Angel (A Companion Book to Monster) (Impossible #1.5) by Julia Sykes Page A

turned inward, and I worried that I had tread into painful territory.  I tensed, waiting to see if she was going to shut me out again.  But her expression cleared quickly, shifting back into that genial mask.  The sight of it didn’t please me, but it was preferable to her maddening silence.
    “Well, in a nutshell: I graduated high school with honors, went pre-med at Columbia, then got my MD at NYU.”  She pursed her lips, evidently unwilling to reveal more.  The knowledge that she still didn’t trust me enough to open up to me stung, but at least I was making some headway.  “So, where did you go to college?”  She asked, obviously trying to turn the conversation away from herself
    N ow she was the one who had tread into painful territory.  Her innocent question delved into the depths of my resentment and shameful weakness when it came to my father.  It took great effort to keep my tone casual when I answered.
    “I didn’t,” I said.  “Carpentry is kind of the family business, so I did an apprenticeship under my dad.  I’ve pretty much been working at it my whole life.”
    “Oh.  I’m kind of the same way, you know,” she said quickly.  “My dad was a surgeon, and I always wanted to be like him.  There was never a doubt in my mind that I wanted to go to med school.”
    I must not have been completely successful in hiding my inner turmoil, because the words spilled from her lips as though in a rush to move past the painful topic.  My heart swelled, both from gratitude and from the indication that she actually cared about alleviating my pain.
    “So you’re a surgeon too?”  I asked, grabbing at the chance to learn more about her.
    “No,” she admitted softly.  “I decided to become a pediatrician.  I wanted to work with kids.”
    I shot her a teasing smile, unable to resist the opening that she had given me.  “Do I get a lollipop then, Dr. Ellers?” I asked with exaggerated enthusiasm.
    She smiled again, and that damn dimple wreaked havoc on my thought processes in the most tantalizing way.
    “Only if you’re a good boy,” she stipulated, the sly twist of her lips goading out the predator in me.
    “That’s not really my style,” I replied, the roughness of my tone betraying an erotic threat.
    Her breath caught in her throat, and lust clouded her eyes.  The long days of denial had done nothing to lessen the attraction between us.  If anything, our ruthless suppression of our urges had only made them that much more overwhelming the moment that we both lost our careful control.
    She went utterly still as I locked her in my gaze, primal instinct urging her to resist the impulse to flee lest she spur the predator in me into pursuit.
    “Sorry,” she forced out.  “I’m fresh out of lollipops anyway.”  Although she tried to cling to her flippancy, her tone was low and lustful.
    “Tease,” I accused.  My voice was soft and dangerous, imbuing that one word with the promise of retribution.
    All thoughts of resisting her had deserted me.  How could I possibly remember my resolution not to touch her when her eyes were begging me to do just that, pleading with me to slake her painfully acute need?
    I reached for her, and for the first time, she didn’t flinch away from me.  A soft gasp escaped her when I finally touched her, my fingertips gently, almost reveren tly, tracing the line of her jaw.  Her breathing turned shallow, and she remained perfectly still.  Waiting for me.  Her grey eyes were stormy with desire, practically begging me to put an end to our mutual torment.
    I firmly gripped her chin between my thumb and forefinger, holding her where I wanted her, demonstrating that I was in control of her body.  Triumphant pleasure flooded me when she shivered in response to my domineering touch.  I was going to claim her lips like no man ever had; I was going to fuck her mouth with my tongue until she opened for me, surrendering.  She would take her pleasure as I