For Angelo(7)

Lane stumbled to a stop.

She was suddenly perilously close to tears.

His laughter…reminded her of Laura.

Her brazen sense of joy, her indomitable spirit, her fierce love—

Against all odds.

“Are you okay?” Her fallen angel was in front of her again, his tone a mixture of wariness and worry, and she couldn’t blame him at all. She had to look crazy in his eyes right now, with the way she was flirting outrageously with him one moment and then fighting back tears the next.

“I’m not crazy, I promise,” she told him, trying but failing to repress her smile.

“If I weren’t a gentleman, I’d admit to being unconvinced.”

“You already said it,” she pointed out helplessly.

“Then I guess I’m not a gentleman.” And his silvery eyes gleamed in a way that told her there were other ungentlemanly things he wanted to do.

Oh, Looooooord.

And she heard herself ask breathlessly, “You’ll check on me later?”

“We’ll see.”

“Please?” She had never flirted in her entire life until now, but somehow the words came so easily to her, never mind if she couldn’t help blushing while she said them.

“We’ll see,” he repeated firmly. And it was clear in the way wickedness flashed in his silvery gaze that he liked hearing her beg, liked keeping her on her toes.

Lane watched him go, and not once did he look back even though he had to be aware of how her gaze followed his every movement.

Sadist, she thought absently, but for some reason, this didn’t displease her at all.





****





“He’s made you wait for two hours now,” Josh told his co-worker disapprovingly. “Accept it. He stood you up.” Earlier, Lane had told him about her encounter with her so-called fallen angel, and he had been aghast. He had promptly given her a lecture about stranger danger, even going as far as showing her online clips of murder victims who had fallen prey to fatal attraction.

But Lane had only stubbornly shaken her head.

“He’s not like that—”

“You don’t even know his name, and you certainly can’t be sure all he’s told you isn’t bullshit—” He immediately knew he had said the wrong thing, remembering belatedly the way Lane disliked swearing.

But what about her fallen angel, he thought with ill-concealed resentment. The way she was so obviously crazy about him, he was willing to bet if that stupid jerk, whoever he was, started swearing, she would probably think it was sexy.

Still, the way Lane was looking at him with such disappointment was unbearable, and Josh was no match against it.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Lane knew Josh thought she was being a prude about swearing, but she also knew she could never explain the truth to him, knew that he would never understand how it had impacted her, having spent her childhood years in the seediest bars, hanging out with prostitutes and pimps.

Her stomach growled, and she bit her lip, hesitating.

Josh was looking at her incredulously. “Are you serious?”

“What?” she asked defensively.

“You’d rather starve than—” Lane’s glare made him think twice about finishing his sentence. “Go grab a quick bite. I’ll watch out for your—” His lip curled. “Fallen angel.”

“He won’t be easy to miss,” she told him seriously. “He’s tall, dark, handsome, and he really looks like a fallen angel.”

“Yeah, sure.” But then Lane gave him a quick hug, and it was hard to maintain his anger.

“Thanks, Josh.”

Her sweet smile did him in. Thank God he was poor as dirt or she would never be able to smile at him like that, Josh thought gratefully.

“If he comes, tell him I’m at Millie’s, okay?” Lane walked backwards towards the exit doors as she spoke.

“Yup.” Not.

When she left, he went back to stocking the shelves, a dreamy look on his face. He had made Lane Petersen smile. It was the best feeling ever, he thought.

Minutes passed, and there were no signs of Lane’s fallen angel. He started whistling. Angel, ha, he thought with a snort. Yeah right. A demon was more like it.

Behind him, Josh heard the store doors swish open, and he turned around to greet the next customer—

Shit.

Josh found himself staring at a man who could only be described as a—

Tall.

Dark.

Handsome.

Fallen angel.

Double shit, triple shit, all the shittiest things in the world could not compare to how Josh felt at that moment.

The stranger was an inch over six feet, and his Mediterranean heritage was very much evident in his dark eyes and olive-toned skin.

“Good evening.” His tone was faintly accented, but his English was polished, like someone who had learned the language in a private academy. “I’m looking for someone who possibly works here…” He described Lane’s features in a brief but concise manner.