Not Quite an Angel (15 page)

Heat flooded over him. He wasn't used to celibacy, and the past few weeks had put a strain on his self-control. “Are you trying to drive me stark, raving nuts, Sameh?” His voice was harsh, and it took immense effort to stop himself from crossing the area that separated them.

She shook her head, and drops of water flew from her hair and shimmered in the light. “No, Adam.” She met his eyes with her forthright blue gaze. “I'm trying to show you that I've changed my mind.” The pink color on her cheekbones intensified. “I've decided I want to physically join with you after all.”

At first he wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly. It took an instant for her words to register, another instant for the towel she dropped to slide in slow motion down her body and hit the floor. Then she was naked for him, and he drank in the sight of the long, supple curves of her body, the lush fullness of her breasts with their pink, rosy-tipped nipples, her narrow waist and taut hips with their nest of golden curls at the notch of her thighs.

He moved toward her slowly, devouring her with his eyes. Her skin was soft and vulnerable when he slid his arms
around her rib cage, and a shy smile flitted across her mouth. “I've surprised you, Adam.”

She had the most marvelous gift for understatement.

“Sameh,” he breathed, holding her against him, arching her delicious nakedness into the aching hardness of his body. “God, Sameh, you're beautiful.”

Go slow, he counseled himself despite the sweet, intense pleasure pulsing through his loins. One hand on the back of her head, he tilted it up, and her lips were parted for him by the time his mouth claimed hers. His tongue explored her, and he felt her body quiver as the kiss deepened.

He drew back a little, drunk with sensation, and began nuzzling her jaw, exploring her ears with his tongue, cupping her breasts with his hands. Fierce joy surged in him as he felt her lower body press, and press again, against his erection. He allowed himself to taste her breasts, groaning as the tender nipples hardened and peaked between his lips.

“Put your arms around my neck,” he demanded, his voice thick. She did, and he slid an arm down, his hand cupping and exploring the curves of her bottom and then sliding down to her knees so he could scoop her up and carry her into his bedroom. She gave an exclamation of surprise when he lifted her, and then a small, delighted giggle.

“Don't fall,” she whispered.

It was dark in the bedroom. He lowered her onto his bed and switched on the small bedside lamp. She lay just as he'd placed her, on her back with her arms spread slightly to either side, her body naked and breathtaking in the warm light. Her legs were slightly parted, one knee raised, and he could see where the tender pink flesh began beneath the golden bush of hair. She was smooth and warm and glorious, relaxed in her nudity, and he was on fire, the hunger he felt for her bordering on savagery. His breathing wasn't
steady, and he knew he was dangerously close to losing all control.

“Adam? I can tell by your colors how much you want me.” Her deep, husky voice resonated in every pore of his body as he shed his clothes, clumsy with the need to hurry. Her eyes were blue stars, shining in the soft light, watching his every move, approving of him as he tossed away socks, shirt, pants, and finally briefs, until at last he sank onto the dark spread, covering her body with his, propping himself on his elbows so as not to crush her, leaning forward and claiming her mouth in a drugging kiss that unleashed a wild and terrible hunger.

Go slow, the practiced lover in him cautioned as his body surged against her softness, dangerously near completion before the act had properly begun. Go slow, make it last, make it good for her.

But for once, technique was forgotten. There was only Sameh and the overwhelming need he felt to brand her as his woman in this most primitive of dances.

 

S
AMEH WAS UNPREPARED
for the surge of desire that coiled in her lower belly as she watched him undress. He was a breathtaking male animal, lean and strong and powerful, his chest matted with thick dark hair. She was even less prepared for the delightful heat of his body, the sensual shock of his naked flesh against her own and the primal fierceness of his embrace.

She raised her arms and stroked his shoulders, running her hands over his muscles, glorying in the steely strength under the warm skin. She caressed his sides and tangled her fingers in the thick mat of dark, curling hair that covered his broad chest. She let her hands travel down the length of his back and learn the shape of his narrow, hard buttocks,
and exalted in the tremors that rippled through him at her slightest touch. This was a different kind of power.

He groaned and bent his head again, devouring her with his kiss, drawing her into his wildness until her entire body responded, breasts aching, pelvis arching up instinctively to rub against the hardness of his erection. Heat and need spiraled inside her.

He abandoned her mouth and instead closed his lips around her nipple, drawing it into his mouth with a persistent, gentle suction that aroused a frantic craving low in her belly. His hand slid down to touch her wet core, circling and rubbing until she became frantic with desire.

“Sameh.” His voice was raspy and rough. “Sweetheart, open your legs for me. Let me inside you.” It was less entreaty than desperate command, and she obeyed, wrapping her legs around his hips. She whimpered as he entered her. “Am I hurting you?” He paused, and she could feel his entire body tremble with the effort it took him to stop.

She shook her head, unable to put what she was experiencing into spoken words. Instead she reached out with her mind and found his, showing him her pleasure, embracing and caressing him mentally with the same unabashed and total intimacy her body offered him, turning the very essence of her reality free to meld with his soul.

At last she found the center of his passion, and she added her own to the inferno, and it was impossible to tell what portion of the rapture that exploded through them was hers and which was his.

 

N
OTHING COULD HAVE
prepared him for the sensations she created in his mind or in his body. The numberless, faceless women Adam had made love to over the years might never have existed, the slate now wiped clean of acts that were only profane echoes of the ecstasy he shared with Sameh.

He couldn't get enough of her. She grew sleepy after a while, and he turned off the bedside light and shifted her under the bedclothes, sliding the sheet up over her shoulders, her body still cradled in his arms.

Throughout the long night, he held her close, dipping in and out of sleep, loath to waste a single moment in oblivion. Again and again he grew hard and woke her, whispering the sweet and raunchy phrases of lovemaking, teaching her what her body was capable of, finding out what things delighted her, learning as never before the full extent of what was possible between man and woman.

Toward morning he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

He woke at seven, reaching out for Sameh and finding himself alone in the bed. A sound from the kitchen told him where she was, and he got up and pulled on a pair of jeans. She'd already showered, and she was wrapped in his white terry robe, her face shiny and feet bare, crouching in front of the open fridge and swiping with a paper towel at an egg she'd dropped on the floor. A trace of smoke and the acrid smell of burned toast still hung in the air, although she'd opened both windows and the sliding door to the deck. Water dripped off the counter and onto the floor beside the coffeemaker, and steam was pouring out of the top.

She looked up at him. Her cheeks flamed when she met his eyes. She stood up and dumped the towel and the eggshell into the sink, and in the process banged her elbow on the open door of the fridge. She rubbed at it absently, and the smile she gave him was shy. “Good morning, Adam. I'm making you breakfast. I'm afraid the toaster stuck down, but I think I've fixed it. How exactly do you work that coffee machine? I think there's something wrong with it—the water spilled all over the counter.”

He looked at her as she wrecked his kitchen with the very best of intentions, and like a fist in the gut, the realization
hit him. He was in love with her. He'd been in love with her for some time already without recognizing it. It hadn't dawned on him because in his entire adult life he'd never thought of a woman in terms of love.

He'd had countless arguments with Bernie on the subject, insisting that love was simply a euphemism for sex. But he'd fallen in love with Sameh before sex, without sex, when she was intent on being just his friend, long before she'd changed her mind.

And now that last night had happened, he wanted her here, in his house, in his bed, not just for a day, or a year, or ten years. He wanted her for always. For the first time in his entire life, the concept of marriage made perfect sense to him.

“Would you like a glass of juice, Adam?” Before he could answer, a pitcher of orange juice sitting on the table tipped to the side and filled a glass that had floated effortlessly off the shelf and over to the table. It then sailed across the kitchen toward him without spilling a drop, and in a reflex action he reached out and grabbed it. Sameh hadn't moved.

She grinned at his openmouthed astonishment and gave him an exaggerated wink. “I'm not good at coffee and toast, but I can do orange juice pretty well. This morning, anyway.”

He recognized her action as a playful gesture, but it hit him with all the ferocious impact of a runaway freight train. Here he was thinking marriage with a woman who couldn't make toast but could use her mind in ways he didn't begin to comprehend. If she was to be believed—and he realized he was coming closer to believing her every single minute he was around her—she'd been born hundreds of years after he must inevitably have died.

She insisted she had to return to her own time. She'd told
him that marriage wasn't part of her vocabulary. Out of all the hundreds of women he might have chosen to love, it was a real joke he had to choose the one woman who was absolutely unattainable.

The trouble was, he didn't find it even remotely amusing.

“B
ERNIE, WHEN YOU WERE
with the LAPD, did you ever use psychics to help with murder investigations?”

Adam had dropped Sameh off at Delilah's half an hour before. On the drive to the office, he'd tried to apply some rational thinking to the whole issue of Sameh and the abilities she had. He needed to figure out whether there were other people who could do what she did. For all he knew, her talents weren't so strange after all. And if that were so, maybe his earlier ideas about her delusions as to where she was from and where she was heading back to were right.

It would be such a relief to know that she was just a little wacky. A person with mental problems could be helped these days. He'd get the best shrinks in the business for her, he'd… Damn it to hell, he didn't know what to do.

The trouble was, he no longer really believed his own rationale about Sameh's mental instability, and he found that trying to be objective about her was hopeless. He needed help with this whole mess, and the only person he trusted enough to talk to about it was Bernie.

As usual, when Adam walked into his partner's office, Bernie was focused on his computer screen. Adam could tell by his distracted tone of voice that he wasn't really listening. “Bern? I said, did you ever—”

“Yeah, I heard. Psychics, you were asking about? Yeah, there was one guy we called in on a homicide. San Diego PD used him a couple of times, too. Mezzner, I think his
name was. Weird dude.” Bernie sat back in his chair, eyes still on the screen. “Say, Hawk, remember those women I told you about, the old ones who got duped on investment schemes? I've been watching the daily occurrence log, and I think maybe two more cases have surfaced. If I'm right, that makes five now, and if five old ladies have given some lowlife their money thinking he's investing it for them, there's no telling how many more are out there. I'm tellin' you, Hawk, this investment thing is well organized. I talked to a guy I used to know, a detective from fraud. He's interested but so far he's got zilch to go on. I still say it's too bad we can't—”

Adam walked over and pulled the plug on Bernie's computer.

“Jeez, Hawk, what the hell are you doing? I could lose a whole file that way….” He scowled at Adam and then really looked at him. In a much quieter tone, he said, “Okay, so what's going down?”

“I need to talk to you.”

Bernie swung his feet up onto the desk and reached for the ever-present coffee mug. “So talk. I'm listening.”

“It's about Sameh.”

Bernie nodded. “I kinda figured. You're in over your head on this one, and you want me to put in a good word for you, right?”

“I don't remember needing you to do my talking for me, Bern.”

“I don't remember you being this touchy about a lady before.” Bernie dropped his bantering tone. “You serious about her, Hawk?”

Adam swallowed. “Deadly.”

Bernie whistled. “I take back everything I ever said about you having dubious taste in women. Sameh's the best.”

“Yeah, I know it,” Adam agreed. “There's a couple of
problems, though.” He took a deep breath, and starting from the beginning, he told Bernie the whole story, detailing the list of things he'd watched her do that in the retelling sounded bizarre. He even scrapped his pride and described the bolt that had hit him in the balls the first time he tried to make a serious pass.

Bernie, God rot his hide, grinned all over his face at that one.

Before Adam was even half-finished, though, he started to wonder if Bernie would suggest he take a mental health leave of absence. He knew for sure that if the shoe was on the other foot, he'd be concerned about his partner's sanity.

When he finally finished, Bernie didn't say anything for a long time. He swirled his cold coffee around in the mug, sighed deeply and then said, “I'm inclined to believe her, Hawk. About where she came from and all that.”

Cold fear settled in Adam's stomach. “You're putting me on.”

Bernie shook his head. “I know it sounds crazy. Fran and I have talked it over, and there's something about Sameh that isn't like anything we've ever come across before. She's helping Corey, you know. Or rather, she's teaching Fran how to help him. It could be the therapy kicking in, but I don't think so. It's only been happening since Sameh came into the picture.”

Bernie's whole face reflected his feelings. “God, Hawk, it's good to see. Corey's slowly losing some of the stiffness in his legs—they're not scissored as badly, and he can reach for toys now and hold onto them. It's like a miracle. But what I'm most grateful for is the difference in Fran. She's happy again. She's even started painting, and it's entirely due to Sameh.” His voice grew gentle, tender, as it always did when he talked about Frances. “So I guess hearing
about this other stuff doesn't really surprise me all that much.”

He gave Adam a level look. “It shouldn't surprise you, either. Remember the investigation we did on her, how there was no trace anywhere of her existing before April of this year? You know as well as I do that every single person in the Western world leaves a paper trail of some kind. I've never, in all my years as a cop or as an investigator, come across someone without a past. Except Sameh.”

Adam hadn't, either, but he was grasping at straws. He had to. There was too much at stake here. “But this guy you told me about, this Mezzner, he could do things that were pretty peculiar, too, right? So maybe Sameh's just a person who has exceptional psychic powers. Maybe that's enough to make her more than a little strange, make her think maybe she's from another time and place.” He thought about the orange juice floating toward him through the air that morning and shuddered. “God knows, it would drive me bonkers in one hell of a hurry, being able to do things like that.”

Bernie shook his head. “She's not like Mezzner at all. She's not like anybody. She's unique.”

Adam closed his eyes and massaged his brow. He was getting a headache. Maybe both of them had lived too long in a city where make-believe was the major industry.

Bernie brought his feet to the floor and stood up, jamming his hands into his pockets, his forehead creased in a frown. “There's something about Sameh, a sense that you get when you're with her, a feeling in your chest that your're dealing with an exceptional human being. It's nothing you could take to court. But what you've just told me, about her coming here from a different time, makes one hell of a lot of sense. It explains all the things you and I couldn't figure out about her right from the beginning.”

“C'mon, Bern.” Adam felt desperate. “We're talking time travel here, damn it. You know as well as I do that there's no such thing.”

Bernie gave him a pitying look. “What do you figure my grandfather would have said if somebody tried to explain computers to him?”

Bernie's intercom buzzed, and Janice's voice said, “Playtime's over, boys. Ms. Roberts is here to see Adam, and an insurance adjustor named Howard Wart—can I possibly have heard that right?—is on line two for Bernie.”

The partners looked at one another.

“So how long you figure she's here for, Hawk?”

Adam shook his head. “God knows.”

“Any chance you can talk her into staying?”

“I intend to try.” There was steely determination in Adam's voice. “I intend to succeed.”

“Well, I've never known a woman yet who could say no to you, Hawk.” Bernie meant to be encouraging, but Adam already knew that Sameh was the exception to any rule that might exist on that score. “She's baby-sitting for us tonight, so you could maybe drop over and start convincing her your intentions are honorable,” Bernie suggested with a wink.

Adam made an attempt at a grin. “I'm way ahead of you. I thought I'd come and give her a hand putting the kids to bed. And by the way, happy anniversary, partner.” He clapped Bernie on the shoulder. “You're a lucky man, married to the woman you love.” He hadn't really understood how truly lucky Bernie was until today.

“Thanks, Hawk. Let me know if there's anything I can do.”

“Yeah, Bern.” For the life of him, Adam couldn't think of one single thing anyone could do in this case. On second thought, maybe one. “A prayer or two might be good, if
you've got any talents along those lines,” he suggested. He wasn't joking at all.

Bernie nodded, as if the request was perfectly normal. “Sure. They know me up there. Ever since Corey.”

 

D
ELILAH STARED
into the bathroom mirror and wondered if perhaps she was having some sort of emotional breakdown. The magazines were full of articles about women in menopause. Maybe this depression she was struggling with was simply a result of her age.

Over the past weeks, Delilah had begun to fear that Tyrone's interest in her was slipping away, that the love he'd insisted was eternal might be all too temporary, and it was making her crazy.

When she was young, she'd have asserted that a fifty-six-year-old woman made herself look ridiculous and vulnerable by falling so hopelessly in love with a younger man. But when she was young, it was inconceivable that she'd ever really be fifty-six. Tyrone was forty-nine, seven years her junior. Until now, Delilah's heart had insisted that age was irrelevant between two people who loved each other.

But Tyrone had just left for Las Vegas, and he hadn't even bothered to ask Delilah if she wanted to go along. He'd made the excuse that he knew she had to stay home and work.

He'd made several similar trips without her in the past six weeks, and she was miserable because of it. She was far too wise, however, to allow any hint of her real feelings to show as she kissed him goodbye. She was still a wonderful actress.

“I'll call when I can,” he promised, climbing into the shiny blue Cadillac she'd encouraged him to buy a short time ago. Violet was at the wheel; she'd offered to drive him to the airport.

Delilah was fairly certain he wouldn't call. He hadn't bothered to phone her the other times he'd been gone.

“Have fun, darling.” Waving and smiling, she watched the sleek car pull away, and the knot in her chest drew tighter, almost choking her. Feeling bone tired and miserable, she turned and walked back into the house and into the nearest bathroom to repair the damage that the tears trickling down her cheeks were doing to her makeup.

She knew that Sameh was waiting for her in the office, and Delilah really did have to work hard today. The deadline on her new book had come and gone, and she wasn't anywhere near finished. They'd given her an extension, of course, but it bothered her to have to ask for one. Till now, she'd prided herself on always being professional and prompt with her editors.

The problem was, she couldn't concentrate on her work the way she needed to. Little things kept bothering her, like the phone call she'd had from Mary Margaret Baker several days before. Mary Margaret wasn't a friend, really. She was more of an acquaintance, which had made it all the more shocking when she'd been almost rude to Delilah, upset over some investment she'd made through Tyrone. Of course he'd handled the whole thing as soon as Delilah told him about the call, but it was upsetting all the same.

She kept thinking about Tyrone. She'd meditated, tried to tell herself that she had no proof of anything amiss between them, that she was being paranoid. All she had to go on was this strong, sick feeling that something in her life was deteriorating. And she'd had dreams warning her that a traumatic event was on the horizon.

Delilah was a woman who'd long ago learned to trust in feelings and dreams, but now she was trying her best to ignore the warnings. With an expert hand, she repaired her makeup and made her way into the office.

Sameh was seated at the computer, working on revisions Delilah had made in the past several chapters. She looked up when Delilah came into the room. Her smile was dazzling. “Hello, Delilah. Isn't it a lovely morning?”

Delilah looked at her and made an effort to smile back, but it was difficult. She'd always considered her employees as friends. She'd always trusted the people she hired, but lately this, too, was becoming more and more difficult.

The problems had begun early in the spring, when Loretta had died and she'd hired Sameh to take her place. Violet, who'd been Delilah's good right hand for six years, had developed an instant and intense dislike for the younger woman.

At first, Delilah had put Violet's animosity down to a touch of jealousy. Sameh was like a breath of fresh air in the household, and Delilah hadn't tried to hide her affection and respect for her young secretary. They shared an interest in New Age thinking, and Sameh's insights had impressed Delilah. All summer long, she'd assured herself that things would work out between her housekeeper and her secretary, given time.

But things hadn't. From the very beginning, Violet had insisted that there was something sinister about Sameh, that she wasn't what she seemed to be, that she was flirting with Tyrone when Delilah wasn't around, an accusation Delilah considered both mean and absurd. She'd laughed it off the first few times Violet had mentioned it, and eventually she'd forbidden Violet to ever say such a thing again. Lately, however, drowning in her insecurities during the black night hours when she couldn't sleep, Delilah had begun to wonder if perhaps Violet had been close to the truth after all.

Sameh had told Delilah an incredible story about coming to work for her because Delilah would have a major effect on future generations, about Sameh herself being from that
future time and coming back here because of Delilah. It was a flattering idea. Every writer dreamed that what she wrote would be immortal. But to a woman racked by insecurities, beginning to feel old, afraid that her last opportunity for happiness was disappearing, it also sounded too good to be true.