Christmas Angel by Amanda McIntyre

Author:Amanda McIntyre [McIntyre, Amanda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B018B8FG3I
Publisher: Amanda McIntyre
Published: 2015-11-28T16:00:00+00:00

***

Angel rose quietly closed the window after Shado left. Shivering, she hurried back to bed and snuggled under the covers anticipating his return soon from the bathroom. She knew why he’d left so suddenly, and though part of her reasoned it was for the best, her arms felt the cold emptiness of his absence. What happened was inevitable. Surely, he knew this. The tension in the past few days had been palpable, ripe, waiting for the right moment. And she would have taken it further, perhaps she would still and confess how she’d come to care for him, how she envisioned herself there, making a home with him—maybe children. A single thud hit the wall, resonating through the apartment, and she clenched the blanket between her fists. She worried her lip, trying to second-guess the meaning of the sound. If anything, she’d hoped this would serve as a new beginning between them.

He’d been thoughtful to ask first about Billy, wanting to ensure he did not overstep the sacred bond between her and another man, but in her desire to be with him, she’d chosen not to ask the same of him in return. Not as noble, she didn’t want to know perhaps the ties he might have to the woman and small boy in the photograph. He’d have said something, surely, had there been anything between them.

In reality, the only certainty was he didn’t know what was happening and couldn’t give her what she wanted. Fear crawled up her throat, causing tears to sting the back of her eyes. She’d gotten exactly what she wanted—she’d only asked him for sex—nothing more. No future. No commitments. Angel sniffed and swiped an errant tear from her cheek. The snow had begun to fall again, painting the sky a dingy gray. She blinked at the shadows beginning to darken in the waning afternoon. There was a choice. There was always a choice. She could lie there, feeling sorry for herself, waiting for him to come back, or she could get up, confront him with the truth, and find out who the woman in the photo was.

She pushed away the covers and dressed quickly, peering down the silent hallway. A dim light cast a gentle glow from the bathroom, but he wasn’t there. Nor was he in the kitchen. The large mixing bowl, once filled with fresh snow, was nothing more than frigid water laced with pale strings of fake syrup.

She found him seated in the recliner, his attention on the snow falling. He was dressed in a pair of sweatpants, his arms resting casually on the arms of the chair. He didn’t speak, didn’t look up when she walked into the room. Angel glanced his way as she sat on the end of the couch and curled her legs under her. She waited for him to speak, in some way acknowledge her presence, to tell her even though things had gotten out of hand between them, it would be all right. Instead, he

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