by Cassie Miles
She strode past him toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms and bathroom, returning with a small, clear bottle. She tossed it toward him. "Take three or four. I'm going to call the movie lot and let my mother know I'm okay."
Rafe glared at the plastic container in his hand. Aspirin was a form of drug. Though he wasn't sure that it was wise to take this medicine, he wished to end the hammering pain that radiated from his right temple through his skull. He needed to be clear, to think.
He twisted the cap, but it wouldn't come off. This bottle must be defective. Heavily, he rose to his feet. "Jenna, something's wrong with this thing."
Chatting brightly on the cordless telephone, she came into the front room and took the bottle from him. With a twist of her wrist, she popped the cap off the bottle. "Childproof," she whispered as she left the room.
Rafe took four powdery white pills in his hand, placed them in his mouth and chewed. The taste puckered his gums, his tongue, even his teeth. He gulped down the entire pint of water and went to the kitchen for more.
Jenna hung up the phone. "What's wrong?"
"A headache is better than the taste of medicine."
"You're supposed to swallow them," she said.
He took another bottle of water from the refrigerator and opened the top. "Swallow them whole? Why didn't you tell me?"
"I thought everybody knew how to take aspirin. I guess that information didn't come in the Angel Handbook."
"I find nothing amusing in our situation," he said. "I have failed twice to destroy the virus."
"You don't have to tell me how serious this is. First, Eddy's death. Now Frank. If that virus is transmitted through the air, I've probably caught a dose myself. But it never does any good to dwell on the negative."
"So I've been told by countless cherubim." Over the centuries, he'd developed a reputation for brooding cynicism, an occupational hazard for Avenging Angels. He had seen too much evil to be naively optimistic. "And what, pray tell, are the positives?"
"We've got a man on the inside," she reminded him. "Danny Vincenzo."
"Which makes destruction of the virus all the more complex. If I could be sure that Hugh and all the people who worked for him were in the grip of evil, I would have no hesitation about blasting his laboratory to bits."
Her eyebrows raised. "And taking a chance on making the virus airborne? Turning it into a deadly gas?"
As soon as she spoke, he realized she was correct. To succeed on this mission, he needed more than brute strength. Penetrating the perimeter of the Montclair estate required the strategic brilliance of a general. To gain access to the virus, he should employ the guile of a Cold War spy. To obliterate the killing virus, he must operate with the skill of a genetic scientist.
"If you please," he said, "give me another positive."
"Well, we're pretty sure that Hugh is the murderer."
"Are we?" he queried. "We know that Hugh created the virus. We know that forces of evil protect it. But we can't be sure that Hugh murdered Eddy Benson."
"Are you suggesting that someone else used the virus?"
"It's possible," he said.
"Why don't you explain while I rustle up dinner?"
Rafe seated himself on a stool at the countertop and watched as she selected a dazzling array of fresh vegetables and fruit from the refrigerator. He hadn't realized how much he needed nourishment until he saw the food. Then his mouth began to salivate. His stomach twisted in a knot. This was hunger, a sensation so intense that he nearly forgot the pain in his forehead.
"Well, Rafe, how could someone else have murdered Eddy?"
"Consider the forensic evidence," he said. "The animal bite probably came from your pig. Therefore, the virus was not transmitted in that way."
"Right." She nodded. "I hope not."
"According to Danny, the needle mark came from an injection of antibiotics."
"Right again. So, Eddy wasn't poisoned by the shot."
"Therefore, Eddy was given the fatal dose of virus in another manner, possibly at another time."
"How?" Jenna asked.
"If it's a serum," Rafe said, "it might have been administered in liquid form. In a glass of water."
"Which anyone could have given him."
And there wasn't much of anything he could do—except speculation—until he regained his strength and became an angel. Frustration simmered within him. He wanted to fly, to discover the answers to this deadly puzzle. He needed action.
Instead, he sat on a kitchen stool, watching Jenna perform homey chores. She removed a container from the freezer and transferred it to the microwave. Deftly, she cleaned the lettuce and sliced tomatoes for a salad.
"Hungry?" she asked.
"Yes."
"That's another positive sign. If you have an appetite, you must be getting better."
"Is that your medical opinion?"
"It's something we poor humans call common sense. And here's a bit more of it. If you get yourself cleaned up, you'll feel like a new man."
Rising from the kitchen stool, he said, "I'd rather feel like a new angel."
"Maybe you will." She grinned mischievously. "Didn't someone once say that cleanliness was next to godliness?"
He knew she was trying to cheer him up, and he'd be rude not to respond to her efforts. "What else would you suggest, Jenna?"
"Enjoy yourself. Being human isn't all bad, you know."
He forced a slight smile as he strode from the kitchen. "I know."
In the bathroom, he peeled off his clothing. Though he was still aware of the headache, the sharp edge of pain had subsided. Apparently, his recuperative powers were functional, and Jenna would tell him that it was another reason to make a joyful noise. But that wasn't his job. Rafe was an avenger, strong and fierce. Seldom had he indulged in happiness, the most fleeting of emotions.
When he stepped into the shower and the hot water sluiced down his naked body, he gasped. Never before had he been in human form long enough to bathe. The sensation was remarkable, as if every fiber in his being had come alive. The combination of heat and wetness delighted him. His skin felt slick and supple.
After his shower, he dried himself, experiencing the friction of the towel against his flesh. In the bedroom, he looked for something to wear. In the top drawer of the dresser, his fingers touched a fabric that was soft and smooth. Why not pamper himself? He slid into these clothes and returned to the kitchen where Jenna was setting dinner on the table.
Without looking up, she said, "Sorry about the reheated lasagna casserole, but I didn't want to take the time to thaw a steak."
"It looks delicious."
When she gazed at him, her mouth curved into a wide, adorable smile. "Black silk pajamas?"
"The fabric feels good against my body." He sat in the chair. "You told me to enjoy being human, and I think I'm beginning to get the hang of it. There's almost constant sensation and stimulation."
She heaped salad into a wooden bowl in front of him. "I guess you're right. An awful lot of the way we function is sensual."
"Through the senses," he clarified. The idea of sensual was too close to sexual, and he needed to avoid going down that road. "There's much to experience. I think I might enjoy cooking. The redolence of food. The textures and colors."
He plunged a fork into the salad and took a bite. A moan of contentment rose in the back of his throat. "And the taste!"
"When you're an angel, don't you taste the food you eat?"
"It's different."
He sampled the square of lasagna on the plate in front of him. The flavor aroused him and he wanted to take his time, savoring every bite, but his hunger demanded fulfillment. He ate quickly.
When he looked up, Jenna was gazing indulgently. "It seems that you've recovered."
"Somewhat."
And he was aware of another appetite, a hunger that was kindled by the warmth in her eyes. She was lovely. From the first moment he'd really noticed her, he had thought she was pretty. But now
he realized she was more than that—so much more. Her actions enhanced her physical appearance, making her beautiful. Her intelligence and the trait she called "common sense" appealed to him greatly, teasing his all-too-human senses.
She pushed away from the table. "Now it's my turn to use the shower. When I'm done, we'll figure out what comes next."
But he didn't want her to leave the room. Stalling, he asked, "How are things at the movie lot?"
"According to my mother, it's all moving nicely. Alex has started the alien scenes."
Rafe barely heard her words. He was captivated by the shape of her lips as she spoke. He wanted to touch her, to inhale the clean fragrance of her hair. He wanted to taste her lips.
Clearing her throat, Jenna took a backward step. "I'll be in the shower."
An image of Jenna naked, with water gliding down her body, consumed his brain. With an effort, he forced himself not to groan aloud as he thought of her pale shoulders glistening. As he watched the sway of her hips walking away from him, he was driven to follow her, to take her into his arms and make love to her.
The temptation was greater than any force he'd ever felt. His human body responded. Beneath the silk pajamas, he was hard. Needing her, wanting her, he could barely contain himself.
If he'd been an angel, Rafe would have soared into the distant, rarefied atmosphere. He would have put a million miles between himself and Jenna.
But escape was impossible. From the bathroom, he heard the shower start. He remembered her graceful arms and shapely legs from the movie scene. Her torso tapered like an hourglass.
He had to see her in the shower. Too soon, he would be an angel again. The moment would have passed. Jenna would no longer be available to him.
He went down the hallway to the bathroom. His hand rested on the doorknob. Rafe was well aware that he was playing with fire. How could he see her naked and not make love to her?
"Jenna," he said.
"Rafe? What's wrong?"
"May I come in?" He suited the action to the words, pushing open the door and stepping into the steamy, tiled room.
She had pushed aside the rippled glass door to peer out at him. Her face and her long wet hair were clearly in focus. The rest of her body was a tantalizing outline. "What is it, Rafe?"
His throat constricted. He couldn't speak. Instead, he unbuttoned the pajama top and discarded it. The silk bottoms slid from him, puddling at his feet.
Her lips were trembling. Droplets of water shimmered on her long lashes. "Can we do this? What will happen?"
"I don't care."
He stepped over the porcelain edge of the tub into the shower. She stood before him, unashamed and beautiful. His eyes feasted upon her. Never in his existence had he wanted anything more than he longed for her. It was love that burned within him. Love for Jenna.
She whispered, "Are you sure that we should make love?"
"The truth?"
"Yes."
He closed his eyes, listening to the patter of water from the shower, allowing the damp warm moisture to permeate his skin. "I wish to become part of you. I believe we should be together for all time in all ways."
"Is it possible?" Her voice quavered.
He opened his eyes. "I don't know."
Her delicate hand reached toward him. She stroked the hair on his chest. With the soap, she lathered his body.
Pure sensation crashed through him. When he pulled her close and her slick wet body glided against his, the pleasure exceeded anything he had ever dreamt of. He wanted to prolong the sensations, to record them forever in his experience.
Gently, he helped her from the shower and towelled her dry. When he turned away from her to open the door, she gasped.
He was immediately alert to her mood. "What is it, Jenna?"
"Your back," she said. Her fingers touched his shoulder blades. "There are deep scars here. Like tattoos. Does it hurt?"
"My wings," he said.
Soon they would grow again. Soon he would be an angel, incapable of lovemaking.
Firmly, he gripped her hand and led her into the bedroom, where they lay beside each other on the sheets. His first kisses were tentative, curious.
She was so remarkable. Her long, damp hair spread in beautiful tendrils. Her eyes reflected the stars that flew overhead. Jenna was his entire universe. Her body was the most perfect vision. Her skin felt softer than rose petals.
When he tasted the sweetness of her breasts and felt her respond, he enjoyed her pleasure. Her excitement urged him to further exploration. Every touch, each caress, brought renewed wonder.
As he entered her, she cried out.
"Jenna, have I hurt you?"
"Make love to me, Rafe."
His thrusts brought him to the verge of ecstasy.
She arched. A fierce cry exploded from her.
Shuddering, he achieved climax. His satisfaction matched hers, and he fell away from her on the bed, breathing heavily.
Jenna snuggled against him and he held her.
Their lovemaking was over. Yet he sensed that it was just a beginning. Rafael Santini was changed forever.
Chapter Eleven
Jenna couldn't quite believe it. She'd just made love to an angel. A deep happiness warmed her from the inside. In her heart, she knew that she had found the perfect love she'd been seeking all her life.
From the example of her mother and father, she knew what true love, pure love, should look like. But Jenna had never imagined how wonderful this moment would be. Finally, she had discovered the masculine being who could complete her femininity. Rafe was everything she'd ever wanted or needed in a man.
Propped up on her elbow, she gazed down upon his handsome face, admiring the jut of his firm chin and the symmetry of his cheekbones. The contented glow from his blue eyes fulfilled her, because she saw her happiness reflected in him.
"Thank you," she whispered as she lightly kissed his forehead and combed through the silky texture of his thick black hair.
"Jenna, I don't know if—"
"Hush." She placed a finger across his lips, silencing him. "Let me have this moment."
"I'd give you anything. Jenna, I'd give you the world."
"All I want is…you."
Ironically, he might be the one thing she could not have. When Rafe became an angel again, she knew he would leave her and return to an existence weighted by duty and history. For now, at least, she could dream. He belonged to her, if only for a brief interval.
When the bedside telephone jangled, the noise called her back to another time and place. Reality intruded upon her blissful reverie.
She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. Though it seemed much later, it was only a few minutes after eight o'clock in the evening.
The telephone rang again and Rafe's eyebrows raised in a question. "Who knows this telephone number?"
"I gave it to my mother when I talked to her earlier." And that meant she had to pick up. Her mother might need her. Jenna reached across him to lift the receiver. "Hello?"
"May I assume that you're with Rafe?"
"You may." Jenna rolled her eyes. This was an interruption she didn't need. "Hello, Alex."
"Perhaps you'd be so good as to remind Mr. Santini that he has contracted to work on this movie. We're filming the alien sequences, and I need all my stunt-men."
Wasn't that too bad! "Sorry, Alex. Rafe can't come to the set right now."
"Could you possibly inform him that his employer, Hugh Montclair, is on the way to the soundstage?" His sarcasm dripped like molasses. "Your presence is also required, my dear."
"You don't need me. My mother can take care of the animals, probably better than I can."
"I want you here. Immediately," he snapped. "Both of you. You and your lover boy."
She was about to protest that Rafe wasn't her lover. But he was. Her incredible lover. "You'll have to work around us."
"Jenna, darling, don't be mutinous. I won't hesitate to fire you and y
our mother."
She should have cared, but she didn't. His threat was nothing more than an annoyance.
"I mean it," he said. "There are already two people who are lobbying to get rid of you."
"Does this mean I'll never do lunch in this town again?" Still, she was curious. "One of them is Taylor, I'm sure. Who's the other?"
"Nick Vincenzo."
Jenna could ignore Taylor and the silly movie, but she couldn't dismiss this information. Nick was too involved with the virus and the intrigues at the Montclair estate. "When did you speak with Nick?"
"Moments ago. Actually, I was planning to call it a day and wrap up, but Nick called to inform me that Hugh was coming. He asked after you specifically."
"And what did you tell him?"
"The truth, my dear." The tone in Alex's voice was haughty. "I said that I hadn't seen you for most of the day."
"And what did he say?"
"He remarked on your unprofessional attitude. Something about how you were too busy butting into everyone else's business to take care of your own."
Nick must still be angry about what he perceived to be her interference with Frank. It seemed odd that Nick would be concerned about her. His younger brother's death should certainly take precedence.
"However," Alex continued, "Nick also said I should make an effort to find you. Apparently, Hugh has some sort of test results he wishes to share with you."
The virus tests from her animals! That was something Jenna needed to know. "We'll be there, Alex, as soon as possible."
After hanging up the telephone, she gazed longingly at Rafe. "We need to go."
Briefly, she recounted her conversation, watching as his features took on a pensive cast.
"Interesting," Rafe said. "Nick doesn't seem too upset about his brother's death."
"We don't know that. This is hearsay from Alex." However, Alex seemed to have an inside track when it came to information about Hugh Montclair and his employees. Earlier, he'd been the one to inform her that Paolo Vincenzo had died of AIDS and that Hugh was seeking a cure. "Somehow, it seems like Alex is tangled up in all this."
"Maybe through his brother, Sean."
"Who was friends with Frank Vincenzo." The web of interrelationships started spinning again. "Hollywood seems like a big place, but it's so inbred. Everybody knows somebody who knows somebody else who goes to the same hairdresser."