A Cold Day In Hell

“I know you’ve had a hard life,” she said.

“I chose it.” He didn’t even pretend to smile now. “Aaron isn’t worrying about where you are. Both of them know you’re with me.”

She colored. “I shouldn’t be any longer.”

“Why? Because they might think we’re doing more than driving to my place and sharing a drink, maybe?”

Eileen laughed nervously. “No, of course not. I’m pretty tired. All the hocus-pocus in the swamp must have worn me out. I’m so grateful Aaron’s okay.”

He moved again and this time he stood behind her right shoulder where she could almost, but not quite, see him. She could feel him, hear him breathing.

Eileen stood straighter. She wished she wore high heels because they brought her closer to his height and she felt more powerful then. “Let me wash these glasses out for you.” She reached for them but Angel’s hand on the back of her neck immobilized her.

“Forget the glasses. You’re scared and I don’t like that. Not when I’m the one you’re scared of.”

“I’m not.”

As long as she stayed with her back to him she would appear nervous. She faced him. His hand slid from her neck, over her shoulder and down her arm. He circled her wrist and stroked the tender inside skin there.

The lightning climbed her back again, matched by the same feeling low in her belly, between her legs. Was she that kind of woman? The kind who got sexually excited by fear? She ran the fingers of her free hand across her brow and they came away damp.

“It’s probably not a good idea to call voodoo hocus-pocus in these parts.”

She raised her chin. “I’ve lived here all my life. I know to be careful what I say about those things in some circumstances. These aren’t those circumstances.”

“Did you look at Aaron’s body?”

“He wouldn’t let me. You know how boys are.”

He grinned. “Only until they grow up and the women they’re with aren’t their mothers.”

She had to smile. “I guess you’re right. I don’t suppose Aaron counts as a boy anymore, either.”

“I’ve made more progress in the house. Let me show you.”

She couldn’t bring herself to repeat that she ought to get back. “I’d like that.”

Still holding her wrist, he took her to the far side of the room where an archway was framed into a wall. Once on the other side, with the unfinished conservatory to their right, he headed directly for the stairs and climbed. Eileen went behind him, every heartbeat feeling bigger and harder.

“What do you think of Chuzah?” she asked. “I don’t know whether to accept that he was kind to the boys, or be terrified of him. That dog is strange.”

“A shape-shifter?” Angel said, and chuckled. “That was a strange comment you made. He’s a great dog. It’s the breed. Silver ghosts.”

“He looked like a ghost when he moved through the fog,” Eileen said.

“Maybe he is. Maybe Chuzah is, too. He surely doesn’t fit any profile I’ve encountered before.”

She paused, frowning.

Angel stopped a couple of stairs above her. “Eileen, something’s going on. Something happened in that swamp. Sonny said Aaron was bleeding—a lot—and he had blood on his own clothes. But there wasn’t any coming from Aaron when we got there.”

“Don’t. Aaron’s fine.”

“Chuzah said he threw Aaron’s clothes away because they were such a mess. That doesn’t sound unreasonable to you?”

Eileen thought exactly that. “The man’s unusual.”

“That’s enough for you?” Angel said.

“I’m trying to make it enough.”

He produced his cell phone and pressed a button. Almost at once he said, “You guys okay? Uh-huh. No calls before this one? Good. We’re taking things a bit easy. It’s good to get away from you two now and again.”

Eileen suppressed a smile and shook her head.

“Okay,” Angel said. “Stick with the instructions. See you eventually.” He put the phone away and gave her all of his attention. “I want to kiss you.”

She stood absolutely still, looking up at him in light that hadn’t been upgraded. He was in the gloom but the glint in his eyes, the sexual intensity, was clear. So was the downward tilt of his lips and the tight movement of the small muscles in his jaw.

“That’s abrupt,” she said.

He pulled on her arm so she had to go up another step, and another. “It wasn’t abrupt. You’ve been taking up most of my mind for months. How about you, Eileen? Have I been on your mind?”

Without taking her eyes from his, she nodded.

His expression turned predatory, possessive—and determined.

If she wanted out of this, there wasn’t much time. There wasn’t any time.

Angel spread a hand behind her head and lowered his face over hers. He kissed her and she felt instantly weak, and wet, and wanted to get closer to him.

Eileen wanted to be naked with him.

She started hard enough for Angel to raise his face. A new element had appeared, a feverishness. “What?” he said. “You jumped.”

Parting her lips, Eileen stood on tiptoe and delivered her own kiss. She worked their mouths until he groaned and dragged her hard against him. She swayed a little and grabbed for him to steady herself.

Angel put an arm around her waist and walked her up to the gallery, kissing her repeatedly as they went. Without warning, he unzipped her sweat suit jacket and slid a hand inside. She hadn’t put on another top underneath. There was no mistaking his satisfaction when he weighed a breast, hooked a thumb inside her bra.

She pulled out his hand and moved away a little. “You believe in moving right along.”

“And you aren’t ready for that?” Angel said.

“You’re going to show me what else you’ve done to the house, remember?” That anxiety, that conviction that somehow she must be wanting when it came to being with men, returned. Chuck had always said she was boring in bed.

Angel took her from the gallery into a passageway. He reached through an open door and flipped a light switch. The room they entered wasn’t large. The walls were paneled with warm cherry; a deep window seat had yet to be finished, but the floor matched the paneling and, almost in the center of the room, stood a piece of furniture that made Eileen frown. “What’s that? Are you starting an ottoman collection?”

Walking around it, he put his fists on his hips and looked pleased with himself. “I could be. It’s a tête-à-tête.”