A Woman Without Lies

Chapter 13

As Angel brought the boat around the point that guarded the entrance to Deepwater Bay, she saw immediately that there were too many small boats clustered about for her take the course she usually did. Just as she began to turn the helm, she caught a motion out of the corner of her eye, a powerboat all but flying over the water toward the bay.

Some weekend fisherman was so anxious to get in every bit of fishing time he could that he was ignoring the basics of good manners and safety. He was going to force Angel to go too close to the other sport fishermen, and his wake was going to make all the other small boats bob wildly. Likely it would be enough to trip the planers and make everyone take in and let out the trolling lines all over again.

“Brace yourself!” called Angel.

She cut the forward speed to nothing in hope of reducing the drag on the planers.

The powerboat roared past them, pulling a rooster tail of churned water as tall as a man. Hawk was ready, his legs spread and his hand fastened to the door frame of the cabin. The boat rocked wildly, bucking like an unruly horse.

The other small craft were no better off. There were more than a few curses and rude gestures aimed at the disappearing powerboat.

Angel eased back up to trolling speed and set a course that would take her farther from the clustered boats. Automatically she looked back at the stern, checking the fishing gear. One rod was standing straight, unmoving. The other was bent over in a hard arc.

Before Angel could say anything, Hawk lifted the rod and pulled sharply. Nothing gave. The rod tip moved with tiny, springy motions. Line peeled off the reel while the brake made a long, high scream.

Normally that sound would signal the strike and flight of a big fish. Today it meant something a good deal less exciting.

Sixty feet away, Angel saw one of the men in a small blue boat stand and wave wildly to get her attention. His partner was struggling to reel in his line. There was so much tension on the man’s rod that he could barely hold onto it.

With a muttered word, Angel cut the throttle and put the gear into neutral.

“We’ve fouled his line,” Angel said. “Let him reel in and untangle it.”

Hawk stopped trying to bring in the line. Even without his pressure pulling, the joined lines popped above water between the two boats. In the rich sunset light the lines shone like thin silver cables, fairly humming with tension.

The current was pushing the two boats apart, but they remained held together by the slender, surprisingly strong fishing line and the two hooks snagged one through the other.

The man in the blue boat fumbled with the humming line for a moment, but it was far too tightly drawn. He tugged, trying to bring the joined hooks within reach. The current forcing the boats apart was too strong. He leaned out until he nearly fell into the water. He was inches too short.

He shrugged, pulled a knife, and cut the line just above his hook.

Horrified, Angel watched the knife descend. She knew that once the tension was released, the line would come shooting back like a released rubber band; and the deadly hook would be flying behind, a weapon aimed at Hawk, who was holding the rod.

There was no time to explain or to warn Hawk. Angel sprang out of the cockpit, took two running leaps, and threw herself at Hawk’s head, protecting his eyes from the hook that was slashing back through the water.

“What the hell!” Hawk said, automatically grabbing Angel and bracing both of them.

“The hook – ” Angel began as she pulled Hawk’s face down against her breasts.

Then pain took her breath away.

Instantly Hawk realized what had happened. Angel’s hands loosened, releasing him, but he held her tightly while he looked over her shoulder.

Part of the hook’s steel curve was buried in her sweater. The rest was in her flesh, just next to her shoulder blade. As he watched, a single drop of crimson welled silently, staining the soft green sweater.

With a savage curse, Hawk released Angel and pulled a jackknife from his pocket. He looped the fishing line over his fingers and cut through it without putting the least pressure on the hook embedded in Angel’s back.

As soon as Angel was free, she headed back toward the wheel.

“Don’t move,” said Hawk curtly, grabbing her arm.

“We’re drifting.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Hawk lowered Angel carefully into a seat at the stern of the boat. Then he moved with frightening speed.

Rather than take the time to reel in the two remaining lines, he cut them. An instant later he vanished into the cockpit and lifted the big boat into roaring life.

Within minutes he brought the boat into a sheltered anchorage on the northeast side of Deepwater Bay. In another man such speed would have been reckless. In Hawk, it was as controlled as the swoop of a raptor.

In a few strides he was back at the stern of the boat, lowering the anchor.

“Are you all right?” Hawk asked, looking at the lines of strain around Angel’s mouth.

She started to shrug. Her face tightened as the motion of her shoulders made the hook’s sharp point dig deeper.

“I’ll live,” she said, drawing a slow, careful breath.

Hawk muttered a vicious curse.

“It’s just pain,” said Angel, her voice low.

She closed her eyes for a moment, using her mind to draw tension from her body. She had learned that fighting pain only increased it. If you accepted pain, you could begin to control your response to it. Once Angel had learned that, she had found the courage to live without drugs and walk without a cane.

When Angel’s eyes opened, they were clear, unafraid of pain.

“Let’s see what the damage is,” she said quietly.

Hawk’s eyes narrowed.

“Unless you mind?” she asked, seeing Hawk’s reaction. “If it bothers you, I can call Carlson off the Black Moon.”

As Angel spoke, she looked toward the troller that was anchored a few hundred feet away.

Hawk stared at Angel’s tranquil face, hardly able to believe her calm. If he hadn’t seen blood well beneath her sweater, he wouldn’t have known from her actions that there was a hook buried in her satin flesh.

Grimly Hawk acknowledged that Angel was an actress worthy of any stage in the world.

“I’ve seen worse injuries,” Hawk said curtly.

He followed Angel into the cabin and switched on all the lights. When he turned around, Angel was sitting with her back presented to the strongest source of light.

Hawk knelt beside her. His mouth thinned to a harsh line when he saw the blood seeping through the soft green yarn of Angel’s sweater. With exquisite gentleness, he eased the sweater over the steel curve and straight shank of the hook, managing not to exert any pressure on the hook itself.

When Hawk saw beneath the sweater, he said a single, violent word under his breath. The hook was almost as long as his thumb. He could see neither the hook’s glittering tip nor the barb that was designed to sink into flesh and stay there.

“It’s in past the barb, isn’t it?” Angel asked.

Only the slightest quiver in her voice showed how much the hook hurt her.

“Yes.”

She moved as though to take off her sweater.

“Don’t, Angel. I can see enough.”

“If the entry angle isn’t too steep, you can push the barb through, cut if off, and then remove the hook,” she said. “Otherwise you’ll have to cut the skin to free the barb.”

Angel’s matter-of-fact words exactly paralleled Hawk’s thoughts.

“Either way, it will hurt like hell,” he said bluntly.

“Then you’ll get to hear your fishing guide scream and swear and otherwise make a fool of herself.”

When Hawk didn’t answer, Angel turned just enough to look into his eyes.

“It’s only pain, Hawk. It passes.”

“I could take you to a doctor.”

“Why? You have quicker hands than any doctor who ever treated me.”

“Angel… ”

“There are pliers and a wire cutter in the tackle box. If you don’t want to do it, call Carlson. He’s seen me scream before.”

Hawk hesitated, wanting to ask when and why Carlson had seen Angel scream with pain. But it was the wrong time for questions.

With another soft, vicious curse, Hawk went to the tackle box. He found two pairs of needle nose pliers and the wire cutter. He brought them back, doused them with alcohol, and went to where Angel waited.

“Ready?” asked Hawk, his voice flat.

“Just a moment.”

Angel closed her eyes and reached for the cascading colors. They poured through her mind, colors too beautiful to describe, too pure to be real.

“Now,” she murmured, and began naming the fantastic colors in her mind.

Using the pliers for grip and leverage on the steel shank, Hawk forced the hook to complete its shallow curve through Angel’s flesh. He cut off the barb cleanly, then pulled out what remained of the hook in a swift, smooth motion.

Angel gasped and made a low sound of pain.

Hawk dropped the bloody, broken hook into the tackle box and wrapped his hands around Angel’s arms, bracing her and looking at the twin wounds on her golden skin.

“It’s done,” Hawk said, his voice harsh.

“Thank you,” Angel said, her voice trembling.

She let out a long, ragged sigh.

“When was your last tetanus shot?” Hawk asked.

“I don’t fish with rusty hooks,” said Angel indignantly, breathing more deeply now that the hook didn’t dig into her with each breath. “Anyway, my shots are current. There’s some antibiotic salve in a kit in the tackle box. That should take care of infection.”

Hawk hesitated. “Can you move your shoulder blades, twist around a bit?”

“Why?”

“You’ve only bled about six drops. That’s not enough to clean out the deepest part of the wound.”

Angel rotated her shoulder blades slowly. Her sweater slipped down her back. She gathered the soft folds and pulled them over her head with an impatient motion.

Hawk’s breath shortened at the satin sheen and movement of Angel’s skin. She wore no more on her back than a wisp of apricot bra and two bright drops of blood, one on each wound left by the hook as it stitched through her flesh. Despite her movements, no more blood came.

“This will hurt,” said Hawk.

It was his only warning. One arm slid around Angel’s waist and the other crossed just above her breasts as he bent his mouth to her back. He sucked hard on first one wound, then the other. The force of his suction drew blood, which naturally cleansed her flesh.

After an initial, sharp breath, Angel neither moved nor protested. The intimacy of Hawk’s hard arms and lips held her motionless. His mouth should have hurt her, but all she felt was his heat and strength.

For an instant before Hawk lifted his head, Angel thought she felt his mouth soften and caress her. When she turned to look at him, she saw a drop of her blood on his lips.

“Are you all right?” asked Hawk.

His voice was husky in the odd, breathless silence that had closed around the cabin.

Angel nodded. Her fingertip slowly came up to Hawk’s mouth. Before she could touch the crimson trembling on his lip, his tongue moved, absorbing the drop. His eyes darkened almost to black as the salt-sweet taste of her spread through him. Slowly he stood and pulled Angel to her feet.

“You’re pale,” he said softly. “Lie down on the forward bunk. I’ll bring in the salve and bandages.”

Angel swayed slightly. She felt weak, almost dizzy – and foolish. It was Hawk’s closeness, not pain, that was affecting her so strongly.

With a swift movement, Hawk opened the small door on the far side of the cockpit. Gently he helped Angel onto the triangular bed that filled the space beneath the bow. She lay facedown, listening to him move about the cabin behind her. There was enough room for her to sit up in the bow, but she didn’t. She was content to just to lie quietly, waiting for Hawk to come to her.

Angel heard Hawk’s smooth step, felt the mattress give as he sat next to her, and then the sudden, breathtaking release of the catch on her bra. A warm washcloth moved gently down her back, bathing away the last of the blood.

“Hurt?” asked Hawk, his voice gritty.

“No.”

Angel’s answer was barely a breath.

For a few moments there was only the soft sound of a damp cloth moving over skin. A pause, then Hawk’s fingers replaced the cloth.

“Such beautiful skin,” murmured Hawk. “Smooth, golden.”

He bent down. His mustache brushed over Angel’s shoulder.

“You smell like summer,” he said in a deep voice.

Angel’s breath stopped. Chills moved visibly over her, a helpless response to the silky touch of Hawk.

“This may sting,” he said, sitting up as though nothing had happened.

The salve was cool, as smooth as Hawk’s voice and fingers caressing her. Angel sighed, breathing again, her arms bent and her hands tucked beneath her chin.

Hawk pressed a bandage lightly into place over the twin puncture wounds. He gathered up the ends of Angel’s bra as though to fasten it in place again.

Then he let the lacy material slide from his fingers as he smoothed aside her braid and bent to kiss the nape of her neck.

Angel felt the heat of Hawk’s breath, his mouth, his chest rubbing lightly over her as he caressed the sensitive skin at the base of her neck. She shivered and would have turned over to face him, but Hawk put his hands on her shoulders, chaining her.

His mouth caressed her neck, her hairline, the curve of her skull; and then his hard tongue teased her ears. She moaned and moved reflexively, slowly, arching like a cat to increase the pressure of Hawk’s mouth.

Hawk murmured thickly as he slid the bra straps off Angel’s shoulders with a single swift motion of his hands. His tongue and teeth traced the graceful line of her back down to the sensitive hollow hidden beneath her black jeans. His hands caressed her calves, her thighs, the taut curve of her hips, the heat between her thighs, and all the while his mouth devoured her delicately, ravenously, a sensual assault that was like nothing Angel had ever experienced.

Only when Angel was twisting helplessly beneath Hawk’s knowing touch did he allow her to roll over. He pulled the bra free as she moved and threw it aside. His eyes blazed darkly, pupils dilated until there was little color, only desire.

Angel was more beautiful than Hawk had expected. She was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. Flawless gold skin swelling into nipples flushed deepest rose, her eyes a soft green fire watching him, wanting him.

When he bent his mouth to her breasts, she tried to speak.

“Hawk – ”

“Hush,” he said, his voice gritty.

He wanted only silence and Angel’s beauty, her body’s heat surrounding him. It was too soon for the cold rain of lies to begin.

Hawk’s mouth closed over Angel’s breast, pulling the nipple deeply into his mouth.

The words she had been going to say scattered in the explosion of sensations radiating through her. She moaned and twisted slowly against his caressing mouth in a feminine demand that was as old as desire.

Yet it was new to Angel. Grant had never taken her into his mouth, had never scraped his teeth gently, savagely, over her until she wanted to scream with pleasure, had never stroked her with his tongue until she shivered and cried out. Grant had been cautious of the passion that consumed him each time he touched Angel.

Hawk was not.

Hawk let the currents of desire drive both of them to the heights of need. And then his hands moved quickly over Angel, taking her clothes, leaving her naked to his touch. His fingers tangled in the golden mound of hair below her navel, testing lightly the heat and hunger of her, rubbing over her, teasing her until she shuddered with the tension building in her, consuming her.

“Hawk – ”

His hand moved skillfully, heat showering, words stopping in Angel’s throat.

But not for long.

“Hawk – I’m not – experienced.”

The words came between the shudders of sensual tension that racked Angel’s body, teaching her more than she had ever thought to know about need and pleasure. She didn’t see the cold curl at the corner of Hawk’s mouth or the narrowing of his eyes, his savage anger that the lies had started so soon.

When Angel opened her eyes again, Hawk was naked, swooping down on her, covering her with his body like a raptor mantling its prey. She had no time to speak or think or conceal the cry of pain that came when he took her.

Hawk froze, astonishment and hunger struggling for control of his body until his emotions exploded into a searing rage.

“You can’t be a virgin!”

But even as Hawk denied it, he knew that Angel hadn’t lied.

The shock of Angel’s truth went through Hawk, shaking his certainties as nothing had since he was eighteen and his world had been shattered by a woman’s lies.

Like a cornered animal, Hawk fought to protect himself by attacking Angel.

“Hawk – ” Angel said hoarsely.

She moved reflexively, trying to ease the pressure of him inside her. The motion took control away from him, hurling him into unwanted pleasure.

“Damn you!” Hawk snarled, shuddering, raging against the release that was taking him whether he willed it to or not. “Damn you to hell!”

With a final shudder Hawk rolled aside, freeing Angel. He fought to control himself again, to absorb the terrible knowledge that Angel had not lied to him about being inexperienced. He didn’t understand what had happened. He didn’t understand her.

And Hawk must understand or his world would be utterly destroyed.

Again.