Night Angel (Angel Haven) by Annette Miller Page A

muscles in his arms tightened and stretched as he moved them straight out and slowly lowered them to his sides. He seemed more than just a man. He’d become part of the woods surrounding him, a strange and powerful force of nature contained in one perfect body. Power poured out from him, flowing over her, making her eyes water as the sun rose higher.
    He pulled on his pants, stopped, and turned, spying her leaning against a tree, watching him. He turned that devastating smile to her and extended his hand. “What are you doing out here so early?” She could see his breath in the morning light, but he stood there in bare feet and no shirt.
    She ran to him, taking his hand. “I was looking for you.” Her voice trembled as she stared at him, still seeing him as he was before denim and cotton interfered. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t her voice ever come out strong any more?
    “Really?” His amusement broke her out of the spell she’d stuck herself in. “Why?”
    She sighed as he pulled her into his arms. His skin was warm, as warm as the dawn’s light made him look. “I wanted to know if you had a chance to talk to our friend. He said he’d tell you what we talked about.”
    He held her close, stroking her hair. “Yeah. He told me everything.” He raised an eyebrow. “Pins and needles, eh?”
    She covered her face with her hands. “That’s it! He’s dead and then I’m joining him.”
    “It’s all right, Karen.” Randall pulled her hands down, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Didn’t he tell you my feelings are just like yours?”
    “Well, yes, but it’s not the same,” she insisted. Her heart pounded as she watched his eyes light up. “I mean, you’re the hero of this fairy tale. You’re not supposed to have pins and needles. Only the poor heroine is allowed those kind of feelings.”
    He smoothed a stray strand of her hair back. “It is the same. Pins and needles is the most accurate description I’ve heard for true love in years. And heroes, more often than not, feel the same things as the heroines. Don’t let anyone tell you different.” He pulled her tightly against his chest. “We’ll have an end to our story, just like he told you.”
    His skin was smooth and hard, reminding her of a pebble worn down by water. “What if it’s not the end we want?” Her arms snaked around his neck. “What happens if we can’t save the children?”
    “Don’t worry about the future. Worry about now.”
    Randall felt so right in her embrace. He was more natural, more real to her than Bradford could ever hope to be. Her eyes closed when she felt him place a lingering kiss on her forehead. “That doesn’t count, does it?”
    He laughed. “No, there’s only one that counts.”
    “I wish we could stay here forever,” she whispered, gazing up at him.
    “Soon.” He brushed her hair away from her face. “As soon as I find the children. It won’t be much longer.”
    A faint sound reached her. “Do you hear something? It sounds like music.”
    He stared at her. “You can hear it?” She nodded. “It’s the wood folk. They’re welcoming the new day. Humans can’t usually hear it.”
    She laid her hands on the hard planes of his chest. “Maybe it’s because I’m with you.”
    He led her to a large oak. Placing her hand against the trunk, he laid his over hers. “Can you hear it better?”
    Karen cocked her head. “Yes. It’s beautiful.” She swayed in time to the rhythms filling her. “It gets into you somehow.” She noticed the trees looked fuller, the sunrise brighter, and all the noises surrounding her were amplified, clearer. “I’ve never seen the woods become so...”
    “Alive,” he finished. He pulled the heavy sweater from her and wrapped his arms around her, moving with her to the fairy music.
    He drew her close, his chest pressing into her back, his arm resting under her breasts as he held her hand, guiding her feet through quick, intricate steps, their bodies