My Special Angel Read online

  “Do you understand what it means when a woman dances for a special man?”

  Owen glanced away from the desire burning in her eyes and toward the campfire. Nadia’s family were busy passing another wine bottle, and Yurik was in the middle of another story. They seemed to have forgotten Nadia and Owen as the celebration continued. He stepped back farther into the night, taking Nadia with him. “Does it mean that you are attracted to me?”

  She moved in closer to him. The cool evening breeze whipped her skirt around one of his pants legs, binding them together. “It means I want you.” She pressed her palms against his chest and stared up into his handsome face. The shadows were too thick to see his reaction. “I need you, Owen.” Her voice shook with that need. “I need you more than my next breath.” Her hands trembled, and her knees wobbled as she declared the extent of her feelings. “I need you more than my music.”

  * * *

  Owen closed the door behind him and slowly lowered Nadia’s feet to the kitchen floor. He had carried her the entire quarter-mile from the camp because she was barefooted, and he didn’t want to waste any precious moments looking for her sandals. With the turn of the lock they left the Kandratavich Ranch and her family on the other side. There were only he and Nadia; nothing beyond the door mattered. Tonight there weren’t going to be any interruptions.

  Nadia leaned her cheek against his chest and listened to his pounding heart. “I told you I was too heavy to carry all the way back here.”

  “We made it, didn’t we?” His fingers teased the elastic neckline of her blouse.

  “I had my doubts coming up that last hill.” She pressed her lips to the thundering pulse still hammering in his throat.

  A faint tremor shook his body. “That was your fault, not mine.” He brushed back a lock of her hair and tenderly stroked the curve of her cheek. “You should never play with a man’s ear as he’s carrying you up a mountain.”

  Laughter sparkled in her eyes as she gazed at the ear she’d been nibbling on. “I couldn’t help myself.” She ran a finger over the lobe and smiled. “Being carried up that itsy-bitsy hill was the most romantic thing that ever happened to me.” She reached up and gave a playful nip to the ear.

  “It wouldn’t have been so romantic if I’d dropped you.” He shuddered as her teeth grazed his lobe.

  Nadia chuckled and blew against the moist skin. “I’m sure we could have thought of something while we were lying on the ground.”

  Owen once again swept her up in his arms and turned off the kitchen light. The faint glow of the night-light plugged in at the bottom of the stairs guided him across the room. “Will you think it’s romantic if I carry you up these stairs?”

  “I don’t know, Owen.” Her lips brushed his throat where his pulse pounded. She loved teasing him. “We could both break our necks if you don’t make it.”

  “If you don’t stop that”—he shifted her weight so that her mouth was farther away from his throat—“we’ll never make it up these steps.” He started to climb the stairs.

  Nadia chuckled softly and laid her head against his shoulder. “I hear huffing and puffing.”

  “You think this is huffing and puffing?” He looked down into her smiling face and wiggled his eyebrows. “Give me a couple of minutes, and I’ll show you huffing and puffing.” He stepped onto the landing and stopped.

  Nadia nodded her head in the direction of one of the doors. She tucked in her feet as Owen carried her over the threshold. Her fingers fumbled for a moment before locating the light switch. Light flooded the room as Owen lowered her feet once again to the floor. Her feet touched the cool white tile, and she glanced around the room and tried viewing it through Owen’s eyes. What will he think of her outlandish sense of decorating? Maybe she shouldn’t have tried to be so American.

  Owen blinked against the sudden flaring of light, and then he blinked again at the room. Nadia hadn’t taken him to her bedroom. They were standing in the middle of her bathroom. A bathroom that was decorated with one main motif, Mickey Mouse. Nadia had livened up the plain, sterile white room with America’s favorite mouse. The shower curtain was clear except for the foot-high Mickeys splashed all over it. Bright red-and-black towels draped the towel bars, two red throw rugs dotted the floor, red- and-white polka-dotted curtains hung at the window, and a metal trash can with “Mickey” printed on it sat near the sink. She had hung two framed posters on the walls. One with Mickey and Minnie kissing with hearts decorating the background and the other was a solo shot of Mickey as the Sorcerer’s Apprentice from Fantasia.

  The room told him something very important about the person who had decorated it: Nadia had a delightful sense of humor buried underneath all her worries. She worried constantly about her family, about her music, and about money. But it took someone truly whimsical to do a bathroom a la Disney.

  He glanced around the room one last time before smiling at the woman standing in front of him. “My compliments to the decorator.”

  She graciously nodded her head. “I’m sure Walt would have appreciated that.”

  He chuckled and tenderly cupped her cheek. “I was referring to you.”

  She softly closed the door, took off her belt, and dropped it on the tile floor. She started to unhook her jewelry and place it piece by piece in a ceramic dish sitting by the sink. “This stuff looks great with the outfit”—she slid the thick hoops from her ears—“but it weighs a ton.”

  He leaned back against the door and watched as she slowly seduced him again with the removal of each piece of jewelry. By the time she raised her foot and gently unclasped the ankle bracelet, he was going out of his mind. His hands itched to help her, but his fingers were trembling so badly, he knew he could never undo those tiny clasps.

  Nadia stepped away from the sink weighing five pounds less. She held Owen’s gaze as she pulled her blouse over her head and tossed it in the direction of the red hamper. “I’ve been working all day in the kitchen.” Her fingers undid the button at the back of her skirt, and the colorful material pooled at her feet. She kicked it aside. “I smell like goulash and kapusti.”

  Owen forgot to breathe. She was standing in front of him wearing nothing more than a strapless white lace bra that barely covered her dark nipples and a scrap of blood-red silk shielding her womanhood.

  She reached behind her back and unclasped the bra. Twin pale globes shifted their weight and bounced lightly. Dark, dusky nipples thrust themselves proudly from their creamy mounds. With a graceful move she slid the silk panties down her legs and lightly stepped out of them. She hooked them on one finger and sent them sailing to the pile of clothes already on the floor. She continued to gaze questionably at Owen. He seemed to be either in a daze or totally bewildered. Maybe she was being too assertive. Had she misjudged American women so wrongly? From her experience these past four years, American women weren’t only assertive, they were direct, bold, and sometimes downright brazen. Maybe Owen preferred his women a little less brazen. Maybe she should have waited for him to undress her, but she was tired of waiting. She had waited for two weeks for him to make the next move, and he hadn’t. Southern gentlemen be damned, she didn’t want to wait any longer. She had been totally truthful with Owen earlier; she needed him more than she needed her music.

  She gave Owen a hesitant, shy smile before stepping into the tub. “I could use somebody to scrub my back.” She pulled the curtain and started the water.

  Owen came out of his daze with a crash. She had just issued the best offer of his life, and all he could do was stand there with his mouth hanging open. She was more than beautiful; she had been breathtaking. He stared at her enticing form behind the shower curtain. The heavy plastic distorted her lush body, and the cheerful, grinning Mickeys seem to be printed in the most maddening of places. He kicked off his shoes and tore at the buttons on his shirt. Behind that ridiculous curtain was a sensational back crying out for his attention. His remaining clothes hadn’t even hit the floor before he pushed aside
the curtain and stepped into the tub with her.

  Nadia pushed her streaming hair out of her eyes and glanced over her shoulder at Owen. Her imagination hadn’t done him justice. He was superbly built, from his broad shoulders down to his muscular thighs and thick calves. The water splashing from the shower moistened the dark hair scattered over his body. The tiny beads of moisture winked and sparkled with each breath he took. Her gaze drifted down his chest, over his flat stomach, and fastened on his arousal thrusting out of the dark nest of curls. Owen stood in her tub hard and proud. Excitement danced through her body. She quickly glanced upward and mustered a small smile. She handed Owen a bar of soap, brushed her wet hair aside, and turned her back to him.

  Owen lathered his hands, put down the soap, and proceeded to wash Nadia’s delicate back. The palms of his hands glided over the curve of her back, outlining her spine, the smoothness of her shoulders, and the flare of her hips. With each caress of his hands desire wound itself tighter until thinking became an impossibility. He could only feel, only respond.

  Nadia trembled as Owen’s slick hands teased the sides of her breasts. When they made a second pass up her sides, she leaned back farther into Owen and sighed as he cupped her breasts and tested their weight. Her nipples hardened more, bursting through the soapy lather and pressing into the palm of his hand. He gave them a tender squeeze before roaming lower and soaping her stomach, her hips, and the patch of curls between her thighs. She melted into his arms as his fingers teased and tormented the desire building there. Skilled fingers frolicked through the dense curls softly stroking the moist skin awaiting his touch and then retreating back into the bush.

  She leaned her head against his shoulder and whispered, “Pajalossta.”

  He chuckled and slid his hands back up to her straining breasts. “As much as I love hearing you talk in all those languages, I don’t understand a single word you say.” He lightly squeezed the globes overflowing his hands and captured the hard little berries of her nipples between his fingers. “Tell me what you want in English.”

  Nadia bit her lip against the pleasure spiraling through her body. “You, Owen, I want you.”

  Owen’s mouth slid along the slippery curve of her shoulder as his arousal gently nudged her rounded bottom. “Are you ready to come out yet?” He was rock-hard, but he wasn’t going to make love to her for the first time in some slippery tub. He wanted everything to be perfect. He wanted it slow and sweet and so satisfying that she would always remember their first time together.

  Her breasts thrust farther into his hands, and her bottom twitched against him. “I haven’t washed my hair yet.”

  “Your hair is perfect.” He lifted a soaked strand and kissed it. The water darkened the dark brown tresses to jet black, and they wrapped their way around his wrist and clung there.

  “My hair is already soaking wet. It will only take a minute to shampoo it.” She glanced over her shoulder at Owen and pouted prettily. “I refuse to make love to you with hair that smells of cabbage.”

  He untangled his wrist, reached for the bottle of shampoo sitting on the side of the tub, and squirted a generous amount into his palm. “Is that what I’ve been smelling?” He pulled Nadia away from the direct spray of the shower and started to work the shampoo into her thick hair. “I hate to inform you of this, but the smell of cabbage can be very erotic.”

  Nadia closed her eyes and relished the seductive feel of Owen’s fingers massaging her scalp. “If you think kapusti is erotic, I can’t wait to see what you think of borscht.”

  He worked the rich lather through her hair. The enticing scent of apples filled the confined area. “On you it would have to smell delicious.” He stepped under the spray, bringing her with him. The white bubbles cascaded from her hair, drifted down her back, over her rounded bottom, down her incredible legs, and down the drain. He ran his fingers through her silken hair and released the last of the bubbles to follow the same path. Lucky bubbles. “There”—he moved Nadia away from the spray—“you don’t smell like cabbage any longer.”

  “Good.” Nadia reached for the bar of soap and gently started to lather his chest. “It’s my turn to torture you.” Her hands slid lower. She chuckled softly as her fingers worked the lather through the coarse hair surrounding his shaft.

  “I don’t think this is such a good idea, Nadia.” He reached for her hands.

  Her fingers avoided being captured as one hand slid lower and cupped him while the other fingers tenderly wrapped around the thrusting shaft. She smiled triumphantly as he threw back his head and thrust deeper into her hands. Her lips skimmed his chest with light kisses. “You were saying?”

  Owen tried to breathe as violent shudders shook his body. Her delicate little finger had begun to move, and it was tearing him apart. “I said you are a witch.”

  Nadia released his hard little nipple from between her teeth and glanced up. A wondrous smile fit up her face. “I do believe I’m beginning to like that word.”

  Her smile had done him in. He couldn’t handle one more moment of her sweet torture. In a flurry of morion he swept her up into his arms, turned off the shower, and stepped out of the tub. He stood her up on one of the red throw rugs and tossed her a towel. “You have exactly one minute to dry off.”

  She grinned and used the towel to wrap her hair in turban style. “I can’t dry my hair in one minute.” She reached for the last towel and started to dry her arms and face.

  Owen finished briskly rubbing his aching body and tossed his damp towel back onto the rack. “You have ten seconds left.”

  The big thick red towel caressed her stomach and legs. She was patting her toes dry when Owen swept her back up into his arms and opened the bathroom door. “Time’s up!”

  Nadia clutched at Owen’s warm, dry body. “Why the hurry?” Seeing his confused look as he stepped out into the darkened hall, she pointed over her shoulder to her bedroom door.

  “Because I could stand only sixty seconds of watching you dry yourself off. Another second and we would have been on the floor finishing what you started in the tub.” He walked into the room still carrying her. He made out the shape of her bed in the darkened room and quickly crossed the floor, then slowly started to lower her to the bed.

  “Me!” She felt the comforting softness of the quilt meet her naked back and the warmth of Owen’s body as it slowly covered her.

  “Yes, you”—his mouth fastened on one of her nipples, and he gently tugged—“you little witch.”

  Nadia stroked his back and cupped the tight muscles in his buttocks. Her thighs gently parted for his seeking fingers. “Now I know I love that word.” She arched her back and raised her hips as his fingers found her moist passion. The curls guarding her passion might still be damp from the shower, but the moisture his fingers were gathering had nothing to do with water and everything to do with Owen. Her thighs moved farther apart as his fingers slid deep inside, testing her, tormenting her. “Owen, pajaloosta.” Her head moved from side to side on the pillow, loosening the towel and sending her damp hair in every direction. Her hips jerked upward as he removed his fingers, leaving her empty and aching. “Please, Owen.”

  He moved up her body and allowed his forearms to take most of his weight. His manhood nudged at the moist opening. “Are you ready for me, Nadia? I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She clutched at his hips and tugged him forward. “I’m hurting now, Owen.” She wrapped her legs around his thighs and urged him on. “Stop the ache inside me.”

  “It will be my pleasure.” He softly kissed her mouth and eased himself slowly inside her. Her silky softness closed around him like a hundred greedy fingers. His back arched with satisfaction when he was completely inside her heat. “Oh, Nadia.” He groaned. “What sweet pleasure it is.” He felt the hot, slick walls tighten around him and plunged deeper. Again and again. He couldn’t get enough of her. Her sweet heat and the tiny little moans she was making were driving him out of his mind. He wanted it all. He needed
it all.

  Her thighs tightened, and her fingers dug into his back as the rhythm increased and the heat escalated out of control. She met each thrust and greedily demanded more. The pressure built until there was no more room left inside her. It erupted into a body-shattering explosion. The climax started at her core, where their bodies were joined, and radiated outward. It shook her fingertips, and the thighs clasping Owen shuddered.

  He felt the small contractions gripping him tighter, thrust one last time, and joined Nadia in release.

  She lay there in the dark with his body covering hers and listened to his breathing. Her fingers gently stroked his damp, quaking body. He had felt the explosion too. Everything she had heard, read, or learned about sex over the years had been destroyed. Nothing had prepared her for Owen. His name tumbled from her lips in wonder: “Owen.”

  He leaned up on his elbows and brushed her damp hair away from her face. “Hmmm ...” The only light in the room came from the pale moonshine barely making its way in through the windows. He couldn’t see her expression clearly, but he had to be squashing her with his weight. He started to move off her.

  Nadia tightened her hold. “Don’t.” She liked the feel of his body covering hers, but she loved the feel of him being inside her. They were still joined.

  “I’m too heavy for you.”

  “No, you’re not.” She refused to loosen her grip. “You feel perfect to me.”

  He gave a halfhearted chuckle and tried to regain control over his breathing. “There is no way I’m going to smother you, so hold on.” In a graceful movement he rolled over, carrying Nadia with him.

  She unwrapped her thighs, pulled up her knees, and ended up straddling his hips as he settled back down onto the bed. She could still feel the bulk of his manhood resting inside her. Her head found his shoulder, and one of her hands lay on his chest. She could feel each beat of his heart with her fingertips. “You make a wonderful pillow.” She snuggled up closer, yawned, and closed her eyes. “It’s been a long day.” Her voice faded away as another yawn overtook her.