“Extremely happy.” He chuckled like only a recently sucked-off man could.
With supreme effort, she lifted her head and glanced around. The sun had sunk below the horizon. What little light remained had a distinctly blue hue. Soon it would fade to black, and then she and Angel would be cocooned in darkness.
That might have freaked her out. You know, the whole foreign-country/spooky-abandoned-circus/deadliest-crime-boss-on-the-planet-out-to-get-her of it all. But being with Angel was pretty much the equivalent of having a watchdog, a ninja, and a trained Navy SEAL by her side. With him here with her, there was nothing to be afraid of. Unless, of course, you counted the man himself and—
“What happened to you?” She realized her voice sounded breathless when she saw Angel’s hip.
A prickle of suspicion and incredulity skittered up her spine, and as easily as that, her muscles and bones were in fine working order. She scrambled off him, staring down at the puckered scar that was in the same exact spot where Mark’s birthmark had been.
She was crazy to be thinking what she was thinking. And yet…
“Sonya?” He slid a hand behind his head, making his huge bicep bulge. “What is it?”
She looked at him, really looked at him, searching for something, anything recognizable in what little light remained. But…Angel was so much larger than Mark had been. Hairier. A decade older. It was impossible to tell if—
“Sonya?” He sat up, gently brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “What’s wrong?”
She pointed to his scar. “What happened?”
He looked down at his hip, then back up at her. “I was pushed into a campfire and burned when I was a little boy. Not exactly pretty, I know, but—”
She cracked a nervous laugh, the tension in her belly loosening. She was crazy. Completely, totally, utterly nutso.
Swallowing, she shook her head. “Of course. Sorry, I…” She blew out a steadying breath and willed her heart to stop hammering. Mark was dead. He wasn’t coming back. Angel wasn’t him. “I’m seeing ghosts again.”
“What?”
“For a minute there, I thought maybe—” She stopped herself from saying the words aloud. They were too ridiculous. “Mark had a birthmark in that exact same spot.” She pointed to his scar.
“And for a minute there, you thought what? That I was him?”
“It sounds even more insane when you say it.” She pasted on a chagrined expression. “But you two are so much alike, and yet…” She smiled and traced his features with a feather-light fingertip. “It’s not fair to keep comparing you. I’m sorry, Angel.” She took a deep breath and searched his eyes in the darkening room. “Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I was right about projecting my feelings. Maybe I shouldn’t have—”
“Come here.” He gathered her into his arms and reclined back until they were side by side, him spooning her and pillowing her head on his arm. The air inside the circus ring was cooler now that the sun had set, but Angel was a human furnace at her back. “This is no mistake. We are good together, Sonya. Admit it.”
“I do, but—”
“No buts.” He cut her off. “And I don’t mind that you compare me to Mark. After all, you loved him, so he must have been quite a man.”
Only someone with as much confidence and self-assurance as Angel could be so understanding. There was a gracefulness about him. A completeness. He was comfortable enough in his own skin that he couldn’t be made jealous or insecure by anything she could say. He proved it when he said, “I would like to hear about him.”
She laughed. “For God’s sake, why?”
“Maybe I can learn a thing or two.”
“Believe me. You don’t need help being any hotter or more mysterious or more intriguing than you already are. You’ve pretty much cornered the market on that whole tall, dark, and handsome thing.”
“Still…” He smoothed her hair away from her shoulder so he could plant a hot, open-mouthed kiss there. Even though she was completely spent, it still caused her belly to trill with excitement. “I want to know. Tell me something true. Something special. Tell me…” He hesitated. “Tell me about the moment you realized you were in love with him.”
Incredulity hit her hard. “Seriously?”
“Yes. I want to know you, Sonya. Every part of you. All your stories.”
She debated her options. Then figured… What the hell. He asked for it. Here goes nothing…
Closing her eyes, she pictured her old Montmartre apartment. Her bedroom had been the size of a Triscuit, only big enough for a full-size bed and a chest of drawers. But she hadn’t rented the place for its square footage. She’d rented it because through the bedroom window was a breathtaking view of the Sacré-Cœur, the mammoth white church that stood sentinel on the highest hill in Paris.
The night she’d realized she loved Mark was as clear in her mind’s eye as if it’d happened only yesterday. They’d been in bed, the moonlight streaming through the open window. Sacré-Cœur had been there on its hill, beaming down at them like a benevolent spectator, and Mark had been tracing her lips with his fingertip.
