Hawk sensed that Angel was not nearly so aggressive as many of the women he had taken. With those women, the sport had been to twist and dodge away from them, watching their frustration grow at his elusiveness.
With Angel, the sport would be to let her come to him.
Either way, the end was the same. Satiation and then dissatisfaction, tears and Hawk flying away, spreading his dark wings until he hung poised in the sky, waiting for the next chase to begin.
The thought made Hawkas mouth turn down in a cruel curve that was aimed as much at himself as it was at the women he had brought down and then flown from. He was beginning to tire of it, the chase and the kill; and most of all he was tired of the restlessness that consumed him the morning after. The adrenaline was no longer enough.
But adrenaline was all there was.
He had learned that when he was eighteen. He had never accepted it, though. Not completely.
Hope was why he flew again, searched again, chased again. Hope kept telling him that there was more to life than betrayal and lies and the hollowness that came in the aftermath of adrenaline.
Hawk had learned to hate hope, but he hadnat learned how to kill it.
Yet.
8.
aHawk?a Hawk blinked, returning to the present and to the beautiful actress who promised to lead him on a fascinating chase.
For a time.
aYes?a Hawk said.
aIf youall move, Iall start putting the fishing gear together.a He stepped back just enough so that Angel could get out of the c.o.c.kpit seat, but not enough so that she could avoid touching him as she got to her feet. Angel hesitated, then brushed quickly by him, leaving behind her scent and a hint of warmth.
Hawk absorbed both with a hot thrill of pleasure. But nothing showed on his face. He was as impa.s.sive as the cliff rising out of the sea.
Angel rigged the fishing rods quickly, explaining as she worked. The rods she chosewere eight feet long and as flexible as fly rods. The boat rocked idly, drifting almost imperceptibly toward the shallow end of the tiny bay.
aI wonat try trolling or drift fishing for salmon,a Angel said.
aWhy not?a aThey arenat here yet.a aHow can you tell?a Angelas lips curved in a small smile.
aCarlson isnat here,a she said simply. aThat manas uncanny. If there are salmon around, he knows it. Must be his Tlingit heritage.a aAn old gray shaman?a asked Hawk with an amused tilt of his eyebrow.
Angel laughed as she bent over the tackle box and pulled out a spinning reel. When the reel was fixed in place on the rod, she began threading line through the guides.
aCarlson isnat old,a she said. aHis hair is as black and thick as yours. Handsome as sin and hard as that cliff. Like you.a Angelas voice was so matter-of-fact that it took Hawk a moment to understand what she said.
aThank you,a he said calmly, watching her.
Angel pulled a wicked-looking jig out of its slot in the tray. The hook gleamed cruelly in the sun.
aThank your parents,a she said. aI had nothing to do with it.a For a moment Hawk was off-balance. Women had told him he was handsome before. Often. He was tired of hearing it, just as he was tired of so many things.
But Angelas offhand summation of his appearance was . . . pleasing. She expected nothing in return. Not a touch, not even words.
It was as though she had pointed out that he had ten fingers. Nothing remarkable. Everyone had ten fingers.
A feeling of quiet exhilaration rippled through Hawk. First Angel retreated, then she returned, but she returned so delicately that he had all but missed her reappearance.
Never before had Hawkas prey moved so gracefully, so unexpectedly. He had been right to let her set the pace.
He would continue to do so, until desire overcame his predatoras patience and he swooped down, ending it.
aWhat if I said you were beautiful?a asked Hawk, real curiosity in his voice.
aIad say you had good manners and bad eyesight,a answered Angel.
As she spoke, she fastened the roundheaded jig to the fishing line by means of a bronze safety pin that was already tied to the line.
aMy eyesight is excellent,a Hawk said.
aThen you can see that my forehead is too high, my cheekbones are too prominent, my hair is too thick, my body is too thin, and my skin is too pale.a Angel touched the tip of the hook with an experimental fingertip. Not quite the way it should bea"lethally sharp.
aOn the plus side,a Angel continued, amy eyes are a nice color and everything else works better than it has any right to. Thereas nothing wrong with my mind, eithera"most of the time,a she amended wryly.
As she spoke, Angel pulled out a small whetstone and begun sharpening the jigas hook.
Hawk watched, intrigued both by her words and by her casual inventory of herself.
What Angel said about herself is true in the strict factual sense, Hawk admitted. She isnat beautiful in a conventional way.
She is fascinating.
Like a kaleidoscope, changing with each breath, never the same, always subtly shifting, brilliant.
Hawk was astonished. He was certain that she must know how unusual she was, yet she had sounded absolutely certain of her lack of appeal to men.
aYouare an amazing actress,a murmured Hawk, meaning every word of the ambiguous compliment. aQuite the best Iave ever seen.a Startled, Angel looked up.
The hook slipped, piercing the skin on the ball of her thumb. She s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand away from the hook and frowned at the single bright drop of blood rising on her thumb.
aWhat do you mean?a Angel asked.
Hawk shook his head admiringly.
aJust that, Angel.a He took her hand and brought it to his mouth. He sucked lightly on her thumb.
aYour blood is real, though,a he murmured, releasing her with a final, flicking caress from his tongue.
Hawk had moved very quickly, capturing and releasing Angel before she understood what was happening.
But her body understood. She could still feel the soft rasp of his tongue, the quick pressure and heat of his mouth. Her breath was wedged tightly in her throat.
Hawk took the rod from Angelas hands as though nothing had happened.
aI think the hook is sharp enough now, donat you?a he asked softly.
aYes,a said Angel, looking away from him.
She walked quickly back into the c.o.c.kpit and checked the sonar. They had drifted past the cliff face. Now the bottom was shelving up steeply. No more than eighty feet of water lay beneath the boat. With a quick glance at the land, she estimated where they were in relation to the rock reef that lay beneath the lower portion of the tiny bay.
Absently Angel sucked her stinging thumb. When she realized that her skin tasted of Hawk, her pulse hesitated, then accelerated raggedly. She took several steadying breaths, recalling the tranquil rose to her mind. It was the only way she had found to gather and steel herself against the pain of learning how to walk again, how to live again.
Frowning, Angel looked at her thumb. Until this moment she hadnat realized that her special rose was the exact color of blood, the color of life itself.
Angel let the understanding radiate through her like light through stained gla.s.s, bringing color to everything it touched. When she returned to the open stern of the boat, her breathing was easy, her voice and body relaxed.
aHave you ever jigged for cod?a she asked Hawk calmly, taking the rod from his hands.
aNo. Is it difficult?a aFor you? I doubt it. Youare very quick.a aAnother compliment? Youall turn my head.a Angel gave Hawk a cool sideways look.
aAnother fact,a she said distinctly. aAnd it would take a bulldozer to turn your head.a The left corner of Hawkas mouth turned up.
It was as close to a smile as Angel had seen from him.
Maybe itas as close to a smile as he ever gets, she thought.
It wasnat a comforting insight.
aHave you used a spinning reel before?a asked Angel, turning away from the intent brown eyes watching her.
aYes. Then I was soundly whipped for taking it without permission.a Angel looked at the tall, powerful man standing so close to her.
aThat must have been when you were a lot smaller,a she said dryly. aEither that, or they ganged up on you.a aI was six.a Shadows of memory changed Hawkas eyes. Angel watched, wondering what had caused the instant of grief and . . . rage?
Yes, it had been rage. She was certain of it.
Angel had felt both those emotions, knew how viciously they could tear at your soul. Suddenly she knew that Hawkas childhood had not been a happy one.
She wondered if he had ever laughed as a boy, and if he ever laughed now, as a man.
aNo matter how many birdsa nests you make in my line,a Angel said quietly, aI promise I wonat beat you.a Hawkas dark eyes focused on her, startled by the intensity that seethed beneath her calm voice. His fingertip lightly traced the straight line of her nose.
aWise of you,a he murmured. aIn case you hadnat noticed, Iam bigger than you are. Much bigger.a aHarder, too,a agreed Angel, but her eyes were luminous, reflecting Hawkas closeness. aMuch harder.a Hawkas eyes changed, darkening as his pupils dilated. The temptation to taste the rosy softness of Angelas mouth was almost overwhelming. But just as he decided to accept the ripe invitation of her lips, she turned away.
For a few moments Angel stood with her back to Hawk. When she turned around again, she was as tranquil as a flower unfolding into the dawn. In a calm, professional voice she described the theory and practice of jigging for cod.
aWeall be drifting over a rocky reef soon,a said Angel. aThe reef is about six fathomsa"thirty-six feeta"down. Weare looking for black cod or ling cod, although Iam not fussy. I learned to like rock cod when I was young because Dad wouldnat let me keep anything I wouldnat eat.a Angel stepped back toward the c.o.c.kpit, leaned in, and looked quickly at the sonar screen. Then she thrust the rod into Hawkas hands and gestured for him to go to the side of the boat.
He held most of the rod out over the water. A few inches below the wiggling tip of the rod, the lead-weighted, hula-skirted jig danced and quivered as even the smallest movement of Hawkas body was transmitted up the flexible length of the rod.
With a casual motion, Angel flipped aside the curved piece of metal that kept the fishing line from falling off the reel. Immediately the heavy jig plopped into the water and sank, dragging transparent line down into the blue-green sea.
aThis is the bale,a Angel said, pointing to the curved metal she had pushed aside. aLet the lure sink until it bounces off the bottom. Then reel in about six feet.a Hawk watched the line flip off the reel in graceful, glistening curves until the jig touched bottom. The bale clicked once in the silence as Hawk began to reel in. When he estimated that he had pulled in about six feet of line, he turned to Angel and raised one black eyebrow.
aThe idea is to make the cod think that thereas a wounded herring fluttering down to the bottom,a Angel explained.
aHow?a aPull up quickly on the rod, then let go, wait a few seconds, and repeat. If a hungry cod is anywhere around, heall come hunting. And then,a added Angel, licking her lips delicately, aweall have a leg up on dinner.a Hawkas dark eyes followed the tip of Angelas tongue as it left a thin shine of moisture over her lips.
aSneaky,a he said, his voice deep. aWhat seems to be the prey turns and catches the predator.a Angel tipped her head to one side.
aI never thought of it like that,a she admitted. Then she smiled slightly. aMaybe itas only just. The cod is finally paying for a lifetime of free herring lunches.a The left corner of Hawkas mouth curled up. aWhat about you? When do you pay?a With a downward sweep of her lashes, Angel concealed the stark memories that haunted her eyes.
aI already have,a she said.
Hawk hesitated, wanting to ask what Angel meant. He waited, but she didnat look up. With a shrug, he decided that her words had been one more graceful, elusive twist of the prey. He turned his attention back to the fishing rod, lifting it with quick, smooth power, then letting the line go slack again.
Angel watched for a few moments, appreciating Hawkas deft handling of rod and line. In addition to his obvious male strength, Hawk had superb reflexes.
aYouare a natural,a she said finally.
Fact, not compliment, as the tone of her voice made clear.
Hawk glanced sideways but Angel was bent over the tackle box, selecting a lead-headed jig for herself. Within moments her rod was set up. She let down the lure over the stern.
For a time there was only silence and the occasional high vibration of fishing line stretched taut and then released.
With no warning Hawkas rod tip dipped deeply, quivered, then dipped sharply again.
aYouave got one,a Angel said, reeling in quickly and setting her rod aside. aKeep your rod tip up!a Silently Hawk glanced at the flexible rod. It was impossible to keep the tip up.
As though Angel knew what he was thinking, she stepped to his side.
aBring your elbows in against your hips,a she ordered.
As soon as Hawk obeyed, the rod b.u.t.t came nearly parallel to his body, forcing the tip up.
aGood,a she said. aNow keep up the pressure as you reel in. Steady and slow. That cod isnat going anywhere but into our frying pan.a aSure itas a cod?a asked Hawk, one eyebrow raised in a question or a challenge.
aSure am,a she said confidently. aIt isnat fighting much.a Hawk looked at the lashing rod tip and felt the life of the fish quivering through his hands up to the muscles of his arms.
aNot fighting?a he asked dryly.
aNope. Wait until you get a salmon on that tippy little rod,a said Angel, her voice rich with memories. aThen youall know what itas like to hold sunrise and lightning in your hands.a Angel didnat notice Hawkas quick look or the surprise that showed for an instant on his face. Her excitement and pleasure was as clear as the sunlight bouncing off the calm water. Whatever else might or might not be true about Angel, Hawk believed that she enjoyed fishing as few people enjoyed anything on earth.
And then he wondered if she brought the same pa.s.sionate honesty to bed that she brought to fishing.
The rod jumped and quivered in Hawkas hands.
aKeep the tip up!a Angel leaned over the rail, straining for her first glimpse of Hawkas fish.