She probably needed something to eat. Water to drink, or strong coffee.
"There's a bottle of water on the table out there and some dessert. You're welcome to—"
"Oh yummy!" Her eyes turned even bluer—a feat he had not imagined possible. She spun around and disappeared, taking her plump and perky breasts with her. Henry breathed a deep sigh of relief, but his erection did not subside.
Chapter Three
She dug her fingers into the creamy chocolate frosting, scooped it up and licked it slowly, relishing every sweet morsel. There were few things in life, or death, that compared to the divine taste of chocolate. It was simply...perfection, and one thing humans could never get wrong or mess up.
Perched on the table, swinging her feet, she assessed the table for more treats. She tried the garlic bread, but found it improved considerably by a thick layer of chocolate frosting spread over it. Eventually, Tabitha reached for the wine bottle and, after a few moments study, managed to get the cork out by digging at it with the screwy thing that she could never quite figure out. Unfortunately the man emerged from the bathroom just as she was about to swig from the bottle. He took it from her.
"I think you've had enough of that tonight, don't you?"
She frowned. "I haven't had any."
"I thought you might like water," said the man, eyeing her swinging feet. "In the other bottle there."
"No thank you. I much prefer wine." She reached for the bottle but he held it behind his back.
"Perhaps I can call down for some coffee?"
She wrinkled her nose. Coffee had a dreadful bitter taste and an even worse smell. "No. The wine would be lovely."
He was watching her thoughtfully. "Your name is Tabitha?"
"That's right."
"Tabitha...what?
"Just Tabitha." She much preferred her proper name to "Sixty-Nine" which was so unromantic and practical.
He held out his free hand. "Doctor Henry Sheffield."
"You're a doctor!" How funny. Just like the man from two hundred years ago. Maybe it wasn't such a coincidence. She tilted her head, wiped her chocolaty fingers on her dress and reached out to shake his hand. "Pleased to—Ouch!" She squealed as another agonizing pain tore through her right wing.
Doctor Henry Sheffield set the wine bottle on the table. "Now sit still and let me examine you. You're quite safe, Miss... I'm a doctor. You're in good hands."
"Oh." It was true he had good hands. She knew that already.
He put those hands around her face now and tipped it upward until more light shone in her eyes and she had to squint. "What did you take tonight? Pills? Open your eyes, please."
"Pills? No."
"Your pupils are slightly dilated." He placed the back of his fingers to her forehead. "You're flushed. Forehead very warm. Eyes glassy."
"How's my coat? Is my nose wet?"
"I'm a doctor of medicine, not a vet."
"Well, I told you I have a cold."
"So you took cold medicine this evening? Too much perhaps."
She shook her head and reached for the wine bottle again but he moved it further away from her. "You went ouch. Something hurting? Where?"
"In my wings."
"Most amusing. Where, please?"
She swiveled from the waist to show him. "In my wings. I think I sprained something when I fell."
Henry Sheffield put his hands on her back and she trembled, closing her eyes tight while her face was turned away from him. Oh, it felt wonderful to be touched by a man, a living breathing man, with faults and hopes, doubts and fears. There was much to be said for the foibles of humanity. Tabitha missed it so much—the ups and downs. Things were quite dull and samey in heaven. It was all very nice of course, but there was little excitement to be had, nothing ever changed. The weather was always good, the clouds fluffy and spotless white, people always generous and understanding. No one to exasperate her temper, make her pulse race. No one to argue with so that they later had the pleasure of making up again.
Constant contentment could be exhausting.
Suddenly there was a snap. It happened so swiftly she barely felt any pain, until afterwards. when she twisted at the waist to look over her shoulder and saw he'd broken off her wing. He was setting it on a chair nearby. Stray feathers and angel down were stuck to his bathrobe.
"What...what have you done?" she cried.
"I can't examine you otherwise. They're in the way."
"What? No! Don't!"
She could not escape fast enough. He had hold of her other wing and snapped it off just as he did the first. They came away with shocking ease considering they'd been a part of her for so long.
"I expect carrying those around his given you back pain. Foolish costume in any case."
Tabitha leapt off the table and gazed at him through watery eyes. "You've crippled me! You've grounded me."
"Have I?" He wasn't even listening, but running his hands down her back, fingertips pressing lightly on her spine.
"Stop that," she exclaimed, afraid of what else he might try to pull off her body.
"Be still woman and stop fussing. I can't help you if I don't know what—"
She picked up the basket of bread, because it was the first thing she reached, and hurled it at him. Lucky for him he'd moved the bottle.
"Now, don't do anything silly," he muttered. "I'm just going to—"
"How could you? My wings! My poor, broken wings!"
"There's no occasion for hysteria. Calm down. You're breathing very erratically."
"Breathing erratically? No occasion for hysteria?" She shrank away from him, yelling at the top of her voice. "How am I going to take you up now? How am I going to explain this to the AG? It's bad enough when I go back without a collection. Now I have to go back without my wings!" With that customary weight gone from her shoulders she lost balance, found herself walking in a rapid circle and then tripped forward, falling to her face on the floor.
Ouch that hurt like a bastard.
Oops. Did she just say that out loud?
Tabitha thought about getting up, but felt too hopeless. This job was supposed to be her opportunity for redemption and now look what happened. First she fell on him, then she got all hot, excited and distracted by his touch. Then she couldn't get the kiss to work. Now this. Maybe if she stayed on the floor it couldn't get any worse.
"You've broken me," she groaned into the carpet.
His feet moved around into her view. "I see you're something of a drama queen. Get up."
"No," she sobbed. "What's the point? It's all gone wrong again."
He sighed. "I'll phone down for some soup and medicines for your cold."
"Don't bother!" Now he tried to be nice after breaking her wings? As if he could ever make that up to her.
"Obviously, you'll have to stay here until tomorrow and I'll keep an eye on you."
She paused her loud sobs. That sounded better than soup.
"I have an appointment at the hospital myself in the morning so I can take you in for an x-ray if you think it necessary. But I'm quite sure nothing is broken. It won't do any harm for you to get a check-up with your—"
"If you're going to let me stay, can I have some more chocolate cake?"
* * * *
He watched her finish another slice of cake and lick her fingers clean. Apparently she didn't use forks.
Room service was finished for the evening when he'd called down to the front desk, but while he was still reprimanding the person on the other end, this wingless angel had pried the phone out of his fist and sweet-talked them into finding an obliging member of staff to run out for an entire Entenmanns chocolate cake, as well as the brand of cold and flu medicine he'd prescribed. She made it seem so simple. After hanging up, she'd smiled broadly at him and announced, "You only have to be nice and you can get anything."
He didn't doubt it, in her case.
Well, despite her resistance to medicine he'd managed to make her take some with a
glass of water. This resulted in a ridiculous sense of triumph. It was very odd, considering he'd performed life-saving emergency surgery and not felt half as much achievement as he did tonight, just from making this young woman get off the floor, take her medicine and stop fussing. The chocolate cake might have helped, but it wasn't taking all the credit. Not if he had his way.
Moving his laptop and briefcase off the bed, he instructed her to lay in it and then he tucked the cover around her supine form, while she stared up at him from the pillow, her eyes very large pools of warm ocean blue. "You're giving up your bed for me?"
"Of course. You're ill."
"It's only a cold."
"You need a good night's rest."
"Where will you sleep?"
"Over there on the sofa."
She sat bolt upright. "It doesn't look very comfortable."
Holding her shoulders, Henry gently eased her down again, trying to ignore the desire twisting inside at the lightest contact. "It will be adequate. Now rest. Quiet, please." Touching her was dangerous it seemed—for both of them, considering the feathers littering his room, the near-miss of the thrown bread basket and her ear-splitting shrieks when he simply relieved her of that cumbersome costume. But dangerous or not, he couldn't seem to stop touching her.
He didn't really know why he gave her his bed. She was a complete stranger. But still...this felt like the right thing to do. He was supposed to take care of sick people and tonight he actually did that in the most basic sense. Usually there was distance between himself and the patients he treated. They were mostly unconscious of course and strapped down on a table, incapable of arguing with him. Perfect. Even if awake they were in too much awe. Never comfortable explaining things in layman's terms, Henry spent as little time as possible with patients outside the operating room. He too often said the wrong thing and was later accused of lacking a good bedside manner. So he considered it safer if he left the reassuring and "coddling" to nurses.
This patient, however, was entirely under his care. There was no one else. She needed someone to look after her; that much was evident. Good thing she found her way to his room tonight and none other.
"What sort of doctor are you?" she asked.
"Cardiologist. Heart surgeon." He clicked off the bedside lamp and moved away across the suite. "Didn't they tell you?"
"Who?"
"My associates. They sent you here, didn't they?" He sniffed scornfully. "Some sort of joke, I suppose."
She sat up again. "You mend hearts?"
"I do."
"You must be very clever."
"Yes." Henry wasn't known for his modesty.
"You said you have an appointment tomorrow at the hospital."
He carried her empty cake plate and glass to the table. "I'm meeting with the hospital board about a new position here in the city." Really no need to tell her that much, but he did.
"You must have saved many lives."
Not sure whether she was mocking him or trying flattery, Henry gave no reply, but laid on the couch and tried again to figure out what he was doing. Why did he let her stay?
Henry's choices were always made logically. Even under duress it was important that he made calm, clinical, unemotional decisions, based on facts. Tonight he acted on gut instinct, allowing a strange, half-naked woman— with no last name— stay in his suite. She could stab him with that unused fork, or crack him over the head with the wine bottle while he slept. Even if she didn't try to kill him, her cold was no doubt contagious and she'd sneezed all over him several times. She could be flirting with him for any sinister reason and he'd wake in the morning with an empty wallet and a missing laptop. His examination had proved she clearly was not drunk after all. Neither was she under the influence of anything but her cold. But she was up to something.
Henry lay back, resting his head on his arms, staring at the ceiling. "A woman like you should get a better job," he muttered. "You shouldn't be out doing this sort of thing."
"That's what I told them at the A.G.'s office." He heard the rustling as she sat up again. "I'm hoping to get a promotion one of these days."
He turned his head and squinted at her over the back of the couch. "The Attorney General's office?" he asked, bewildered.
"The Angel Gabriel's office, of course."
Of course. He sighed deeply. "Shush. Go to sleep."
"Doctor's orders?"
"Yes."
He heard her stifled giggles as she laid down again at the other end of the suite, but he was accustomed to being the butt of a joke he never understood. He wondered how much his associates had paid for her to seduce him. Was seduce the right word? It seemed too old fashioned. But something about her was old fashioned. No make-up he could detect, no jewelry. Hair that appeared naturally colored—and no scent of hair products. Some women used a virtual pharmacy before they left the house every day.
Unfortunately, even without perfume he could smell her across the suite. Every pore on his skin was aware of her presence; every muscle and sinew on alert. His blood fizzled and raced through his veins. Because he wanted that woman. He wanted to lick her, taste her body, smell her hair, touch her intimately. Bury himself inside her. The desire was intense, primitive. Feral.
"You must be a wonderful doctor." Her voice drifted through the suite toward him. "I feel better already."
"Good." The medicine was working fast.
"It's not the medicine," she blurted, as if she could read his thoughts. "It's you. You're very sweet and kind."
Henry had never been called either of those things before. He was quietly flattered and wryly amused.
"Not the way you look at all," she added.
Tempted to laugh out loud, he swallowed it.
Outside his room, across the hall, the circus was quiet at last. Almost too quiet. The quiet before a storm.
"I didn't brush my teeth," she said, jerking upright again.
Henry knew it was going to be one of those nights. Not that he'd ever had one like it. But he was about to.
Chapter Four
She squeezed some of his toothpaste on her finger and rubbed it over her teeth. Couldn't sleep with chocolate staining her teeth could she? Yes, there were dentists in heaven. Doctors too. Although most were retired and played golf all day. There wasn't much for doctors to do up there.
What would Doctor Henry Sheffield find to do with his days? Surely he was much more useful down here. But she mustn't think like that. Job to do. Tabitha rinsed her mouth out with water and then there was nothing else to delay her. No other excuse. Nothing else for it but to try another kiss. Wings or not, she had to try. Straightening her shoulders, she took a deep breath.
"Get on with it, Sixty-nine," she sternly lectured her reflection in the mirrored cabinet door.
"Get on with what?" He was standing behind her, arms folded, watching her suspiciously.
"You move quietly for a big man," she observed in surprise. "Are you sure you don't have wings?"
"Get on with what?" he repeated.
Tabitha walked back into the suite. He followed. "The reason I came here," she said.
"Which is?"
"I told you." Spinning around too quickly she almost stumbled again and briefly grabbed a chair for balance. She felt so small without her wings. His height, as he came toward her, increased the sensation, made her very aware of her femininity. Oh, to be a woman again and not an ethereal being whose feet didn't properly touch the ground. "Are you married, Doctor Sheffield?"
"No."
"Children?"
"No." Although she was still, he continued moving closer, apparently growing bolder with her, much less wary. His expression was solemn, but his eyes held a knowing spark. She couldn't call it a twinkle. A man like this one would never twinkle.
She swallowed hard. "No...no family?"
"Only a mother left."
Her fingers twisted around each other in a knot. "Where is she?"
"New Jersey, last I heard. Why?"
"Just...curious." He had only a mother to miss him then. And his patients, of course. Perhaps he'd be happy in heaven. Most were. Only oddballs like her missed being alive and all the trials and tribulations, the intensity of a passionate embrace.
"Back to bed," he said softly.
It was now or never. Surely third time lucky.
Tabitha leapt forward, arms around his neck. And kissed him again.
Henry made no move to get away this time. His lips opened, mouth slanted to hers, tongue slipping inside, probably tasting the mint of toothpaste. Heat stole through her in waves, advancing like the tide as he took control of the kiss. He was supposed to fall under her spell, let her gather him up, but this was not at all the way it should be. This was like chocolate. Being fed to her on a silver spoon.
She broke the kiss, leaning back. "Doctor, are those your hands on my ass?"
He paused a moment, eyes narrowed, looking down at her. "They'd better be mine. I hope there's no one else here. One intruder in my suite is about all I can handle."
"You're handling her...very well."
Fingers spread slightly, he squeezed her cheeks, lifted her so she could wrap her legs around his waist and then he carried her to the bed. Tabitha supposed she ought to say something, but try as she might she couldn't think of any Chapter in the Angel's Guidebook that dealt with situations like these. Problems like this simply didn't happen. At least, not in the mind of the well-meaning author of that book.
She lay back, staring as he untied his bathrobe and shrugged out of it. He was muscular, more so than she expected. The only light in the room came from the distant glow of the bathroom and a lamp beside the couch, but it was enough to gild and highlight every splendid plane of his strong physique as he stood over her. Clearly he took care of himself, but not to the extent of showcase vanity. One could imagine that his form was the result of useful physical labor rather than hours in a gym, staring in a mirror.
Tabitha's eager gaze danced over his shoulders, down his thick arms, across his chest and then downward, where it stumbled to a halt. His penis stretched almost to his navel, the head dark and proud, the shaft arching slightly, balls like two ripe plums. Her heart leapt in excitement. She was giddy with it. This was totally forbidden of course. Nothing like this should happen.
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