Page 202 of Once an Angel
Emily sat straight up as a hoarse whimper arrowed through the darkness. She rubbed her eyes, disoriented. How late was it? she wondered. Exhausted by the playful beating her body had taken from sea and sun, and unable to endure either the false cheer of Penfeld's prattling or the sight of Justin's empty pallet, she had crawled to her own blankets after dinner and collapsed in a dreamless heap.
Her eyes adjusted slowly. Pale wisps of moonlight drifted through the window. Penfeld's comforting
bulk was humped under his blankets. A low moan shuddered the silence.
Emily sat up on her knees, her heart hammering in her throat. Justin was only a vague shape in the shadows. She crept toward him, dragging one of her blankets behind her like a lifeline.
A shallow beam of moonlight caressed his face. His waking defenses had fled, leaving him as helpless as
a child in sleep. Sweat beaded his upper lip. Emily wanted to touch him, to smooth away the grooves of pain around his mouth, to wipe the shadows from beneath his eyes. He flung out an arm, startling her, and she jerked back her hand.
He had thrashed his way out of the blankets, and the first two buttons of his dungarees had come
undone. There was something touching about the untanned swath of skin beneath the folded flap of calico, a beguiling reminder of the pale, proper young Englishman he had once been. He muttered a
name between clenched teeth. Emily leaned over, torn between curiosity and empathy.
His body twitched. His face crumpled in a spasm of horror. She reached for him, despising herself for
her hesitation.
His eyes flew open. With dizzying speed and no more than a grunt of exertion he caught her wrists and rolled over, pinning her beneath the hard length of his body.
A single word, fraught with meaning, hoarse with accusation, flew from his lips.
"Claire."
Chapter 9
Someday, God willing, the two of
you shall meet. . . .
Emily's heart stopped.
A jolt of recognition blazed like a comet through Justin's eyes, then skimmed away, leaving her
straddled by a bewildered stranger. She didn't know whether to laugh with relief or weep with disappointment.
"Emily? What in the hell . . . ?"
She chose her words with care. "You were dreaming. Having a nightmare."
"Dreaming?"
Justin's gaze traced Emily's features in confusion. The moonlight had softened her gamin edges, given
her brown eyes a glow hauntingly familiar in its tenderness. Why did it hurt so bloody much to look at her? There was something there. Something he ought to remember flirting with the edges of his consciousness. His gaze traveled downward, held captive by the pliant sprawl of her limbs beneath him, her unspoken acceptance of his weight and will. Her slender wrists hung limp in his harsh grip.
Consternation flooded him along with the waking memory of his nightmare. He shoved himself off her and stumbled out the door.
Refusing to be abandoned yet again, Emily trailed after him. He stood in the sand a few feet away, his back to her, his shoulders heaving. She was afraid for a moment that he was going to be ill, but he straightened, dragging the back of his hand across his lips, shivering despite the heat.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I could have hurt you."
"Could you?"
Only the forest answered, creaking and sighing around them in a midnight symphony.
