Wounded Angel (The Earth Angels) - By Stacy Gail Page 0,5
macho charisma the same way Niagara Falls gushed water. It was understandable her unguarded thoughts might wander down the path of sensual curiosity even if she wasn’t mentally ready for it. How could she be ready for such a thing? For a couple of years now she’d begun to suspect any attraction to the male gender was part of her dead and buried past. And she hadn’t missed it in the least.
Hadn’t missed it. But she was sure feeling an empty loneliness now.
A wry smile curled the corner of her mouth as she stared at her worksheet without seeing it. And there it was. She had the hots for her new client. That had to be a good thing; it was proof she’d come a long way in her mental and emotional healing process. Fantasizing about delicious-looking men was both healthy and normal, and she was a big fan of normal. What’s more, she felt safe. There was no risk in enjoying a quick daydream about a man with depthless, smoldering eyes, the kind of eyes that made a woman think that not only could he see through her clothes, he heartily approved of what he saw beneath them. Or how his thick, waving hair would feel slipping through her fingers as she pulled his face close. Or how that wealth of bronzed skin he’d displayed with unabashed confidence would taste against her tongue as she set about exploring him bit by bit—from the muscle-padded curve of his shoulder to the elegantly defined line of his collarbone, to the hair-shadowed chest that was as solidly built as a cinderblock wall. She’d be willing to bet he tasted subtly different from region to region. She’d have to sample every delicious location to see which flavor was her favorite...
Ah, damn. There she went again.
The glass door opened with a flurry of snowflakes. Without warning her heart leaped into her throat when the object of her heated fantasies pushed into the lobby. Nate looked almost too big to be indoors, wrapped in a long duster-style coat that emphasized the impressive breadth of his shoulders. Right on his heels was Jacob, looking dour in his ancient aviator earflap hat and watching Nate as if he expected the other man might pull out an AK47. Not sure what Jacob was doing there since he wasn’t scheduled for anything until mid-morning, Ella offered him a nod of bewildered greeting before her focus swung inexorably back to Nate.
It was almost unfair, how perfectly nature had constructed him. Diamond-faceted snowflakes dusted his shoulders and hair, and the hands she kept idle on the desk itched to brush them away. He looked disgruntled, as if he disapproved of the snow, Jacob, the gym’s bright reception area and mornings in general, and ideas of how she could wash that irritation away with a smile flooded her brain before she could dam them up.
It was insane, how much she wanted to make him smile.
He shook his head to get the snow out of his hair and found himself face-to-face with her before he seemed to be prepared for it. He froze, the line between his brows vanishing as if it had never been, and for a full heartbeat they did nothing more than simply stare at each other. Then Jacob cleared his throat so noisily it yanked her gaze away from Nate’s, and her cheeks heated as if she’d been caught ogling hardcore porn in public.
“Good morning.” Ella gave Nate her best professional smile while Jacob swept the hat off his bristly head and stomped back to Phoebe’s office. And all the while she prayed her new client hadn’t noticed her overheated gaping. “Considering the frown on your face, I take it you’re not a fan of early mornings?”
“Early mornings don’t bother me. Early mornings accompanied with snow, howling arctic winds and temperatures below thirty degrees... Now that’s something to frown about.”
“You’re not a native of Chicago?”
“Nope. Born and bred in Atlanta, though I’ve done enough traveling in my life to give me a pretty boring monotone.”
“You’re from the South?” Twin spires of wistfulness and unease coiled through her as he came to lean on the reception desk opposite her. With his soulful dark eyes drinking in the sight of her as if her face was the only thing he wanted to see, wistfulness won out. “Do you miss anything about your old home?”
“Right now I’m missing warmer temperatures.”
She laughed, and even she could hear the fluttery quality of it. “It’s