“What? Like there are angel levels or something?” Her brow crinkled in confusion and she bit her full bottom lip again, little white teeth worrying it.
“You got me the night your parents died. But I'm not your guardian angel. Only the best of the best get to be guardians.” His voice was still monotone.
Obviously this is a point that really bothers him... But wait... “The night my parents died?” She croaked the words out one by one, her heart beating fast.
“Yeah, Camille. I came to you that night. I kept you warm and I tried to calm you until first responders came. I am here for you until you finish your grieving process. I am for lack of a better word, a grief counselor angel... thing.” He stroked her skin slower than before, looking deep into her bottomless forest green and achingly luminous eyes.
“Can I know your name?” Her heart tripped in her chest as she waited for the response.
“I'm not supposed to tell you,” he replied sadly. “Hell, I'm not even supposed to be here right now. I'm breaking the moral code again.”
“Why can't you tell me and what is the moral code?” She twisted her fingers together.
“I'd be breaking yet another rule when it comes to you.” His thumb was now stroking her collar bone.
“You're breaking rules? Why? I didn't know angels had rules.” Her eyes had gone a shade darker and were bordering on black with hints of green. Her breath was fast, as was her heart rate. It made him hard as a rock.
“Because I can't seem to help myself when I'm with you. You make me want to break every rule ever created for us... Believe me, that list is preposterously long.” He saw her pupils dilate. Her lips parted. She wants me just as damn bad as I want her. If only... If only.
“When you're with me? Why me?” Her full lips parted and her tongue darted out to wet them again. She swallowed and waited.
He groaned and replied slowly between clenched teeth, “Because you are the biggest temptation I've ever faced and I've faced plenty. But I'm failing miserably at keeping my distance from you. You are an extraordinary habit I'm not willing to break yet.” He dropped his arm and caught her hand in his, squeezing it softly. Not that she felt anything but warmth, but it made him feel better to touch her.
She flushed. “I'm nothing special, certainly not something to screw your life up for.” Her teeth nibbled her bottom lip again.
He laughed harshly before catching her chin between his fingers. He whispered dangerously, “Don't sell yourself short, Camille, because you are going to be my downfall.” He leaned closer and smiled as he heard her breath catch in her throat. “A beautiful downfall,” He whispered temptingly. She could just make out his shape in the sunlight. She smelled salty air all around her. His mouth brushed against hers, just one touch of feather soft warmth. He backed up a fraction of an inch, and his lips were still touching hers decided to throw caution to the wind when he whispered, “My name is Casey, Casey Philips.”
He was completely rock hard from just one little kiss. Her eyes were still closed and she looked unbelievably kissable, but he knew he had to stop. Her eyes slowly opened and they shimmered in their emerald depths. “Casey,” she breathed, in total shock at the incredible feeling of being with him. “Who says I have to be your downfall? Who has to know about this but us?” Her eyes sparkled invitingly.
Yep, she is going to ruin me. Hell and damnation, fire and brimstone. Fuck me, I'm screwed.
“I have to go for now, Camille,” he murmured wistfully, begging his mind to photograph her looking just like this, sensual and sweet all at once.
“I wish you could stay.” Her bottom lip poked out in a pout.
“As do I. Right here in this car with you.” Then he was gone.
She didn't know whether to laugh hysterically or cry. I'm in love with an angel. That realization made her sit back against her seat in shock. I love him. I have been loving him since the first time he came to me and I don't know how to stop, and I don't think I want to... But he says I am going to ruin him. How can loving him be anything wrong? I don't understand. Are the moral codes his own or someone else's? Is he super religious and against sex? She sighed in frustration. She felt right on the precipice of something enormous. Right on the cusp of something amazing, all she needed was one teensy touch to push her off the edge, falling into the great wide beyond of nothingness and everything that she could ever imagine. She wanted to run around giddily with arms spread wide. She wanted to fall in the grass and roll around squealing. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs that she was in love.
But she did none of that. I'm going to play it cool. Plus, she had to start Bertha. Another five minutes of beating on the steering wheel in frustration and turning the key led to nowhere. She realized glumly that Bertha wasn't gonna do it this time. “I know, Bertha, he tore my nerves up and I'm overheated too.” She laughed again, the sound rattling her nerves more. She turned the key one more time, praying for all she was worth and the car started with a deafening rumble. “Good Bertha... No junkyard for you today.”
She drove back to the house, for the first time her throat not closing up involuntarily at being alone. She didn't even realize it. She grabbed the new clothes and took them inside, kicking the front door closed behind her. The house was a wreck. It hadn't been cleaned since, well, six months ago. The Christmas tree was still in the corner, a garish reminder of what she'd never have again. I just need to have someone clean the house out. I could put special stuff in one spot and tell them to wipe the rest of the house clean. I just... I can't keep looking at everything. Maybe Craigslist or something. I just... I can't do it today.
She went upstairs to her room and hung all her new clothes on hangers, the repetitive motion soothing her frazzled nerves. She pulled her Mickey shirt and sweatpants off and threw them at the basket. The clothes tumbled off and an avalanche of dirty clothes fell on the floor. She sighed. May as well put laundry on... She grabbed a basket and took one load down to the washer and got them started washing. Going back upstairs, she checked her bed side table and the clock. It was five. Sarah would be calling soon and be by to pick her up.
She pulled the skinny jeans back on and buttoned them up, her fingers shaking slightly. She was nervous. She hadn't been out in months. She unhooked her bra and slipped it off her long arms and then turned to pull the plum halter over her head. “Damn,” she muttered, realizing that the strap across the back wasn't tied. She was struggling to tie it when she smelled salt air again. He was here. Her heart trembled in her throat. “Casey? I know you are here.”
“Do you?” His voice was smooth and torrid. She could imagine him smirking slightly. God, those dimples.
“Yeah. You haven't been here long.” She replied casually, hoping the quiver in her voice didn't give her away.
“How do you know?” His voice was curious. I'm going to lose my mind, he thought, clenching his jaw.
“I smell you,” she answered honestly.
“Do you?” She swore she heard a grin in his voice. “I've never heard of someone being able to smell their angel... But just what do I smell like, Cami? Some kind of sexy cologne you can't get enough of?” She felt the warmth of him drawing near. Her stomach muscles clenched involuntarily and her nether regions became unbearably humid.
She shook her head no. “I've never liked cologne. It makes my head hurt. You smell like... you. Like the ocean. Salt air on a warm day. Like laying on your back in the water and letting completely go. Freedom, happiness, and joy. Just like what the beach smells like in my dreams.” She shivered as she felt him get closer. God, what I wouldn't give to be with him, for real.
He felt her shiver and had to bite his lip to control himself before murmuring, “Are you cold?” She felt his finger glide down her spine, the warmth making her quake with desire.
She managed to squeak out a quick, “No, Casey, I'm burning up.”
“Oh? Maybe I should tie you up and put out the flames?” He pulled on one of the strings of her top and br
eathed on her skin. Goosebumps popped up and she shuddered.
Her breath hitched in her throat. “Okay.” Oh GOD!
He leaned in close to her ear, breathing again, “I don't just mean your shirt.”
She gasped. “Oh?” Her legs quivered and she swallowed before saying, “I'm game if you are.”
“Yeah? I think you would be.” His hands skimmed her sides. “I'd give anything to touch you.”
“Then do it,” she breathed.
His hands flattened on her stomach and she felt the warmth of his spirit all the way to her core. She quivered. “I wish that I could, Cami. I just wish...” He stopped and quickly tied a bow of the strings of her shirt. His finger brushed the base of her spine and she felt him retreat. She turned quickly.
“You wish what?” Her green eyes were dark and torrid, giving him thoughts of her tangled up in the sheets and begging his name. “I know what I wish for.”
“Shit. I wish I wasn't dead when you make me feel so alive.” Just that fast, he was gone. The taste of salt lingered in the air like a long forgotten memory. She licked her lips, trying to taste it and took a deep breath trying to draw him in. It wasn't enough. But when would it be?
Chapter Nine – Doubt
I wish you wouldn't look at me like that. Like you trust me not to hurt you. Like you trust me not to leave you. Like you want me to take you places you've never been. Like I'm your savior, your knight in shining armor. Because I'm just going to have to leave you and that's going to be the worst thing I've ever had to do. I'm going to screw this all up, no matter what I do, I will lose out on you, one way or another. He finished in his mind as he took off. He had to go save a burning house of children or something to burn off some of this... damn sexual energy. Not like I can do anything about it, only in her dreams... and mine.
Camille definitely would not have been his type when he was human. She was too damaged from her parents' death. She was too depressed and just too damn innocent. He used to like girls who were well versed in sex, even though it had been way too long for him. She was willing, no doubt, but she wasn't very experienced. She was beautiful, in a fresh way. Kind of like the earth after the snow falls and covers all the ugliness of the world, or when a rain storm washes all the dust from the air and leaves everything pure. She wasn't a big breasted bimbo who knew she was sexy. It was refreshing.
She'd been with a man, no doubt about that. No virgin had that kind of wild response in her eyes, but he was willing to bet anything, and he wasn't a betting man by nature, that she'd been left horribly unsatisfied. There was a streak inside her that Casey could sense just begging for release. He growled in his throat, passerby turning their heads, thinking it was a whisper of the wind. I'll never be the one to release her like I want. I can give her some kind of sick fantasy but I won't be able to do more than that. The thought left a lump in his throat. He wanted so much more than that. He wanted to be the one to wake up with her, kiss her goodnight, hold her when she cried and make love to her until she sobbed his name in pleasure. Then do it all over again for the rest of his life. He wanted babies with vivid green eyes and dark hair. He wanted... every damn thing he was never allowed to have. He would be almost thirty now in human years. He wanted a family. He wanted what he could never have. It was the worst torture in the world, and the most shocking thought he'd ever had.
He stopped to take a slow breath and jammed his hands in his pockets. His head fell back and he groaned. He heard a bell. Not just any bell, but a deep, gonging sound that could belong to nothing other than a church bell. He looked around and saw a church at the end of the street. It was quaint and unassuming, perfect for what he needed.
He strode down the street, it getting quieter the closer he got to the church. It seemed out of place for the neighborhood, small and unassuming with ivy growing up the sides, twining around the windows. Rosebushes stood by the front door, which was old solid wood. It was kind of like time had stood still here in the middle of a busy residential neighborhood. He slipped through the door and walked into the quiet and cool sanctuary. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, dappling the floor with jewels of color. He stood just inside the door and took a slow breath. He'd never been religious. Funny, considering he worked for the Big Man Upstairs. The Big Man understood, didn't demand anything from him. He knew his heart. This was the first time in his life he'd ever sought solace or even considered it. Most of the time he didn't give a shit. It was too preachy and condemning for him. But right now he just needed something. Anything to calm his mind.
Moving slowly, he walked to the altar and touched his hand to the cool oak it was made from. His palm slid down the front as he slowly knelt. “I don't know what to do,” he whispered. He shifted his weight and turned to lean against the altar. He drew his knees up and put his arms across them, resting his forehead. I know what I want. I know it would be breaking so many, many rules. I've already broken too many of them. I've gone way over the line of grief counselor. I've gone to the role of protector, just like Sarah said, but there is a part of me that just can't get enough. She's like a drug. The best heroin, and I'm an addict. The smoothest and sweetest whiskey for a drunk. The sexual napalm for a sex addict. She's lighting me on fire. She's burning at the edge of every single damn thought. She's so much more than I could ever dream of or imagine. I just can't... I can't get enough. He rubbed his forehead in frustration with the palm of his hand. He breathed slowly, letting the silence soothe his nerves. He knew what he would do because it was too damn late to do anything else. He'd love her as long as he could until he had to leave her. He just hoped he left her with a satisfied smile when he had to go.
The phone was ringing downstairs, shaking her out of her steamy reverie. Even his fingers against her skin was enough to leave her breathless and wanting more. Okay, DEFINITELY not his moral code. Must be God's. Liam, her ex-boyfriend had sucked in bed. He'd been kind of a wham-bam-thank-you-for-letting-me-screw-you-ma'am-kind-of-guy. She shook her head and ran down the stairs. She needed a really good orgasm. Something better than her battery operated boyfriend had ever provided, which wasn't a whole hell of a lot more than blue balls for girls. Blue vagina, maybe? She smirked and picked up the phone. “Hello?” Her voice came across the line breathlessly.
“Hey! It's me! You okay? Been working out or something? Dude you need to calm down! I need your address, I'm pulling out of my drive way right now.” Sarah's voice chirped cheerily.
“Um, no I was just running down the stairs! My address is 2322 Cherry Lane. I'm in a yellow house with green shutters. You'll see Bertha in the front.” She wrapped the cord of the phone around her fingers and tried to slow her breathing. Her parents had been against cordless phones. It was so 80s.
“Sweet! I can be there in like ten minutes. I need to come in so I can do your makeup.” She heard a horn honk in the background. “You bastard! Learn to drive! Oh, sorry. Assholes need a driver's re-test!” She huffed into the phone.
Camille laughed nervously. “Sarah, get off the phone while you are driving. I have to warn you... The house is kind of a wreck. I haven't really cleaned in a while.” She looked around the kitchen dejectedly.
“Okay. No big whoop. I just need some table space. See you in a few, boo!” The phone disconnected and Camille hung it back up in the cradle. She looked around and quickly picked a few pieces of trash up off of the table and tried to at least make the kitchen semi presentable for company. She was wiping the table down with some glass cleaner when she heard the door bell. It was one of those God-awful bird door bells, one that did a different annoying ass noise each time it was pressed. This time it was a cuckoo bird. Mom had loved it and she couldn't bear to get rid the idiot thing.
“You got that damn right, I'm going cuckoo too,” she muttered under her breath as she rounded the table and headed to the door.
Sarah stood there, the late afternoon sunlight catching her copper curls on fire. She looked like a picture of a Grecian goddess, you know,
Venus, the chick that came out of the shell. “Hey! I found your place. No one could miss Bertha in the yard. You gonna just stand there in the door or let me in?”
Camille smiled tensely. “Oh, yeah, sorry.” She stepped back and let her inside.
Sarah looked around curiously. “It's not that bad. Couple hours and we could get this place clean again. Dude, you really need to toss the tree. I'm pretty sure that's a fire hazard.”
Camille smiled tightly. “I know.” She looked over her shoulder at the brown tree. It would be okay til another day.
Sarah shrugged, her pale shoulder visible through the shredded top she wore. “Okay. I need some table space, so show me where to go!” She had changed from her neon outfit to a black top that had been shredded at the shoulders and sides, with a white lace camisole underneath, and white skinny jeans. She was wearing black leather booties and huge chandelier earrings. Her hair was haphazardly pinned to the top of her head with lightning bolt shaped hot pink bobby pins and her eyes were lined heavily in black liner. She was gorgeous, like some kind of rock star bad ass. Camille was impressed.
Camille pointed at the kitchen table. “You can put your stuff there. Please tell me that isn't your make up in there. Tell me that's like a dead body or something and you just stuffed the make up around it.” She eyed the bag warily.
Sarah laughed and patted the bag lovingly. “Nope. It's my makeup. I'm aspiring to do some celeb makeup, so I kind of buy a lot of it, but don't worry. I'm going to do you up right. Park your ass.”
Camille sat and said with concern clouding her voice, “I don't usually wear a lot of make up.”
Sarah opened a few compacts and shot her a cheeky look. “You don't need to wear a lot to make a statement. It's all about applying properly and accentuating features. Speaking of, has anyone ever told you that your eyes are absolutely flipping gorgeous? If not, they should.”
Beautiful Downfall Page 4