Read Online Kiss an Angel by Susan Elizabeth Phillips - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan Elizabeth Phillips
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wasn't certain.
He spoiled her view of his front by walking to the bed where he turned his back on her to coil the whips and place them in a wooden case he pulled out from beneath the bed. With the whips out of sight, she found herself able to enjoy the view of his back much more.
Once again, he turned to face her. "In exactly five seconds I'm going to drop this towel."
He waited, and as more than five seconds passed, she realized what he meant.
"Oh. You want me to
look away."
He laughed. "Let me get just one good night's sleep, angel face, and, I promise, you can look all you want."
Now she'd done it. She'd given him completely the wrong impression, and she had to correct it. "I'm afraid you misinterpreted."
"I sure hope not."
''But you did. I was just curious. .. not curious, exactly, but—well, yes, I guess curious.. .. That's only natural. But you shouldn't assume—"
"Daisy?"
"Yes?"
"If you say another word, I'm going to pull out one of those whips you're so worried about and see if I can get into that perversion thing."
She snatched up a clean pair of panties and a faded University of North Carolina T-shirt she'd pulled
from his drawer while he was in the shower, then flounced into the bathroom.
She closed the door
with a satisfying bang.
Twenty minutes later she emerged freshly showered and wearing his T-shirt.
She'd decided it was preferable to the only nightwear she'd found in her suitcase, a scrap of pink silk and lace she'd bought in the days before Noel and her mother had betrayed her.
Alex was sound asleep, lying on his back with the bed-sheet twisted around his naked hips. There was something impolite about staring at a person while he slept, but she couldn't turn away. Instead, she
crept to the end of the bed and gazed down at him.
Asleep, he didn't seem nearly as dangerous as he did awake, and her hands itched to touch that hard, flat belly. She slid her gaze from his waist to his chest and was admiring the perfect symmetry of it when she caught sight of the gold medal hanging on a chain around his neck. As she saw what it was, she froze.
He wore a beautifully enameled Russian icon.
. . . wearing nothing but rags and a priceless icon hanging on a leather thong around his neck.
Her skin prickled. She studied the face of the Virgin Mary pressing her cheek to that of her child, and although she didn't know much about icons, she could see that this Virgin wasn't from the Italian tradition. The gold ornamentation on her black robes was purely Byzantine, as was the elaborate costume worn by the infant Jesus.
She reminded herself that just because Alex wore what was obviously a valuable icon didn't mean the cockamamie story about Cossacks was true. It was probably a family piece that he'd inherited. But she still felt uneasy as she made her way to the opposite end of the trailer.
The couch was littered with clothes from her suitcase that she hadn't put away along with a clutter of newspapers and magazines, some of which were several years old. She pushed everything aside and
made up the bed with some clean sheets from the storage closet. But between the nap she'd taken and
her troubled thoughts, she couldn't fall asleep, so she read an old issue of Newsweek. By the time she'd finished, it was nearly three. She felt as if she'd barely closed her eyes before she was rudely jarred awake.
"Up and at 'em, angel face. We've got a long day ahead."
She rolled over onto her stomach. He tugged at the sheet and she felt the brush of cold air on the backs
of her bare thighs. She refused to move. As long as she didn't move, she wouldn't have to face a new day.
"Come on, Daisy."
She buried her face more deeply into her pillow.
A large warm hand settled over the fragile silk of her panties, and her eyes shot open. With a gasp, she rolled to her back, scrambling to cover herself with the sheet.
He grinned down at her. "I thought that might get you moving."
He was the devil incarnate. Only the
He spoiled her view of his front by walking to the bed where he turned his back on her to coil the whips and place them in a wooden case he pulled out from beneath the bed. With the whips out of sight, she found herself able to enjoy the view of his back much more.
Once again, he turned to face her. "In exactly five seconds I'm going to drop this towel."
He waited, and as more than five seconds passed, she realized what he meant.
"Oh. You want me to
look away."
He laughed. "Let me get just one good night's sleep, angel face, and, I promise, you can look all you want."
Now she'd done it. She'd given him completely the wrong impression, and she had to correct it. "I'm afraid you misinterpreted."
"I sure hope not."
''But you did. I was just curious. .. not curious, exactly, but—well, yes, I guess curious.. .. That's only natural. But you shouldn't assume—"
"Daisy?"
"Yes?"
"If you say another word, I'm going to pull out one of those whips you're so worried about and see if I can get into that perversion thing."
She snatched up a clean pair of panties and a faded University of North Carolina T-shirt she'd pulled
from his drawer while he was in the shower, then flounced into the bathroom.
She closed the door
with a satisfying bang.
Twenty minutes later she emerged freshly showered and wearing his T-shirt.
She'd decided it was preferable to the only nightwear she'd found in her suitcase, a scrap of pink silk and lace she'd bought in the days before Noel and her mother had betrayed her.
Alex was sound asleep, lying on his back with the bed-sheet twisted around his naked hips. There was something impolite about staring at a person while he slept, but she couldn't turn away. Instead, she
crept to the end of the bed and gazed down at him.
Asleep, he didn't seem nearly as dangerous as he did awake, and her hands itched to touch that hard, flat belly. She slid her gaze from his waist to his chest and was admiring the perfect symmetry of it when she caught sight of the gold medal hanging on a chain around his neck. As she saw what it was, she froze.
He wore a beautifully enameled Russian icon.
. . . wearing nothing but rags and a priceless icon hanging on a leather thong around his neck.
Her skin prickled. She studied the face of the Virgin Mary pressing her cheek to that of her child, and although she didn't know much about icons, she could see that this Virgin wasn't from the Italian tradition. The gold ornamentation on her black robes was purely Byzantine, as was the elaborate costume worn by the infant Jesus.
She reminded herself that just because Alex wore what was obviously a valuable icon didn't mean the cockamamie story about Cossacks was true. It was probably a family piece that he'd inherited. But she still felt uneasy as she made her way to the opposite end of the trailer.
The couch was littered with clothes from her suitcase that she hadn't put away along with a clutter of newspapers and magazines, some of which were several years old. She pushed everything aside and
made up the bed with some clean sheets from the storage closet. But between the nap she'd taken and
her troubled thoughts, she couldn't fall asleep, so she read an old issue of Newsweek. By the time she'd finished, it was nearly three. She felt as if she'd barely closed her eyes before she was rudely jarred awake.
"Up and at 'em, angel face. We've got a long day ahead."
She rolled over onto her stomach. He tugged at the sheet and she felt the brush of cold air on the backs
of her bare thighs. She refused to move. As long as she didn't move, she wouldn't have to face a new day.
"Come on, Daisy."
She buried her face more deeply into her pillow.
A large warm hand settled over the fragile silk of her panties, and her eyes shot open. With a gasp, she rolled to her back, scrambling to cover herself with the sheet.
He grinned down at her. "I thought that might get you moving."
He was the devil incarnate. Only the
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