The Forsaken(17)

Isabella was sputtering. She was so mad she couldn’t come back with her usual retort. Maybe she should have listened to Meredith’s advice. Too late now. Coming face-to-face with Nathanael, having the feel of him flush against her, she never wanted to experience again. Her gut clenched and that nervous feeling she experienced simply from looking at him, undid her.

She had pushed this Seraphim too far. She’d thought by teasing him he’d leave in disgust. Instead, a geyser of volcanic heavenly power wrapped with determination was reflected in the turbulent grays of his eyes. She’d made him mad and instead of disgust he thought to change her. That, Isabella wasn’t going to let happen. They could talk all day, but she’d never give into what he truly wanted of her.

“You shouldn’t be in here.” She hated the quiver in her voice.

He leaned his head down and for a second she swore he was smelling her wet hair. She attempted to lower her head but that brought her nose closer to his body.

“I shouldn’t,” he mocked. “By the path of light, who should be here?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“I know nothing of the sort, Isabella. I don’t know you and tonight you made it blatantly clear you don’t know me. Did you think your actions and sinful voice would repulse me? Ah, I can see you did. You are my—”

“Don’t say it. I can’t stand that word.”

“Then what shall I call you? Are you telling me you feel nothing for me? I know I certainly feel something, something I’ve never felt before.” He followed his words with action by bringing her even more into his embrace. She knew she could easily get out. All she had to do was knee him in the privates and escape would be within reach but that was a cowardly move she’d use only as a last resort.

His hand reached out to move a wet tendril of her hair off her face. Everything in her grew taut with awareness. Maybe she had pushed him because she wanted what he offered. No, I do not.

He wet his lips, the move drawing her eyes to his mouth. Too masculine to be pretty, his lips were plump and a dark rosy red. Simple attire graced his frame, blue jeans, and black T-shirt. He’d had a dress coat over that earlier but that was probably lying on her floor by now.

“Tell me you feel nothing,” he whispered.

She froze, letting his finger trail down her exposed neck, past her collarbone to slide back up.

“Nothing,” she rasped.

“Liar.” He tsked, but his eyes never once left her flesh. “Not a Cherub quality, but then again I think you, Isabella, take great delight in debunking the Cherub way. Am I correct?”

Sucking in her breath, Izzy glared at him. “Get your hands off me.”

“You refuse my touch, b’i??”

“No…I mean yes. And I told you not to call me that.”

His other hand snaked around her middle to lay claim to her waist, catching her further off guard. Izzy didn’t want this, but her body prepared to betray her. Her stomach muscles fluttered and her heart accelerated and her Cherub mind immediately recalled all of her teachings. His face moved closer to hers. His breath, minty fresh, blew across her lips, daring her to deny the evidence that they were meant for each other.

“I like to touch you, Isabella, or should I call you Izzy, since we’re becoming familiar?”

He teased her, the storm clouds in his eyes evaporating to reveal something she did not want to acknowledge. Dealing with his anger was easy compared to his passion.

“We are not and will never become familiar,” stated Izzy, not caring what he chose to call her. Now or ever.

“Isabella we will become very familiar. I could press my point now as is my right. Is that why you continue to fight me?” The heat of his words a fraction of a breath away from her lips caused her to curl her toes. She dug her fingers into the palms of her hands to ground her.

“You don’t understand,” she mumbled.

His moved his head to the right and gently he nipped at her exposed neck. “You are the most beautiful Cherub I have ever seen.”

“Just how many have you seen?” she asked, knowing most Cherubs lived a life closeted away from the males.

“Quite a few, but none are like you.”

By all that’s holy, he has that right. Squirming out of his hold, she turned her back to him, hauling the long, wet strands of her hair up off her neck away from his touch. With one hand she grasped a nearby blanket. Boldly, before her courage failed her, she let the bathrobe fall. His hard indrawn gasp told her he saw the blunt mutilated bones protruding from her shoulder blades. She didn’t want to see his eyes. She knew what it would convey. She was marked, scarred—a freak of an angel.

He let her cover up with the blanket, and when she made no move to face him, he took hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Her gaze bore into him, confronting him with her anger.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

“I gave up being Cherub the minute my wings were clipped from my back.”

He bellowed. It was full of anguish and outrange on her behalf and that slightly amused Izzy. She liked that fury took hold of him, which was only evident by the slight shift of his body.

He grasped her, flung her to the bed, and braced himself on top of her, pinning her to him. Surprised did not begin to describe how Izzy felt. She knew he was so mad that the awareness of their intimate position wasn’t slamming into his brain. For that she was grateful.