No Angel Read Online Helena Newbury

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Suspense Tags Authors: Helena Newbury Advertisement

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Gabriel grinned, a gleam in his eyes. Then, shockingly fast, he sat upright, surging up from the gurney and bringing his face right up to mine.

I bit back a curse and almost jumped back. But I knew I needed to reassert my authority so I forced myself to stay there, staring at him from just a few inches away. For a second, he looked thrown. Then his eyes crinkled, and a slow smile spread across his face, like he was impressed. And finally, his eyes narrowed with lust. As if the fact I’d stood my ground made him want me even more. Heat zig-zagged down my body and exploded in my groin.

“Emma,” he tried, staring deep into my eyes. Then as I blinked, startled, “No, not Emma…”

Dammit! He was the prisoner. How come it felt like he was the one in control?

His eyes…that was the problem. Every time I looked into his eyes, I forgot everything else. And while I was helpless, I could feel that frighteningly quick mind whirring away, reading all my secrets.

I managed to break his gaze and stared pointedly at the zipper of his jumpsuit. Then I crossed my arms to hurry him along.

He lifted one hand to the zipper and it was like watching a magician: his hands flowed, lazily confident. They were tanned a rich caramel, with just a dusting of dark hair across the backs. Powerful hands…his palms dwarfed mine and he had long, thick fingers. Hands that would feel warm and safe but that were dextrous enough to do wicked, wicked things—

I caught myself and flushed. What’s wrong with me?!

He shrugged the jumpsuit off his shoulders and reached behind him to push it off his arms. The hard slabs of his pecs strained against his white tank top and his shoulders were smooth caramel spheres that looked as big as my head. He was big…big enough that even I felt small. Tattoos covered his upper arms, unusual ones: some sort of vine that wound around his muscles like a lover’s embrace.

“Angela,” he tried.

This time, I did my best poker face.

“No, not Angela,” he muttered thoughtfully.

How is he doing that?

He pushed the jumpsuit further down his arms. As the hard swells of his biceps appeared, I saw more traditional tattoos, images and words, all connected to the vines, but I wasn’t close enough to get a look at what they were. I was self-consciously aware of how much I wanted to be closer, how I wanted to read every letter, know everything there was to know about him. Stop it! He’s an inmate, for God’s sake.

But not like any inmate I’d ever met. He was big and tough, but I didn’t get a thuggish vibe from him at all: he was smart as hell. He didn’t seem dangerous: not to me, at least. I’d met plenty of prisoners who were in for rape and murder and I didn’t see that cold cruelty in his eyes. I could be wrong, of course, but if Gabriel was in for something like that, Louis would have warned me about him in a whole different way. So, what was he in here for?

The jumpsuit slid down his thickly muscled forearms and then it was falling to hang around his waist. Gabriel lay back on the gurney and his eyes met mine.

“Olivia,” he said.

I didn’t have time to try to look inscrutable. My mouth hung open dumbly. How?

“Olivia,” he repeated, tasting the name on his tongue. Then he smiled and, for once, it looked like an honest smile: no games, no tricks. He just looked…fascinated by me. Which made no sense at all. My brothers are the gorgeous ones: my whole life, they’ve been breaking hearts all over Phoenix. Most people forget the Truesdales even have a daughter.

I looked down at his abdomen and, as gently as I could, I lifted his tank top away from the wound to take a look. It must have hurt at least a little, but he didn’t even flinch.

I could see right away that the wound wasn’t serious. The other guy must have been swinging wildly, not stabbing, because the cut was a diagonal slash across his abs, long but not deep. It had probably helped that he seemed to be carved out of rock down there, the hard ridges of his six-pack warm against my gloved fingers. He obviously spent a lot of time out in the yard pumping iron, but he didn’t look like the other guys who lifted a lot, all angular and bulging with veins. Gabriel looked strong but…functional, as if the muscle was for something. I’d seen that look before, but I couldn’t remember where. Did he used to be an athlete? Is that it?

“What’s the verdict, Doc?” Gabriel asked. “Am I gonna make it?”

That voice: teasing and gentle but filthy as hell…it burned away any coherent thought in my brain and soaked down through my body, burning like hard liquor, and leaving me flushed and giddy. I fought to focus. “You’ll need stitches and a shot of antibiotics,” I told him. “But you’ll be fine.” Then I frowned. But you already knew that, didn’t you? I was seeing other scars now, knife wounds and what looked like a burn. He’d been hurt plenty of times before. He knew what was serious and what wasn’t. That was why he’d been so relaxed this whole time. But had all those injuries happened on the outside, or in here?

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