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Sedona sighed loudly, a compassionate resignation. She couldn’t lie to herself. Her heart recognized Lucy’s true being. His true angelic need. At this moment. And she recognized something else, what he couldn’t reveal, not in direct spoken words, or probably even telepathically.
“Damn it to utter and complete hell,” she muttered, then scowled. “Not that angelic, am I?” She offered Lucy a half-hearted smile, only what she could offer. “Am I allowed to touch you?”
“If your whelp lover allows it. Do you, second gun?” Lucy raised his golden dark brows, his intent smoldering gaze not leaving Sedona.
“Your finger on his hand, only. When I tell you, Sedona, you stop. Do you understand me?” Volcano fierce-soft commanded.
Sedona nodded, not even certain inside. Yet spiritually certain. She dream-slowly extended her forefinger, meeting Lucy’s golden hand, glorious in its supernatural beauty. She placed the tip of her finger on top of his hand, lightly.
The flow of vibration began, the tiniest thread from her pure heart, a minuscule stream of celestial love. Only what she could give him, which was incredibly little compared to what she had healing-flowed toward others. Given to others from her angel heart.
It was as if she poured a little water on parched soil, instead of pouring on enough water to give the plant a good soaking. But it was all she could give him. All she could allow of her heart. All she could forgive.
“Enough,” Volcano ruled. Gently he lifted his woman’s hand up, breaking their connection. “Hey you! Get off of my cloud,” he low forceful spoke to Lucy.
Silence prevailed, whirling, suspended, and whole. And alive. Alive with knowing, what need not be spoken, but is, was understood.
“I’m a cool sweet cat, daddio. No need to torment me with the Rolling Stones.”
“
Symphony for the Devil
?” Sedona dryly remarked, couldn’t resist.
“The devil made you do it.” Lucy’s eyes twinkled at her, ecstatic.
“What? Are you channeling Flip Wilson now?” she dryly sharpened her claws.
“Devil with the red dress on. I’m channeling the future. Aren’t I, second gun?” Lucy laughed, pure, uninhibited. “The ‘70s were the hell worst! You just can’t steal anyone’s soul when they’re disco dancing,” he mock complained. “Besides, the demons just want to party down. No satanic control at all. It’s just happy, all-night dancing-fool chaos. And I just couldn’t bring myself to punish them too severely. The boiling pits of sewage were sadly empty. Ahhh, those were the halcyon days. I could go anywhere, do anything. Get my groove on.”
“
Brown sugar,”
Volcano sang, tongue-in-cheek.
“The truth doesn’t hurt,” Lucy jibed back.
“Our salvation depends on disco? Is that your tiny revelation of hope for humankind?”
“Angel dust,” Lucy murmured, blew Sedona a kiss.
She touched her cheek, feeling a wispy caress, like smoke.
“
I can’t get no satisfaction
.”
Lucy gazed directly at Volcano, a cobra force to be reckoned with, “Get your kicks on Route 66, and keep your surprise package wrapped, my fiends are circling.”
“
Gimme shelter
, thanks.”
In a golden-flame flash, Lucy dissolved. The dark brilliance of his gaze vanished last.
Sedona sucked in a huge breath, let it out in a whoosh of relief. “Are we okay?” she began. Then she saw it lying on the table, in the center, a small
jeweled dog collar. Jewels she had never seen, like tiny oblong Austrian crystals, but with gold dancing inside, decorating the collar.
“We’re okay,” Volcano tenderly assured. “It’s safe for Aru. Actually, it’s designed to protect him.”
“The jewels—? They’re amazing.”
“He makes them. Sort of a hobby. Out of volcanic dust.”
“It feels so weird,” Sedona murmured, her head spinning, her emotions spinning, her soul spinning.
Volcano kissed her fingertips gently, then released her hand. “Time to please your carnal cherub, woman. Toga, toga, toga,” he seductively chanted to her ear.
“Turn about is toga fair play,” she grouched. “I wear one, you wear one.”
“Want a feathered serpent glowing beneath my toga?” he naughty-velvet poured into her ear.
“Only if it brutishly tickles my curls later,” she whispered. “Oooooh. All those feathers tickling my privates.” Sedona caressed his jaw with her fingertips.
“Lots of feathers tickling your curls, tickling your privates.” Volcano brushed his woman’s lips. “I promise it will be fun.”
“Only if it tickles and tickles. Only if you don’t force that big brutish thing inside, too soon,” she naughty teased. Sedona nipped his mouth sensuously.
Aru interrupted, pawing her thigh playfully, awake from his nap.
WHEN A GOOD ANGEL FALLS
Winter Solstice 2012
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Baby boomer and redhead, I’ve always danced to the beat of a different drum. I’m single and living on the tame cattle prairie of the Midwest with my beloved doggies. My interests are eclectic, and anything creative. And my imagination has always played a huge role in my life. Once, I lost my shoes when I was daydreaming ~ my second grade teacher decided I needed to learn a valuable lesson.
When I write, my imagination dwells in the mysteries, magic and mayhem of life and love. My romance stories also travel into the far reaches of space, time and other dimensions, where the past often meets the future. Think the Renaissance meets Buck Rogers. Think Romancing the Stone entwined with Stars Wars. Think extreme passion and the enchantment of love, cut with a fine erotic edge, like the finesse and fierceness of a blade during swordplay.
Most of all, as an author, I love my heroines and heroes. I love writing their stories, the various worlds they inhabit, and their adventures together.
Me as a blurb? Imagine a wild child of the sixties dancing as one with a silver screen’ sex kitten. Imagine, if you will, a woman with a strange other-worldly fondness for words and pens, who is destined write paranormal romances only for your personal pleasure.
Oh, by the way, I did graduate college with a B.A. in History, Summa Cum Laude, and I was one of the ten finalists in the American Title IV for my entry, Murder by Hair Spray in Gardenia, New Atlantis.
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