Chapter Twenty-three
Eagle
The face doesn’t match the voice. But the eyes do. How could I ever forget those penetrating eyes? I lower my hand, shocked I even raised it to strike her. That’s how strong my connection with Angel was . . . is. I’d still kill for her. “You’re Angel?” I can’t believe it. I don’t want to. But the more I look around the apartment, the more I realize there’s pieces of me everywhere. Including the exact red leather sofa we always wanted to buy. Even the Eagles are playing in the background.
Unsure what to do next, I stand up, staring down at her. She’s overcome with emotions and weeping, hugging her middle. A part of me wants to rip her heart out. Because if she’s truly Angel, she broke mine six years ago when she died. “Why?” I ask.
“If I tell you, will you listen? At least try to understand?”
I don’t have any answers for her yet. I’m standing in two worlds right now—one foot in the present, the other in the past—haunted by memories of the real Angel, not this imposter. “Where did we meet?”
“At the beach.”
“What happened?”
“I tripped over your legs.” She gazes up at me, her eyes bloodshot and swollen from crying so much. “Stop quizzing me, Caleb. I’m Angel Orani. Serafina Scala was my great-grandmother’s name.”
“The dead can’t talk.”
“I never died.”
Fuck . . .“What did we do at the beach a few minutes after we met?”
“Danced,” she says.
After that nothing feels real. My eyes flick over her body. She’s wearing a white lace bra and shorts. A few days ago I was all over her, pumping inside her, fucking Serafina Scala. Today I’m on the verge of losing my mind. I nearly hit Angel. I’ve never struck a woman in my life.
“Get up, Serafina.”
She slowly climbs to her feet and stands in front of me—head hanging.
“Look at me.”
“I can’t.”
“Look at me,” I demand again.
She does.
I take in every detail of her face. There’s traces of Angel—the shape of her lips, the catlike slant of her eyes, her curly hair, and maybe those dimples. “Smile.”
“What?”
“Smile, goddamnit.”
“I’m not a dog, Eagle. I don’t respond well to commands. And I sure as hell can’t smile on demand.”
I have to see if she’s really Angel. I can’t wait. I’m fucking dying inside. If it’s her . . . “Smile, Angel.”
The corner of her mouth kicks up and I see the faint indentation. Fuck. She’s telling the truth. My throat gets tight all of a sudden. I’m drowning in a quagmire of rage and joy. Angel Orani is alive. The girl I’ve mourned for six years—the woman I wanted to marry. The girl I’ve always loved. The virgin I fucked. That thought unleashes the beast inside me and I’m all over her then, capturing her mouth with mine, yanking her down to the floor.
Our tongues swirl together violently, our hands probing and ripping at each other’s clothes. I press her flat on the floor and tug her shorts and panties off. She moans and closes her eyes, arching her back. I don’t have time to take my pants off—I need to be inside her now. I unzip my fly and position myself between her thighs. Her little body is shaking.
“Angel,” I growl her name and her eyes pop open. “This is what you do to me.” I thrust inside her and she screams out my name.
“Eagle. Please.” She locks her ankles behind my back and I power drive deeper.
I pull her bra down. Her nipples are hard and pink, begging to be sucked. My tongue circles around one, and I pinch the other. She snaps her hips, silently begging me to go faster. I do—close to coming already.
