Page 50 of Once an Angel
"That's not truel I'm a very good liar. All my teachers said so." She wiggled in protest.
Justin's beleaguered body reached its breaking point. He shoved her off him, then rolled on top of her, stilling her struggles with his weight. He laced his fingers through hers and imprisoned her hands above her head.
He arched his eyebrow in a wicked threat. "Now, suppose you tell me what you were doing on my pallet. Blowing pepper up my nose? Tying my blankets into knots? Planting brambles in my dungarees?"
She lowered her eyes, leaving him gazing at the velvety silk of her lashes. "I had a bad dream. I was afraid."
Her sheepish confession touched his heart. He knew only too well how it felt to awaken trembling in the dark. He imagined her creeping to his side, trusting him to chase away her monsters. He lowered himself, wanting only to kiss away her fears. Before his lips could touch hers, his hips grazed her bare belly. A shock of pleasure electrified him. He realized too late that swapping positions had only "worsened matters. The heavy fullness in his dungarees had become impossible to ignore. For both of them.
Emily's mouth fell open in shock.
To his utter horror he felt a blush creep up his jawline. "It's nothing," he said tersely. Her eyes widened
in comical disbelief. "A normal phenomenon of the morning, I assure you. It has absolutely nothing to
do with you," he lied.
She hesitated, then sniffed in prim sophistication. "I knew that."
Justin sat up, swinging his legs away from her. Of course she knew that, he thought. Her smug little gardener's lad had probably taught her. Or had it been the chimney sweep? His temper burned with a ferocious urge to shove her back on the blankets and teach her a few lessons of his own.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her sit up. She drew her skirt down to hug her shapely thighs as if
she were the shyest of virgins.
He owed her a warning, he reminded himself, nothing more. "Emily?"
"Yes?"
"If you have any more nightmares"—he felt her waiting silence—"go to Penfeld."
"As you wish, Mr. Connor. I shouldn't wish to burden you."
Justin was unprepared for the bitterness of her reply.
He swiveled to face her, but she had already dropped to her pallet and pulled the blankets over her head like a sullen child.
* * *
That afternoon Justin stood on the shore and watched the storm roll in with the tide. Black clouds poured from the west, driving the rain before them. Far out at sea it was already falling, melting sky and ocean into a seamless curtain of gray. Lightning crackled and snapped in a broken web above pitching waves tinted green by the eerie light of the approaching squall. Justin braced his legs against the wind and thrust his hands into his pockets. He welcomed the storm, seeking in its savage wildness a kindred spirit to his own mood.
An oppressive heat had hung in the air all day, simmering like the tension in his body since he had awakened to find Emily snuggled in his arms. He recognized it for what it was: desire—hot, potent, and too long denied. She had shattered the fragile peace he had found on the North Island, stirred the hungry beast within him who craved excitement and passion and more than the loyal devotion of a small tribe of natives.
His nostrils flared at the scent of the coming rain. If only the breaking of the storm could ease his own pent-up frustration. His gaze raked the deserted beach. A ripple of saffron caught his eye.
He watched as Emily made her way down the path :rom the bluff. The wind molded the flaxen skirt to her legs and whipped her curls into a blinding frenzy. Her feet :-';pped in the soft sand. She slid a few
feet and Justin took - step toward the bluff without realizing it. She didn't see him. As the first fat raindrops pelted his back, she ran for the shelter of the forest path and disappeared among the wind-lashed trees.
Justin glared at the bluff, his brow furrowed. This was the third time he had seen Emily descend from
the path, always at twilight and always alone. Oblivious to the rain, he strode down the beach and
started up the sandy hill, groping for handholds in the tussocks of grass.
As he topped the bluff, a blaze of color brought him up short. Crimson flowers spilled like blood around the base of the cross that guarded David's grave. Pohutukawas. Justin dropped to his knees and touched
a fragile petal with his fingertip, drowning in the cloying sweetness of their scent. Remembered shame washed over him in waves. He pressed his eyes shut as David's voice whispered through the rain, carrying him back through time.
