An Angel for Emily Read online

  “I’m listening.”

  “First of all, my private life is off-limits. And my body is off-limits. Keep your hands to yourself.”

  “I see. You are in the harem of another man.”

  “I am in no harem and—” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Stop that right now. I can see very well what you’re doing. You’re trying to annoy me, make me angry. I don’t like that.”

  “But you look like an angel when you’re angry. Your eyes flash and—”

  “I mean it! You either stop these personal comments or there’s no deal. Understand?”

  “Perfectly. Any more earth rules?”

  “Ground rules. They are called ground rules. And that’s another thing. I don’t want another word about this angel business. I don’t want you to tell me that you’re an angel, that I’m an angel, or that…that….”

  “That we’re all angels, just that some of us have human bodies and some don’t? That sort of thing?”

  “Exactly. And today we look for you another room. You cannot spend another night in the same room with me. Now, do you agree to all this?”

  “Of course. Easily. Only, you must promise me one thing.”

  “Such as?”

  “That if you want me to discard any of these rules, you will let me know. If you want to talk about your private life, would like to have me touch you and would like to hear about angels, you must promise to tell me.” At that he held out his hand to shake hers. “Is it a bargain?”

  Emily hesitated, feeling that she should tell him to get out of her life, but she shook his hand. And, again, the moment she touched him, a feeling of peace came over her. She felt that everything was going to be all right and that her life would be the way she wanted it to be.

  She snatched her hand away from his. “Now I want you to leave so I can get dressed. I’ll meet you downstairs in one hour, then we’re going to buy you new clothes and find you someplace to spend the night. Other than in here with me, that is,” she said.

  “Thank you, Emily,” he said, smiling. “You’re an angel.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but closed it when she saw the twinkle in his eyes. “Get out!” she said, but she was laughing. “Go!” And he left the room.

  Emily was on her way to the shower when the telephone rang.

  “Hey! My little love muffin, are you mad at me?” she heard Donald’s voice. “Would you forgive me if I told you I was up all night covering a fire? A really big fire and that I’m sorry from the bottom of my heart?”

  Emily sat down on the bed, glad to hear a familiar voice. “Oh, Donald, I’ve had the most horrible time of my life. You couldn’t believe what’s happened to me. I hit a man with my car!”

  For a moment Donald was silent, and she could imagine the lines that were creasing his forehead. “Tell me everything,” he said solemnly. “Especially about the police report. What did the police say?”

  “Nothing. The police weren’t called into it. I mean they weren’t last night. This morning they told Michael—he’s the man I hit—that he could press charges and put me in jail for life but—”

  “Emily! Slow down and tell me everything from the beginning.”

  She did the best she could, but Donald kept interrupting and asking the same questions about the police. “Donald, if you don’t let me tell all of the story I’m going to think that you’re only interested in what this could do to your career.”

  “That’s absurd and you know it. I’ve asked if you were hurt.”

  “No, not in the least, but I was going too fast on a winding road and I’d had at least two glasses of champagne.”

  “But this guy isn’t going to press charges, right?”

  Emily’s lips tightened as she took a deep breath. “No,” she said calmly, “but he’s demanding that I perform unspeakable sex acts with him.”

  Donald didn’t miss a beat. “If you learn anything, be sure and show me.”

  Emily was not amused, because he obviously thought that the idea of a man demanding sex from her was a joke. “Actually, this man, Michael Chamberlain, is gorgeous and he’s staying in the same room with me. I bought a black silk teddy.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Donald said. “Let him stay with you so you can observe him for any signs of injuries. And be sure people see that there’s nothing wrong with him. We don’t want this jerk to come up with some phony charge later.”

  “Donald!” Emily said angrily. “He’s not a jerk and I spent the night with him.”

  Donald laughed in a very secure way that made Emily even more angry. “Emily, my love,” he said. “I trust you, and you’ve never owned a black silk anything in your life. You’re much too practical to waste your money like that.”

  “Well, I might!” she said, her lips still tight.

  “Yeah, and I might start driving a Volvo. I have to go. You stay and have a good time with your stray cat. Love ya!” He hung up.

  For a moment Emily sat there and stared at the receiver blankly. He had just hung up on her. There had been no mention of his driving up to spend the rest of the weekend with her, and he hadn’t heard a word she’d said about spending time with another man. An angel of a man, she thought as she dropped the receiver into the cradle.

  She got up and took a shower, and all the while she was cursing Donald. Practical, she thought. What woman wanted to be thought of as practical? And what woman wanted to be told that she’d never owned anything black silk in her life, even if it was true?

  Out of the shower, Emily looked into the chest of drawers against the wall. She’d unpacked yesterday while she was waiting for Donald to appear with roses and apologies. Not that he ever did show up with roses, but he often nearly drowned her in apologies.

  Everything in the drawers was “practical.” She was a conservative packer, so everything she’d brought matched everything else—and all of it was washable. “Practical,” she said with disgust and pushed the drawer shut.

  Slung on the end of the bed were the remains of her beige silk evening gown, but even that was eminently practical. Or at least it had been until she’d run down a ravine in the middle of the night, and now it was merely shreds.

  She pulled on a pair of dark blue trousers, a pale pink blouse and a very ordinary blue cardigan, then looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair, her best feature, was scraped back from her face with a blue scarf, and the few cosmetics she wore were guaranteed to make her look “natural.” But that’s the way Donald liked her. He said he couldn’t abide what he called “painted ladies.” Irene said that he couldn’t abide anyone being prettier than he was.

  But no, as she looked in the mirror, she saw that she wasn’t the type of woman to whom mad, exciting adventures happened. She was pretty in a calm, unexciting way, with big brown eyes, a small nose and a rosebud of a mouth. Even with lipstick she’d never possess the full-lipped, seductive mouth of a model. Only her hair, a dark chestnut brown, thick and full with just a bit of a wave, hinted at any sexiness.

  But sexiness didn’t suit her job as town librarian, she thought, then gave a sigh. No, her quiet prettiness, her neat, trim figure, and her wardrobe suited her as she was.

  “Natural and practical,” she muttered as she left the room.

  Chapter 3

  MICHAEL CHAMBERLAIN WAS WAITING FOR HER BY THE front door, sitting quietly in the sun, his eyes closed, his head back and smiling.

  She plopped down beside him. “Do you think I’m a practical woman?”

  He didn’t ask her to explain what she was talking about as anyone else would, he just answered her question. “Emily,” he said softly, “I think you are the least practical woman I have ever looked after. I mean, that I have ever met. You are a great romantic. You love inappropriate men, you dream of adventures no one else has ever imagined and you are utterly fearless.”

  Emily gave a little laugh. “Me? Fearless? You are a great liar, aren’t you?”

  “If you aren’t fearless, then why aren’t