by Gena; Butcher Showalter; Gena; Butcher Showalter; Gena; Butcher Showalter; Gena; Butcher Showalter
Sunny pasted a smile on her face. "Now that you're engaged, you're in love with love. You want everyone to be as happy as you."
"Of course I do! I wish there were a whole pack of Dillon Foxes for all my girlfriends. But he's one of a kind, so I have to work with what's available. And Jamie Angel is very available."
Sunny stared past Kate's shoulder. "He deserves genuine love with a good woman," she said, her chest tightening. "Someone kind and real, someone he loves deeply. Yes. I pray that Jamie finds that." Sunny glanced away, blinking at sudden tears. She'd never wanted anything so much as to be that very woman for Jamie. To be the one to kiss away his pain, to chase away that dogged loneliness she'd sensed inside him.
"Oh, my God," Kate whispered wondrously. "You don't just like him. . . . You fell for him hard."
Sunny wiped her eyes, forcing a bright smile onto her face. "How in heaven's name could that have happened?" she sang. "We only spent a few hours together."
Kate gave her a knowing smile. "A lot can happen in a few hours. Look at me and Dillon."
She had to hustle Kate out of the apartment, or her best friend was going to slowly wheedle and cajole far too much out of her. Slipping an arm through Kate's, Sunny walked her slowly toward the door. "You go to the party with your own prince. Have a great time and text me later, okay?"
Kate stopped by the front door, looking at her uncertainly. "I can't believe you're being such a coward about this. It's not like you at all."
Sunny's face flamed hot. "I'm not being a coward!"
Kate wrapped both arms about Sunny, holding her tight. "I'm praying that you find the love of your life, too. Just be sure you don't tuck tail and run when you do."
Kate and Dillon entered the foyer, and Jamie just kept staring past them through the still-open front door. Waiting. Expecting Sunny to come strolling in behind them, her big dark eyes dancing with light. He leaned a little sideways, trying to see down the steps.
"Uh, Jamie," Kate volunteered hesitantly. "Sunny's not coming."
He blinked back at her. There had to be some mistake. Friends. They'd agreed to be friends.
She wouldn't have stayed away from him, not if she felt like he did. She couldn't have managed to keep her distance—it had taken every bit of his self-discipline not to show up at her apartment in the past few days.
"So, dude, just us," Dillon added, following Lulu's lead into the house. He carefully passed a gourmet shopping bag into Jamie's hands, hesitating until he was sure Jamie had hold of the parcel. "Sorry; no Dom Perignon this time. We did bring some good wine, though."
But you didn't bring my Sunshine. All he could do was blink back at Kate, trying to understand why Sunny would've stood him up. Even if it wasn't a date, they'd had plans for the party.
"Why didn't she want to come?" he asked, trying to keep his tone bland.
"I honestly don't know, Jamie." Kate shook her head slowly, a meaningful expression in her eyes. Had Sunny told her something about him?
He'd spent the past days aching to see Sunny again, fighting the compulsion to go after her, to beg for a way they could be together. Only his absolute respect for her and her wishes had held that plan at bay. Then he'd woken exhilarated this morning, his first thought that he'd be with her again today. The whole morning had been a study in finding ways to expend his nervous energy.
First, a six-mile run that had done almost nothing to calm his libido. Next, several hours spent reading one of the volumes about the Grigori, the fallen angels mentioned in the Apocrypha. He'd read page after page, searching for any hint that Sunny might find a way to become mortal, some loophole where they could be together without it being a grave sin.
His reading had yielded no hope whatsoever. Just like all the other lore he'd studied for the past few days.
So at last, he'd pinned all his anticipation on the simple act of getting to spend time with her. It was a gorgeous, unseasonably warm New Year's Day and he'd planned to walk her down to the dock. He already had one of their most expensive vintages from the wine cellar chilling in a cooler down there—along with a pair of his grandmama's silver wine goblets. He'd even brought out a hand-crocheted lace tablecloth for them to sit on. It was truly what Sunny Renfroe deserved—the full-court press.
Full-court press. He'd thrown the words out to her the other day in jest, and here he stood in khakis and a button-down and polished loafers and . . . she simply wasn't coming.
Kate stared up at him, searching his face; he had no doubt that his extreme disappointment showed in his eyes. "I'm sorry," she said with surprising sympathy. "I tried."
He nodded, scuffing one of his shoes against the hardwood floor of the entry. "I guess she didn't . . ." He couldn't even finish the statement.
I guess she didn't care about me, didn't want to be near me. I guess I was wrong about what happened between us. . . .
Even though he knew better—Sunny had been more than obviously attracted to him. The stakes between them were just too high, and he got that.
Kate stepped close and rose onto the balls of her feet, whispering in his ear, "Go after her, Jamie. She's well worth pursuing."
She stepped back, giving him a conspiratorial smile, then followed in Dillon's footsteps.
Sunny lay on her sofa, Kleenex box in hand, watching When Harry Met Sally. Perfect. A movie about friends.... Well, at least they'd started out that way. Why didn't she possess the strength of will to take Jamie up on his offer of friendship?
Because, just like Harry and Sally, she knew that she and Jamie would wind up falling in love.
She couldn't really see someone as strong-will ed and eager as Jamie Angel wasting much time without going for what he wanted, either.
"Kiel," she whispered, fresh tears starting, "am I being tested? Is that it? Why else would I have to hurt like this?"
No answer. Kiel came to her only at the most important of times, and apparently one lowly guardian's tears didn't qualify as urgent. She dabbed at her eyes and tried to focus on the movie, but was interrupted by the front doorbell. Who would be dropping by on New Year's Day? Her mama might be out walking around downtown—and if it was her mother, she'd instantly notice Sunny's mood and teary eyes and want to know every detail of what was troubling her daughter.
After "adopting" Sunny when she was sent to Earth—her parents had no clue about her true nature or age—her mama had always been overprotective, loving Sunny all the more because she felt so blessed to have her.
Tiptoeing to the door so that whoever was on the other side wouldn't hear her, Sunny looked out the peephole of her apartment door.
"God, help me," she whispered, and, wiping her eyes one more time, began unlatching the door.
Jamie waltzed right into her apartment as if his arrival on her doorstep were an everyday thing. As always, he dwarfed her, but somehow in the cramped space of her apartment, he seemed even taller and more broad shouldered. And she'd have sworn that the man was even handsomer than the last time she'd seen him.
As they walked together into her living room, she assessed him as inconspicuously as possible.
Whereas the other day he'd been in grungy jeans and a T-shirt, today he wore a dark purple Polo button-down, one that made his green eyes more vivid than usual. He also had on neatly pressed khaki pants that emphasized his very fine physique. Oh, how she'd fibbed when she'd claimed he looked wimpy. Everything about Jamie Angel's physique spoke of power and strength, and she'd spent several long nights imagining what it would feel like to have that body atop her own. To have him deep inside her, loving her.
And she'd spent the days repenting for such wicked desires.
When they reached her living room, he turned and faced her. His expression was like granite, full of determination. "I've decided there has to be a way."
In the background, Meg Ryan was faking her orgasm, and Jamie lifted one eyebrow. "Perhaps you should take that as a sign about you and me. About what could happen, the pleasure—"
"Stop!" She held up both hands, desperate to silence him. "Just stop right now, James Dixon."
He reached out and caught one of her curls between his fingertips, stroking it languidly. "You caught my full name when my sis used it, huh?"
"It apparently works when one needs to be forceful. Or get your attention." She swatted his hand away from her hair.
He smiled his fallen-angel, sinfully gorgeous smile. "Oh, you've got my full attention, baby. But you already know that." Once again, his hand found its way to her hair, his eyes narrowing in pleasure as he stroked first one soft curl, then another.
She gaped at him. "I thought you were worried about burning in hell!"
"I thought you responded to my kiss in a very human way." He drew one long curl to his lips, kissing the end of one tendril. "It's just your hair, Sunshine."
She ducked out of his reach and retrieved a hair band from around her wrist, gathering the curls into a ponytail so he wouldn't play with them again. He looked disappointed, but slid both hands into his pockets obediently.
Wordlessly, she stalked toward the kitchen, where the pastry was baking, and Jamie began to wander around her apartment. It was the second floor of a brownstone, a completely open floor plan. Without continuing his bantering innuendo, Jamie gazed about the place, taking in her myriad plants and flowers, the primitive art on the walls. "You have a real talent for growing things.
But then again, you're full of life, Sunny Renfroe. I'm not surprised."
She opened the oven and checked on the pastry, and Jamie grinned. "And a talent for cooking," he added. "That smells delicious . . . just like you do." He said the last in a bedroom voice, low and full of temptation.
She closed the oven, shaking her head in disbelief. He was behaving exactly as she'd imagined, pressing her with unstoppable energy and sensuality.
"Why did you come? Just to torment me some more?" she demanded, hoping he couldn't tell how hard she'd been crying. Unfortunately, he spotted the wad of used tissues on the floor at that precise moment. Bending down, he picked them up, frowning sharply. He balled them in his fist, seeming almost angry.
He strode to where she stood in the kitchen, moving in extremely close. "I couldn't stay away," he admitted in a husky voice. "I couldn't even try to keep my distance. I meant what I said. . . . What if there is a way we could be together?"
Two more steps and his arms were about her waist, even though he knew the risk to both of them—especially to her. She pushed at his chest. "Do you want me to be punished? Sent back to heaven . . . or worse?"
His eyes slid closed and he dropped both hands to his sides. "No," he said in a hushed voice. "I just want to have you in my life."
"Jamie." She studied the floor. "You barely know me. You're just caught up in . . . what I am. The way that makes you feel."
He moved right back to her, planting strong hands squarely on her shoulders. "Sunny, it's not what you are. It's the way you make me feel. Don't you get it? I've been dead inside . . . the things I see, the creatures I kill. It's all I know. To actually care for a woman? To believe in the possibility of love? I buried that a long time ago."
"But you can love." She reached a trembling hand to his cheek. "I see your heart and it's beautiful."
His eyes grew bright. "My heart's been cold for a long time. But then you came along, and you're . . . so good. So pure and beautiful and, God forgive me, incredibly sexy. It's like . . . I could change. I could care. I could . . . I could love you, Sunny."
"That would be a mistake."
He shook his head adamantly. "Perfect love casts out fear. That's what the Bible says."
"I'm not afraid, Jamie. I'm here for a reason. And intimate relationships with humans don't fall under the job description."
"They made you human. You said so yourself the other night," he argued. "How can they put you here, expect you to live a mostly human life and not have someone of your own?"
She turned away sharply; his words tore at her heart. Suddenly his arms came around her again, and he was kissing her nape. A sweet kiss, an almost chaste one, just a brush of his lips against her skin, a back-and-forth pressure. "Go to dinner with me tomorrow night," he begged.
"As friends. Only friends, I swear it."
She had to steady her breathing before she could even answer. "You're not capable of interacting with me that way," she finally groaned. "Look at you right now."
He kissed her nape once more, slowly trailing his tongue across her skin. "I'm gonna find that loophole, Sunny Renfroe," he whispered, pressing his mouth to her ear. "And when I do, I'm going to make love to you, make you feel things you've never been allowed to experience." He pulled back, looking deep into her eyes. "And I'm going to make you mine. Until then, yes, we'll only be friends . . . but you still get the full -court press. Starting tomorrow night."
Chapter Eight
As Jamie and Sunny reached the upstairs of the Mansion's restaurant, the maitre d' led them toward their table. As she followed him, Jamie placed a guiding hand against the small of her back. It was a gentlemanly gesture, an almost protective one, but it still set her skin on fire. Tonight was a dangerous gamble, one that defied the intent of Kiel's express orders, even as it followed the rule of his law.
That was when she realized exactly where they would be seated. "Sir, the table you reserved," the maitre d' announced, revealing a private, candlelit table for two in the tower turret. "Just as you requested."
"Jamie," Sunny warned. More than a gamble, this was a terrible, terrible risk, one with a potentially treacherous outcome.
He waited for her to slide into the round banquette, and as she did so, she noticed that the restaurant's most romantic table also had a set of silver velvet curtains. Would the two of them be closed in alone after their meal was served? Before? Her pulse skittered in a crazy tempo and Jamie seated himself right beside her.
She gasped softly once they were left alone, the luxurious curtains halfway drawn around them.
The rounded bench seat pressed their bodies closer together than she'd have liked, but she couldn't seem to force herself to scoot farther away from Jamie. Everything in the turret twinkled and glowed, from the artfully arranged candles along the windowsills to the silver and gold sequins on the tablecloth. It was more romantic and dreamier than any place she'd ever been for dinner.
An obvious and deliberate tactic on Jamie's part, too.
"You called ahead," she murmured, daring to glance up into his bright green eyes, even more beautiful than usual because of the candlelight.
He brushed light fingertips along her cheek. "I wanted you all to myself," he said quietly. "I'm already very greedy when it comes to my time with you, baby."
"This is only friendship," she reminded him unsteadily, trying to calm her erratic breathing. "You agreed to the terms."
He stopped touching her and began staring pointedly at her lips, sensual heat in his gaze. "I love your mouth. I keep dreaming of feeling it against my bare skin, all over my body."
She stared down at her menu, avoiding his gaze. "You agreed. . . ."
"I haven't done anything untoward, have I?" he asked, studying the wine list. "Haven't disgraced either of us, or fondled you? Surely your bosses won't complain just yet."
No, but your three guardians are watching from somewhere, even if I can't see them. And Kiel sees everything I do. . . .
"I think champagne would be lovely." His selection made, he slid the leather-bound wine list onto the table, turning his full attention on her. "Now, tell me what it was like when you became human.
What you remember about your childhood . . . I want to know about your family, the one that raised you. I have questions, lots of questions."
"Why do you want to know all that?"
"Because a strong second to how much I want you, my sweet Sunshine? Is how badly I want to know everything about you." He faced her completely, resting a forearm along the back of the banquette. "I booked the table for the whole evening.
So start talking and don't leave anything out."
Jamie's attention never wavered, not for one moment of their time together. Even after their meal was served, he would take a bite or two, then turn back to her, asking about some detail or another. Why had the angels chosen the Renfroes as her mortal family? Was it their faith, their position in society? How had she concealed her identity from them, starting at ten years old when they'd adopted her, never realizing that she'd arrived on Earth only a month before?
His fascination with her was endless, and to his credit, he didn't touch her again throughout the evening. He slowly sipped champagne, his green eyes always on her while she talked. A few times, she saw him reach out for her hand, then catch himself, retrieving his champagne glass instead.
After almost two hours, Sunny was worn-out with talking. "It's not fair. You've had all the questions. Maybe I had a thing or two to ask you." She tried laughing, feeling suddenly shy.
He waved her off. "I'm boring. Why do you think I can't keep a girlfriend?"
"Because you don't let anyone close, Jamie," she said seriously. "I see your game." He glanced away quickly, whispering something unintelligible under his breath.
She leaned closer, wanting to hear. "What did you say?"
He turned back to her. "I'll let you in. I mean I would . . . if . . ." He gave her a wistful look. "I know, I know.... Never mind."
She saw genuine pain flash in his eyes, and tried to lighten things up. "We never would've worked anyway. I mean, a black chick and a white dude? In this Southern city? Good grief, the tongues would wag and wag, especially given your family name. The Junior League would have group-wide heart failure."
"Sunny, it's not 1950 anymore," he disagreed. "Nobody cares who I see. Besides, I don't move in high society very much anyway."
"James Angel, be truthful now." She gave him a wide-eyed, chastising look.
"Okay, okay," he admitted, laughing. "I can't bullshit one of the heavenly host."
"Jamie!" She clamped a hand over her own mouth at his irreverence.