Fallen Angels 05 - Possession (26 page)

Not Duke, though.

And perhaps it was a good idea to point out to herself that he might never call. Given that she’d only left him, what, seven hours ago, it was way too early to give up hope, but still. He wouldn’t have been the first man to take a number in postcoital bliss, only to have his head clear later and realize the woman wasn’t his type.

He hadn’t even written her digits down.

Riiiiiiing. Riiiiinnng.

This time Cait didn’t bother to check her screen. It was probably her accountant calling about taxes. Or a neighbor telling her they were putting on a back porch and going to be working right next to her office for the next twelve weeks. Or Flo from Progressive. The frickin’ gecko from GEICO.

“Hello.”

“I thought about you all night long.”

Bolting to attention, Cait gripped her phone as the rough male voice shot into her ear and went right through her body.

“Hello?” Duke said.

Oh, right, she was supposed to purr something in exchange. “Ah, hi.”

Wow. She was a real Angelina Jolie over here.

“I want to see you.”

Boom
. No preamble, no sweet talk, and no awkwardness: Clearly the man talked in the same way he had sex. And what do you know, she responded the same way she had at the club: Instant. Arousal.

“Where?” Two could play the straight-up game.

“I have the night off. Dinner—the Riverside Diner. Six.”

Cait started to smile so wide her cheeks hurt. “Dinner, huh?”

“I have fairly good table manners. And I figure, since what we’re doing isn’t your style, it might make you feel more comfortable.”

The words were gruff, and the thoughtfulness a surprise—and probably because of both, she was especially touched.

“I’d love that.”

“Good.” There was a pause. “Don’t wear a bra.”

“Why,” she breathed.

“Why do you think.”

Cait closed her eyes and swayed, images of his head down at her breasts, his mouth sucking and licking, hitting her hard. “Okay.”

“I want you under me again,” he growled.

That was his good-bye.

As she hung up on her end, she actually fanned herself with her hand, something she’d assumed people only did in TV commercials and bad sitcoms. And then she couldn’t hold it in. Bursting up from her workstation, she ran around her house like a crazy person, making a bizarre kind of
eeeee
noise as she completed the circuit back to her desk.

At which point there might have been some pirouetting.

Putting her hands over her mouth, she immediately started wondering what she should wear. She needed to go to the dry cleaner’s—there was a low-cut blouse that she could throw on. And maybe she could hit Talbots at the mall and see if they were having a sale. A new pair of slacks would be nice…

A quick check of the clock had her cursing. Ten o’clock.

Damn it. She was already out of time for the morning—

God, the way he’d moved inside of her, those massive shoulders bunching up above her, his body surging, his eyes glowing.

And that voice of his.

Sitting back down, she put her head in her hands. She couldn’t believe she was going to get to have that again in, what, eight hours. Well, maybe nine and a half, depending on how long dinner took.

Made fast food really damned appealing.

Arby’s, anyone?

As her phone went off again, she accepted the call immediately, hoping it was him dialing back just so they could have the same conversation all over again. “Hello?”

“Are you still speaking to me?”

Cait winced. “Oh, G.B., hi.”

As the first half of the night came back to her, the guilt rolled in along with a shiver of the fear, as if her insides were switching railroad tracks.

“I’m so sorry, Cait. Oh, my God, I couldn’t believe I got tied up like that…”

With his heartfelt explanation of everything washing over her, she scrambled for what she was going to say when he asked her out again. Originally, she’d been really happy that he’d invited her to the theater, but now? It was as if the road in front of her had a curve in it, and her new direction was away from him, not toward him.

“… lunch?”

“What?” she said, coming back to attention.

“I just wanted to know if you’d be free for lunch downtown? I’m back at the theater today, rehearsing for
Rent
—and I really want to make it up to you.”

“Well, I have a class to teach at eleven.” And if she didn’t get her butt in gear, she was going to be late. “It gets out at one. I could be downtown by one thirty—I’m not sure if that fits into your schedule?”

“I’ll make it work. Come to the theater—and this time I can get you back no problem, because it’s just a rehearsal, not a performance.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll see you then—”

“Cait. I can hear the hesitation in your voice. I swear, last night was a fluke. That’s not who I am—I didn’t flake out on you on purpose.”

Well … he was right about the pause, but way off-track on the “why” behind it. Dear Lord, how did this work? Did she tell him that she’d seen someone else last night?

“Seen” as in “had sex on the floor in the back of a club with him.”

At what juncture did she tell G.B. she was seeing somebody else? Was she even dating Duke? Maybe it was just a two-nighter.

What a mess.

“I know,” G.B. muttered. “It’s not at all how I thought the night was going to go.”

Shoot, she’d spoken out loud. “No, no, I meant …” Better to do this in person, she thought. “I’d love to have lunch with you, and I really do understand about last evening. I’ll see you after class?”

The relief in his voice was palpable. “See you then, Cait. And thanks again for being so cool.”

Jim woke up alone.

As his eyes opened, the first thing he did was look for Sissy, but she was gone as if she had never been. Rolling over, he could still smell her in the sheets, however, just the faintest hint of sweet female skin lingering where she had lain next to him.

Getting out of bed, he pulled on some clothes, took a pit stop in the bathroom, and then went down to her room. The door was ajar, but he knocked on the jamb anyway. When there was no answer, he put his head in. The bed was made, with no sign of her having been in there.

He hit the stairs, descending quickly—

Jim stopped dead on the grandfather clock’s landing. Food. He smelled … real food. Like the homemade stuff his mother had made all those years ago.

“What the hell?” Adrian said from the top of the stairs. “Is that … breakfast?”

“I think so. I certainly didn’t make it.”

“Duh.” The other angel limped around the balustrade and joined him to finish the trip down. “When I smelled smoke last night, I figured you were trying to bake.”

Yeah, not hardly.

The pair of them strode for the kitchen, and the closer they got, the more the nuances came out. Cinnamon. Eggs. Coffee.

“Wow,” Adrian said as they came into the room.

Sissy was working over the stove like she knew what she was doing, whisking something that looked like scrambled eggs in a bowl and then pouring the mix into a pan that sizzled. Three plates had been set out on the little table in the middle of the room, mismatched silverware was lined up, and mugs sat like flags at the upper right corners of the settings.

“Oh, my God, toast,” Adrian said as he barged ahead and parked it in one of the chairs. Without waiting for an invitation, he reached for the stack of what had been bread, but was now golden brown crunch just waiting for butter. “I didn’t know we had a toaster—how the hell did you pull this off?”

Sissy glanced over her shoulder, meeting Jim’s eyes only briefly before looking away. “The oven. Under the broiler. That’s how we did it at summer camp.”

“Can I help myself?” the other angel said, in the process of buttering things up.

“Please do. I like mine with cinnamon sugar on top.” Sissy turned around with the pan. “I hope this is okay? I’m not a sunny-side-up person. Uncooked yolks are nasty.”

There was a pause, as if she were waiting for Jim to sit down.

He wanted a cigarette more than he needed breakfast, but he wasn’t going to be rude. “This is great. Thanks.”

A second later, she served Ad first, using a wooden spoon to shuffle some fluffy onto the angel’s plate. Then she was close by, doing the same for Jim.

She’d had a shower; he could smell the shampoo he himself used, and the ends of her hair were damp. And the fact that she was in the same clothes she’d worn the day before made him decide they needed to take care of her wardrobe today.

“Thanks,” he said again as he picked up his fork.

Light. Hot. Delicious. A real break from the crap he’d been throwing down his gut lately. And yet even as he ate like the starved man he was, it was impossible not to think of how they’d spent the night, lying together in that bed of his. He knew she had to be remembering it, too—she was stiff and awkward as she moved over to her own plate and then put the pan in the sink.

Lot of clinking as silverware met china, the sounds of the meal loud in his ears, making the silence between the three of them a tangible fourth party.

Adrian ate most of the toast, all of his eggs, and drank two cups of coffee along the way. And then he folded his napkin and hefted himself to his feet. “I’m going to shower and then head out.”

Jim frowned. “Where you going?”

“Out.”

“Where?”

“Out.”

As the guy turned away, Jim’s first impulse was to throw out a shitload of hell-no-you-pull-that-with-me, but then he caught sight of the way Sissy was fidgeting in her chair.

Was it possible Adrian had actually grown some tact and was giving them a little space?

“I was hoping to talk,” Sissy said softly as they were left alone.

Will miracles never cease.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry. Just thinking about my roommate—the one with the hollow leg.”

“Is that why he limps?”

Jim lifted his brows. “You’ve never heard that expression before?”

“It’s a saying?”

“He’s just really hungry.”

“Oh.”

Sissy got up and went back for the coffee machine, pouring more of the strong java she’d made for them all. And as she moved around, he found his eyes running up and down her, measuring her shoulders, her hips, her legs. Hard to see anything underneath those baggy clothes of his, but he’d felt enough of it that he could extrapolate—

Rubbing his temples, he thought … man, he had to stop this shit.

“More coffee for you?” As she pivoted around to him, her mug in one hand, the pot in the other, he pulled it together.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He held out his mug and watched the steam rise as she topped him off. Then she was back in her chair.

Lot of silence.

“So, I didn’t think this kitchen worked at all.” He nodded as he glanced around, noticing that the countertops didn’t look quite so dingy, and neither did the floor. Clearly, she’d tidied up a little as well. “I thought it was nothing but a dust-catching relic. Like the rest of this place.”

“I went through the cupboards and the drawers. I found pretty much everything anyone would need.”

“Where’d you get all the food stuff?”

“I borrowed a motorcycle out back—”

Jim coughed coffee all over the place. “Wha—?”

“Oh, shoot, sorry,” Sissy said, bolting up for—oh, hey, they had paper towels, too. “Here, I got it.”

“No, it’s okay.”

Taking control of the Bounty picker-upper, he tried to get her to stop patting him down: She was so close to his chest, to his body, her scent getting in his nose, his brain, all kinds of wires being crossed. Especially as he thought of her on one of their Harleys.

“I didn’t know the bikes were off-limits.”

He cleared his throat. “They aren’t. I’m just, you know, surprised.”

She lowered herself back into her chair. “I wasn’t sure what else to do. I came down here, and there was nothing to eat … and I was going to take the Explorer, but I couldn’t find the keys. The Harley had its in the ignition.”

Jim blinked, trying to imagine her scrubbing out on one of those huge bikes they’d parked around back. Then something else occurred to him. “Wait a minute, how did you—”

“Turns out people can see me. If I concentrate hard enough.” She shrugged. “But I need to borrow fifteen dollars and seventy-two cents. I’ve never stolen anything before, and I’d rather be in debt to you than keep this petty theft on my conscience. It really isn’t sitting well.”

When he just stared at her, she flushed. “Look, all I did was go to the closest Qwikie Mart and disappear myself when I was in the store. I wasn’t sure what do to, but then I discovered that whatever I was holding disappeared with me. I took only bread, butter, coffee, and more eggs—that’s it. Oh, and the paper towels—which double as filters for the pot. And the cinnamon.” Abruptly, she leaned in. “You do have cash, right? I mean, your truck and the bikes all have gas in them, so I figure you must have some currency in your pockets.”

“Yeah, we do.” They were living off his savings, which were substantial, thanks to XOps paying well for hazardous duty and his having had no life outside of the military for twenty years. “That’s not a problem. And I don’t care that you took a bike, I’m just a little shocked that you could…”