my arms, stomp my foot, and
stick out my tongue instead.
He raises a brow and leans
a hip against the counter. And it tells me all I need to know. He’s
not saying a word until he has my full, undivided attention. Well,
he’s got it now. I’m so wound up about what he’s going to say next,
I just might tip over no matter what it is.
I lean against the
counter, too, to brace myself. And then I ask again, “Who? And what
offer?”
He studies me half a tick and nods.
“Hell.”
“ Hell?” I whisper. And
then I do something I didn’t even think was possible, something I
always thought was just a figure of speech. I gulp.
“ You’re
worried?”
I nod.
“ Good,” he says, leaning
in. “You should be.”
“ And
you’re...” From Hell? I don’t say the words—for once the mental filter
works—but I’m feeling the fear now, and push off the counter and
take a casual step back.
“ No, I’m not from Hell.”
And he looks positively pissed off I’d even think it.
But who can blame me? All this
fire-and-brimstone talk, and him standing there like sin
personified—what else am I supposed to think? Plus, the man’s dead,
being a ghost...
“ Wait. You said you’re not
a ghost.”
“ I never said
that.”
“ Oh.” I
think back, and he’s right. “So you are a ghost?”
“ Nope.”
I glare and he laughs. And
it’s throaty and husky and it’s throwing my game off.
Stupid...whatever-he-is. “Ugh. What are you then?”
His laugh dies off as he
smiles. And it’s beautiful, genuine, nice, sweet, and friendly—all
things I know he isn’t, and I don’t trust it one little bit. “I’m
here to help.”
“ Sure you are. Great help
you’ve been so far.”
He quirks a brow. “You
don’t have a boss pawing at you anymore, do you?”
I freeze and stare and watch. And he
waits patiently for me to put the pieces together. But see there?
They don’t quite fit ‘cause I don’t know what’s what yet. “You did
that? Got him fired?”
“ Karma
has a way of catching up with people.” I don’t respond, ‘cause I
don’t know what to say. But he seems okay with that. “Lucky for
you, someone else was listening the other night, too.”
And there’s only one
logical response to that. “Heaven.”
He nods.
“ So you’re—what? A holy
spirit or something?”
He shakes his head, his
smile getting bigger. Sassier. He’s enjoying himself far too
much.
“ You’re not going to make
me play twenty questions again, are you?”
Then he laughs again, that
throaty chuckle, and it derails all coherent thought. Damn, he’s
sexy.
Aaand, he’s still talking. Whoops.
“Sorry. I missed that last part. You’re my what?”
“ Guardian
angel.”
Yeeeah, didn’t see that
one coming.
Chapter 6
So, I’m sitting on the
couch, picking at my cuticles and waiting for G-man (name still
fits) to stop ranting and raving. A sigh and a glance later, and
then I’m studying him, watching him pace, the muscles rippling and
clenching. It seems my guardian angel is a man of few words until
you get him going, and then he won’t shut up. And ‘cause of this,
he’s starting to come across as more of a dork than a hot, virile
babe.
Maybe, if I ask nice,
he’ll just stand still and shut up for a little bit so I can
appreciate what God gave him. Er, literally. The thought is
sobering, but it makes him no less drool-worthy.
“ Are you even listening to
me?”
I sigh, dreamy-like, as I
enjoy the view in a few precious moments of silence as he waits for
my answer. “Not in the least.”
He groans and scrubs his hands down
his face. Flops on the couch. “I’m gonna get my wings clipped. I
just know it.”
Now that gets my attention. “What are
you talking about?”
“ If a guardian angel fails
his charge, his wings can get clipped.”
“ Okay, so number one, I
don’t see any wings. And, number two, how have you failed me? I
mean, you got rid of Mr. Gropey Hands Heaton. Major tick mark in
the
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley