Avenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels by Heather Killough-Walden Page A

the room to stand beside the bed and she gazed up into his charcoal-gray eyes.
    Oh crap , Eleanore thought. I want him. And I’m probably one of a million women he’s had in this bed who wanted him just as badly.
    “Where am I?” she asked.
    He was handsome, but he was a stranger. And she was alone and in his bed.
    “You’re at the home of a doctor who has been out of the country for some time; I’m renting the house,” he said softly.
    He was wearing tight, worn blue jeans and a form-fitting dark gray long-sleeved shirt that matched his eyes. Both the jeans and the shirt clung to his incredibly tall, trim, and muscular body. She could actually see the muscles rippling beneath the somewhat thin fabric of his clothing.
    “I hope you’ll forgive me,” he told her, glancing at the yoga pants and shirt she still wore. “I’m afraid I bled a little on your clothing. However, I thought you would most likely prefer changing yourself.” He gave her a sheepish grin then, and it was utterly disarming.
    She blinked and glanced down at herself. He was right. She was still fully dressed and there were bits of dried blood here and there. She was entranced by him and he was far too handsome for anyone’s good, but he’d been chivalrous. She had to give him that.
    “What’s your name?” she asked.
    “Sam,” he told her simply. Then he bent to sit on the bed beside her and her heart leapt into her throat. He raised his hand and gently cupped her face. She was helpless to pull away. In fact, she felt frozen to the spot as he tenderly brushed his thumb over her cheekbone and studied her as if she were just as beautiful as he was. “And you are Eleanore.”
    Her heart rate thrummed madly. “How—how do you know?”
    “A long time ago, I made it my job to know everything.” He smiled a mischievous smile. “I’ve gotten rather good at it.” He chuckled.
    When he removed his hand, Eleanore felt slightly strange. A little bereft. But his smile filled the tiny void and she found herself relaxing once more.
    Wake up, Ellie, her inner voice warned.
    She knew nothing about this man. Not really. She knew he was rich—that much was obvious from her surroundings. You can’t rent a fully furnished house with marble floors and tapestries unless you’re loaded. She also knew he liked motorcycles.
    “Sam what?” she asked. The least she needed was a last name.
    He chuckled again and there were more delicious shivers. “Lambent.”
    Eleanore thought about the name, which sounded familiar. “You mean like Samuel Lambent, the media mogul. . . .” What a coincidence , she thought . I’ll have met two famous, gorgeous men in one week. But of course this was a different Sam. Lots of people had the same names. And the extremely wealthy, extremely famous Lambent didn’t come to small towns in Texas. She was pretty sure he lived in Chicago.
    “I won’t keep you.” He sighed, his smile almost sad now as he changed the subject. “I’ll provide you with fresh clothes and a ride home. And I promise that your secret is safe with me. But”—he paused, his eyes darkening—“I would ask that you allow me to see you again.” She watched as his pupils expanded.
    She was nearly trapped in that look of growing hunger until she realized, suddenly, that he hadn’t denied it. He hadn’t denied being Samuel Lambent.
    “ Oh my ,” she whispered. “You are Samuel Lambent.”
    For a long, silent while, Sam just stared at her.
    And she stared back.
    Finally, he nodded. “Yes.” He sighed and shrugged, pushing off the bed to stand once again. “I’m sorry I kept it from you.”
    She swallowed hard, looked him up and down, and realized she recognized him now. She’d seen profile pics, snapped hurriedly, in magazines and newspapers. He never gave interviews, so the photographs were of poor quality. But there was the tall, strong build. There was the shock of white hair. They sure as hell didn’t capture his insane