by Larissa Ione
To this day his mauled right ankle bothered him when it rained.
Cursing at his pointless reminiscing, he checked his surroundings out of habit and then dialed Jules.
“Hey,” he said when she answered. “It’s Declan again.”
“Hi, Dec. What can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to see if you remembered anything else about Suzanne that could be helpful.” Jules shouted something about carrots and onions at someone nearby, and Declan winced. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were at the restaurant today.”
“No worries,” she said. “We’re doing prep work, and we’re ahead of schedule.” She sighed. “Okay, Suzanne... Like I said, she’s really nice. Just odd sometimes.”
Wasn’t everyone? Still, specifics might be nice.
“Odd?” he asked. “How?”
“She has a way of getting you to talk, and sometimes she seems a lot older than she is. And she asks a lot of personal questions.” She paused. “But I don’t think it’s because she’s nosy. I think she just likes to help people. It’s going to drive you crazy.”
Yeah, it was. Declan was very private, and the last thing he wanted to do was answer a bunch of intrusive queries about his life. When he was with anyone—a client, a date, a coworker, he liked to keep things light and impersonal. Not even Steve, who was his best friend, really knew anything about him.
“Oh, and Declan?”
“Yeah?”
Jules hesitated. “Just...be nice.”
Be nice? “What the hell do you think I’m going to do to her?”
She laughed a little. “Hon, you can be a bit intimidating. I know you’re a good guy, but Suzanne has a stalker, which means she’s probably already feeling vulnerable. Don’t scare her.”
Okay, sure, he got that. But he also got that Suzanne was lucky she had the money to protect herself from creeps. Most women didn’t have that luxury, so he wasn’t going to cry too hard over her circumstances.
“One more thing,” Jules said. “One of our waitresses asked if you’re single. I wasn’t sure what to tell her.”
He had a feeling he knew who it was. “Kelly? The brunette who flirts with me when I come in?”
“That’s the one. She undresses you with her eyes every time she sees you. She’d love to undress you with her hands.”
As tempting as it was to hook up with Kelly, he knew that’s all it would be—a hookup, and he’d long ago learned not to love and leave anyone who would be handling your food. Or your assignments. Or anything at all in your life.
“Tell her I’m not on the market right now.”
“You got it. Call if you need anything else.”
“Thanks,” he said. “But I’d better stop calling or Javier is going to kick my ass.”
She laughed. “I can handle Javi. You just take care of yourself and Suzanne. She eats her weight in desserts every time she comes in and we can’t afford to lose her business.”
It was Dec’s turn to laugh. He’d seen Suzanne put away food, and it was a sight to behold. Especially when her tongue slipped between her full lips to catch a dribble of strawberry juice or a thread of caramel sauce.
“Thanks, Jules. I got it covered. See ya.”
He hung up and put the Rover in gear.
* * * *
Suzanne couldn’t remember the last time she was this nervous. Not even battling demons was as nerve-racking as pretending to be someone you weren’t in a house that wasn’t yours while waiting to formally meet the man you hired to protect you, when really it was the other way around.
Throw in the fact that she was a little infatuated with the man, and she was shaking like she’d consumed a few dozen iced coconut milk mocha macchiatos in a matter of minutes.
That Meera had died just twenty-four hours ago wasn’t helping, either. Making matters worse, Journey had called this morning to tell her that Meera and her Primori were killed by fallen angels...just like what had happened to their brother Maximus a month ago and their brother Gregorio two months before that.
It was starting to look like someone was hunting either Memitim, or Primori, or both.
“Declan is driving through the gate.”
Thankful for the distraction from her depressing thoughts, Suzanne turned to another sister, Sechseyna, who had volunteered to act as a housekeeper. Several of their Memitim siblings were taking on roles for this job, anxious to do anything besides train in Sheoul-gra when they weren’t actively protecting their Primoris. She had a feeling, however, that Hawkyn had told them to keep an eye on her, as well.
As if Suzanne couldn’t take care of herself. She was seventy-five freaking years old, she’d killed several demons—supervised, during training sessions—and she’d trained nonstop for over fifty of those years. She didn’t need any damned nannies.
Even Cipher had stuck up for her when she told Hawkyn that exact thing. Then Cipher had given her the most insulting backstory and personal history ever. But she could work with it. She’d always been a social butterfly, so pretending to be a vapid socialite in the sprawling and insanely wealthy D’Angelo family with nothing to do but manage her inherited estate wouldn’t be that difficult to pull off.
She’d practiced earlier today while she’d been clothes shopping in the most upscale shops she could find in Chicago, Paris, Milan, and Los Angeles, thanks to the D’Angelo network’s limitless expense account. Memitim had access to a generous stipend if they needed it, but there’d be a lot of questions if she started spending thousands of dollars on clothing and jewelry.
“He should be at the door any second,” Suzanne said, sounding a little breathless even to her own ears.
Her sister clucked her tongue. “I still think you should at least be wearing clothes. What kind of impression are you trying to make wearing...that?”
A seductive one. In all the times she’d seen Declan at Top or the coffee shop, he’d barely acknowledged her existence. Granted, she’d mostly watched him from afar to comply with Memitim rules. Hell, she’d spent almost her entire life being inconspicuous to humans, and she was tired of it. He was going to notice her, dammit.
“It’s called a swimsuit,” Suzanne huffed.
“Some people would call it lingerie.”
“Yeah? Well, those some people were clearly born hundreds of years ago, when women couldn’t so much as show their ankles.”
Sechseyna sniffed and tucked a strand of escaped blond hair back into its neat bun. “There’s something to be said for leaving some things for the imagination.” She raked Suzanne with her disapproving gaze, her blue-violet eyes glinting behind the big, glamorous glasses she’d insisted on wearing as part of her costume, which Suzanne would describe as “pent-up lab assistant.” “You’ve left nothing. And how can that bikini bottom even be comfortable? Is the back made with floss?”
“I am wearing a cover-up.”
Her sister gave her a flat look. “It’s so transparent I can see your ovaries.”
Suzanne looked down at the gauzy gold-trimmed green robe that barely reached mid-thigh. “It’s called sheer. And it matches the swimsuit. And you do have X-ray vision. Now, if you’ll just—”
The doorbell rang, and Suzanne nearly jumped out of her skin—and out of the super skimpy bikini, which would surely get reported back to Hawkyn. Whatever. She was playing a role, and a young, rich socialite would totally wear this.
Totally, she mentally added again, keeping in character, of course.
Sechseyna opened the door. “Hello, Mr. Burke.” She made a “come-in” gesture with an exaggerated flourish, playing maid to the hilt. “Miss Suzanne has been waiting for you.”
He filled the doorway, his expression hard and professional, but Suzanne got a little thrill at the way his sharp gaze lingered, just for a fraction of a second, on the deep cleavage enhanced by her swimsuit.
“Ms. D’Angelo,” he drawled in that rich, honeyed voice she’d been obsessed with since the day he was assigned to her last year.
> Her tongue was so dry it stuck to the roof of her mouth and she couldn’t speak for a few awkward seconds.
Finally, she managed a sad little, “Please, call me Suzanne.” She gestured to her sister, suddenly anxious to get away from him so she could regain her composure. “Sexy will show you to your room and get you settled in.”
“Excuse me?” He glanced at Sechseyna. “What was your name again?”
“You heard it right,” Sexy said with a grin. “It’s short for Sechseyna.”
Suzanne nodded. “It was a popular name when she was born.”
“When she was born?”
Oops. “I meant where,” she said with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “Anyway, make yourself comfortable. Put on a swimsuit if you want and join me at the pool.”
A startled look crossed his face but was gone in an instant, deftly hidden behind a business-like mask of indifference. “If it’s all the same to you, ma’am, I think I’d rather get right to work. We have a lot of things to talk about.”
Good grief. He sounded like Hawkyn. All work and no play. “Like what?”
“I’m going to want to go over what you expect of me, and I’ll need details about your stalker, your schedule, and I need to look into your security measures, including video cameras, alarms, points of entry, vulnerable sections of your fence...things like that.”
He was so serious and professional, and she had no doubt he was capable of protecting regular humans from other regular humans. That wasn’t why he was truly here, but she had to play the game, so she smiled and nodded.
“I’ll call my personal assistant to help you with the security stuff,” she said. “Hawkyn should be here by the time you come back downstairs.”
Sexy cocked an eyebrow at that. No doubt Hawk was going to be super annoyed to be cast as her personal assistant. He’d be even more annoyed when Suzanne teased him about it.
Declan’s mouth, set in a hardass line, turned up in a polite, if impersonal, smile. “I look forward to meeting him and to working with you.”
With that, he followed Sechseyna up the grand staircase that led to Suzanne’s bedroom to the left, and to a mansion wing she hadn’t even explored yet on the right. This place was enormous, in keeping with the massive “D’Angelo family” wealth and extravagance that served as a cover for angels who operated on Earth to influence human government, entertainment...basically anything they felt like manipulating.
She watched Declan’s fine ass, encased in faded jeans, as he ascended the stairs, and then, with a satisfied sigh, she went out to the pool. Hawkyn arrived just as she sank down on a lounge chair.
“Don’t worry,” he said before she could ask, “I didn’t flash in. I walked in through the gate and front door. Figured your human was here.”
Her human. She couldn’t help but like the sound of that.
“And what in all that’s sleazy and unholy are you wearing?”
Geez, her siblings were prudes. “As I explained to Sexy, it’s a swimsuit. I realize they didn’t have these outfits meant for swimming back when you were born, but they’re pretty handy.” She shifted one shoulder strap that was digging in. Apparently, sexy swimsuits weren’t comfortable. “Unless you’d prefer I swim naked?”
“You’re playing with fire, sister,” he ground out.
She could only hope. “It’ll be fine. Declan is very professional.” Too professional, really.
Hawkyn cursed under his breath. “Where is he?”
“He’s settling into his room.” She adjusted her cover-up with a self-conscious tug. “He wants to talk to you about security and stuff.”
“Why me?”
“I told him you were my personal assistant.”
He shot her a glare. “Suz, I told you I didn’t want to be involved.”
“Oh, that’s a laugh. You have your nose in my business all the time. You’re already involved. This will give you an excuse.”
“You could just tell him I’m your brother.”
She took a sip of the virgin piña colada she’d whipped up at the pool bar before Declan arrived.
“Doesn’t fit with the background story Cipher came up with.” She shooed him away with her hand. “Now go talk to Declan about all the crap I shouldn’t know anything about. I am a bubble-headed heiress, after all.”
“Like I said earlier, what you are is a pain in the ass,” he muttered just as Declan stepped outside.
“Oh, hey,” Hawkyn said. “You must be Declan. I’m Suzanne’s...assistant.” The last word was gritted out between clenched teeth, and she had to hide a smile in her glass.
Declan offered Hawkyn his hand and the two males shook. It didn’t escape her notice that Declan, a mere human, wasn’t diminished at all by Hawkyn’s powerful presence. That was one of the reasons she’d been attracted to him from the beginning. In some ways, he transcended humanity. There was just something...larger than life about him, an intensity and inner strength combined with confidence that so many were missing.
Some woman was going to be real lucky someday, and it gave Suzanne heartburn to think about. But that was a trauma for later. Right now she had to keep him safe so he could make a woman lucky.
I want to be that woman.
She couldn’t be, and she knew it. She’d been born into service to humanity, and she had a destiny to fulfill.
But maybe, just maybe, Declan could be hers for a night. Smiling, she lifted her piña colada into the air. To you, Meera. This will be for both of us.
Chapter Four
Declan couldn’t believe that Suzanne didn’t have a security staff for this gigantic place. Granted, the fence was more than enough to keep out all but the most determined intruders, and there were external cameras everywhere. Plus a state-of-the-art security system with alarms, automatic door locks, and windows that could be shuttered for extra protection.
He did note that there were no dogs. His ankle was happy to hear that.
Her assistant, Hawkyn, was helpful when it came to security features and showing him around the place, but for someone who was supposed to know her well, he didn’t have many details about her schedule, her daily routine, or her stalker. He just kept telling Dec to ask her.
So now, with Hawkyn gone, Declan was headed to the pool to do just that.
He stepped out into the meticulously landscaped backyard, where the infinity pool, complete with a freaking waterfall and a slide, took center stage. Well, it would have if one of the most eye-catching women he’d ever seen wasn’t lounging next to it. No, she was the focal point, and his gaze lingered on her ample curves and bare skin for far longer than it should have.
“Hawkyn?” she called out. “Is that you?”
How had she heard him? “No, ma’am,” he said, moving toward her. “It’s Declan.”
One graceful hand came up to remove her sunglasses as she turned toward him. “It’s Suzanne. Not ma’am or Ms. D’Angelo.” Her full lips curved into a stunning smile any man would kill to have aimed his way. “You should put on a swimsuit. Or shorts at the very least.”
“I’ll change into something cooler later,” he said. “Right now I’d like to go over some things with you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ugh. So serious.”
“Stalkers are serious, and you know that, or you wouldn’t have hired me.”
“Of course. Sorry. You’re just trying to do the job I hired you for.” She gestured to the deck chair next to her. “Have a seat.”
He’d been hoping she’d come inside, but hey, who didn’t love sitting in the full Texas sun while wearing jeans, boots, and a black polo shirt? Should have taken her up on the offer to change clothes. At least he had his sunglasses.
He sank down in the chair and slipped the shades over his eyes. She was still sexy as hell through the dark lenses. Not that he’d expected anything else, but at least this way she wouldn’t know when he was admiring the deep cleavage between the swells of her magnificent breasts. Or her flat, muscular stomach. Or
her legs, which went on forever and were probably as firm as his. Her tone was incredible, as if she spent hours per day working out. And maybe she did. He had no idea what her life was like, which was why they needed to talk.
“I hope your room is adequate,” she said, bringing her glass to lips that glistened with a sheer pink gloss.
“Room? It’s a suite with a closet bigger than my entire apartment bedroom. Hell, the bathroom is bigger than my apartment’s kitchen and living room combined. I’d say it’s more than adequate.” He’d grown up around diplomats, political royalty, and some of the wealthiest people in the world, and he’d never been given a suite like that before. “Is it near yours?”
She jerked a little. “Why?”
Had she thought he was being inappropriate? Remembering what Jules had said, he shifted slightly, putting more room between them in case she felt uncomfortable.
“I’d like to be within earshot in case you need me,” he explained. “But if that makes you uneasy, it’s not necessary. Your house and property have multiple layers of security.”
“Oh, I see. And yes, it’s close. Just down the hall.”
“Good. Be sure to let me know if you have any...guests.”
Her dark eyebrows lifted in perplexed little arches over the rim of her sunglasses. “Guests?”
“Of the romantic overnight persuasion. I’d hate to hear screaming and bust in on anything that’ll embarrass us both.” Did she scream in bed?
“Oh.” Pink bloomed in her cheeks. “Ah, no, there won’t be any guests like that.”
It was stupid and strange, but he was actually pleased by her answer. “Okay, then. Why don’t you tell me about this stalker of yours? In the file my boss gave me, it says his name is Adam Painter, age thirty. I did a cursory internet search and found a lot of men fitting that description. I don’t suppose you have a photo?”