When Angel opened her eyes, Hawk was gone.
Before she could call out, he emerged from the cabin with a basin of steaming water in his hands. He sat down again, then bent over Angel and touched the skin around her wounds with exquisite care.
She drew in a swift breath.
aHurt?a Hawk asked, lifting his fingers.
Angel shook her head. She could think of no way to tell Hawk that it was pleasure rather than pain that had made her gasp.
The gentleness of his touch radiated through her, taking away pain as surely as hot water took the inflammation from her back. The washcloth touched her again, bringing a soothing, healing heat to her flesh. With a shivering breath, Angel relaxed and gave herself to the sensation of his unexpected tenderness.
Hawk saw as well as felt Angel give herself to his touch. The knowledge that he had brought her something besides pain eased the talons of need and regret digging into him.
Then the easing of his own tension taught him that there was more to his desire for Angel than simple s.e.xual hunger.
He needed to know that he was capable of more than destruction and hurt. He needed to believe that being with Angel wouldnat be another kind of wounding for her, a deeper, more destructive wounding that would ultimately poison her as he had been poisoned long ago.
Hawk couldnat take back the past, wiping out his bitterness and all its consequences. He could try to explain what had happened, though, and then perhaps Angel would realize that he hadnat meant to hurt her, not really.
Not the person who was Angel Lange.
Hawk had simply been doing what he had always done since he was eighteen, using women as casually and cruelly as he himself had been used.
But how can I explain that?
When Hawk finally spoke, his voice was as calm as the soft sounds of the water as he rinsed the washcloth.
aI was twelve when my father died,a Hawk said. aThe tractor rolled on him, crushing him. I tried . . . but there was nothing I could do to help him.a Angelas hands curled slightly, fingernails digging into the quilt. Hawk spoke of death so calmly, a fact like sunset, just one fact among the many facts of life.
aGrandma and I couldnat handle the farm alone, but we couldnat afford to hire a man,a Hawk said. aShe had another grandchild. A true grandchild, as she always pointed out to me. Her daughteras daughter.a Silence. Then, aJenna was eighteen when she came to live with us. She was strong, wild, and cold as a winter wind.a Instinctively Angel knew that Jenna was the woman who had taught Hawk how to hate. It was there in his voice, ice and contempt.
aThe three of us kept that farm alive,a Hawk said. aIt was brutal work. Grandma died when I was fourteen. Jenna became my guardian.a Hawk hesitated, comparing what he was about to tell Angel with her own teenage years, picnics on the beach and laughter. Innocence.
aJenna seduced me the night of Grandmaas funeral.a Angel couldnat conceal the shock that went through her.
aYou were only fourteen!a she said.
aI was man-sized and Iad been woman hungry for two years without knowing it. Jenna knew, though. She knew everything about men. She was a born wh.o.r.e. Cold-hearted s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g was her specialty.a Angel made a small sound.
aI didnat know what Jenna was then,a Hawk said, his voice rich with self-contempt. aMy body was a manas, but my judgment and emotions were those of a boy. I thought Jenna was the most perfect woman G.o.d ever made.a Hawkas near-silent, bitter laughter raked over Angelas nerves. She bit back a protest at the pain he had endured.
The pain was still caught within.
aThe truth was a bit different,a Hawk said. aThe truth was that I was the biggest fool G.o.d ever made.a Angel rose up on her elbows, twisting in order to see Hawkas face.
aYou were just a boy,a she said. aHow could you expect yourself to know about aa"aa"a ab.i.t.c.h?a Hawk suggested sardonically. aWh.o.r.e? s.l.u.t? Iave called Jenna those names and worse. All of them were true, especially the worst ones.a His eyes narrowed to glittering brown lines, but his voice was neutral when he spoke again.
aJenna told me we needed money, so I took to racing boats, cars, whatever I could get my hands on. I had good reflexes and a kidas belief in life everlasting. I won more than I lost.a Breath held, Angel waited.
aI gave the money to Jenna,a Hawk said, aand she kept the bank from closing us down during the dry years. Then we had two good years, rain and sun in just the right amounts at just the right times.a Hawk looked at Angel and realized that the washcloth had fallen from her back.
aLie down,a he said quietly.
Angel hesitated. She wanted to see Hawkas face while he talked.
Strong hands pressed gently on her shoulders.
She gave in, lying down again. But her eyes never left his face as he wrung out the wash-cloth in hot water. She hardly noticed when the cloth again rested on her back, held in place by the light pressure of Hawkas hand.
aI kept on racing,a Hawk said. aThe money was better than anything I could make working on the farm. Then Jenna came to me with a plana"sell the farm and buy a real car for me to race.a Hawkas voice was lazy, but cold contempt for himself and Jenna made every word distinct, cutting.
aI couldnat believe my luck,a he said. aNot only was I s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the hottest piece of tail in all of Texas, but she was willing to give me her half of the farm so that I could race in the big time. What more could any boy ask?a Love, said Angel.
But she said it only to herself. She was learning why Hawk thought love such a bitter sham.
aSo we went to the lawyer and signed the papers,a Hawk continued. aThe money would come to me on my eighteenth birthday, the day Jenna stopped being my guardian. We were going to get married, buy a race car, and live happily ever after.a Hawk said no more.
Angel tensed. She didnat want to ask, knew she shouldnat, she had no right . . . but she couldnat stop herself.
aWhat happened?a Angel asked starkly.
22.
At first Angel didnat think that Hawk was going to answer. Then he shrugged and began speaking again. His voice was cold and remote.
And so was Hawk.
aI came back from a race the day of my eighteenth birthday, grinning like an idiot, a shiny plastic trophy in my hands,a Hawk said. aThere was n.o.body in the house but a young woman. A stranger. She was pregnant, and as surprised to see me as I was to see her.a When the silence became more difficult than words, Angel said, aI donat understand.a aNeither did I. Then she told me that her husband had bought the farm from Jenna, paid cash, owned every d.a.m.n thing except the clothes on my back.a The silence stretched so long that Angel was afraid Hawk wouldnat speak anymore. Finally he did. His voice was flat, bland, as though the past no longer had the power to hurt him.
It hurt Angel, though. She kept thinking of the boy who had h.o.a.rded a Christmas candy cane and still treasured the sweet memory, a tangible symbol of someone caring for him, if only a little, and only once.
aSeems that Iad signed my half of the farm over to Jenna in that lawyeras office,a Hawk said.
Contempt and amus.e.m.e.nt laced his voice and made his eyes as bleak as a winter sky.
aSeems that Jenna had been sleeping with that lawyer for a while,a Hawk said. aSeems that I was on my own. And Jenna? Well, Jenna was gone. Big city lights and men who didnat have Texas dirt ground into the skin of their hands.a aWhat did you do?a asked Angel after a moment.
Her voice was soft, almost afraid. The Hawk she knew today would have hunted Jenna down. Then Angel realized that the Hawk she knew today wouldnat have been taken in by Jenna.
Hawk wouldnat have cared enough to hunt anyone down.
aI raced cars,a Hawk said.
The clipped words told Angel more than she wanted to know. She saw a younger Hawk driving like a man possessed, not caring about living or dying or anything in between.
aI had women, too,a Hawk said. aAs long as I was winning, anyway. Too many losses, a crash, and the women went away. Start winning again, and they came back like great, buzzing black flies.a Angel closed her eyes at the contempt in Hawkas voice, contempt for the women and for himself.
aYouare lucky you didnat kill yourself,a she said when she trusted her voice.
aIt took me a while to figure that out,a Hawk admitted. aAt first, I was kind of disappointed by all the near misses.a Angel shuddered.
aThen a funny thing happened,a Hawk said slowly. aEach time I nearly died, life became more valuable to me. By the time I was twenty-three, I knew that racing wasnat a bright way for a grown man to make a living. It took me six months to come back from that crash, and another three years to make enough money to get out of the race game altogether.a aWhat did you do?a aPlayed the stock market. Bought and sold land. I had a flair for it. Like racing. And like racing, I didnat really care whether I won or lost. The adrenaline was enough.a aAnd now?a Angel whispered.
Hawkas hand hesitated. Without touching her, he traced the smooth line of her spine and thought of all the women head taken and then left, the cold emptiness of the sky and his heart, the hunt and the kill and the taste of ashes.
aNow, adrenaline isnat enough,a he said. aBut itas better than nothing.a The bleak acceptance in Hawkas voice was a talon sliding into Angel, pain searing through her. She closed her eyes for a moment, unable to bear looking at him without touching him, giving him a simple moment of human contact, human caring.
But she was still afraid of him, afraid of herself. Most of all, she was afraid of the sensual hunger that rippled tightly through her when she remembered the initial beauty of their lovemaking.
She hadnat forgotten how it ended, pain and contempt and fury.
Hawk lifted the cloth, touched Angelas skin gently, and reached for the antibiotic salve. He had picked it up along with his jeansa"the jeans he had pulled over his swimsuit, blurring the blunt outline of his desire.
He rubbed the balm into Angelas skin so carefully that she hardly felt it.
aHow does your back feel now?a he asked after a time.
aBetter,a she said, sitting up. aMuch less sore.a Angelas words rea.s.sured Hawk, but her voice was frayed and she refused to look at him.
aAngel?a Silently she shook her head. Her hair fell over her face, veiling her tears before Hawk could see them. He had heard them in her voice, though.
Gently he smoothed back the bright fall of hair. Tears sparkled on her eyelashes.
aIam sorry,a Hawk said, afraid to touch her, to wound her again. aI never meant to hurt you, Angel. Not you. I didnat realize that you were different from the others.a Angelas eyes opened, releasing the glittering tears. Through them she saw the pain on Hawkas face, the regret shadowing his eyes and making his voice hoa.r.s.e.
aI know that now,a she whispered.
Slowly, Hawk gathered Angel into his arms, holding her lightly, murmuring words of comfort. Tears welled transparently, for she was helpless to stop them.
Hawkas life had been so different from Angelas. She knew now why he had become harsh, merciless, predatory, a man with neither softness nor love in him.
Yet he wanted love, needed it, longed for it with a fierceness that would have frightened Angel if it hadnat been so like her own hunger. She touched his cheek with a hand that shook very slightly.
aItas all right, Hawk. Now I understand what happened. You had never known love, and I had never known hate.a aAngel . . . a Hawk whispered.
Her lips curved in a sad smile.
aNo wonder we misjudged each other so badly,a she said. aYou thought I was pretending to love. Thatas what you called me, wasnat it? An actress?a Hawk closed his eyes, unable to bear seeing Angelas sadness and trembling smile.
aYes,a he said.
aIam a terrible actress.a aYes,a he whispered, smoothing his palms over her arms, her shoulders. aI know that. Now.a Angel stared up at Hawk, caught by the emotion in his voice.
aIt wasnat your fault,a she said fiercely. aHawk, listen to me! I donat blame you for what happened.a aI do.a aButa" a aYou gave me what you had given to no other man,a Hawk said. aAnd I . . . I gave you what Iad given to every other woman. Your innocence shocked me. Your truth destroyed me. So I hurt you. Badly. Youare still hurting.a Hawkas mouth brushed over Angelas hand, her wrist, the parted lips that trembled too close to his.
aLet me give you something besides pain,a he said softly. aLet me use what I know for something besides destruction. I wonat take you. I wonat touch you with more than my hands, my mouth, my breath.a Angel looked into Hawkas clear, extraordinary eyes and saw only herself reflected in them, her own need to create beauty from the jagged shards of the past.
Hawkas face was no longer cruel. It held an agony of hope suspended, waiting like a child for presents that never came, waiting for a love that was measured only by its absence, an aching emptiness as cold and blue as the sky.
Then Hawk felt the warmth of Angelas body beneath his hands, felt the sweet sigh of her breath against his chest, felt the tremor ripple through her as she gave herself to his keeping.
aYes,a Angel whispered.
The word swept through Hawk, a gift greater than any he had ever been given. He tried to speak, to thank Angel for the trust he didnat deserve. He had no voice.
Hawkas hands trembled as they caressed Angelas hair. He held her lightly against his body and rocked slowly, eyes closed, absorbing her presence within his arms.
Lips that were warm and gentle kissed Angelas temple, her eyelids, the hollow of her cheek. Long, strong fingers eased into her hair, bringing its sun-bright warmth to Hawkas mouth.
He buried his face in her silky curls, breathing in her scent until he was dizzy with her sweetness. Then he felt Angel smooth her cheek against the gleaming black hair on his chest and thought he would break with pleasure.
Slowly his index finger tilted her face up to his. For a long moment Hawk looked at the blue-green mystery of Angelas eyes, radiance and color and almost no shadow at all. Slowly, he lowered his lips to hers.
The first touch was so sweet, so gentle, that tears formed in Angelas eyes. Her eyelashes lowered, concealing her tears. When her breath came in through parted lips, it brought with it a subtle taste of Hawk, warmth and tenderness and restraint.
Tenderly Hawk kissed the corners of Angelas mouth, outlined the curve of her smile with the moist tip of his tongue, and then brushed his mouth repeatedly over hers. His lips barely touched hers with each kiss, each gliding caress that ended almost before it began.
Then he began all over again, touching her temples and eyes and smile, his tongue gentle on her lips, his mouth restrained and sweet as he worshipped her with small, exquisite caresses.
Deep inside her body, Angel felt herself come apart with a slow, liquid unraveling that brought a soft moan to her throat. Tears slid soundlessly down her cheeks, moistening Hawkas lips as his tongue had moistened hers.
He felt her tears, tasted them, and lifted his head.
aAngel?a he asked softly, his voice deepening over a tremor of emotion. aWhat is it? Whatas wrong?a aYou make me feel so beautiful,a she whispered, opening her eyes and looking into Hawkas. aIave never felt beautiful before. Not like this.a The words both humbled and exalted Hawk, shaking him with a fierce pleasure he had never known until this instant.
aThank you,a he said huskily. Then he whispered against Angelas cheek, aTouching you teaches me the meaning of the word beauty.a Angel shivered as Hawkas lips found the sensitive rim of her ear. His tongue tip moved lightly, sensuously, warmly, spiraling down and in until he knew all the secret turns and curves of her ear. For a moment his tongue hardened, probing, and then he retreated, taking warmth with him.
Trembling, Angel made a small sound. Hawk lifted his head and looked at her through half-closed eyes, reading pleasure and growing pa.s.sion in the taut line of her body. His hand shaped itself to her throat, savoring the softness and the pulse racing beneath his thumb.
Angelas own hands reached out to Hawk. Her fingers were warm at his waist and the small of his back as she snuggled against him. He closed his eyes, not wanting her to see the hunger clawing through him at her innocent touch.
aYouare so warm,a she said, turning her head until she could rest her lips against Hawkas chest. aAnd furry.a She lifted her head. Laughter and sensual pleasure made her eyes brilliant.
aIall get my shirt,a Hawk said.
His eyes were still closed, his voice tight with the effort it took to restrain himself. He cursed himself for not guessing that Angel wouldnat be used to a manas naked chest. If Grant had been as smooth as Derry, she probably had never felt the rough textures of a manas body hair before now.
aDonat put on your shirt,a Angel said quickly.
aAre you sure?a Softly, her fingers tested the rough silk and resilience of Hawk.