to wind up on your back right here on the floor,” he challenged.

  He’d meant to shock her; she only looked curious. She glanced downward, as if assessing the floor for comfort. He sucked in his breath.

  “Damn it, Angie, get out. I’m on the edge, here.”

  Her brows furrowed. “The...edge?”

  He couldn’t believe this. No one today was that innocent.

  “I’m as hard as a torque wrench,” he said crudely, “and I haven’t had a woman for over a year. Does that make it clear enough for you? Get out, Angie.”

  “Oh,” she said tentatively. Then her brows lifted as her eyes widened. “Oh!”

  “Yes, oh.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “That, too. Will you please go?”

  “I...yes. Yes, I think I’d better.”

  She gave him a last look, rife with wonder, then turned and practically ran out of the garage. Dalton stared down at the cold, concrete floor and seriously considered banging his head against it until this ache went away.

  Six

  You have got to do something about this!

  Where have you been? We’ve been waiting to hear from you. Having a free hand does not mean you can dispense with regular reports, Evangeline.

  It was odd, how quickly that name had come to sound strange to her, and how Angie seemed to be more who she was. Simply because of the way Dalton said it. The thought made her heart speed up, and she unconsciously clutched the pendant tighter.

  Are you there? We can barely read you through all the static. And we got the strangest burst of something on your frequency a while ago. Whatever is wrong? What is all that confusion?

  That confusion, she sent angrily, is me!

  You? What do you mean?

  I told you something was wrong. You’ve got to fix it. I can’t keep going like this.

  Calm down, dear. We can see that something is very wrong. All this upset is highly unusual, even for you.

  Thank you.

  She wondered if sarcasm ever had any effect on them. Probably not; they were always infernally calm. Of course, by normal human standards, she had been unnaturally calm, too. Until lately.

  You’re still experiencing those feelings?

  More than ever.

  She hesitated, then decided she owed it to them.

  You were right, to numb the capacity for emotion. It’s awful.

  It seemed necessary, since the nature of the work is so demanding. And living long past the usual human life span would be impossible if one felt an attachment to those ... well, you understand. Besides, human emotions are so ... distracting.

  You’re telling me. I don’t know how people do it.

  There was a pause, a silence that somehow managed to seem thoughtful.

  Then, We’ve sometimes wondered, my dear, if perhaps we didn’t recruit you too young. You knew so little of life, and there is only so much we could teach you.

  Thanks. If you’d waited any longer, I would have been dead.

  She heard something that sounded decidedly like a sniff. This new attitude of yours is quite bothersome. You’re acting almost human again, Evangeline. Perhaps we truly did take you too young. True, we let you mature a bit before we put you to work, but you were still young in the ways of people. Perhaps that’s why you appear to be regressing.

  I don’t remember ever feeling like this, even before. So...muddled.

  All humans seem to, at times, so you must have.

  I don’t think so. At least, not like this. And I know I never knew kissing felt like that.

  Kissing?

  Oops, Angie thought. She hadn’t meant to let that out.

  Does this have something to do with Dalton MacKay?

  She was intensely embarrassed, a feeling increased by the ominously severe tone of the inquiry, and her answer was sharp.

  Who did you think? Jimmy?

  There was a pause, during which she could have sworn she heard a sighed Not again, as if from someone not in on the direct connection. She wondered if they were referring to her muddle, or something else. The thought occurred to her that this might not be the first time things had gone awry for them in the arena of human emotions—it seemed to be their one weak point—but it didn’t seem probable to her. They were too good at this, had been at it too long. Besides, she was the one who had the problem predicting human reactions when emotions were running high. That had always been her biggest difficulty.

  Evangeline—it came wearily and Angie felt a twinge of guilt; she seemed to wear out her contacts rather easily— you know this is impossible.

  I know it should be. It’s never happened before, but...

  A sigh—they’d been doing a lot of that lately, too, it seemed—then, Do you want us to terminate the case?

  Quit? she thought. Just leave?

  To her chagrin, the first image that flashed through her mind was Dalton, not as he’d looked tonight, taut with that fierce e
xpression she had belatedly realized was arousal, not as he’d looked the first night she’d seen him, tortured and near to breaking, not even as he’d looked when he was furious with her, ordering her not to turn her do-gooder ways on him. It was Dalton as he’d been in the magazine photograph, young, exhilarated, a bit wild...and happy.

  The urge to see him that way again flooded her so powerfully she nearly forgot that she was, in essence, on an open line. She quickly clamped down on the thoughts before they could read them. They’d made it more than clear Dalton MacKay was off-limits, and if she harbored some faint hope that in helping Jimmy she could also help him, it was a hope she’d best keep to herself.

  She should be thinking of Jimmy, she told herself sternly. And she was, really. She felt toward him the same need she’d always felt toward the objects of her missions: a compelling desire to make things right.

  It was only with Dalton that her circuits went haywire. She wanted to make things right for him, too, but she wasn’t at all sure of her motivation. Especially when she looked into those haunted green eyes.

  Again she had to cut off the thoughts before they seeped through.

  No, she sent. Jimmy needs help. He deserves it. He’s had a rough time, and it hasn’t been his fault.

  And my confusion isn’t his fault, either, she added to herself with silent earnestness.

  Can you do something? she asked the bosses. That adjustment you were talking about?

  Even to herself she sounded somewhat forlorn, as if she weren’t quite sure she wanted things to change. But that was ridiculous, she thought. Why on earth would she want to cling to these feelings that had turned her mind into a chaotic jumble? She certainly couldn’t like feeling this way. And she most certainly wouldn’t miss it if they could stop it. Although if they were as curious as they seemed about human emotions, she must be giving them a ton of information.

  We’ve been working on that. We think—

  The connection abruptly blanked out. Odd, she thought, and tightened her grip on the pendant. But it wasn’t from her end, she realized. It was from theirs. Odder still. Then they were back.

  Er, actually, we’re...still working on it. A new procedure. We’ll let you know. In the meantime, do the best that you can, dear.