Page 15 of Fallen Angel
“This is not where I imagined you lived,” she said absently before she swallowed the medicine. Suddenly exhausted, she set down the glass, slumped back against the sofa, and closed her eyes. She could unravel the mysteries of Ethan when her head wasn’t pounding so hard.
She looked at him as he sat down beside her. He inspected her cheek, his gaze intense and probing. Then he leaned close. His warm breath caressed her skin while he gently pressed a linen-covered icepack to her bruise.
“How are you feeling?” he asked softly.
She swallowed hard and tried to speak, but she couldn’t get the words out. Fatigue dragged her down. Her head was spinning. A wave of nausea gripped her stomach. Then her legs started to tremble. She tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t. The tremors gripping her body intensified. Shaking all over, she tried to stand. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
He wrapped his arm around her waist. “It’s okay, Angel…Angel, look at me.”
She did as she was told.
His deep-set eyes held hers. “You’ve been running on adrenaline, but your tank’s empty. That’s all this is. You just need some rest.” He slid his arm beneath her legs and effortlessly scooped her into his arms. “Let’s make you more comfortable.”
He carried her down a shadowy hallway and into a large bedroom, illuminated only by the city lights slanting through the window. Supporting her weight with one arm, he pulled the covers back and laid her down. She snuggled into the warmth, enveloped in his masculine scent.
∞∞∞
Ethan eased his blanket over her shoulders. She looked so small curled up in a tiny ball in his king-sized bed. He sat beside her and again gently pressed the icepack to her cheek. “Can I get in touch with your family for you?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. “I don’t have one.”
“What about a roommate?”
Again, she shook her head.
“There’s no one I can call?”
“I don’t have anyone,” she said. Then her eyes flew open. She sat up. “But my boss will be expecting me at work tomorrow.” She gripped the blanket in her fist so hard, her knuckles turned white. “Maybe I should get going.”
A pang of tenderness struck his heart. She was alone in the world. No wonder she lived with such fear.
“You don’t need to be afraid of me, Angel. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She shook her head, her eyes downcast. “I know, but it’s late. I really need to—”
He cupped her cheek, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You need to stay here. I’ll take care of you.”
Her shallow breaths grew deeper while she met his gaze. Slowly, she uncurled her fingers, releasing the blanket, and her shoulders eased back in place. He helped her lay back down, then brushed her silken brown hair away from her face. A slight smile curved her lips as she looked up at him with those big, innocent brown eyes. In that moment, he saw himself in her eyes—the way she thought of him. He saw a good man—too good. Not him.
Sure, he saved her from the bad guys, but that didn’t make him a hero.
She smiled up at him sleepily. Then her lids fluttered and drooped. She was like fine-boned china, delicate, fragile.
Breakable. And tonight she had almost been destroyed.
He stood, raking a hand through his hair as he looked down at her, her breaths slow and even as she slept.
What if he hadn’t been outside Tidal Wave at that moment?
Fury coursed through him as he walked from the room, leaving the door partially open. He stopped in the bathroom and pulled off his sweaty t-shirt before washing the dried blood from his knuckles. Those assholes that attacked her deserved so much more for their crime than a good beating. Sure, he had left them broken and bleeding, but if he could, he would go back and beat the life from them.
Head pounding, he went to the kitchen and poured a tall glass of water, which he downed. Then he strode into his office, and he eased into a high-backed leather chair. Staring out over the lights surrounding Boston Common, he fought for calm. Morning was only a few hours away. He may as well just consider it tomorrow.
A muffled whimper penetrated his thoughts. He jumped to his feet, sprinted down the hallway, and threw open Angel’s door. She thrashed about under the covers, crying for help, deep in the throes of a nightmare.
He pulled her into his arms. “Wake up, Angel.”
She jerked awake, her eyes wide and fearful, her gaze darting about the room.
He cupped her cheeks, forcing her to look at him. “It’s okay, Angel. It was only a dream.”
After a moment, she nodded, and wrapped her thin arms his neck. She squeezed hard, burying her face in the hollow of his throat. Her tears wet his skin. “It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he crooned.
Holding her close, he rocked her and continued whispering soothing words in her ear. It had been a long time since he held a woman. As he felt her body curve into his, he realized that maybe he never had, not really. He inhaled the subtle scent of her shampoo. Her long, soft hair cascaded like silk across his arms.
“Damn,” he whispered. “This feels good.”
