He's No Angel (Heaven Can Wait Book 1) Read online

  She wiped her hand over the frosted glass shower door and squinted through the steam. “Liam?”

  “It’s me. Who were you expecting?” he asked, sounding amused.

  “Just wanted to make sure. I’m blind as a bat without my glasses.”

  “Then I guess I’d better come closer.”

  The shower door opened and… oh, my. There he stood. All six-feet, four inches of him in the flesh. Literally in the flesh. Damn, why had she taken off her glasses? Yet even blurry he was… oh, my. Her avid gaze lingered on his tattooed upper arm. From what she could see it was a fist-sized Maltese cross. It definitely warranted some closer inspection. Probably with her tongue.

  Her gaze then continued over his broad muscled chest and washboard abs that looked like something from a workout equipment ad. Then lower…

  Yowza. Wasn’t cold water supposed to cause shrinkage?

  Apparently not.

  The soap slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the tiled floor. Good thing her jaw was attached or she’d have dropped her teeth, too. No doubt about it, Liam Gallagher was one beautiful, and exquisitely made man.

  “You intend to just stand there and stare, Miss Smarty Pants?” he asked, mirroring her own words of several minutes ago, “Or may I join you?”

  Since her voice had vanished, she merely nodded and stepped back to give him room. Her shoulders hit the cool tiles, a welcome relief to the inferno engulfing her. He stepped into the shower, closed the door behind him then settled his hands on the tiles on either side of her head, caging her in.

  “I know I already said this,” he murmured in a smoky voice as the shower spray bounced off his shoulders, “but it bears repeating: you look damn good all wet, Miss Librarian.”

  Emma cleared her throat and managed to dredge up her voice. “Back at ya.”

  He removed one hand from the wall, settled his fingertips at the base of her throat then dragged them slowly downward, his gaze tracking their progress. When he brushed over her nipple, Emma sucked in a quick breath. He’d barely touched her yet her entire body quivered, aching in anticipation of his next caress.

  His mouth followed the trail his fingers blazed and she watched his tongue lazily circle her hard nipple then draw the tight bud into the silky heat of his mouth. Shards of pleasure stabbed her, radiating outward to engulf her every nerve ending.

  His fingers and mouth continued downward, over her ribcage. He dropped to his knees and after lightly circling her navel he murmured, “Well, well, aren’t you full of surprises,” as he traced the small black script of the tattoo that marked her skin just south of her right hipbone.

  “Ad temetipsum esse vera,” he read then looked up at her. “Obviously that means ‘sexiest, most beautiful woman on the planet.’”

  “No, although that’s a very flattering and much appreciated guess. It’s Latin for ‘to thine own self be true,’ my favorite Shakespeare quote.”

  “To thine own self be true,” he repeated, again tracing the letters, his feathery touch shooting tingles everywhere. “Good advice. When did you have it done?”

  “Junior year of college. When I finally realized I had to live my life as opposed to the one that had been mapped out for me.”

  “Smart and beautiful and just a bit rebellious. Wow. Talk about a fantasy girl.” He leaned forward and touched his lips to the writing, nearly stopping her heart. “This your only tat?”

  “God, yes.” A huff of laughter escaped her, one that evaporated into a sigh of pleasure when he kissed the sensitive spot again. “One is enough. If I’d known how much pain was involved I wouldn’t have done it. Turns out I’m a big fat chicken. I cried like a baby.” True… but when he traced the letters with his tongue Emma decided every bit of discomfort had been totally worth it.

  “Which Shakespearean play is your quote from?” he asked, his warm breath tickling her hip as his hands slipped behind her and skimmed lightly up and down the backs of her legs.

  “Hamlet. Act one, scene threeee… ” The last word trailed off into nothingness when he lifted her leg and set it on his shoulder.

  “Go on,” he encouraged, peppering her abdomen with soft kisses.

  Go on? It was requiring all her rapidly dissolving concentration to remain upright and not slither down the drain in a boneless heap and he wanted to talk Shakespeare? She swallowed and tried to focus on forming words. “Um, Polonius said it. His last bit of advice to his son Laertes, who was leaving for Paris, probably to get away from his long-winded dad’s never ending speeches.”

  “Fascinating. Tell me more.”

  She wracked her brain for something to say, but he completely derailed her thought processes when he leaned in and slowly dragged his tongue along the seam of her sex. A long moan escaped her and her head thunked back against the tiles. “Can’t. Can’t think.” He licked her again. “Ooooh.” She arched into his mouth and spread her legs wider.

  Gripping her bottom with one big hand, he teased her sex with his tongue, circling, teasing, delving, driving her to the edge of delirium. She raked her fingers through his wet hair and fought to delay the orgasm racing toward her. But the battle was lost when, with his magic tongue relentlessly caressing her, he slipped two fingers deep inside her.

  She shot over the edge, a hard fast bullet into pleasure that ripped a cry from her throat. Her fingers fisted in his hair, holding him to her while her entire being throbbed. Her body was still pulsing with tiny aftershocks of delight when he stood, pulled her into his arms, and settled his mouth on hers in a slow, deep, tongue mating kiss that stole whatever sliver of strength might have remained in her trembling knees.

  “Want you,” he said in a harsh whisper against her lips. “Want you. So much. Need you.”

  Emma nodded and said the only word she could manage. “Yes.”

  “Hang on. Don’t let go.”

  As if she would.

  She wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and he swung her up into his arms in that same thrilling display of rippling brawn he’d demonstrated earlier. She’d be sure to compliment him on it as soon as she was able to string two semi-intelligent sentences together.

  He turned off the water then pushed open the shower door with his shoulder. Didn’t pause for towels, just carried her swiftly to his bed and set her on top of his maroon comforter where she landed with a gentle bounce. He grabbed a condom packet from the nightstand but before he could tear it open, she quickly sat up and plucked it from between his fingers.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” she said, scooting to the edge of the bed. “Not yet. Now it’s my turn.”

  Heat glittered in his eyes. “Now who’s being bossy?”

  “Me. So behave. Don’t make me use my librarian voice on you.”

  “Right. ‘Cause I’d hate that. A lot. Really.”

  Her lips twitched. Settling her palms on his wet abdomen, she slowly ran her hands up the muscular wall of his chest.

  He looked down at her, his eyes hot with want. “You’ve barely touched me and my control’s about shot.” he said in a husky rasp. “I don’t know how much I can take.”

  “Let’s find out.” She watched, fascinated by the way his muscles jumped as she slowly dragged her hands downward, over his abs, his hips, then down his strong, hair-roughened thighs to his shins. Slipping her hands behind him, she lightly trailed her fingers up the backs of his legs to cup his firm buttocks. Then, because two could play at the game he’d treated her to in the shower, she leaned forward and licked his erection from base to tip.

  He hissed in a quick breath. “Emma… ” Her name ended on a jagged groan when without any further preliminaries she drew him deep into her mouth.

  Determined to give him as much pleasure as he’d given her, she swirled her tongue and ran her lips over him, teasing, sucking and licking while she slipped one hand between his legs to cup him.

  He raked his fingers through her hair, his breaths growing faster, choppier, until with a ragged groan he pulled bac
k and growled, “Can’t take anymore.” He grabbed the condom. Quickly rolled it on. Gently urged her onto her back. Then settled himself between her splayed thighs and entered her in one smooth thrust.

  Their moans mingled in the air. Resting his weight on his forearms, he remained perfectly still, deeply imbedded inside her and looked down at her. Emma stared up into his eyes and couldn’t look away. No man, ever, had looked at her like this. As if she were… everything. As if he’d do anything to have her. As if he wanted her more than his next breath. And no man had ever made her feel like this. So beautiful. Desirable. Wanted. Needed.

  He leaned down to brush his lips over hers. “You feel so incredibly good, Emma.” He withdrew nearly all the way then slowly sank deep once again. “So wet and hot. Soft and tight.”

  She wanted to tell him how good he felt inside her, but her answer melted away into a long pleasure-filled sigh when he gave another delicious, slow thrust. Then another. And another. On and on, each one gaining in tempo and strength. She wrapped her legs around his waist urging him on, straining toward the climax that she knew was no more than a few strokes away.

  Even though she’d known she was close, her orgasm still caught her by surprise, a lightning strike of relentless, white hot sensation that arched her back and dug her fingers into his shoulders as wave after wave pulsed through her. She felt his release shudder through him, and she clung to him while a storm of pleasure battered them both. He gave a final deep thrust then buried his face in the curve of her neck, whispering her name like a prayer.

  Her entire body went lax, seemed to dissolve into the comforter beneath her in utter, profound contentment. When she felt him lift his head, she slung her limp arms around his neck and whispered, “Don’t move. I like you right where you are.”

  “Right where I want to be. Emma… look at me.”

  She slowly blinked her eyes open. And found him looking as dazed as she felt.

  “That was… ” he shook his head. “Wow.”

  Her lips curved into a lazy smile. “Yeah. Wow. Seems to be our all-purpose, go-to word.”

  He smiled back and brushed a stray curl from her cheek. “Considering how it so perfectly describes you, and the way you make me feel, yeah.”

  “I could say the same to you.”

  He hiked a brow. “Could?”

  She laughed. “Fine. I’m saying it.” Her amusement faded and she cupped his face between her hands. “And I’ll say this, too: even though I probably shouldn’t, even though I know I’m supposed to be coy and it’s too soon and breaks every manual on dating ever written, I’ve never felt like this before, Liam. Ever.”

  He briefly squeezed his eyes and turned his head to kiss her palm. When he looked at her again, there was no missing the relief in his eyes. “To which I can only say, ‘thank God.’ Thank God it’s not just me because not only have I never felt this way before, I never even knew I could feel this way. And I’ve felt it since the moment I first saw you.”

  Something bloomed inside her, something warm and tender that surrounded her heart and filled it to bursting. “Sounds like we’ve formed a mutual admiration society of sorts.”

  “Sounds like,” he agreed. “You have any plans for the next twelve hours?”

  She pretended to give the matter deep consideration for several seconds. “Depends. What did you have in mind?”

  “Oh, a little bit of this.” He nudged her with his pelvis. “A little bit of that.”

  “Ah. You inviting me for a sleepover?”

  “Yeah. But if you have your heart set on actually sleeping, you’ll definitely be disappointed.”

  “I see. The old Non-sleeping Sleepover.”

  “Exactly.” He nuzzled the skin behind her ear with his deliciously warm lips. “You interested?”

  “Maybe. I’d have to head home early in the morning to change. I need to be at the library by eight.”

  “No problem. I need to be at the firehouse by seven.”

  “Does this invite include breakfast?”

  “Absolutely. I make a mean omelet.”

  She heaved a dramatic sigh. “Fine. I’ll stay. But just know that if you’d offered up oatmeal instead of an omelet I totally would have bolted.”

  “Understood. How about we head back to the shower and see if we can find that soap you dropped?”

  “Whoa, baby. Drop the soap. My favorite game.”

  He leaned back and shot her a devilish grin. “Lucky me.”

  Her heart gave a hard thump and she smiled into eyes. “Lucky me,” she agreed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Thick smoke enveloped Liam. He had to get out. Now.

  The floor beneath him trembled. His gaze met Cade’s. And they both knew. It was too late.

  An ominous groan sounded above them and they leapt into action. Debris falling, flames licking the walls… Don’t think. Just move. Cade shoved open the stairwell door, went through first. Liam brought up the rear. Counting the floors as they descended. Ten. Nine. Eight…

  Another tremble in the floor. This one stronger. A wall of smoke. Heat… like being surrounded by Hell itself. Seven. Six. The next tremor threw him to the floor. Burning pain seared his side. He pushed to his feet and stumbled ahead. Where was Cade? Nothing visible except that curtain of black, blinding smoke. He called out, but could barely hear his own voice over the hiss and crackle of flames, the groan of collapsing walls, exploding of windows. Only static in his earpiece. Down. Down. Faster. Faster. Nothing but the handrail beneath his gloved palm to guide him. Lower. Another floor. Another landing. Where the hell was the bottom? Had to be soon. Had to be.

  Sweat, smoke, heat. So hard to breathe. Searing pain clawing his side. The end… finally the end. He pushed open the door and stumbled outside. Where was Cade? A brief glimpse of dark sky, the outline of the moon a blur behind a veil of smoke. Hands grabbed him under the arms. Pulling, dragging him forward. Tense voices issuing orders, shouting warnings. A deafening roar. A harsh cry. Then pain. God, so much pain--

  “Liam, wake up… wake up… ”

  Liam bolted upright, a cry ripping from his dry throat. His chest felt tight, too small for his laboring lungs that fought for breath and his heart that pounded like a desperate fist banging against a locked door. Sweat coated his skin with a clammy film that made him feel as if he were simultaneously burning and freezing.

  A gentle hand touched his shoulder. With a harsh inhale, he turned and saw Emma. Looking at him through concern-filled eyes. “It’s okay now,” she said softly, rubbing slow circles over his tense shoulder. “You’re awake. I’m here. You were having a nightmare.”

  Liam squeezed his eyes shut. Let out a shuddering breath. Fought to regain his composure.

  “Would you like some water?” she asked.

  Not trusting his voice, Liam merely nodded. He felt her leave the bed and opened his eyes. Watched her pull his discarded T-shirt over her head, slip on her glasses then leave the room and head toward the kitchen.

  The instant she was out of sight, he dragged his still unsteady hands down his face and groaned. Damn it. Why tonight? Why did he have to be reduced to this trembling, cold-sweating mess in front of Emma? Not only was it humiliating, but she’d undoubtedly have questions. Questions he didn’t want to answer and had spent the last year avoiding.

  He shouldn’t have invited her to spend the night. Yet the thought of not falling asleep with her, of not waking up with her in his arms… that didn’t fly either.

  She entered the bedroom and moved to his side of the bed where she hitched one hip onto the edge of the mattress. “Here you go,” she said, holding out a tall glass of water.

  He gripped it with both hands in the hopes she wouldn’t notice the tremors that still shook him. After gulping the entire contents he closed his eyes and pressed the cool glass against his forehead.

  “Want some more?” she asked.

  He set the empty glass on the night table then cleared his throat. “No, thanks. I’m
good.”

  But that was a blatant lie. He wasn’t good at all. He felt sick inside. Sick and tense that he’d marred this perfect night. And filled with dread that she’d not only want answers he wasn’t sure he could give, but that this episode might damage the bond growing between them. Maybe if this had happened a few months from now, when their relationship was more established… but they were just beginning. And he very much feared that this episode could deliver a fatal blow, or at least raise some serious red flags. After all, what woman wanted a vulnerable, shaking, sweating nightmare-prone guy in her bed?

  She took his hands in hers and gave them a gentle squeeze. “That was some nightmare you had.”

  He wanted to brush it off, say it was a never-happened-before occurrence, but the lie died in his throat. Instead he found himself confessing, “It happens sometimes.”

  His gaze searched hers, watching for any signs that she might be pulling away. Instead her eyes reflected only compassion and concern. “To me, too. Same nightmare every time. I’ll go months without having it, then boom. Out of nowhere it grabs me.” She glanced briefly down at their joined hands. “I was actually afraid to spend the night with you because I thought it might happen tonight. Thought that what happened earlier might trigger it.”

  “Earlier?”

  “My unplanned underwater dip in the lake. I almost drowned when I was twelve. Got caught in a riptide. A quick-acting lifeguard saved me.” She took several rapid breaths then let out a quick shaky laugh. “Just thinking about it makes me feel as if I can’t breathe for a few seconds. Anyway, I call it the Drowning Dream and I hate it. I wake up gasping for air, clawing for the surface, heart pounding, wild-eyed, shaking, bathed in sweat. Not real attractive. So… just fair warning. If we spend more nights together, it’s bound to happen at some point.”

  “Nothing about you is unattractive. And as for that if-- I don’t think there’s any ‘if’ about us spending more nights together, Emma.” He lifted one of her hands to his mouth and pressed his lips to her palm. “Sorry if I scared you.”