Angels Dance

soul soaked up the sights, the sensations—the air crisp against her cheeks, the wind playful—parched ground finally having its thirst assuaged. The beauty and grandeur of it stole her breath, and still Galen flew, showing her wonder after wonder, his wings tireless.
    There was no light in the sky, the stars glittering like faceted gemstones overhead when she sighed, so very full of joy that another drop would make her burst. “Yes. We can go home now.” Golden lamplight glowed in a bare few windows as Galen winged them back to the aerie, the Refuge quiet, his heartbeat steady.
    Landing, he set her on her feet. She grabbed at him as her legs wobbled, the feel of his big body no longer so strange and intimidating—though it would’ve been a lie of the highest order to say he didn’t affect her. There wasn’t a single part of her own body that wasn’t aware of his every breath, his every move. “Thank you,” she whispered, hands still splayed on a male chest she wanted to pet and stroke.
    He shook his head, refusing her gratitude. “I want payment.”
    It was the last thing she’d expected to hear. “What?” His skin, it was so hot, she wanted to rub up against him like a cat.
    “For the flight,” he said, tugging her closer with his hands on her own. “I want payment.”
    Hard, he was built so hard and strong. “If I refuse?” It was becoming difficult to talk, to breathe.
    A slow smile that softened the brutal masculine lines of his face. “Don’t refuse, Jessamy.”
    The coaxing murmur wrapped her in unbreakable bonds, the vibration of his words a rumble against her palms. Startled, she went to pull away hands that had turned caressing over the tensile strength of him, but he wouldn’t let her go. “A kiss,” he said in a low, deep voice that felt like the most decadent silk over her skin. A little rough . . . but oh so exquisite. “Just one.”
    Enthralled as she was by his voice, it took a moment for his words to penetrate. Shock, pain, anger, it all roared to the surface. “I don’t need your pity.” She wrenched at her hands.
    He didn’t budge.
    “Release me.”
    “It’s an insult you’ve given me, Jessamy.” His tone was one she’d never before heard from him. “But since I caused you hurt earlier, I will declare us even.” With that, he let her go and entered the aerie, waiting only until she was inside to light a lamp, and pull the heavy wooden door shut.
    Standing there watching him move around the room with muscular grace, lighting other lanterns until the aerie glowed with warmth, gilding Galen’s skin and hair, she knew that, driven by a self-protective instinct that had become a second skin, she’d behaved badly. Galen meant what he said and said what he meant. She had no right to judge him against the example set by weaker, worthless men.
    Hand clenching on the handle of her bag, she tried to think of how to make amends, couldn’t quite find the words, settled for seeing if he was too angry to speak to her. “You don’t have many things.” The stool off to her left, a small table, a thick rug with comfortable-looking cushions in one corner of the polished stone of the floor.
    “I need little,” he said, no coolness in his tone. “But there is a bed through there.” He lit more lamps as he nodded to the back of the aerie. Walking closer, she saw the “bedroom” was another corner of the single room, but one with a heavy curtain that could be pulled across for privacy. The bed was a large one, as befit someone of Galen’s size.
    “I’m taking your bed,” she said, a strange discomfort in her blood that had nothing to do with stealing his rest.
    He shrugged. “I have no plans to sleep.” Leaving her beside the bed, he walked back to the living area, and slid off his sword and harness. The movement of the leather across his sun-kissed skin caught her eye, held it, the shift of muscle beneath his—
    Coloring when he looked up and caught her staring, she pulled the curtain shut and, kicking off her sandals, sat down on the bed. She couldn’t recall ever reacting in such a way to a man, until she didn’t know who she was anymore, this woman whose mind was overwhelmed with naked emotion, whose blood ran so hot, whose hands still bore the imprint of a firm male chest.
    Perhaps she might have felt such need as a young girl, but she didn’t think so. Back then, she’d still been walking with her head downbent, angry and torn by an envy that had made