Once inside her loft, he had no idea how to proceed. What else to suggest. His supply of ideas had been limited to begin with, but now stood depleted.
“Are you going to work on your illustrations?”
“I suppose I should.” She glanced at the easel, but stayed beside him. “Or maybe we could talk.”
“All right.” To counter his elations, the Ground Rules grew heavier in his pocket. A warning. He removed his jacket and tossed it on the chair. The book smacked the floor.
“What’s that?” She bent to pick it up.
He scooped it up first, and shoved it beneath his coat. “Nothing.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
He couldn’t let it ruin the moment. “You’re not. Let’s sit.”
Folding one leg beneath her, she hugged her knee. “We don’t communicate well, do we?”
Softness infused his voice. “We haven’t had much practice.”
“No, but we always end up arguing.”
Much as he wanted to protest, he said, “We’re not arguing now.”
She searched his face. “There’s so much I don’t know about you.”
In two centuries, he hardly knew himself. “I’m not very interesting.”
Her laugh held sarcasm. “Right. You’re only an angel.”
Groaning inwardly, he hoped she wouldn’t ask what it felt like. His credentials hardly qualified him to answer. “I’m simply me. An imperfect soul who yearns and wants like anyone else.”
“For what?” Her voice had a husky, hushed tone.
Did she hope he’d say, for you? Oo, she posed a huge threat. Mostly because he wanted to answer exactly that way. But I don’t believe in love. Or didn’t. His steadfast mantra, the angry bitterness that had fueled him through centuries, no longer seemed relevant.
Scrambling off the sofa, he paced toward the kitchen. “Would you like a drink?”
Glum, she smacked a pillow against her chest. “No.”
He didn’t either. Leaning his hands against the counter, his mind raced for something to break the awkward mood.
At the telephone’s ring, he straightened.
She looked over in surprise. “Who could that be?”
Only one person. The only other human not frozen in time.
Luke shrugged. “Answer it and see.”
Suspicion crossed her face, but she stalked to the table against the wall. “Hello.” Listening, she glanced at him in accusation.
So much for their tête-à-tête. Peter’s doing, Luke supposed. Another reminder to get on with it, probably knowing it was the last thing he wanted to do.
Chapter Five
The sound of Michael’s voice through the phone surprised Alice. From the look on Luke’s face, he’d known Michael was the caller. Did he really want to get rid of her so badly?
Michael said, “Why not let me cook for you??”
“Are you feeling better?” Everyone apparently improved upon her absence.
“Can you come back? It would be my pleasure to share Christmas dinner with you. If you don’t mind a hastily put together meal.”
“That sounds great.” An image appeared of her and Luke sitting together, eating by candlelight. She quashed it. “What can I bring?”
“Just you.”
Wonderful. The sacrificial lamb. “I’ll be over soon.” Hanging up, she hated to even say it. He already knew. “Michael wants me to come over for dinner.”
Luke nodded.
So angels could be bastards too. Was that how he intended to fulfill his assignment, by setting her up with Michael? If she wanted a dating service, she’d have found one online. “Would you mind giving me a ride?”
His deadpan tone oozed equal parts sarcasm and challenge. “At your service.”
Oh, she could hurl a few insults at him about his service, all right. “Fine. Let’s go.”
She fumed all the way there, biting back comments and questions. When he dropped her off without a word, she wanted to scream. Cry. Argue—anything, to engage him. Keep him close.
Apparently he had no problem taking off without a thought, so she stalked to the door and pressed the button.
At seeing her, Michael’s grin faded. “Everything all right?”
She couldn’t take out her anger on the poor man, so forced a smile. “Yes of course. Thanks so much for inviting me back.”
For the next few hours, she gulped back her frustrations along with the food. Thinking to hurry the process, she declined dessert, but he insisted. Finally, after coffee, she begged his leave, claiming exhaustion. When he pecked her cheek with a goodbye kiss and said he’d call, her heart fell.
If she’d helped Michael, great. But she didn’t want any obligation to continue it.
She stood on the curb several minutes. “Come on Luke. Hurry up.”
The Harley sounded from above, and he dropped down unceremoniously. “I’m not here to act as your chauffeur.”
“Sorry to hold you up from your busy life.” Her shoe nudged his rear as she got on.
Scooting forward, he grumbled, “Careful.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose.” Not exactly an apology. She’d let it stand. Of all the things she was sorry for, touching him didn’t number among them. “You’re impossible to deal with. I’ve done everything you wanted me to do. Aren’t I supposed to continue helping Michael?”
“I’m not your social director, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Oo, extra surly now. “We shared a meal, nothing more.” It hadn’t occurred to her he’d see it as a romantic evening. She certainly hadn’t view it that way, even now that Michael revealed his human, caring side. He acted almost too nice, as if trying to make up for years of Scrooge-like behavior. And he lived in that huge house, worshipping his past. Nothing she did would change that. She’d never live up to his dead wife’s status as saint. And I don’t want to.
Back in her apartment, Luke splayed himself across the sofa, clicked the remote, and flipped through channels. “So how was dinner? I hope you didn’t choke on the appetizer.”
Seething, she made her tone airy. “I had a wonderful time. Michael’s caring and considerate.”
He mimicked, “Caring and considerate,” and rolled his eyes.
Hastily, she added, “Sweet, sincere and mature.” Everything you’re not. Dammit. Michael had turned a bit moony-eyed over dinner. A temporary condition, of course, owing to the fact he hadn’t spent time with anyone in years. Once she made sure his life was out of the abyss, she wouldn’t see him again.
During their few meetings, she’d noticed other women tossed suggestive glances at Michael like candy at a parade. One of these days, he was bound to pick up a few pieces. Want to know how they tasted. Remember what it felt like to be fully alive.
Maybe then she’d remember too.
*~*~*
After a rest, she worked at her easel for what seemed like days. Now she knew how it felt, having Christmas every day. How long had it been since he’d begrudgingly begun his duties? Christmas day had dawned, but never ended. She toiled away, and slept, and worked some more, but until she finished, Christmas day wouldn’t end.
Throughout her time at the easel, she watched him. He sat so sullenly in front of the television, his expression never wavering. The news, dramas, comedy, it didn’t matter. He made no attempt to hide the fact he paid no attention, almost too pointedly.
“What do you think of these?” She stepped back from the drawing board to allow him full view. The illustrations represented the full of her heart, reaching out to touch the author’s. More than that, she hoped Luke loved them as much as she did.
Narrowing his eyes, his expression was unreadable. “Hm.” He moved closer, studying them. “You’re on the right track.”
Disappointment flushed through her. He couldn’t manage a better compliment? “What would you change?” She asked only to engage him in conversation. To hear his beautiful voice, be the center of his focus.
He mov
ed away, as if being near her pained him. “I’ve no idea. I’m no artist.”
“But you still know what you like.” If only she knew, she could please him.
Heaving a frustrated breath, he whooshed back to the sofa. “If that’s your best, we’ll take them to Michael. See what he thinks.”
“So you’ll come too?” Silly question. She had no other way to get there. The rest of the world slept in blissful ignorance.
Sounding hoarse, he said, “It’s my duty.”
Anger flashed through her. “Is that all? You don’t care at all about the outcome of your task?”
Glaring, he opened his mouth, but only a strangled noise came from his throat.
“Is it such a difficult question? Either you care or you don’t.” Or he cared about more than the task. Hope lit like a fuse within her.
Finally, he sputtered, “You are the most frustrating woman I’ve ever encountered.”
“And you’re the most frustrating man. Angel. Supernatural being.”
His lips twisted into a smile. “So your frustration encompasses all those incarnations?”
Taken aback by his teasing tone, she let out a breath and laughed. “Yes.”
When he broke into a laugh, the Christmas lights twinkled brighter.
“I have one final sketch. Then I’ll be finished.” Her breath caught in her throat. It meant he’d be leaving soon. Once she finished her assignment, it would complete his.
With a nod, he dropped back to piano bench and stretched his fingers over the keys. The songs he played sounded so lush, so evocative, she closed her eyes to absorb the rich emotion.
Opening her eyes, she sketched as never before. After a few hours, she stepped back to appraise not one, but four drawings. Pride welled up. Easily the most incredible illustrations of her life. Wonderful in their execution, emotionally evocative, with every stroke perfect. She visualized exactly which colors would work to bring them popping off the page with vivid life.
Standing behind her, Luke said, “Beautiful,” with no trace of sarcasm.
“Do you think so?” Hope rose in her breast with an ache. His opinion meant more than anyone’s.
“Don’t you?” He arched his brow.
“Of course, but it’s hard for me to be objective when I’ve expended so much of myself creating them.” These truly contained her heart and soul.
He scanned her face. “They’ll bring you everything you’ve ever dreamed.”
Her triumph grew bittersweet. “Not everything,” she murmured.
“What more do you need?” Irritation edged his tone.
“Never mind.” She wouldn’t be able to make him understand.
Instead of the lecture she expected, he touched her shoulder. “Will you never stop searching for happiness? It’s within your grasp.”
Physically. Not practically. More than anything, she wanted to wrap her arms around him, lay her head against his chest. Would she hear his heart beat? Hear his breaths? A terrible ache came over her. “Is it?” She moved closer.
Tensing, his eyes narrowed. “Of course. It always was.”
“You were?” How long had he been her treetop angel? Had he always been an arm’s reach away?
“What? No, I didn’t mean me.”
“But you’re here now.” She splayed her hands across his chest, as if to prove it to herself.
“Obviously.” The sharpness in his tone turned soft.
He cared for her, more than a simple assignment. She knew it. “Luke.” Unable to stop herself, she traced the contour of his ribs through his tee shirt.
As if her fingers were a hot poker, he flinched back. “Stop that. I’m not your plaything.”
Resisting the urge to ask why not, she kept her expression serious. “I’m not playing.”
“Alice.” He smoothed back her hair. “You’re wasting your time. I’m a lost cause.”
“I’ll never believe that.” How could he say such a thing?
His features hardened, along with his tone. “It’s true.” He pushed her hands away. “Let’s focus on you, shall we?”
“I was. I want you, Luke.” With every last wish and breath.
“Don’t be absurd.”
“I hoped I wasn’t. But obviously, you don’t feel the same.”
His tone held no emotion, and he stared off as if into a void. “Exactly. I don’t feel anything.”
She could cure that, if he’d only let her. “The sketches need more work.” More time. Even suspended as it had been, it seemed all too brief.
“What are you talking about? They’re perfect. The best you’ve ever done.” His voice softened. “You should be very happy.”
Happy? Oh yeah. Ecstatic. “I’m not thinking clearly.”
“You should rest. You’ve worked so hard.”
Weariness made her limbs heavy. “I am a little tired.” Sinking into the sofa, she nestled into the cushions and watched the soft play of shifting lights against the ceiling. Fighting sleep, she fought the urge to ask him not to leave. He’d only laugh.
He leaned against the back of the sofa. “Restless?”
Despondent, she nodded.
“I know what you need. A margarita.”
Right. She’d been in a haze when he’d arrived, so he’d probably sneak out after he’d put her in another. At least it would give him another task. “Sounds good.”
Bustling around her kitchen, he hummed. Happy to be done with her, probably.
When he bent over her with a salt-rimmed glass, his smile irritated her.
“Thanks.” She gulped, then again.
Alighting beside her, he stretched his arm behind her. “Whoa. Slow down. Savor its deliciousness.”
“I don’t know how this day could be any slower.” She wished she knew, so she could keep it that way.
Stiffly, he straightened, a nerve pulsing in his jaw.
“What’s the matter?” What had she said wrong now?
“Nothing.” In a whisper of a whoosh, he stood at the island, his back to her as he slammed back his drink. Yet he’d never seemed drunk.
He remained as unreadable as ever. Who ever thought an angel could be moody? One moment he was all smiles and sweetness, the next a hard, cold stranger. Death apparently doesn’t improve men.
Despite her chuckle, she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe it about Luke.
*~*~*
Luke shot her a hard glance. “What’s so amusing?” Why did she look at him so? Did she hope to unravel some mystery about him? She’d find herself bitterly disappointed.
Yet she continued to stare at him as if she could peer into the very depths of his very soul. Maybe that’s what she found so funny. Nothing else about this situation was, in his opinion.
All innocence, she said, “Nothing.”
Brow furrowed, he refilled his glass. “Obviously something made you laugh.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Right. I’m the wrong gender, I suppose.” Women and their inside jokes. Peter should have sent a female on this assignment. He was exactly the right gender for more interesting tasks. Unfortunately.
As she stared at him, her lip quivered.
In a breath, he stood over her with the pitcher, pouring more into her cup. “Now what’s wrong?”
Sadness filled her face as she took him in, as if trying to memorize every detail.
Something registered. Setting down the pitcher, he eased beside her. “Come here.” He probed the muscles in her shoulders, tightened from hours at the easel.
With a soft moan, she draped sideways across his lap. “So nice.” Her eyes closed, she wound her arm around his knees and caressed his shin.
Yes, so very nice. He worked his thumbs in concert with his fingers down her back, kneading away her stress. How lovely would it be to stay like this for all time?
Gradually, he slowed the movement. Leaning close to her ear, he whispered, “Merry Christmas, Alice.”
Tensing, she held
his gaze and grasped his head. “Don’t leave.”
Not wanting to break the spell, he didn’t dare move. “I can’t.” It sounded like an admission even to himself.
Her face lit with happiness. “Luke. Does that mean you’re staying?”
“I mean…” To remind himself why he had come, he blinked hard and eased away. “...you haven’t turned in the sketches yet.”
“Oh.” Rubbing her eyes, she pushed upward. “Right.”
Without a sound, he rose. “You should sleep.”
Her voice girlish, she asked, “Would you play for me?”
Her request surprised and delighted him. “Sure. I’ll clean up later.”
“Why not just snap your fingers or something?”
“I find it satisfying to perform tasks by hand. The same as you must feel while sketching.” She’d aroused his tactile senses. His fingers itched to caress her again, to explore her skin. For now, he’d settle for the ivory and ebony keys.
Sitting at the upright piano, he unleashed his emotions. Songs rushed across him, poured through him. Being with Alice brought back all the joys of living, and the sorrows. Her hair cascaded across the cushion as she slept with a sweet smile. He had to keep playing, or he’d go to her, kiss that sweet smile.
No use complicating the matter. Not now, when Peter would expect him to return.
Heaven suddenly felt more like hell.
Chapter Six
Listening to the luscious chords and tinkling notes, Alice closed her eyes. She wanted to seal this moment in her memory forever. As his fingers caressed the piano’s keys, she imagined his touch along her every inch. Would he feel any pleasure at all? Could she make him remember what it felt like to love someone? To be loved? Such thoughts sent her into a restless sleep, her senses full of Luke.
Slumber never felt so delicious. Even when the veil of sleep thinned, she still felt the snug embrace of Luke’s arms, his body pressing against her length. If only she could stay in this dream.
“Luke,” she whispered on a sigh.
Fingers brushed hair from her face, and her eyes popped open. This was no dream. Lying on the sofa, someone spooned her. With a gasp, she glanced back.
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