Page 17 of Angel

I half-turn and he says huskily, “You should return home and take a hot shower. You could catch your death out here.”

His arms are bare; I don’t notice any markings, just a leather braid circling his wrist, silver rings on his fingers.

“Come with me.”

I don’t want him to leave.

“No.”

He drops his arm. “I’ll walk you back, but I’d advise you to take the door, not the wall this time.”

I giggle, a strangely surreal sound after what just happened, and he stands, pulling me up from the sand, tearing off his t-shirt, leaving me drooling at the muscled chest dancing before my eyes.

“Here.”

He drops the t-shirt over my head and takes my hand.

“I’ll be in touch.”

We tread the sand until we reach my house, and as he hovers at the kitchen door, he rolls his eyes when I reach for the spare key under the mat.

“Sophie.” He groans. “I can’t believe you just did that. Where is the security here? Anyone could break into your beach house. “

“You’re just angry it was easier than scaling the walls, Angel.”

I chuckle softly, and his hand grips mine, and he pulls me hard against his chest. I stare at the mask covering the lower part of his face and wonder what he would do if I wrenched it off.

I’m guessing I wouldn’t get that far, and somehow I like that he remains a mystery. After what just happened, I kind of love the intrigue. My masked man. My fantasy.

He flinches as I raise my hand, and I shake my head.

“It’s okay. I don’t demand anything but touch.”

I press my lips against the fabric of the cloth, closing my eyes. He slips the mask up and then kisses me softly, more intimately than before. His tongue connecting with mine as he swirls it around my mouth. Almost loving, sexy as fuck, and I moan with contentment. He sucks in my lower lip, biting it softly, one last toe-curling kiss before he pulls away and lowers his mask.

His voice is husky as he whispers against my swollen lips, “Shower. I’ll be in touch.”

With a sexy wink, he turns and heads back down the beach.

This time I let him go. I got what I wanted. Only time will tell if I get everything I asked for.

* * *

I fall into bed after a very hot shower, reliving the events of the night, clutching his t-shirt against me as I sleep. His aftershave lingers; it’s an expensive one. I wonder who he is. Is he Angel? I’m not convinced of that.

* * *

When I wake, it’s to the phone ringing, and as I grasp the receiver, my agent’s voice rouses me.

“Sophie, are you okay?”

“Of course.”

I’m still groggy from sleep, and his next words act as a cold bucket of water.

“Did Giovanni come home with you last night?”

“Only to drop me at the door. He never came inside?”