My Angel (2 page)

Along with the vehicle, Kangee shot forward, leaving Angela in a desperate battle to control her powerful mount. She let him have his head and they raced down the road then into the countryside beyond.

Wind sifted through her hair, her long braid uncoiling from its ribbon, wisps of hair dancing around her face. She let out a wild Sioux yell, reveling in the ride. From birth she'd been trained to ride like a man--to think like one, too. Her father and her brothers had taught her skills few white women knew. One-quarter Sioux, she'd always known that life for her would be challenging and sometimes hard.

One with her mount, Angela veered to the south on Kangee, taking a well-used trail through scrub brush and pine, a trail that led downward to a winding creek.

She let her hat fall back, her hair flying with the wind. With Kangee's hooves beating a powerful staccato on the earth, she felt alive and free.

They flew past Devil. She heard the loud, anxious whinny of his horse.

Thunder pounded behind her and she heard ' 'Son of a bitch'' reverberating down the trail. Thrills shot down her spine.

She looked back as Devil Blackmoor bore down upon her. His horse gained ground, its tail streaming back. He was almost upon her. Captivated by the straight set of Devil's shoulders, the rigid set of his jaw and the steel in his dark eyes, she nudged Kangee to ride faster--then faster still. Rising to a challenge and needing to win were intricate parts of her character.

The hammering of the stallion's hooves grew louder and ever closer. She imagined the hot breath of his horse on her arm, felt Devil's leg brush across her own, knew a moment of fear.

"Hold on!" he cried out to her. "Don't be afraid."

Her pride wounded, she veered to the right. He had anticipated the move, seemed to know what she would do next. In the following instant, she found his hands encircling her waist; then he swooped her from the back of her mount onto his. In a matter of seconds his horse slowed and came to a complete stop.

She had wanted to know how it would feel to be held by him, but not this way. Giddy with unknown sensations deep in her belly, torn with indecision and battered pride, she reacted to him with her temper instead of common sense.

"Devil take you. Get your grimy paws off me." Then to her mortification, she landed a solid punch to his jaw. His head jerked back. For a long, tense moment she stared at him, stunned at her own brashness, yet unable to control her seething emotions. She wanted him to kiss her, yearned to feel his lips against hers and to feel the power and warmth of his embrace. Instead she'd hit him.

"Ungrateful little ..." was all he could get out before once more he seemed to notice her fist held high in the air and directed straight at him for the second time. He caught her hand before the impact.

"Let me--"

"Go?" he finished for her, a crooked smile on his face even while his eyes shone dark and penetratingly hot. "When you promise not to swing that wicked left hook again. I don't relish a battering even if a beautiful woman is on the other end of the fist.''

Unable to do anything but stare at Devil, she stared. The diamond stud in his ear caught the light and sparkled. She wanted to touch the earring.

Beautiful woman?
Her heart stopped.

The horse held its ground, the reins trailing on the grass. She could feel Devil's powerful thighs beneath her, saw close up the expanse of his chest, and the determined male superiority in the set of his shoulders.

Except for the diamond, he wore nothing but black.

The sun was behind him, bright and forceful, casting a strange light around his face. A glint of humor curled his lips, and the sudden urge to touch him--to touch all of him--swept through
her. At the same instant a heated blush rose to her cheeks, then back down to settle in the pit of her stomach and lower still.

His hair was rakishly long and he'd tied it back with a leather thong. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair, but he held her hands behind her back, her breasts now pushing against his chest, almost as if he had planned the scene. Settled across his lap, she felt the power of his muscles, the danger of the man.

He had unseated her from her horse, had played Sir Galahad to her damsel in distress--but he was no white knight. She meant to tell him what she thought of his actions before she allowed him a kiss--and she did mean to allow him a kiss, two if he asked nicely. She hesitated, shocked by her wish. She had to decide if she really wanted to find out what kissing a man felt like.

Gathering what little was left of her willpower, and on the edge of frustration, she once more reacted before thinking.

"Let me go, you spawn of Satan," she said, stunned at her own audacity and by the fact it was the last thing she wanted to say. She wanted to make this man kiss her, not hate her. She pursed her lips in silent study of the man, an inquisition into his thoughts.

A game was being played--her mind against his.

Her breasts shifted against his chest. She moved her bottom to fit more snugly against him, testing her power over him. She liked the feel of his thighs beneath her, his chest meeting hers and his arms around her.

An innocent in some ways, but wise to the world in others, Angela longed to try her skills at seduction. She'd never been this close to a man, and she meant to enjoy every minute.

His jaw clenched tight, his words spoken in a tense monotone, he said, "What a sassy little spitfire." Then he seemed to relax. "All spark, nothing more," he murmured, his breath ruffling her hair. "Can you deliver on the promise in your eyes? A kiss, perhaps, for the man who just saved your life?''

She swallowed hard. A kiss--it was what she had silently asked for--his lips on hers. But she wanted him to know she didn't give her favors to just anyone.

"Take your hands off me,'' she said in her most commanding voice.

The challenge didn't sway him. He laughed and pulled her closer, the intimate brush of his wild black hair across her shoulders setting her mind into a whirlwind of imagination. Her breasts felt swollen, her body's response to his shocking. She wanted him to touch her, ached for him in ways she'd never before imagined. Her hands rested on his upper arms, and with every movement he made, the large muscles of his biceps tensed around her fingers, tightening then relaxing in a most tantalizing fashion. She realized suddenly that she could not wrap her fingers even halfway around his arms.

Again she heard his deep, throaty laugh, a rumbling chuckle, and when she looked into his eyes, they sparkled with emotion. Desire erupted to assume control of her common sense. In his arms she couldn't think of anything but the way he felt against her and the need that seemed to overpower all rationality.

"Never, sweet angel," he whispered. "I like my hands on you. And you like them there, too. I want to kiss you. Grant me leave for one kiss and I promise you'll beg for more."

Lord, he made her melt. Could he really do that to her? Make her beg for more? She had the heady feeling that everything he said was true. She battled a moment of apprehension.' 'Arrogant ..." she said softly.

He winked. One mesmerizing brown eye twinkled merrily at her. "True," he said, just as he lowered his mouth to hers.

A brief thought--she shouldn't let him do this without a resounding
no-
--hit her hard then vanished without a trace. This man was the very devil himself, but, oh, how she wanted him. Butterfly kisses caressed her mouth, his tongue moistened her lips. Her reputation would be shredded beyond repair, but she was discovering how a devil kissed and she had no regrets.

Not one.

He was right. She did want to beg and plead for more. He commanded with his lips and tongue. Her fingers clenched spasmodically around his huge arms. To the devil with her reputation.

His hands circled her waist, smoothed higher. Angela tried
to say his name, but his thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts, once ... twice, and words crumbled like dry parchment in her throat.

She melted closer to him.

She moaned softly.

His fingers stroked her, moved slowly down her back, and she responded to his sensual domination. His aristocratic command of the situation intrigued her. He took control of her mind and her body.

A tidal wave of energy and an overpowering lust surged between them, ripping through her until she longed to satisfy every carnal desire he might have for her. She wanted to please him in every way.

She didn't know how.

Never in her life had she experienced a maelstrom of emotions such as she felt now. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, imploring her to open. She did. With lips, teeth, tongue, he consumed and ravished.

It seemed she could deny him nothing.

Her heart exploded against her chest. Devil pressed her back, seducing her lips and the inside of her mouth. Without thinking of the consequences, she slid her hands up his arms, wrapped herself around him and kissed him back, pressing herself against him instinctively in a primitive, exciting dance passed down through all time.

Her fingers smoothed along the back of his neck; she longed to possess him. He possessed her. Once again his hands moved down the length of her back, pressing her close, and ripples of pure bliss pulsed within her.

He took everything she offered.

She purred softly in the back of her throat. Her fingers combed through his hair. She felt him pulse against her where they touched intimately.