Angels Dance

perceptive question after perceptive question. Most people, she thought, quite likely severely underestimated his intelligence because of his ease with weapons and war, the way he talked, and dressed—or didn’t dress.
    It was impossible not to caress the ridged plane of his upper body with her gaze when he sat so close, his wing spread over the back of her chair, the heavy warmth of it a silent touch. The possessiveness of the act wasn’t lost on her, but she found herself spreading her own wing a fraction, so it would whisper against his.
    “I am only a man.” It was a rumbling murmur, his eyes on her mouth. “If you continue to play with me thus, I’ll forget I came to apologize for my behavior, and act in a fashion that’ll have you angry with me all over again.”
    Her lips felt swollen, her breasts tight, but she found the wit to say, “And when will I hear this apology?”
    Shifting his focus, he held her gaze with eyes she knew she’d never forget, not if she lived ten thousand years. “I am sorry for doubting your honor, Jessamy.” A pause. “I’m not sorry for wishing to separate Keir’s head from his body.”
    “Galen!” Laughter bubbled out of her, bright and unexpected and so very real that it brought tears to her eyes. “Oh, you are a barbarian.”
    His cheeks creased, one hand coming up to play with her hair, twining strands around a thick finger. When he tugged, her stomach dropped, but she leaned forward. She expected to feel his mouth on her own, but he angled his face and brushed his lips over the top of her cheekbone. Shivering, she curled her hand around his nape, the feel of the tendon and muscle moving beneath the heat of his skin a seductive intimacy as he continued to brush kisses down the edge of her face, until he reached her neck.
    “Oh.”

8
    H e nuzzled the place he’d kissed, the skin so sensitive that the hot gust of his breath made her toes curl. A fraction of a moment later, the pleasure and power of him were replaced by a shock of air as Galen ripped himself from her and retrieved his sword in a single savage motion. Attempting to quiet her gasping breaths, she stared around his battle-ready form, saw nothing. An instant later, a footfall sounded on the front path, followed by a knock.
    “Wait,” Galen said when she would’ve risen. “It may be a ruse.”
    He was gone the next instant, moving with predatory menace to greet a visitor who could mean her harm. Standing, she looked for a weapon to aid him if needed, and had settled on a small statuette when she heard the sounds of male voices in conversation. Recognizing the second voice, she replaced the statuette and stepped out into the hall. “Raphael.”
    The archangel with his eyes of impossible blue and hair of midnight silk was pure male beauty. Next to him Galen was all hard, rough edges, a warrior who had lost none of his raw power in the face of Raphael’s strength. He watched with cool eyes as the archangel walked forward to take the hands she held out.
    “Have my people been looking after you well, Jessamy?”
    “Always.” Rising, she brushed a kiss over his cheek, but concern had her asking, “What are you doing here?” Alexander was fully capable of using Raphael’s absence to force his way into Raphael’s wild new territory.
    “Alex, as Illium calls the vaunted Alexander”—a gleam of humor—“is currently in seclusion with his favorite concubine, and appears to have no willingness to leave his palace. I will have warning if he or his army look to be preparing to move.”
    Something about the report on Alexander sang a sour note to her, a harp string damaged, but she couldn’t reason why. Abandoning the thought for the present when it stayed frustratingly out of reach, she released Raphael’s hands. “I’m glad of your visit. Come, tell me of your lands.”
    As they sat and spoke, Galen stood guard by the doorway. Neither by look nor word did he betray to his archangel what he and Jessamy were becoming to each other . . . and a seed of doubt bloomed in her mind. His reticence could be born of any number of reasons, including the fact that Raphael was certainly here to evaluate the man who would be his weapons-master, but she kept circling around to a single horribly painful conclusion.
    Shame.
    He might have taken her flying, but that could be explained away as a gift given out of pity. He hadn’t actually done anything in public that would make people talk, regard them as a