Angel

Chapter 23

Angel sat in the parlor with the bottle of tequila Maria had fetched for him, her own private stock. Charles Stuart didn’t drink hard liquor, so there hadn’t been a single bottle of whiskey in the house. And Angel didn’t feel like riding to town to get some. In his present mood, there would definitely be trouble if he did.

He hadn’t seen his wife since he’d left her room — the second time that morning. The first time he’d been angry enough to leave without his boots. He’d even gotten halfway to the stable before he realized he had nothing on his feet. He’d had to go back. He only had the one pair. But he’d waited until he cooled off some before he knocked on her door again.

She’d calmed down some herself by then. At least she’d used a civil tone when neither of them could find his boots right off. “With Marabelle in the room, you might as well look under the bed,” she’d suggested. “That’s where she stashes things she wants to keep.”

“Wants to keep?” The tug-of-war that had come to mind had him frowning. “I’m not going to fight your Marabelle for my boots.”

“You won’t have to. In case you haven’t noticed, she’s not here.”

He hadn’t noticed. It was hard to notice anything else when he could barely take his eyes off Cassie. Even with her hair tightly coiled again, her dress properly fastened— undoubtedly she’d put some drawers on by then, too — he kept seeing her as she’d been last night, lying beneath him, her long brown hair spread out on the pillow, her breasts full and pouting — and no drawers on.

It was happening again. He’d lost count of how many times he’d gotten hard today from remembering how she’d been last night. He stretched out his legs and took another swig of the tequila, but it wasn’t helping him to forget.

He’d gotten down on his knees to look under the bed. She’d gotten down on the other side. The boots were there, all right. So were a lot of unrecognizable things— and Cassie’s lavender-and-white lace dress. He’d pulled the dress out first and held it up.

“It made a fine wedding dress, Cassie. You should have removed your coat.”

She didn’t reply, just stared at him wide-eyed. He didn’t know why he’d said it, and added uncomfortably, “It doesn’t look like the cat ruined it.”

“She wouldn’t. She knows better than to chew on my clothes.”

“What about boots?”

“That’s another story. Marabelle goes crazy for them.”

“The smell of leather?”

“Sweat, actually.”

He’d wanted to laugh at the way she’d said it, as if he should have known. She made him want to laugh at the strangest times, and usually over nothing that was funny. He didn’t laugh. He fetched his boots and got out of there before he gave in to the urge to make love to her again.

He never should have gone up to her room last night. He’d known that. It had been a really stupid thing to do. Yet through no fault of his own, he’d been given the legal right to make love to the very woman who’d been driving him crazy with lust.

There was no way he could ignore that once the notion took hold. No way he could fight a temptation that powerful. He hadn’t lied to her this morning. But she wasn’t interested in his reasons, or that she had become his weakness. She was still too upset that he’d made their forced marriage into a temporary real one.

R. J. MacKauley was an ornery cuss, but what he’d done was no big deal. They’d all known that — except Cassie. She hadn’t wanted it to happen for any reason. Angel was still infuriated over how hard she’d fought to prevent it from occurring. And that was stupid, too, his taking that rejection so to heart when he’d already known that he didn’t stand a chance with a woman like her.

He couldn’t remember ever having his emotions this tied up in knots. And he didn’t know what he could do about it — except leave. That he could do in just a few more days. That was all he needed, to remove himself from the temptation. Distance would take care of what he was feeling, get his thoughts straight, get him back on his solitary path, and end these foolish yearnings for something different.

And he’d be leaving with a clear slate. He owed no one now…

The hell he didn’t. He’d known last night that if he went up to her room, he’d end up owing Cassie. She wouldn’t have given him her innocence if she’d had a choice. She’d stopped him every other time he’d come close to tampering with it. But how did he pay back a woman for something like that?

The answer came rather quickly, since the tequila wasn’t helping to dull his thoughts yet. He knew what Cassie wanted. Her meddling had made a bad situation worse, and as a result she would be leaving some pretty unhappy people behind. She’d like nothing more than to turn that around so she could go home with a clear conscience. Angel didn’t operate that way, but he knew he could probably accomplish that for her. She wouldn’t like his methods — hell, none of them would — but it could be done.

He started to take another swig, then tensed, hearing her coming. Hell, purring that loud went through the walls. He watched the open doors, his fingers tightening around the glass in his hand. She didn’t usually bother him. He’d come across her in the house before, but she’d just stared at him with those huge golden eyes.

She did that now as she appeared in the doorway and sat back on her haunches. But when she made no move to enter the room, he relaxed somewhat.

“Smart girl,” Angel said with a nod. “After those teeth marks I found on my boots, I’m your worst enemy. Just keep your—”

Marabelle was at his feet in a couple of strides, gave them a few sniffs, then plopped down on the floor to literally curl around them. One large paw flipped over Angel’s ankles, as if to keep him from moving. He wasn’t about to budge.

“You start cleaning your teeth on me and I’ll shoot you,” he warned the cat.

She didn’t look in the direction of his voice. She started rubbing her face on the edge of one boot. Angel didn’t reach for his gun.

“Hell, you’re as bad as she is. You don’t know when to quit.”

The panther kept on purring. Angel watched closely, and damned if her teeth didn’t scrape across the top of his boot. He shook his head, deciding the tequila must have been stronger than he’d thought. Why else would he be sitting there letting a full-grown panther gnaw on his feet?