Wounded Angel (The Earth Angels) - By Stacy Gail Page 0,47

anywhere. “If we were at my place, I could offer you some merlot.”

“At four in the morning, water is about as much as I can handle.” He took the bottle with a nod of thanks, and by the time she’d settled next to him, he’d downed half its contents. “Sorry about this.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

That was that, then. “I’m not sure, but I thought I heard you call my name.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Okay.” She didn’t believe him, but she’d had enough nightmares to know there were some kinds of pain rooted too deeply to be tugged out in just one idle conversation.

That he was hurting was obvious; the light streaming in from the living area of the suite struck harsh lines in his face, underscoring the haggard restlessness she sensed prowling inside him. But even exhausted and strung out he was still the best-looking man she’d ever crossed paths with. She’d never known anyone with such an aggressively masculine jaw, now covered in the black shadow of a days-old beard. And there was something about those strong brows hooding intense eyes that had the ability to put a spell on any female over the age of consent. His body was pure centerfold material, fueling her dreams with a hair-roughened chest as thick as a cinderblock wall and a muscle-padded rib cage that made her fingers itch to learn his contours like a blind woman memorizing a statue through her sense of touch...

Those eyes were watching her as she took her time drinking in his savage masculinity. He wore the familiar sweatpants and nothing else, and she had a feeling he’d only slipped those on to sleep in out of respect for her.

Respect was overrated.

Ella moistened her lips, only to find her mouth had gone dry. She couldn’t help but wonder if he had any idea how tempting it was to have all that manly acreage within inches of her. It would be so easy to lean to the side, brush his gleaming golden-hued shoulder with hers, glide her hand down that whiskered jaw, past the surprisingly elegant column of his throat, to roam over the curve of a pectoral to the shallow valley where his heart lay...

“Maybe you should think about putting your eyes back in your head and getting back to your own bed.”

Slam.

It was a miracle her teeth didn’t pop out, she was brought back to earth so hard.

The acid burn of humiliation stung her face with white-hot pinpricks, and she jerked to her feet so he couldn’t see the crimson glow of it. But by the time she’d crossed into the living area of the suite, the agony of that humiliation melded with a razor-edged anger that cut at her until she was a bloody mess. After a rejection like that, there was no way she could accept the idea of just meekly crawling into her cold and lonely bed without so much as a whimper in response. If he didn’t find her appealing, fine. His prerogative. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to get away with making her feel like an idiot for being attracted to him.

“Maybe you should put a damn shirt on if you’re uncomfortable with me noticing you in all your spectacular male glory. Trust me, there’s no need for you to look like such an outraged virgin—I wasn’t going to jump your bones. You might be some great eye candy, but I’m not into raping uninterested men.” And with that, she snapped off the light and stomped to the pale blob that was the pullout bed. Not exactly the stinging retort she’d been going for, but what the hell. It would do in a pinch.

No sooner had she plopped down on the side of the bed, a light flared in the other section of the suite.

“Oh no, you don’t. You don’t get to turn the lights out just when things are getting good.” Nate appeared, leaning against the partial wall separating the sleeping and living sections of the suite. Though it was just about the last thing she wanted to do, Ella glanced over her shoulder as he crossed his arms over that chest she ached to taste. She could have sworn the bastard had the gall to flex his pecs. “Eye candy?”

“Yeah. As in, all sugar and no substance.” There. Let him chew on that for a while.

He shrugged. The pecs danced again. “I’m cool with that. I like candy.”

“Good for you.” Still aflame with humiliation, embarrassment and