“I’ll see you out,” Azrael said.
Ray took the long way out of the kitchen, around Azrael. “I can see myself out.”
Azrael followed him. “I insist.”
Sara stuck her head into the hall.
Ray hadn’t gotten to the door fast enough. Azrael held it shut with one hand.
“Mail the checks from now on.” The threat in Azrael’s voice was unmistakable. “On time.”
“Absolutely.” Ray’s Adam’s apple bobbed like a plastic carnival duck.
Azrael stepped back. Ray snatched the handle and yanked the door open, disappearing in a blur.
“He didn’t even say goodbye,” Sara joked.
“Want me to get him back here?” Grinning, he shut the door and walked back to her.
“Not on your life.” She shook her head. The man was amazing. “Hungry?”
“Yes.” But the look in his eyes said not for food.
“Good, because I made enough for an army.” Regardless of what either of them felt like doing, they were eating dinner first. “Thanks, by the way.”
“For?” One brow slanted.
She tucked her forehead against his chest. “For...the roses.” That wasn’t what she’d meant at all.
He kissed the top of her head. “You’re welcome.”
Tipping her face toward his, she swallowed and found her courage. “What I really meant was thank you for...showing Ray that I was worth standing up for. And for telling him you’re my boyfriend. That part was pretty cool. And completely unexpected.”
“You’re worth more than just standing up for. You’re worth holding on to, and if that spineless cretin didn’t understand that, then his loss and my gain.” He brushed a strand of hair off her cheek, rubbing it between his fingers before letting it go. “I meant the boyfriend part. Unless that’s assuming too much. Too fast.”
“No, I’m okay with that.” She giggled again, slapping a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, you seem to have an odd effect on me.”
“It’s mutual, believe me. I’m just not much of a giggler.”
Strong arms tightened around her waist. She patted his chest. Hard as sun-baked clay and twice as hot. “I should fix dinner.”
“Yes, you should.” He dipped his head, found her mouth.
Her lips parted of their own volition, giving his questing tongue access. The gentleness of his kiss astounded her, but she felt no compunction to respond in like kind. Pulling back, she nipped his lower lip, then his jaw, working lower onto the thick column of his neck. His response came in long, low purring of her name.
“Sara...”
“Hmm?” she answered, too busy to form words. Her tongue traced swirls on his clean, slightly salty skin.
His arms crushed her tighter and evidence of his arousal pressed against her belly, fueling her own need. All he could do this time was moan.
Her hands snaked beneath his sweater. At the creamy heat of his skin beneath her hands, goose bumps peppered her arms. But the chill was temporary. His heat seared her fingertips, and like a moth drawn to flame, she wanted more.
The knowledge that he wanted her spurred her to boldness. She shoved his sweater up, splaying her fingers possessively on his body. She’d never been with a man like this. So much hard, hot muscle. Sure, Ray took care of himself, but Azrael was built for sin. She wanted to own him in the most wanton, animalistic way, but even more than that, she wanted him to own her back.
The hiss of water boiling over onto the stove’s heating coil snapped her head up. She laughed to dissipate the heat spinning her head, and broke away, running to turn the burner down.
“I guess we should eat.” She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t see the naked desire in his gaze. It would tug her back into his arms. And probably out of her clothes.
She dumped the box of angel hair into the boiling water. Truth was, the thought of sleeping with him split her down the middle. She wanted him more than anything, but she’d also been his first date, which probably meant she’d be his first—
He cleared his throat. “Definitely. You went to all this trouble, and no one’s ever cooked for me before. I can’t wait to try it.”
That was exactly what she was talking about. Being someone’s first usually meant you wouldn’t be their last. She wasn’t ready for him to realize how incredible sex was (at least she hoped that’s what he’d think), then go chase after it with every willing woman. She glanced over her shoulder. He flashed a smile that would bring sight to a blind woman’s eyes. Who wouldn’t be willing?
She shrugged. “It was no trouble, really.”
“You cook like this all the time then?” He settled into her one and only barstool, crossing his arms on the counter. Someday the matching stool would show up at the Goodwill.
“Not hardly. I work too much.” She stirred the pasta to keep it from sticking, then readied the colander in the sink. “I should cook more often, but it’s hard to cook for one. I make too much and get sick of eating it, you know?”
He shook his head. “Not really. I don’t cook.”
“At all?” She turned. “Or do you not need to eat?”
“No, I eat. Not much, but I do. I have...help with the cooking.”
Images of undead French maids filled her head. Maybe they had wings too. Great. The French maids morphed into leggy Victoria’s Secret supermodel sashaying through Azrael’s underworld kitchen in their angel outfits, great steaming platters of gourmet cuisine in hand. “What kind of help?”
“Staff.”
The pasta was probably done. “And that means?”
He laughed. “There’s nothing to be jealous of, I assure you. They are merely former Shades given enough life to be functional.”
“I’m not jealous.” She was totally jealous. “Just curious.” She slipped on oven mitts and grabbed the pasta pot. Steam fogged her vision as she drained the angel hair. “I thought Shades were sort of, nonentities.”
“They are. But the Fates have turned a few into servants for Chronos and me.”
“What about Mr. Death Eyes?” She pitied anyone, dead or otherwise, who had to spend time with Kol.
“He has to fend for himself.”
She laughed short and sharp. “Seems fair.” She slid the pasta back into the pot, added the warmed sauce, then gave the whole thing a good stir.
“Kol’s not really as bad as you think. Just...” Azrael’s mouth twisted to one side.
“I know. He’s your brother. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She forked pasta onto plates. “I have a brother too. He’s older by almost ten years. We live completely different lives in completely different cities. We talk maybe once a year, exchange a card or two, but other than that, there’s no interaction. Still, he’s my brother. I wouldn’t want anyone talking bad about him either.”
He looked relieved. “There is no excuse for Kol so I won’t try to make one. But he lives a much different existence than Chronos and I. Much lonelier.”
“Yeah, well, he didn’t strike me as the warm, cuddly type so I can understand.” She sighed. “Sorry again.”
“It’s okay.” He leaned back. “What about the rest of your family?”
“My dad died my senior year of high school. Nearly destroyed my mother. My brother’d been married four years by then and had twins on the way, so when I left for college, she moved to Seattle to be close to him, help with the babies.” She shrugged. “She thinks I should have tried to make things work with Ray.”
He snorted. “I disagree.”
“See? That’s why I like you.” She picked up the plates and headed for the table. Stopping halfway, she turned to face him. “Are you lonely?”
The look on his face said the question had caught him off guard. “Not so much anymore.” His lop-sided smile made her inside tumble. “Anything I can do to help?”
She was falling. Hard. She stared at the plates, hoping he hadn’t seen anything telling in her eyes. She didn’t want to scare him away. “Do you kn
ow how to open a bottle of wine?” She pointed with her elbow to the bottle of Chianti on the table. “There’s an opener beside the bottle.”
“I think I can figure that out.” He rose and went to the table to inspect the bottle she’d indicated.
While he worked on the cork, she put the plates on the table, then got the bread out of the oven and tucked the slices into a napkin-lined basket.
As she brought it to the table, he put the bottle down and pulled out her chair, waited for her to sit, then returned to his task. Victory followed soon after with a resounding pop. He poured for them both, then sat across from her.
“This looks great.” He lifted his gaze from the plate. “Angel hair, right?”
She grinned. “Yeah, I was being funny.”
Smiling, he stabbed his fork into the strands of pasta and lifted a slice of gray out of the sauce. “This isn’t a Death Angel mushroom then, is it?”
“No.” She laughed. “I didn’t even know there was such a thing.” She crossed her heart. “Promise.” She twirled pasta around her fork. “What kind of stuff do you usually eat?”
“Nothing much, really. I need very little food unless I’m in human form.”
“That explains why there’s not an ounce of fat on you.” She took a bite and was pleasantly surprised with her efforts.
“Maybe if you were in my kitchen, I’d feel differently.” He tore off a slice of bread and bit into it, chewing with gusto.
She laughed. “This is about as basic a meal as you get, I’m sure your staff could manage this.”
“My staff doesn’t affect me the way you do.”
She sipped her wine, willing it to either cool the heat rushing through her or tame her tongue. It did neither.
She set her glass down and met his hungry gaze. “And what way would that be?”
Chapter Eleven
The tiniest smudge of sauce clung to the corner of Sara’s mouth. He’d never wanted a taste of something more in his life. How could he explain to her the way she made him feel without scaring her away? Mortals found their way through their emotions much slower. He’d already thought this through. This wasn’t the right time to speak his heart, no matter how much he wanted to tell her.
Maybe he should tell her that he’d nearly reaped her ex-husband’s soul. The desire to punish the man still rippled in his gut. The control it had taken to keep the Darkness at bay...he wouldn’t think of that now. Sara waited for an answer.
“You make me...hot.”
She laughed, a sound he thought he never grow tired of. “Hot?”
That hadn’t been the right word. “You make me...want you.”
This time she blushed the shade of the wine in her hand. She canted her head, hiding her eyes.
Not what he’d been going for either. He didn’t want her to think he was only after one thing. He wasn’t Chronos or Kol. “I like you, Sara. I’m just not good at expressing myself.” A lie, but one that bought him time.
“I think you’re very good at expressing yourself.” She spoke quietly without looking at him.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you, and I didn’t mean that the only affect you have on me is physical. It isn’t. I’m just not ready to express everything I feel yet.” He couldn’t get any plainer than that.
Her chin rose, but her color hadn’t changed. “See? You did fine.” The disappointment in her voice was unmistakable.
He reached across the table and took her hand. “I can’t imagine myself with another woman, Sara. I mean that. I think about you when I’m not with you. I wonder what you’re doing. If other men...mortal men...”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m not interested in anyone else.”
“I wanted to hurt Ray.” What had made him blurt that out, he didn’t know.
She laughed hard, tugging her hand away to cover her mouth. “I wanted you to, too,” she managed between gasps. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and she struggled to catch a breath. “Oh, that’s awful, but it’s true. He’s such a pompous jerk.”
She wiped her eyes and lifted her wine in toast. “You were so good with him. Put him in his place in a way I’ve never seen anyone do.”
“You don’t have to take his money if you don’t want to.” Any association with her ex-husband was a bad one as far as Azrael was concerned. He wanted to be the one taking care of her, the one she could rely on.
She sighed. “Actually I do. I’m in the hole from the divorce. The lawyer wasn’t cheap. I know this place doesn’t look like much, but at this point it’s all I can afford.”
“You deserve better.” Much better.
“I appreciate that, I really do—”
“I can give you better.”
Her mouth opened but no sound came out. She closed it, then finally spoke. “Do you mean what I think...”
“I’ll buy you a place, anywhere you want.”
“You do mean what I think you mean.” She straightened her silverware on the napkin. “That’s very sweet, but I couldn’t possibly do something like that.”
“Why not?” If he was in Reaper form, he could have used the power of his gaze to persuade her. Both he and Chronos possessed a tiny bit of Kol’s power—not enough to reap souls—that was Kol’s curse alone. But he didn’t want her to acquiesce like that. He wanted it to be her true decision.
Her fingers lingered on the knife handle. “I hardly know you.”
Had he used the word boyfriend too soon? He thought her eyes had sparkled when he’d said it. Perhaps he’d been mistaken. “You’ve seen a side of me only my brothers have ever seen. How much more do you want to know?”
Her hands fell back into her lap. “This place is fine, really.”
“Sara, what are you afraid of?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.” He kept his tone light, hoping she’d tell him what she was really feeling, even if she made a joke of it. “Tell me.”
She sipped her wine, stayed silent a few moments longer than was comfortable. “That you’ll...figure things out and leave.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Figure things out?”
“You said I was your first date, right? Well, I know men. I won’t be your last. You’ll sleep with me and figure out how much you like sex and then you’ll be gone, chasing after the next conquest, and where will I be? Long forgotten, that’s where.” She pressed her fingers to her mouth, looking slightly mortified. “I think I’ve had enough wine.”
Sitting back in his chair, he did his best not to grin. She’d been thinking about them sleeping together. Good to know they were of like minds on that. “You might know men, I’ll give you that. But would you agree I’m not your ordinary man?”
“Yes.” She wasn’t looking at him, but she was answering. A good sign.
“And if I had invested in this relationship by purchasing a safer home for you—a place completely your own, with your name alone on the deed—don’t you think that would be a substantial bit of incentive for me to stick around?”
“Probably.” She slanted her eyes at him, just for a moment. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you could have any woman you wanted.”
“You think most women would want to date a Reaper?”
Her eyes met his. “In your human form, they wouldn’t know the difference.”
“But I would.” He leaned forward. “And I already have the woman I want.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.” She pushed away from the table and walked into the kitchen.
He went after her. “It wasn’t my intention to upset you.”
“You didn’t. And it’s a very generous offer, but—”
He held his hand up. “Think about it, that’s all I ask.”
She nodded, exhaling a soft breath. “Okay. Fair enough.”
Taking her hands, he pulled her back toward the table. “Come eat or I’ll feel like I ruined the evening.”
A slight smile teased her lush mouth and she came willingly. “You d
idn’t ruin it.”
They sat back down and ate, keeping the conversation to safe subjects like the family she never saw and her job.
“I can’t eat any more or I’ll explode. How do mortals do this, always feeling so full?” He pushed his plate away.
She grinned. “We don’t always eat until we feel sick. You’ll have to learn to pace yourself.”
“When it tastes good, it’s hard to stop.”
She picked up the plates and carried them into the kitchen. “I hope you saved room for dessert. It’s my favorite ice cream. If you don’t like it, I won’t be able to date you anymore.”
He stiffened in his chair.
Her laughter rang out. “I’m just teasing. Something like that isn’t going to stop me from seeing you.”
Dishes clattered under running water. Azrael picked up the breadbasket and salad bowl and carried them in.
“Thanks,” she said, “but I’ll clean up. Go sit. You’re the guest.”
“As you wish.” He relaxed on the sofa. She joined him with two bowls a few minutes later.
“Here. Coffee chocolate chip. Prepare to know the meaning of the word bliss.” She dug into hers without waiting. Her eyes closed and a soft mmmm slipped from her closed mouth.
Scoops of chocolate-speckled tan ice cream filled the chilly bowl. He doubted anything could taste better than kissing her, but he’d try it to make her happy. The ice cream melted on his tongue, mingling the earthiness of the coffee with the bittersweetness of the chocolate.
It was good. But he could think of a way to make it better. He put his bowl down on the small table in front of the sofa and reached for her.
“What are you doing?” She held her ice cream up, laughing. “You have your own bowl.”
“I don’t want your ice cream. I want you. I want to taste it on you.” His hands found her waist and tugged her close. With her bowl still up over her head, his mouth met hers. He swept his tongue past the seam of her lips to tangle with hers, coffee-flavored and cold from the sweet treat. He warmed it up quickly.
She pulled away long enough to set her bowl beside his. “You’re a naughty boy. I’m trying to eat my ice cream.”
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