Page 305 of Once an Angel
Emily stood frozen. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Bewitched by his approach, she realized she didn't want to move. Tears of shame trickled down her cheeks as she realized she was willing to pay
any price to feel his embrace one last time. He slipped behind her and wrapped his strong arms around her waist. He had the eyes of a tiger but the hands of a man. They were so warm, she could feel her
flesh melting beneath their heat. Her head fell back in surrender.
The heat from the flames climbed as he bent his leg between hers, dipping low to mold the muscular planes of his body to her own. His palm drifted down to cup the damp fabric of her nightdress to her breasts, then to the throbbing flesh between her legs. She could feel the dark, watchful eyes of the
natives on them, but was helpless to stop his sensual mastery of her body and soul.
Through a haze of dark pleasure she felt a new weight, heavy and cold, against her belly. Her gaze
drifted down to see the pistol gripped in his beautiful hand. With exquisite tenderness he trailed the
barrel between the aching fullness of her breasts and up until she felt the icy press of the muzzle against her temple. She writhed against him.
At the exact second his artful fingertips pressed her into ecstasy, his mouth sought and found hers, his
kiss so sweet and fraught with tender promise that it made her sob . . .
. . . then he pulled the trigger.
Emily sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath. The flames of her dream were gone now, leaving her drenched with sweat and shivering among the twisted bedclothes. Her bedroom was dark, the fire
almost out. She kicked the sheets off her ankles, remembering how the sand in the dream had held her fast. Her body still tingled as if from a lover's touch. She glanced at the door, half wishing the knob
would turn, the door would swing open.
Justin's mocking words came back to her:I have no intention of going where I'm not wanted.
Justin was wrong. She wanted him badly. She wanted him to cradle her in his arms, to reassure her
that Nicky was lying about her father's death, to chase away her doubts and nightmares with his tender kisses. But he'd kissed her in the dream, hadn't he . . . ?
Shuddering, Emily threw back the covers and padded restlessly to the hearth. Justin obviously had every intention of keeping his word. They'd barely spoken after Nicky's departure. Supper had been a stilted affair with the duchess and Justin's sisters casting puzzled glances between their guarded faces.
She stabbed at the glowing embers with the poker, hoping to stir the dying fire into flame. Beneath her clumsy probing, the last burning coal crumbled to ash. She dropped the poker and hugged herself, shivering. The sweat was drying on her skin and her bare feet felt like ice. Glaring at the door, she made her decision. Without bothering to grab her robe, she threw open the door and plunged into the black corridor.
* * *
Emily quickly realized it must be very late. The candles left burning at bedtime had all guttered in their sconces. The darkness enveloped her in its unrelenting folds. As she navigated the corridor, her toes slammed into the taloned base of an occasional table. Swearing under her breath, she caught a teetering china figurine before it could fall.
She continued on, hugging the center of the corridor. A loose board groaned beneath her weight. She froze, foot poised over the next board, waiting for a bevy of servants to come rushing up the stairs or
for Harold to pop out of his bedroom and hit her over the head with something, believing her a burglar. The silence held its breath along with her.
She dared to move on, wandering the long corridors until she stood before the door to the master suite.
Its carved mahogany splendor dwarfed her. She lifted a hand to knock, then drew it back. Was this how Justin had felt at her door—like a desperate pauper come to beg?
She brushed back her curls, then lifted her hand again. She still could not find the courage to shatter the fragile silence. So she folded her trembling fingers around the brass handle and gently eased the door open.
Chapter 33
Everything I did, even the wrong things, out of love for you. . . .
were done
As Emily peeped into Justin's room, an unbidden rush of fondness flooded her. She should have known
