Page 160 of Dark Angel
They worked until bed.
Beneath the bed linens, they came together in a powerful kiss. Her entire being came alive. But it wasn’t just the embrace, it was the possessive way he held her, the look of desire—and love—in his eyes. She met his intensity with her own. A driving passion to mate with him, to take him inside her. To connect in the most intimate of ways.
Their lovemaking was wild and feral, then soft and sweet. His touch turned her into a savage. But it was the way they moved as one that completed her. Their connection went beyond sex. Being with him physically felt like theoneplace in the world where everything was right… and good… and meaningful.
She’d had sex before him, even had sex before with him. Butneverlike this.
I can feel it. Can he?
They climaxed together, the pure ecstasy drowning the bad in a few precious seconds of absolute euphoria.
“Ti amo, Halston,” he murmured.I love you, Halston.
“I love you too,” she replied.
As they held each other, she wondered how much time they had together. Once Bulgrov learned she’d been at the sex club, that Donskoy had tied her to the St. Andrews cross, and the armed militia had killed Donskoy and taken her, her life would forever change.
A pack of vicious wolves were chomping at their heels.
As she hugged Gabriel tighter, he whispered, “I would die before I let anything happen to you.”
She wanted to believe that. She did. But how could she?
Gabriel couldn’t save Angelo… could he even save himself? He was in Petrov’s crosshairs. It was only a matter of time before they would be found out.
A shiver ran though her.
“Are you cold,” he murmured in the dark room.
“No, I’m afraid of losing you.”
“To overcome fear, we must face it. The one who cowers is the coward. That is not us, Halston. That is not us.”
GABRIEL
The following morning,Gabriel was up and dressed by five. Rather than wake Halston, he was working in the suite’s dining room, studying the video from the shooting at the restaurant.
Covered in black, the killer appeared from the parking lot. Was it another Bratva hit? He watched the video several times, slowed it down to magnify every second the hitman was on the screen. Halston had thought the killer was a woman. The only woman who’d ever tried to kill him had been the one at Lost Souls—the one who’d dropped white powder in his drink.
He jumped to the Lost Souls video from Hawk, rewinding until the woman entered the club. He’d never seen her before that evening. Barely talked to her. He studied her mannerisms, how she sat, her eye movements.
As Boss of Cosa Nostra, he had men who tracked the enemy and an army of people who worked for him, who took orders from him.
Angelo’s murder had taken him off course.
He called his GM of Santini Spirits. The phone rang, but Carmelo didn’t answer.
Halston entered the room, a mug in her hand. “Good morning. You’re up early.”
At six-thirty, she was dressed for work in a black pants suit, dark gray shirt. Her hair already pulled into her signature Minka bun, her tinted contacts in place.
She kissed him. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Hey, baby.” He spun the laptop toward her. “Is the woman who tried to poison me the same person who tried to kill me outside the restaurant?”
She sat down beside him, eyed the still shot of the woman from Lost Souls. “A definite possibility. Play the video.”
He did.
