The Darkest Touch

“Okay. ’Night, Izzy.”

Isabelle left the room. Angelique figured she should, too. There was no reason to linger in here with Ryder. She stood.

“Stay.”

His one-word command both bristled and intrigued. “Why?”

“I want to talk to you.”

He was sitting in one of the reading chairs by the fireplace. She walked over and took a seat on the sofa across from him.

“I said something to upset you in your room. Tell me what it was.”

She wasn’t prepared to have this conversation with him. Besides, what would be the point? She couldn’t make him accept what she was. Then again, she wasn’t the coy type-never had been.

“You hurt me, but it’s really not your fault.”

He frowned. “Okay, I don’t get that. Could you be more specific?”

“I know. It’s hard to explain. I guess I needed you to still want me, even though you know I have this demon blood in me. I needed you to accept me anyway, and you didn’t. But I understand why you wouldn’t, so it’s okay.”

He stared at her for the longest time without saying a word. She shifted, growing uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

“You think I don’t want you.”

“Yes.” No. I think you don’t love me. God, why were they having this conversation? She couldn’t tell him that.

He stood and came over to her, knelt in front of her.

“It’s more than that, isn’t it?”

She paused, held her breath, then let it out. “Yes.”

“Then tell me.”

“You talked about Nic and Derek, about how they were loved. .”

“Oh. And I didn’t say I cared about you.”

She felt the smile curve her lips. “You’re perceptive.”

“Not perceptive enough, apparently. I’m a jackass. I’m sorry. It probably came across that they could find someone to care about, but you couldn’t. That’s not what I meant, Angie.”

“I know. I should know better, it’s just-”

“Don’t make excuses for me. I’m the one who fucked this all up.” He took her hands in his. “Look. I’ll be as honest as I can be. I do care about you. A lot. But I can’t love anyone. Love scares the shit out of me. It did a number on my mother and I run like hell from it. I always have.”

That was one hell of an admission, and whether he realized it or not, he’d just told her plenty. Her heart swelled. “You’re not your father, Ryder.” She swept a lock of dark hair away from his face. “I really don’t believe you’re anything like him, even though you fear you are. Would your father have put himself in the position you’re in right now, spilling his feelings to a woman?”

He smirked. “Hell, no.”

“Revealing your emotions makes you vulnerable. I can’t see your father-at least, not the man you’ve described to me-doing that. I think there’s a lot more of your mother in you than your father.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “She was always open and honest. And he hurt her because of it; used it against her.”

“Not everyone who says how they feel gets hurt. At some point, if you want to live a normal life-if you want that chance at happiness-you have to learn to trust. It’s who you trust that’s the key.”

“Can I trust you, Angie?”

His voice had lowered, causing a trembling in her lower belly, especially since his hands had started moving from her knees up to her thighs. Heat rose to her chest, her breasts swelling and her nipples tightening against her thin tank top. Her shorts offered no protection against his questing fingers, which crawled their way ever nearer her quickly melting core.

“Yes,” she whispered, nearly out of breath. “You can trust me. Can I trust you?”

“You’d be a fool to trust me,” he said with a wicked grin. “Do you have any idea what I want to do with you right now?”

Her heart pounded, picking up a ramming rate that slammed against her ribs. “Well, I’m no psychic but I have a pretty good idea. But Ryder, the door’s open. We’re in a place where anyone could walk in.”

“I don’t care. I want you. Right here.”

He drew her legs apart and crawled between them, giving her no time to protest. Not that she would have. Not when his body pressed down on her, pushing her back against the couch. Then his mouth was on hers and she moaned against his questing heat, opening her lips to invite his tongue inside.

Hot, wet, needy, she licked at him, whimpered, surprising herself at the flare of desire so strong she no longer cared where they were or who could walk in. Passion took control, and she tangled her fingers in his hair and held on tight as he worked magic with his mouth. With every velvet stroke he told her how desperately he needed