Page 100 of Kiss an Angel

She didn’t know whether they undressed themselves or each other, but they were soon lying naked on the bed. Sensation, warm and thick, spread outward from her belly. His mouth was on her shoulder, her breasts, brushing the crests. He kissed her belly. She opened her legs for him and let him raise her knees.

“I’m going to touch you everywhere,” he murmured against the soft skin of her inner thigh.

And he did. Oh, he did.

He couldn’t love her with his heart, but he could love her with his body, and he did it with an unbridled generosity that filled her with emotion. She took what he was able to give and, at the same time, she loved him back, using her hands and her breasts, the graze of her skin, the warmth of her mouth.

When he finally buried himself deep within her, she wrapped her legs around his and clung fast.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Oh, yes.”

The barriers between them disappeared, and as they climbed together, she began to talk.

“Oh, yes. Like that. I love . . . Yes. Deep. Oh, yes. Just that . . .”

She crooned to him from passion and from instinct, if she stopped talking, he’d try to forget who she was and turn her into an anonymous femal

e body. She couldn’t bear that. She was Daisy. She was his wife.

And so she talked, held tight, and raced with him into that place of oneness.

Finally, all the darkness gave way to light.

“It was sacred.”

“It wasn’t sacred, Daisy. It was sex.”

“Let’s do it again.”

“I’m going seventy miles an hour, we didn’t have more than three hours of sleep last night, and we’re already late getting into Allentown.”

“Stuffed shirt.”

“Who are you calling a stuffed shirt?”

“You.”

He glanced over at her, a devilish spark in his eyes. “I dare you to say that when you’re naked.”

“I’m not getting naked till you admit it was sacred.”

“How about if I admit it was special? Because it was definitely special.”

She gave him a smug look and let it go at that. Last night had been more than special, and both of them knew it. She’d felt it in the urgency of their lovemaking and the way they’d held on to each other afterward. When they’d looked into each other’s eyes, nothing was hidden, nothing held back.

This morning, she’d expected him to be up to his old tricks again, acting surly and impossible, doing everything he could to distance himself. But to her surprise, he’d been funny and tender instead. It was as if he’d given up the struggle. With every beat of her romantic’s heart, she wanted to believe he’d fallen in love with her, but she knew it wouldn’t be that easy. For now she’d be grateful that he’d lowered his guard.

Rain began to splatter the truck’s dusty windshield with great amoeba-shaped drops. It was a chilly, dreary morning, and according to the forecast, it would only get worse. He looked over at her, and she had the feeling he’d read her mind.

“I can’t resist you,” he said quietly. “You know that, don’t you? And I’m tired of pretending I can.” His expression grew more troubled. “But I don’t love you, Daisy, and you can’t begin to know how sorry I am about that because if I could chose anyone in this world to love, it’d be you.”

She made herself speak around the lump in her throat. “The mutation thing?”

“Don’t joke about it.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just so unbelievably—” Stupid. It was stupid, but she bit back the word. As long as he believed he couldn’t love, she would only set up his defenses by arguing with him about it. Unless it was true. The unhappy thought trailed through her mind. What if he was right and his bleak, violent childhood had scarred him so badly he could never love? Or what if he merely couldn’t love her?

The rain began to hammer on the roof of the cab. She looked down at her wedding band. “Tell me what it would be like? If you loved me?”

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