The Boss, The Baby And The Bride

by Day Leclaire

  “Yes, it is!” She could hardly hear her own words. They were drowned out by all the sounds around them—the muted roar of the traffic, the hiss of tires on rain-slick pavement, the distant rumble of thunder and the deadening thrumming of the summertime rain as it pelted the concrete-laden earth. She stepped back, forcing him to release her, forcing him to listen. “We can’t do this!”

  “Why?”

  She shouted, lifting her voice so he’d hear across the great chasm that separated them—so that she’d hear, as well, and remember. “Because I’m not a woman. I’m an angel. And I was sent here to find you a wife. There. How’s that for honesty?”

  He laughed. “You’re crazy, you know that? And I’m even crazier to stand here and listen, instead of getting us out of this.”

  As though in response to his comment, a cab pulled up to the curb, disgorging a load of passengers beneath Sarducci’s canopy.

  Reed grabbed her hand and ran to catch it, pulling her into the dry confines. After giving the driver the address to his office building, he settled back against the seat and wrapped her within the secure warmth of his arms. The cab pulled away from the curb—but not before Angie saw Scratch.

  He sat on the curb, a splash of black and white on the puddled sidewalk, his red bow tie drooping beneath the relentless torrent. And in his pale eyes, she caught a wealth of sadness.

  “Why are we going to the office?” she asked after a few minutes of silence.

  “To dry off. I converted a section of the building into a small apartment. I use it the nights I work late. We can shower and then I’ll find you something to wear home.”

  “You and Joel don’t live there, though?”

  “No. We share a house out of the city. A housekeeper stays with Joel when I can’t be there.”

  “And it wouldn’t do to bring your secretary home to dry off.” Cynicism edged her voice.

  He didn’t react to her baiting, but answered calmly. “No, it wouldn’t. Especially since I left my car at the office and we wouldn’t have transportation to work tomorrow morning.”

  “I see.”

  “You don’t approve of the apartment?”

  “It’s not my place—”

  “When has that ever stopped you?” He tucked a sodden lock of hair behind her ear. “I have Joel to consider. It wouldn’t be appropriate to entertain overnight visitors at the house. I’d be giving him tacit permission to do the same thing and that would be wrong.”

  “So you keep your affairs at the office.”

  “Very amusing, Makepeace.” The cab pulled up outside Harding Construction and Reed paid the driver. “Come on. Let’s get dry.”

  Walking into the silent office building proved very strange. They met a security guard when they first arrived, but other than that, a tomblike silence permeated the atmosphere. They rode the elevator without speaking. At the door to his apartment, Reed punched in a security code before stepping to one side so she could enter.

  Angie slipped off her damp shoes and left them on a rug by the doorway. Inside, the furnishings were spartan, yet attractive. Carpet gave way to bleached oak flooring and the walls were a clean, crisp white, displaying black and white photographs of construction sites in various stages of development. A huge picture window offered a view of the brightly lit city and on the opposite end another bank of shadowed windows overlooked the nearby river.

  She chose that side of the apartment, preferring the protective darkness it afforded. “The river flooded a few years back, didn’t it?” she asked, finally breaking the silence. “I remember seeing it on the news.”

  “Yeah. It was pretty grim.” The glass mirrored the apartment behind her, warning of his approach. He paused directly behind her. Without her heels, he seemed impossibly large and broad, leaving her feeling small and insignificant. Amazing the difference three tiny inches could make. “The water came so high, it even covered the streets along the riverfront.”

  “It must have been a terrible summer.”

  “I gather you didn’t live here then?”

  “No.”

  “Which of your various jobs were you working that year?” he asked curiously. “Wrangling? The docks, perhaps?”

  “None of them. I was living my own life. It was...before.” She flicked her red-tipped fingernails toward the ceiling. “You know.”

  “Before you became an angel.”

  She heard the thread of amusement in his voice and shivered. “Right, before then. I haven’t been one all that long. Just for a year.”

  “You’re cold.”

  Surprised to discover she was shivering, she wrapped her arms around her waist. “Actually, it feels good. Each of the different senses feels good. I hadn’t realized how much I missed them until—” She ground to a halt, afraid if she kept talking, she’d do something incredibly foolish. Like cry.

  “Would you like a shower?” he asked. “I think I can dig up some sweats you could wear home.”

  “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  “About being an angel? No. I don’t.” He cupped her shoulders, running his hands down her back, his touch a painfully delicious caress. “I don’t suppose you’d care to show me your wings.”

  “I have no control over who sees them and who doesn’t. Sometimes they’re visible. Other times...” She shrugged.

  “And the halo?” He feathered his fingers through her damp hair.

  “Not there, either?”

  “Nope.”

  “Maybe it’s because I’m not feeling terribly angelic.” A bittersweet smile crept across her mouth and she bowed her head. “After tonight, I wonder if I’ll still deserve one.”

  “Angie.” He spoke her name in a soft whisper, concern clear in the husky tones. “What’s going on?”

  She gathered her strength. This was always the most difficult part. Some believed her when she told them. Some didn’t. Some she told of her mission and others she chose not to. It depended on the individual. But in Reed’s case, her mission had begun to go horribly wrong. She made a face. At some point, they all went horribly wrong. Still, he had to understand that she couldn’t be a real woman for him. She had a vital job to accomplish—one that would affect the rest of his life. A job she didn’t dare fail. She gathered her strength and turned to confront him.

  Reed caught his breath at her anguished expression. The rain had washed away her makeup, leaving her even more beautiful, if that were possible. Except for the hint of color blossoming in her cheeks, her skin gleamed as though lit from within. Her hair had begun to dry, curling tightly in the humidity. Pale ringlets clung to her temple and brow, giving her an angelic appearance that lent credence to her celestial claims.

  But it was her eyes that left him utterly speechless.

  “Mirrors of the soul” didn’t come close to describing them. In their soft blue depths he saw both devastation and great joy. He saw the tender buds of hope vying with the overwhelming weight of despair. He saw winter’s frigid death and spring’s warm rebirth. And he didn’t doubt that if he looked long enough he could find all of eternity locked within her gaze.

  What touched him most, though, was the brief, swiftly banked desire that burned there, the desperate need of a woman waiting for her lover’s touch, yet afraid to grasp it.

  “Angie. Don’t look at me like that, sweetheart. It’s killing me.”

  He reached for her then, pulling her into his arms. Her resistance was a fleeting thing, swiftly subdued beneath his urgent kiss. He was so damned ready for her, hot and full and straining. It had been ages since he’d made love to a woman. Hell. It had been ages since he’d wanted to. Emily had left him embittered, reluctant to trust intimacy. And yet he had too much self-respect to take a woman to bed for nothing more than sheer physical satisfaction. One-night stands had palled long ago.

  But with Angie....

  This wouldn’t be a brief fling. No way could he satisfy his need for this woman in the course of a single night. Learning her secret
desires and satisfying them would take time. A lot of time. He wanted to know everything. The scent and taste of her.... Which particular points on her body sent her instantly over the edge.... How sensitive her breasts were to his touch.... Whether she liked to sleep in a tangle of arms and legs or if she preferred curling into tightly fitted spoons....

  The questions were as endless as they were vital. He wasn’t just curious, his urge to discover the answers had grown to an overwhelming obsession. He held a woman he could lose himself in. A woman to sink into, body and soul. A woman of depth and character and passion. He shook his head in silent amusement.

  A woman who thought she was an angel.

  He hooked his index fingers beneath the thin straps of her dress and tugged them down her arms. She inhaled sharply, but didn’t try and stop him. Instead, her gaze locked with his, a plea darkening her eyes. Whether she silently asked for him to stop or to continue, he couldn’t quite tell. All he knew was that he didn’t want to stop. Not ever.

  The damp silk clung lovingly to her breasts, outlining their generous fullness. Slowly, with exquisite care, he lowered the bodice of her dress. She held perfectly still. And so did he. It was almost as though time slowed to a crawl, the universe hesitating for an instant in order to give them this brief moment together. A hush fell between them, the only sound the harsh give and take of their breath. He could sense her fear, even as he caught the lush scent of her desire. A sheen of perspiration dewed her throat and the upper curves of her breasts, gleaming in the subdued light from the window.

  He reached for her, scraping the calloused tips of his fingers along her rib cage. Her breasts lifted in response, the tips peaking in glorious enticement. He filled his hands with the silken weight and bent, taking her into his mouth.

  She tasted as sweet as heaven’s nectar, the flavor utterly unique and unforgettable. He slipped an arm around her back, urging her closer. Her soft moan rang in his ears, strumming along his senses. And then she touched him. Like the first hesitant stirrings of a downy nestling, her hands fluttered across his cheekbones in a delicate caress as she tentatively learned the shape and texture of his face.

  “It’s all right,” he murmured. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

  He warmed her damp skin with his breath and she shuddered, slipping her fingers into his hair and cradling him in a tender hold. “I want you so much,” she whispered. “It doesn’t seem to matter that it’s wrong or impossible. Nothing seems to matter when you touch me.”

  “That’s because it’s not wrong. And it’s certainly not impossible.”

  He closed his teeth over her nipple and tugged, reveling in her muffled cry. Her hands slid downward along the taut line of his neck to curl around his shoulders, clinging as though she might fall. And then her words slipped into the night, ripe with pain. “I wish... I wish with all my heart that was true, that we could have tonight without consequence.”

  He straightened, gathering her in his arms. “I’ll make it true. You’ll see.” He captured her lips in a brief kiss, before sliding his mouth along the sweep of her jaw, trapping her earlobe between his teeth. Her breath caught and he smiled against the frantic pulse fluttering on the side of her neck. Seemed like he’d found another of those sensitive points. Interesting that her reaction sent him as close to the edge as it sent her. “Now tell me how an angel makes love. Anything I should know ahead of time?”

  “Angels don’t make love.” He heard the strain in her voice and sympathized. Their foreplay had grown painful. If he didn’t get her into a bed soon, they’d have their first experience together right up against the window. “At least, this one doesn’t.”

  “Perhaps I can change your mind.” He cupped her breasts once more, sliding his thumbs along the sensitive undersides before skimming the crowns. Her nipples were full and ripe and hot to the touch. Hell, she was full and ripe and hot to the touch. So why did she continue to resist? “Hang up your halo for the night, sweetheart,” he urged. “Heaven won’t mind if you take one evening off.”

  “You don’t understand. I can’t do. this,” she murmured. “It’s wrong.”

  “It’s not wrong. It can’t be.”

  “I’m not meant for you.”

  “No? Maybe heaven knows better. Maybe that’s precisely why you’ve been sent.”

  To his alarm, tears gathered in her eyes. Ever so carefully she eased from his arms. “That’s not possible.”

  He smiled in gentle amusement. Without her high heels, she seemed so small and vulnerable, her sophisticated facade as transparent as her angel wings. “It’s possible that you were sent to be my secretary, but not my lover? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  A low, husky laugh escaped her. “I wasn’t sent to be your secretary, either. At least, not exactly.” To his extreme disappointment, she pulled the bodice of her dress back in place. Apparently the straps defeated her, for she left them dangling, tempting him to test her resolve with a gentle tug. “Though as long as I’m here, I’ll be happy to take care of your secretarial problems.”

  “Just out of curiosity... How do I rate an angel?” Reed asked.

  Laughter glittered in her eyes along with the tears, giving her more of a mischievous look than an angelic one. He shook his head. An angel. Jeez. He’d had a great-aunt who claimed to be psychic and would often sit and chat with “spirits.” He’d also had a distant cousin had made a living “divining” water. One of his previous secretaries—number seven, he thought, the secretary from hell—had claimed to be a reincarnation of Cleopatra and was deathly afraid of snakes. But this was the first time he’d ever run across an angel.

  “I’m on a mission. I told you that from the beginning. Remember?”

  “A mission, huh?” He eyed her suspiciously. “What sort of mission?”

  “I told you that, too, Reed. I’m here to find you a wife.”

  With another of her gut-wrenching, tear-filled smiles, she circled him and padded barefoot across the living room. Her movements were as graceful as he’d have expected from an angel, even one hampered by a damp skirt. Then she disappeared into his bathroom and closed the door, leaving him standing there in confounded silence.

  Great.

  No question this time, his luck continued to run true to form. He had an angel in his bathroom—one of the sultriest, sexiest, most kissable angels imaginable. And why had she come? To spread joy, peace and happiness? To offer good tidings? To take him to bed and make long, passionate love until his brain turned to mush? Hell, no. She’d come to give him the one thing on earth he least wanted. A wife. He shook his head at the irony. How damned fortunate could one man get?

  The next morning, Angie found getting from the front door of Harding’s to her desk took longer than ever. Between her preoccupation with the events of the previous evening and all the various employees who suddenly needed to speak to her, her progress through the office building slowed to a crawl. It invariably happened on each of her missions and she’d come to expect it. She seemed to attract people. She’d always assumed that on some unconscious level they “sensed” who or what she was and were drawn to her.

  This mission proved no different.

  She couldn’t pass a single co-worker without being stopped so they could share an interesting piece of news or some fascinating change in their lifestyle. Red had become the “in” color she noticed in amusement as she paused to congratulate the accounting supervisor on her new granddaughter. Everything from a pale pinkish shade to burnt orange to deep purple-red, the stunning range of hue brightened the entire office. Angie also couldn’t help but notice the two new bottle-blondes that had appeared since the previous day. They looked good, she decided. Very perky.

  Joel snagged her before she reached her desk. “Guess what? My order arrived.”

  Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “I’m sorry, Joel. You’ve lost me. What order?”

  “Whaddaya mean, what order?” He shook his head in disgust. “Don’t you remember? Da—
Dang, Angie! You went toe-to-toe, nose-to-nose with Reed over it. I’d have thought that would leave a small impression.”

  A glimmer of understanding dawned. “You mean the model?”

  “Right. The one I’m building for the Wellsby project.” Enthusiasm lit his expression. “You can’t believe all the stuff that came in!”

  That didn’t sound good. “Stuff?”

  “Loads of it. Next I have to buy some tools and start converting the blueprints—”

  “Uh, Joel? Just out of curiosity... Where did you put all the...stuff?”

  “Didn’t know where else to put it, so I had them dump it in—”

  “Ms. Makepeace!”

  Angie cringed. “Not in Reed’s office?”

  “It had the most space,” Joel retorted defensively.

  “Okay, don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

  He shot her a cocky grin. “Oh, I wasn’t worried.”

  With a tiny sigh, she made her way toward Reed’s office. He stood in the half-open doorway, glaring at her. “Good morning, Mr. Harding,” she said in a cheerful voice.

  “It’s not a good morning, Ms. Makepeace. In fact it’s a rotten morning. Would you care to guess why it’s a rotten morning?”

  Because they hadn’t made love the previous night? She thrust the thought from her mind. If Reed felt any regrets, he kept them well hidden. “I assume this has something to do with Joel’s project?”

  “Brilliant deduction.”

  “I realize he shouldn’t have had the supplies stored in your office. Why don’t I get them moved out of your way?”

  For an instant she thought she caught a glimpse of amusement in his gaze. Then he stepped to one side, allowing her access. “Be my guest.”

  Angie started to open the door—not that it got her very far. Except for a narrow twelve-inch gap, the door wouldn’t budge. “Wait... wait a minute.”

  “Take your time. My meeting’s not for another forty-five minutes. That should give you ample opportunity to get everything cleared out of the way.”

  She wriggled through the opening and stumbled to a halt, her mouth dropping open. Stacks of plywood had been upended against the walls. Boxes of electrical cable were perched precariously on top of cartons of nails. There were cords of shingles, timber of all shapes and sizes, Sheetrock, tubes and pipes. A rather disgruntled doggy face appeared from beneath a tepee of miniature girders surrounding the couch. Scratch whined a sour complaint.