Luke Denton awoke with a start, his heart thudding against his chest.
“Maggie?” he whispered, his hand reaching out to her. Empty mattress. He squeezed his eyes closed. The dream had been so real, as if she were right here in bed with him again.
When was the last time he’d experienced this hollow, sinking feeling after reaching out and realizing she wasn’t there? That she’d never be sleeping beside him again?
All because of his stupidity and failing to take charge.
He looked around, not sure where he was. Dark room, strange bed, haunting images.
“It’s time. I’m sending you an angel. She needs you.”
Maggie. Her voice was as clear now as it had been in the dream. Images of a woman he didn’t know—long dark hair, olive skin—near a stand of golden aspens quaking against an intense blue sky. Man, did he ever dream in color.
Luke blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. He began to make out a desk beyond the foot of the bed, a small round table near the window, and a nondescript stuffed chair in the corner. Motel room. He raised his head and looked at the bed next to him.
Covered only in a sheet, his bare torso half exposed, Marc slept on his side, turned away from him. Then he remembered where he was and why. Aspen Corners. They’d rescued some hikers late yesterday up on the slopes outside town. He and Marc had been asked to stick around and do the media circus thing later today. They’d drawn the short straws because they’d been the ones to find the group of hikers.
Aspen Corners. Of all places, why’d it have to be here?
Marc insisted on staying over, rather than drive the three hours to Denver only to turn around and head right back. His partner didn’t have another overnight wilderness trek to lead until Tuesday and had found someone to cover for him at the club. Luke didn’t have anything urgent he was working on that couldn’t wait till Saturday.
Still, he’d have walked to and from Denver if he could have avoided staying in this place. But then he’d have had to explain why the town caused him so much anxiety. He’d never told Marc the real reason he’d joined SAR.
He just hoped to get out of this damned town before he ran into any of the Giardano brothers. Tony and Rafe also worked on mountain search-and-rescue teams, but had been in Colorado Springs training this week. That left only two, but they wouldn’t know Luke or his dubious connection to their family.
The obituary had been branded onto his brain seven years ago. The fatal decision he and Maggie had made that day—one that had cost Maggie and a decent family man their lives—had haunted Luke every day since.
Veteran search-and-rescue worker, Antonio Giardano Sr., 58, lifelong resident of Aspen Corners, died while trying to rescue an injured hiker on Mt. Evans Wednesday. The hiker, Maggie Denton, a biologist from the University of Texas, also died in the accident.
Giardano is survived by his wife of twenty-seven years, Angela; four sons, Raphael, Franco, Matteo, and Antonio Jr.; and by one daughter, his youngest child, Angelina.
No matter how many lives he saved since joining SAR he’d always be haunted by the man whose death he’d caused—and that he hadn’t been able to save his own wife.
* * *
“Voli, cara. Fly apart for me.”
Fly, dear.
Angelina awoke with a start, her heart and clit pounding in alternating rhythm. Once again, her dreams had been filled with erotic images that had haunted every night for the last month, ever since she’d woken up in that bedroom at Allen’s kink club in Denver.
Her nipples grew hard, aching for the touch of the man who dominated her dreams. His image was never clear, but often came to her as a wolf or an angel—sometimes both. How could someone who felt so real be a total figment of her imagination? Her creativity and imagination usually ended in the kitchen.
When she woke, the elusive encounters faded quickly, as if never there. But the feeling of strong arms surrounding her, a chin resting on the top of her head, made her feel safe for the first time since….
You’ve been reading too many angel and shapeshifter novels, Angie.
She tossed the covers aside and sat up on the edge of the ornate wrought iron Italian bed that had belonged to Nonna and had been shipped over from Italy after her grandmother’s death. Before last month, Angelina had found peace and respite in this bed.
No more.
Thank God she’d never let Allen Martin join her here, or she’d have had to burn the mattress to exorcize his memory. What a bastard. When she’d looked at her backside in the mirror in Karla’s bathroom at the club and seen what Allen had done, she’d been furious.
Just thinking about the creep caused her blood to boil. She jumped up and headed to the shower. She had a happy-hour event to cater and needed to get going. She’d also promised Rico she’d stop by tonight for a drink. For the past month, she’d been hiding away from her friend’s bar for fear of running into Allen. Well, in a small town like Aspen Corners, the chances of meeting him were fairly good. But with the anger she’d built up since that night, she knew she’d be able to handle him when the time came.
Never again would she give him her power.
In fact, Angelina would never put herself in such a vulnerable position with any man again. She’d had enough BDSM to last a lifetime.
* * *
Angelina’s feet ached as she walked the two short blocks to daVinci’s bar. At least, she’d thought they’d be short, but she definitely shouldn’t have worn these damned heels, even if she did feel like dressing up “just because” for the first time in a long while. She felt like celebrating. The cocktail party had been a great success. Her business was taking off. She couldn’t hire any permanent staff yet, but each event put her closer to success.
And exhausted her. She loved being a caterer, but she often had to take on many aspects of overall event planning, as well. She’d much rather focus on what she loved to do more than anything—practice the culinary arts.
As she walked, her breasts bounced unrestrained, because the keyhole back in her new red knit dress forced her to remove her bra at the last minute. She kept meaning to order one of those backless bras, but never thought about it until she needed one. But after her self-pity weight gain this past month, this new dress fit better than any of the others in her closet.
The breeze off the snow-covered Rockies loosened wisps of hair from her topknot clip. She pulled the gauzy black silk shawl over her shoulders and held her girls to keep them from bouncing. No need to attract attention.
These late days of summer could deliver a wallop of snow on the nearby slopes, as some teenage hikers discovered this week when the fury of the Rockies caught them by surprise. SAR teams had descended on the town for days until the hikers were found safely yesterday.
Damned careless hikers. When would they ever think about the rescue workers who had to risk their lives to save them all the time? All they could think about was their next adventure.
Angelina shook off the pain she felt every time she thought about the sacrifice her family made as a result of two careless hikers seven years ago. Her father had answered the call one too many times.
Miss you, Papa.
Her good mood quickly hit the skids. If only she hadn’t promised Rico she’d stop in to see him tonight, she’d turn around and head back home to curl up with her e-reader and the newest BDSM novel by her favorite author. While she never wanted to encounter another real-life Dom, she loved to read about the near-perfect ones in her books. But she’d learned that reality bites in this alternative lifestyle.
Although she had to admit the Denver kink club’s owner, Master Adam, had been very kind to her. Even solicitous. He was none too happy about her insistence on leaving in the middle of the night last month. But Karla managed to convince him to relent and he gave the singer his satellite phone, just in case they ran into trouble. He’d even called Angelina later that day to check on her and make sure she was okay. He seemed nice.
A nice Dom? Yeah, right. He was probably just concerned about her filing a lawsuit for damages she sustained at his club.
But the club’s singer did seem like someone Angelina would have welcomed as a friend, if they didn’t live so far apart. Karla didn’t seem too keen on the kinkster lifestyle either. On their drive to the Corners last month, the two spoke about many things, but pretty much agreed that pain and sex didn’t mix.
No thanks.
Angelina was surprised to look up and see daVinci’s was just a few steps away. She’d made the two blocks faster than she’d expected and hadn’t even noticed the pain in her feet. Well, until now. She strode into the dark bar.
“Angie! You made it!” Rico called from behind the bar. “Good to see you out again, baby!”
“Hey, Rico. I’ve missed you, too!”
While tame by Denver standards, daVinci’s was the sole place for nightlife in town, especially on a Friday or Saturday night. Her high-school friend, Rico, the owner, would keep the creeps at bay while she reentered the social scene one aching toe at a time. Sometimes there were perks to being surrounded by overprotective Italian men. When it came to her social life, though, they were just a pain in the ass. But at least she’d have someone to talk with tonight. She didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts any longer.
Or memories of her dream lover.
She sighed. The chances of a man anywhere near as exciting as her angel-man-wolf fantasy showing up tonight were slim to none. Not that she was ready for another relationship yet. After giving Rico her wine order and exchanging a few inane pleasantries, she knew the conversation would turn to Allen. It did.
“He’s been in here several nights a week since you dumped him. Different woman every time.”
“Probably because they’re smarter at recognizing an asshole than I was.”
Rico looked guilty. “I wish I’d known, baby. He runs a good cleaning business. I’ve been a client of his business for years. But I wouldn’t have let you out of here with him if I’d known he’d ever hurt you.”
Angelina’s face grew warm with embarrassment. Rico didn’t know the whole story. He thought her pain was emotional, not physical. If he knew what had happened at the club, he’d have told her brothers and together they’d have beaten Allen to a pulp. Not that he didn’t deserve it.
But sweet little Angelina Giardano did not go to kink clubs.
Rico pulled her back from her thoughts. “I have to warn you, I think he’s coming in here looking for you.”
“Well, he may find me, but if he comes anywhere near me again, I’ll…” She had no idea what she’d do, but it wouldn’t be pretty. Her brothers had been good for one thing—they’d taught her how to fight. “I’m finished with men.”
Rico laughed.
“I’m serious!”
“You just haven’t found the right one, baby.”
Yes, I have.
He just doesn’t exist in reality. Why did her mind keep conjuring up thoughts of her dream lover? He had to be a spillover from a shapeshifter romance novel she’d read or something. The images lingering in her mind were so vivid—an angel who was half wolf, half man, with a delicious sprinkling of soft, black hair on his forearms.
She reached for her white zin and took a gulp. Maybe she should give up reading those novels that were warping her perspective on men and BDSM. And her libido. She picked up the cardboard coaster and fanned herself.
No, tonight she planned to enjoy Rico’s company and hang out with any of her other friends who might show up. Woman-on-the-make wasn’t her style, anyway. She’d dated Allen for months before she’d even let him touch her intimately. Of course, she thought she could trust him. She’d learned just the opposite.
Men were not to be trusted. Not only was she clueless about choosing the right man, but she knew every man in Aspen Corners. By now, everyone knew about her break-up. Hopefully Allen hadn’t told anyone what actually had happened.
Not that there were all that many available men in town and they all knew what her overprotective brothers would do to anyone they didn’t deem “safe” (read: boring). Ironically, Allen had passed their inspection with flying colors. Successful businessman. Meek. Safe.
Boring.
Until he put on his leather pants and transformed himself into a sadistic bastard.
Angelina sipped her wine, nibbled on salty pretzels, and talked with Rico for half an hour about what was going on around town. She watched as Rico delivered two beers to a booth in the back—one, a bottle of Birra Moretti. Italian beer. She hadn’t noticed the booth being occupied earlier, and couldn’t see who sat there from this vantage point. One must be Italian, given the choice of beer.
Steer clear of that table, Angie.
Taking another sip, her gaze remained focused on the booth, anyway, through the reflection in the mirror behind the bar. She caught a glimpse of a man’s white shirt sleeve rolled up to reveal a tanned forearm sprinkled with black hair. Just like the man in her dreams. Her clit responded as if he’d touched her. Oh, come on. Most Italian men have dark hair on their forearms. Was she going to think every man she saw was her dream lover sent from God?
As if the angel-man-wolf even existed.
Angelina took another sip of wine, then bit into the last pretzel. Rico returned to refill the bowl and looked over her shoulder as someone came in the door.
“Uh-oh. Don’t look now, baby, but Allen just strutted in.”
Like involuntarily looking at an accident at the side of the road, Angelina’s gaze went immediately to the mirror to find Allen with his arm wrapped around a very petite blonde with huge breasts. Surely they were implants. The air escaped Angelina’s lungs.
“Rico, quick! Which man can I trust in here?”
She needed to move before Allen saw her sitting here—alone. No way did she want him to think she was without her own replacement model. Rico scanned the room and pointed to the booth in the back. Great.
“Those guys should be safe. They were involved in the search-and-rescue yesterday up on the north slope.”
Her gaze followed the direction of his finger. Mr. Sexy Italian Forearm—and a SAR man to boot. Along with his SAR partner.
Thanks a whole helluva lot, Rico.
She scanned the barroom quickly, but only saw couples and Mr. Davis, who rented the apartment upstairs and looked as though he’d had a few too many—several hours ago.
Her gaze returned to the booth. What choice did she have? Drawing in a deep breath for courage, Angelina stood up, tucked her purse under her arm, draped her shawl over her arm, and picked up her drink. She looked at Rico, “Cover me. I’m going in.”
“I’ve got your sexy back, baby.” He winked and Angelina suddenly wished she’d worn something less revealing—with a bra. Too late now.
As she approached the booth, she heard two deep male voices engaged in quiet conversation. Apparently, they’d been holed up back here since she’d arrived. She brushed a strand of loosened hair off her shoulder. Before she could see either man’s face, another tanned, muscular forearm appeared. No surprise, given their line of work.
When she could see the face of the one in the dress shirt, she nearly stumbled over her shoes. His black hair framed the face of an Adonis. The white shirt contrasted starkly with his bronzed skin. A sprinkling of chest hair peeked from the opening at the collar of his shirt.
Why did he have to be Italian? Wasn’t Adonis supposed to be a Greek god?
At least she had a bargaining chip to entice him into helping her. She’d yet to meet an Italian-American man who would turn down home cooking from the Old Country. If he’d help her out tonight, she’d offer to prepare a special meal for him as his reward.
The other man, whose face she couldn’t see yet, wore a plaid flannel shirt, also with his sleeves rolled up. When his profile came into view, she saw he was younger than the Italian. Clean-cut. Chiseled features. He could have been a model. His tanned arm was sprinkled with gold-flecked hair, kissed by the sun. His long fingers were wrapped around a brown bottle of Bud Lite.
Damn. Gold band on ring finger. Well, that pretty much ruled him out, even if all she planned to do was flirt and hang out. She did have her standards. She’d definitely have to win the Italian over to her cause.
When she arrived at the table, two pairs of sexy eyes looked up at her in unison. Oh, man. Her heart thudded against her chest. Way out of her league. Yes, she’d definitely have to offer them that gourmet meal. When they smiled at her, a frisson of electricity jolted from her wildly beating heart to her clit, surprising her. These men had just turned her burner on with just their smiles.
What happened to the no-more-men rule, Angie?
The Italian had short, wavy black hair. His moss-green eyes narrowed as if he were trying to place her, then he smiled in the most disconcerting way. She knew she’d never seen him before, but he seemed oddly familiar. He was the spitting image of Raoul Bova, from Under the Tuscan Sun. She’d seen the movie many times with Mama. That must be it.
His gaze devoured her, sweeping her length, virtually removing her dress. She shivered at the intensity of his gaze. Her nipples rose like a soufflé on steroids. Judging by the smoking-hot look he gave her as he smiled, he’d noticed her girls’ response, too.
Definitely not a safe man. And why did her clit throb at that thought? She croaked a husky “Hi,” then cleared her throat, remembering her mission. “Rico tells me you’re SAR and I really need rescuing tonight.”
Mio Dio. Did she really say that? How many times had women used that line on them? Well, desperate times and all.
The Italian broadened his smile. Her fingers twitched with the urge to stroke the five-o’clock shadow darkening his jaw. Unlike the clean-cut man, this man’s kisses would leave abrasions on her skin. Her nipples tightened even further at the thought.
Angelina’s face flushed. She took a gulp of wine hoping to cool down, but the liquid went down her windpipe instead. As she sputtered for air, both men jumped up and stood beside her.
“Cough, cara,” the Italian ordered. The other man placed his arm across her midriff to support her as he patted her back.
Cara? A distant memory flitted across her mind. That and her close proximity with the two virile men caused her to go into a fit of coughing.
“Good girl.” The Italian’s hand stroked her back, skin on skin through the keyhole. Her fantasy angel-wolf-man had said that, too.
Snap out of it, Angie. He doesn’t exist.
Heat radiated from both men’s bodies, making her feel even hotter. She held a shaky hand to her throat and placed her glass on the table before she spilled or dropped it.
“Can you talk?” the non-Italian asked. She noticed a woodsy scent about him.
As the coughing spell ended, she croaked out, “I’m fine.”
“How did we do, cara?”
Mamma mia. Northern Italian. Just like her dream lover.
Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!
The corner of his mouth twitched, breaking into a dazzling smile. She blinked a couple of times, stunned at his beautiful face, then grinned back. God, so much like the man in her recurrent dream, only ten times better.
Then she realized they thought their rescue work was done.
“Um, that wasn’t the rescuing I had in mind.” When she saw something akin to disappointment in their eyes, she rushed to assure them. “But you both did great,” Men had such fragile egos. Both remained poised to spring into action again at her very command. What power. Heady stuff.
“Do you mind if I sit?”…before I fall off these damned shoes?
“Of course! Pardon our manners.” The man on her right had a Texas drawl. He gestured for her to have a seat—across the table from him. Happily married, no doubt. Angelina slid into the far side of the booth, the Italian joining her, heat from his body enfolding her. She took another sip of wine, a smaller one this time. The Texan sat down again, too.
The Italian leaned toward her and asked in a near whisper, “What else can we do for you, cara mia?” The timbre of his voice sent tingles over her entire body. The suggestive tone in his voice caused any number of lewd and lascivious acts to flit through her mind. He had short-circuited the electrical fields between her brain and her body, jolting places back to life that had long gone dormant.
She needed to bring her body temperature down before she caught fire. Good thing she hadn’t put on much make-up, or it now would be sliding down her neck.
“I’m Angelina.”
“Angel?” the Texan asked. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost.
Before she could correct him, the Italian said, “Angela mio.” My angel?
Taking her fingers, he brought her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips across the knuckles. His scratchy scruff tickled, causing gooseflesh to rise on her arms. Then he turned her hand over and brushed his lips across the underside of her wrist. Mio Dio. Did her clit just spasm? Taking a ragged breath, she pulled her hand back with great reluctance. Italian men and their damned sex appeal. He still reminded her so much of…
“Have we met?” she asked, suddenly needing to know why he looked so familiar.
“Perdono. Marco D’Alessio,” he said by way of introduction, “but please call me Marc.” Pointing across the table. “This is my squad partner, Luke Denton.”
Still rattled by her body’s reaction, she tried to distance herself from the disturbing presence next to her and turned her attention to Luke, reaching her still-tingling hand across the table.
“Angel, pleased to meet you,” Luke said, shaking her hand and smiling as if he had a secret. He wore a braided leather bracelet on his right wrist that was well worn. His chestnut hair was disheveled, with a slight part on the right. Smoky blueeyes, perhaps gray, drew her in. There was a sadness there that tugged at her emotions a bit.
What in the hell was she doing sitting in a bar with a sexy married man and one who reminded her too much of her dream lover? Oh, yeah. Allen.
“This is really embarrassing,” she said as she leaned toward them, motioning for them to lean closer as if she were spelling out a plot to overthrow the government. “I need your help. Did you see the man and woman who came into the bar a moment ago?”
Both shook their heads no, then in unison leaned outside the booth in a comical way to inspect the bar’s latest arrivals.
“You mean the blond guy checking himself out in the mirror—the one with the skinny woman?” the Texan asked. He made skinny sound undesirable. If only he weren’t married.
Marc clenched his fists and sat back in the booth, growing very still. He reminded her of a wolf about to pounce. Stop it, Angie. Now! He’s not your angel-man-wolf.
“Um, yeah, that’s him,” she answered. “Well, I dumped him a month ago and really don’t want to have anything to do with him. But this is a small town and… Anyway, this is my first night out since…”
Stop babbling. Seeing Allen again frazzled her nerves more than she would have expected. All her bravado went out the window. The man had hurt her and she didn’t want him coming anywhere near her again. Before she said more than she wanted to reveal, she picked up her glass and took another sip, swallowed, then inhaled deeply. “I wondered if you would mind pretending to hang out with me tonight—just until he leaves, of course.” She didn’t want them to think they’d be saddled with her the whole night.
Oddly, being with these two strangers, she already felt safer than she ever had with Allen. That slug wouldn’t dare approach her while she was surrounded by men who could beat him to a pulp. While the image of a bloodied Allen enticed her, she didn’t want anyone going to jail—even if the bastard deserved a beating just as harsh as the one he’d given her.
Before they could say no, she rushed to assure them there was something in it for them, too. “I’ll make it up to you for giving up your evening. I can fix dinner for you tomorrow night, if you’ll still be in town. Or you can take a rain check for later. I’m an Italian cuisine chef. So, if you could just pretend…”
“He won’t get anywhere near you again, cara.” Marc seemed to be holding his anger on a short leash, then placed a protective arm along the back of the booth, surrounding her with his heat. Even though he didn’t touch her, she felt as if he’d just enfolded her in his arms.
Safe.
Luke smiled, still seeming a little shaken for some reason, and said, “Happy to have you join us.” Then, he lifted his bottle to his lips and took a long draw. Probably a faithful husband nervous about what she had in mind tomorrow. His wife was a very lucky woman.
“This is really sweet of you both…”
Marc placed his right hand over hers on the table and brushed his thumb against her skin. Electricity shot up her arm, then zinged to the pit of her stomach.
“I assure you, cara, we are being totally selfish.”
Oh, yeah. The dinner deal. Yet another jolt of electricity brought her clit to attention. A few hours from now, she’d be back in bed dreaming of her fictional man-wolf-angel, e-reader on the nightstand. Until then, she planned to have the night of her life.
Angelina sighed with relief. She leaned over and glanced at the mirror and saw Allen and Miss Blondie sit down near the pool table. When Allen looked up, his gaze met hers in the mirror. Surprise crossed his face.
Game on. She turned away from him and gave Marc what she hoped was her most sultry vamp look. But Allen couldn’t hear her, so she’d keep the conversation safe. “So, Rico said you guys helped rescue the teen hikers.”
They nodded, but remained silent. Come on, guys. Help me out here.
“Very lucky boys,” Luke said finally, relief visible in his eyes. “This one could have turned out a whole lot worse, given how long it took us to locate them.”
Sobered, Angelina said, “Thank God you found them.” She shuddered to think what could have happened and took another sip of wine, knowing how thin the line is between victory and defeat in these mountains. “So, what kept you in town?”
“Media event went longer than anticipated,” Luke said. “Otherwise, we’d have been back in Denver by now.” She had the distinct impression he’d much rather be any place other than daVinci’s bar tonight.
He stared at the nearly empty beer bottle between his hands. “It’s weird,” he said, as if talking to himself. “You hate for your pager to go off. You wish you didn’t have to go out there ever again to try and find someone who’s lost or injured. But you’re glad you’ve trained to succeed….” He paused. “Well, we succeed most of the time.” He closed his eyes in what seemed like regret before he lifted the bottle to his lips and drained it.
Angelina knew what Luke meant from the stories her father and two brothers told. The times they didn’t succeed were the ones that haunted their memories for a very long time, sometimes forever.
“I appreciate that people like you are willing to go through all the training to volunteer to do what you do.” She wondered if they knew her brothers—and fervently hoped not. She also knew that those involved in the rescue squads usually had some intensely personal reasons for doing so.
“How’d you both get involved in SAR?”