Page 49 of Once an Angel
She awoke that moonlit night to the discordant drumbeat of her own heart. A hoarse moan tore through the silence. Justin was dreaming again.
Her blankets fell away as she scrambled across the hut. Her hand brushed his fevered brow. She was helpless to explain even to herself her frantic desire to soothe him. Was Nicky haunting him tonight? Or was it her father, his brilliant smile faded, his merry brown eyes glittering not with laughter but accusation? Pain twitched in the grooves around Justin's mouth, and suddenly it didn't matter who his demons were. She wanted only to banish them.
She lay down and curled into his side. Her palm crept across his bare chest, coming to rest over his heart. His restless thrashing eased, then stilled completely. His groan was one of contentment as he drew her into the shelter of his arms and buried his face in her hair.
* * *
Feathers tickled Justin's nose. He wiggled it, sniffing back a sneeze. Aroma filled his nostrils, a scent so rich and pure it was rendered exotic by its sheer simplicity. Vanilla. It assaulted his brain with a longing
for an England he barely cared to remember. It made him crave civilized delights like Gracie's cookies
hot from the oven and sprinkled with cinnamon. Scones rolled in sugar and wrapped around steaming peaches. Emily dipped in Stardust and laved with melted moonlight.
His eyes flew open. Emily?
His nose nested not in feathers, but in her curls. Her body twined around his in drowsy innocence. She was as fervent in sleep as in wakefulness. Her thigh was flung across his leg and her hand lay in a gentle cup over his abdomen. The tempered glow of dawn caressed her face.
The craving in Justin's stomach shot to his groin with merciless swiftness. He shifted his hips. To hell
with cookies and scones, he thought. He wanted a taste of Emily. He wanted to gorge himself on her tender body until they were both sated. It was torture enough to rise each morning to find her huddled under her own blankets, her pert rump tilted to the ceiling. But to emerge from the fog of sleep to find
her curled around him like some sweet wanton? He felt so hard it might take only one of her artless wiggles to shatter him. Careful not to disturb her, he reached down and freed a button of his dungarees.
She'd become more than a burden to him in the past few days. She'd become an obsession. He struggled to treat her with the same gentle affection he showed the children, but the sharp edge of his desire was only whetted by her merry smile. She'd flourished like a tropical bloom in the wilds of the island. Sunlight had honeyed her skin and tipped her lengthening curls with gold.
His world belonged to Emily. She hovered around him like a gamin angel, lithe and funny. He pressed his eyes shut, battered by images of her bending over a flax plant at his side, wading through the shallow waves at sunset with Maori children dangling from her arms like crabs. He had even glanced up from his Bible Sunday at the meeting house to find her sitting cross-legged on the dirt floor, her expression pensive, her cheek resting against Dani's sleek head. He had stammered through five verses of Matthew, then lost his place entirely. When he had looked up again, she was gone.
He'd had his share of mistresses in London, both false and true, yet none of them could compare to the mischievous charms of the barefoot waif clinging to his side.
Emily stirred. Her lips parted in a delicate snore. A twinge of shame touched him. Here he lay, plotting
a seduction so lascivious it would have shamed even Nicky, and she was probably dreaming of starfish and sand castles. He ran his finger down her nose, expecting to find a dusting of cinnamon freckles on
his fingertip.
Her eyes fluttered open, then widened in a mixture of dread and horror that made him wonder if he'd sprouted fangs during the night. He ran his tongue over his teeth. They all felt reassuringly blunt.
Ruefully, he touched his bristled jaw. "I know I haven't shaved in a few days, but I'm not that frightful, am I?"
He must have been, because she struggled to untangle her leg and roll away.
He gathered her tighter into his arms, not willing to let her go without an explanation. "Why the terrible rush? Contrary to my staid reputation, I'm not averse to a little morning cuddle."
She gave a husky squeak. "But Penfeld—"
"—is sleeping."
A sonorous snore from beneath the window proved his words.
"So was I," she blurted out. "Sleeping, that is. Sleepwalking, actually. I must have stumbled and fallen
on you. Perhaps I struck my head. I should walk about and see if I'm dizzy."
She was halfway up when his arm snaked around her waist, jerking her back. He winced as her plush
rear wedged against the part of his anatomy that at the moment was too prominent to be seemly.
"If you're dizzy, you need rest," he said, hoping she would attribute the croak in his voice to drowsiness. "You know, for a good prankster, you're a terrible liar."
