Page 59 of Angel

‘Damn woman. Get over here, close to me. I promise to be a gentleman. Fuck.’

‘Gentlemen don’t curse.’

‘The hell they don’t,’ he grunted into my ear.

He pulled me closer, my back flush against his chest while his arm locked tight over my waist.

His sinewed forearm rested across my stomach, anchoring me to him with effortless strength that made my heart race.

The light brush of his leg hair was soft yet electric over the bare skin of my thighs, sending a subtle shudder of pleasure straight down my spine.

His breath was warm down the back of my neck, and his scent, a rich, intoxicating mix of pure male potency, cedar, and musk, filled my senses until there was room for nothing else.

I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the deliciousness of the moment, tangled in the arms of the man I craved in secret for years.

A profound, bone-deep sense of safety settled over me, chasing away every lingering fear.

A quiet sigh escaped my lips, a soft smile spreading across my face as I closed my eyes and surrendered to his hold.

Golden morning sunlight poured through the open balcony doors, carrying the rhythm of crashing ocean waves and the salty sea breeze off the Capri coast.

I woke up slowly to the realization that Angel had never let go of me all night.

He radiated heat from where he pressed against me under the sheets.

Still deep asleep beside me, his broad ribcage rose and fell in a steady, calm tempo.

Easing from under his arm, I scooted to the other side of the bed.

I pulled my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs as I studied him in the soft light.

Dark, messy locks spilled across his forehead, framing a handsome, chiseled face and a sculpted jawline.

His muscular shoulders sprawled over my pillows.

His ripped chest was visible under the vest he wore, tapering to his abs, his thick arm flung out.

So damn sexy, all male and freakin’ beautiful.

This man.

He’d fought three thugs for me yesterday, and I spent the entire night lying in his arms, all my yearning dreams coming true.

‘Get a grip, Roxy,’ I muttered to myself, leaving the bed before my mind ran wild and I jumped him in his sleep.

I slid out of bed, pulled on my silk robe, and padded downstairs.

I returned with a steamy mug of espresso, setting it on the wooden bedside table right beside his face.

His eyes snapped open, his calloused hand shooting out to catch my wrist in a firm hold.

‘You OK, Rox?’ he growled with a rough, throaty whisper straight out of sleep.

‘I’m fine, Angel,’ I said, offering a small smile. ‘Still, you shouldn’t have slept on the hard floor outside my door.’

His intense eyes narrowed, his clasp on my arm remaining steady.

‘You’re my wife,’ he stated, his timbre carrying an unyielding edge. ‘You almost got assaulted yesterday, so sleeping outside your room was the least I could do.’