Page 29 of Angel

I’m confused.

“What did you want?”

“Um, the message. Somebody knows where I live. They called me a murderer. I’m–” I swallow hard, the word catching on every part of bravery I own.

“Afraid,” I whisper, images of Giovanni mutilated and dead when I could have saved him still fresh on my conscience.

“We are aware and are investigating.”

He doesn’t move and something is off about this. He seems different somehow. I peer into the darkness a little harder.

“How did you know I was here?”

“You must be more careful next time. The streets are not safe for you now.”

“I’m not on the streets. I drove.”

My mind is skewed, the alcohol and fatigue mixing into a lethal cocktail.

“You should remain at home. Preferably the mansion in Bel Air. You have an adequate security system in place there.”

“Why are you being so cold?”

I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol talking now, but he has changed since he brought me to my knees last night after the orgasm of my life.

He says nothing; merely steps back.

“Go home tomorrow, Sophie. We will be in touch.”

“We?”

I step forward, he steps back.

“You will receive your instructions when we have them.”

He makes to leave, then again, he’s good at that, and I wonder if the alcohol is clouding my judgment because I say quickly. “I’m scared.”

He stops, turning, his eyes flashing above the mask. “Fear.” He shrugs dismissively. “Can be erased by bravery. You are brave, Sophie Clere. You just don’t realize that yet.”

He leaves through the open window. When will I ever learn the basics of protecting myself? However, one thing stays in my mind.

Those twinkling eyes were brown, not blue. He sent someone else. Was this man Angel? The last one or the first one? None of it matters, but last night was different. More intimate. Personal. Only a man who calls the shots and doesn’t follow orders would have the balls for that.

Last night was Angel. I know that deep in my heart.

CHAPTER 10

ANGEL

For some reason, I couldn’t sleep last night. Events swirled around my mind a million miles an hour. One particular one won’t go away, and I was tortured by images of Sophie and Ghost, him in her arms instead of me. I’m not stupid enough to believe that it’s me she wants. Any leather wearing, half human, half skeleton will do.

Women like Sophie Clere love the thrill of the bad boy. The unattainable. The reckless, dangerous thug. The complete opposite to the smooth-talking businessmen and actors who usually decorate her arm.

It was a thrill for her, nothing more, nothing less. Then why can’t I shake her image? Her touch. The sweet sounds she made when I brought her to a climax. The way her touch seared my skin and the effect of her soulful eyes staring into mine with many questions.

She wanted me, the legend, the horror story, not the man, and I must remind myself of that as I let her crawl inside my head.

I’m not a man who dates. Who even sees the same woman twice. Love will never be for me, so I take steps to prevent it becoming a problem.