The kiss deepened, turned wrenching and dangerous. His tongue slipped into her mouth, tasting, exploring, memorizing, and still she clung to him, moaning her response, molding her body to his.
The Ferris wheel bucked and carried them back up into the stars, but Madelaine hardly noticed. All she felt was an overwhelming need to be touched and held and stroked by this man.
The ride came to a jerking stop.
“That long enough, Angel?”
Madelaine pulled out of his arms and stared at the young ride operator. The girl gave her a grin.
“I think we’re done,” Angel said, pulling his mask back into place. “Come on, Mad.”
Madelaine felt light enough to float off the ride. He took her hand and led her, stumbling, down the midway.
They walked together for hours, talking, laughing, remembering the good times and letting go of the bad. Angel was his usual larger-than-life self, tossing dollar bills to the employees as he passed them, signing autographs, and standing patiently to have his photograph taken.
Finally they made their way back to the entrance. There he stopped to talk to an older gentleman in a ragged wool coat. “The first wave of kids will be here at ten o’clock tomorrow. Show them a good time and you’ll see a hell of a tip.”
Madelaine frowned at Angel as they walked away. “Who was that? What kids?”
He shrugged. “Tomorrow I’ve arranged for a bunch of kids from the Make-a-Wish Foundation to have the carnival to themselves. Them and the kids from Children’s Orthopedic. No big deal.”
Madelaine stared at him. “You really have changed.”
He pulled the mask down and grinned at her. “You got off the Ferris wheel with your clothes on. Now, that’s a change.”
She didn’t blink. “What makes you think I want them on?”
He swallowed hard. His smile fell. “Get in the car.”
“Where are we—”
He unlocked her door and swung it open. “Let’s go.”
Angel had never wanted to make love to a woman as desperately as he wanted to right now. Every time he looked at Madelaine, he felt the ache grow and swell. It had taken all of his self-control—and probably some of Francis’s—to get off that Ferris wheel without ripping her clothes off.
It was all he’d thought about at the carnival, wanting her, needing her, and yet now that he had her close beside him, he was scared to death. He drove slowly through the deserted streets, his hands sweaty on the steering wheel. He tried not to think about having sex with her, but the thought kept coming back to torment him. He’d planned for it, fantasized about it, but—
Could he do it? That was the question that paralyzed him, made the sweat break out along his forehead. He didn’t know if he could last the distance, or if he could even start the race. Before the surgery? No problem, but that was a hell of a before.
By the time they reached their destination, he was barely able to utter a coherent sentence. He eased the Mercedes up to the curb and killed the engine.
She gasped quietly and turned to him. He didn’t need to hit the interior light to see the look on her face. Her eyes would be wide and unblinking, her teeth nipping nervously on her lower lip. “Why are we here?” she said softly.
He cracked his door open and let light splash across her face. “You’ll see. Come on.” He felt her reluctance and forced himself to ignore it. He’d given this thing a lot of thought, and it had to be done. Some demons could be swept under the rug, but some just had to be faced.
He reached under his seat for a flashlight, then got out of the car and waited patiently on the curb.
After a long minute, she hit the handle and opened her door. Climbing out, she slammed the door and stared up at the house he’d pulled up in front of. Her father’s house.
It stood on the hill like a castle, a peaked black silhouette against a starry sky. Moonlight glanced off the mullioned panes of glass and wound around the bars on her bedroom window. The white-pillared portico sheltered the front step from rain and cast the stoop in shadows. Four sculpted brick chimneys rose from the peaked roof line. A spike-tipped black iron gate guarded the hillside lot, kept the riffraff from wandering in.
It looked gloomy and angry, the darkened house she’d grown up in. Skeletal trees marched along the fence line, their limbs clinging to the last leaves of autumn.
“Only thing missing is a sign that says Bates Motel,” Angel said wryly.
Madelaine didn’t return his smile.
“Come on, Mad,” he said quietly, reaching out his hand for her.