by Fleur Smith
“I'm a cupid.”
Becca raised an eyebrow at him. “You're Cupid? I thought you said you were Evan?”
“No, I'm not Cupid. I'm a cupid, as in one of many.”
The whole conversation was too weird to cause Becca any real fear or anything beyond absolute hilarity. Although maybe hysteria was a little closer to the mark. She started to cackle. “All right, Evan the cupid,” she said through bouts of laughter. “What the hell are you doing in my car?”
“You're my next . . . assignment.”
She stopped laughing and glared at him. “Assignment?”
“Okay, bad word choice, but it's the easiest way to describe it.”
“Why me?”
“Because you're lonely.”
She laughed. “Buddy, you've got the wrong girl. I'm happy with my life.”
He raised a skeptical brow at her. “Really? You're perfectly content and not the least bit lonely.”
She was perfectly content. She was certain she was. Maybe it would have been nice to have someone else in the house occasionally, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t happy. Certainly cooking for one was a drag so she rarely bothered, but that didn’t mean she wanted someone else to cook for. And she wasn’t really lonely . . . after all, she had good friends though—no, great friends.
Still, there were times she woke at two in the morning and regretted that she had to roll over in an empty bed. Times like that, she’d wish that someone was there for her to snuggle against.
Evan reached his hand out for her with a silent request for something. She realized he wanted her permission for something, but she didn't know what. She nodded; for some inexplicable—completely insane—reason, she trusted him. At least with her shoe-shaped weapon in hand, she trusted him. She decided a warning wouldn't hurt though. “You go for the grope and you'll end up with a heel through your hand.”
Evan's smile widened and there was a knowing glint in his eye that she couldn’t decipher. “I'd expect nothing less.”
After Becca had given her permission, Evan wasted no time in closing the distance between them and touching her. The instant his fingertips caressed the exposed skin on the round of her shoulder, a devastating sensation struck her motionless.
Instantly, she was overwhelmed with a crushing sorrow. Tears sprung to her eyes and a sob issued from her chest. It was as if all the pain she'd felt when she'd lost both of her parents at twelve and then her only remaining family—her Nana—when she was eighteen, had all welled to the surface in one agonizing moment. She sobbed again as Evan returned to his perch, his ass on her dash and his feet on her seat. The compassion on his face was enough to make her sob again.
“What was that?” she cried, unable to quell the tears he'd inspired in her with his touch. She had no idea what he’d done, or how. Or why.
“That’s your heart,” he said simply. “Crying out for love.”
Evan hated the look that crossed Becca's face when he'd forced her heart to drop the shield it had built around itself. For the first time in years, possibly ever, she was forced to feel the true agony of her loneliness. It was worse even than the ache that rushed through his own body the instant the wall was down, draining the last of the reserves he'd had from Karen's wedding. It was the easiest way to prove to her that he was exactly what he stated he was though. Above all else, he felt it was vitally important that Becca trusted him. It wasn’t required for him to do his task, but he still wanted it more than anything else. More than he probably should.
He still wasn't entirely sure where his courage—stupidity—had come from to admit that he was a cupid, but he was willing to put it down to shoe-induced insanity.
“I'm not lonely,” Becca said through her tears. “I have a happy life.”
“You do have a happy life, but that doesn't mean that you're not lonely.”
“Even if I was, what’s it got to do with you? Why would you even care?”
Evan pushed some of his last dregs of loving energy into his fingertips and brushed his hand along her arm once more, passing her the strength to re-establish the walls around her heart. Her tears stopped falling and she looked up at him, her emerald eyes glistening with moisture.
He tried to think of the best way to answer her question, figuring that telling her he’d been assigned by some unknown entity wasn’t a good way to foster trust and security. “I'm here to help.”
She pulled her arms tight against her chest. “What if I don't want help?”
“I'm here to help anyway.”
“Are you going to go away?”
Evan's heart clenched at the thought of leaving her like she was, happy but without love. “I can't. Even if I wanted to. This is my job . . . of sorts.”
“So get a new job.”
“I wish it was that simple,” he said. When Becca narrowed her eyes in question, he tried to think of the best way to explain it without having to tell her all the gory details of his life and death. “This is who I am. I'm a cupid and it's my job to love y—find love for you.”
He couldn’t believe his slip. It had been a meaningless slip of the tongue. He hadn’t meant it at all. Much.
“And how exactly do you do that? What makes you so certain you’ll be more successful at finding someone who’s right for me than I've been?”
“Because I can see the spark.”
“Ooh, the spark. You say that like it's some mystical secret.”
Evan dared to lean a little closer to her. Now that he was out in the open so to speak, he didn't have to be afraid of accidentally touching her, so he was willing to take a few extra risks for a few seconds of proximity.
“That's because it is,” he whispered against her hair. He sat back, at least as far as he could with the windshield behind him. “It’s magic and only a few people ever stumble onto it themselves. Usually it takes a little extra assistance.”
He indicated toward himself with a flourish of his arms.
Crossing her arms tightly across her chest, Becca sat and stared silently through the windshield. A few times she opened her mouth and Evan thought she was going to ask something, but then she snapped it shut again and continued her silence.
Finally, she turned to him.
“How did you know that my heels were new?”
“Because you knew they were.”
“You read my mind?”
“No, nothing that concrete. I just got the impression that they were important to you and added to the perfect condition of them, it was the logical conclusion.”
“How did you know the brand?”
He shrugged. “You spend enough time shopping with brides and some of that stuff starts to rub off on you. Besides, I could see the label.”
“Shopping with brides? You do this a lot then?”
Evan snorted. A lot? That was an understatement. Of course, he didn’t think it was wise to tell her yet exactly how long he had been doing it for. Even in his capacity as just a cupid he knew that telling a girl she was just the next player in a very long game wouldn’t go over well. He also didn’t want her to think she’d been assigned to some bumbling newbie who still didn’t know his love from his lust. Besides, he’d said too much already to completely back out of his admission. He decided to play the safe middle-ground. “I’ve done it often enough.”
“And these women, these brides, do they know you’re shopping with them?” She turned away from whatever had held her interest beyond the windshield and watched him. Evan guessed that she was waiting for his guilty reaction.
“Some of them.”
“And the ones that didn’t, why didn’t they?”
He grinned again—he liked the reaction his smile had on her, almost instantly her pupils dilated and she wiggled in her seat. He decided maybe honesty was the best policy for Becca. She already knew more than any other assignment ever had before. “Because I was cloaked.”
“And by cloaked, I assume you mean invisible?”
He nodded.
/> “Are you some sort of pervert?”
The question shocked him, not least because he’d actually begun to feel like one when it came to Becca. The intimate glimpses into her life, from her soaking in the tub to her nighttime fantasies, had caused reactions in him that he’d never had—reactions that made it feel wrong to stay and watch her any longer, but which made him long to do just that. He realized that he’d taken a beat too long to answer and now it looked like he was exactly what she’d accused him of being.
“No, it’s not like that. I don’t . . . cupids don’t usually . . .” He couldn’t find the words to tell her of the usual impotence of cupids. Or the fact that he was suffering from the opposite predicament lately. His gaze was drawn to his crotch and Becca seemed to get the gist of it.
She gasped. “You don’t have a penis?” The look on her face was one of not-so-mild curiosity. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the next thing to come out of her mouth was a request to see what was down there if not the usual bits and pieces.
“No. Yes. I mean, I have all the equipment. It’s physically there. It just doesn’t get inspired the way normal men do.”
“Oh.”
Evan could have been wrong but thought Becca looked oddly disappointed.
“So you are a pervert,” she teased.
“Not in the respect that touching your shoes will get me off.” He chuckled, surprised to find that the fun of conversing with Becca far exceeded his wildest imaginings. In the moments before accidentally revealing himself, he’d thought that his desire to talk to her was driven only by a need to work out her ideal man. The more he spoke to her though, the more he realized that he really just wanted to talk to her. He’d longed for it since he’d seen the fun she had interacting with her friends. It certainly wasn’t a disappointment so far.
“And how long exactly have you been stalking poor innocent women in your relentless pursuit of love?”
“It's not like that.”
“How is it then?”
“I find love for people, the love of their lifetime in most cases.”
“Like ‘Touched by an Angel?’”
He snorted again. Becca certainly kept him on his toes. “I'm no angel! I've known a few of them though. Insufferable dicks, the lot of them, with their whole 'holier than thou' attitude.”
She smirked at his statement. “So you’re not going anywhere?” she asked after a beat.
Evan shook his head. “Not even if you ask nicely.”
“Well, if you’re going to be in my car can you at least sit in the seat like a normal person?”
“Huh?”
“I had plans this afternoon and I’m not going to change them just because you’ve finally decided to show yourself.” Becca turned the key in the ignition and the engine turned over with a growl. “And no more of that cloaking crap, okay? If you’re around me, then you make sure I can see you.”
“What?” He was utterly confused by how rapidly the conversation had twisted and turned, and yet felt a burgeoning hope. First she’d stopped screaming, then she’d stopped hitting him, and now she was practically inviting him into her life.
“Well, if you’re going to follow me regardless of whether I can see you or not, I’d rather be able to keep an eye on you and make sure you’re not doing anything . . . untoward.”
Evan grinned. He’d basically been given Becca’s approval to spy on her as much as he wanted. At least, so long as she knew he was there.
CHAPTER SIX
“Your photos are really beautiful,” Evan said, interrupting Becca as she lined up another shot.
She’d been taking such care and time to ensure the image she captured was just right, and Evan’s voice had broken her concentration. She was almost positive she’d twisted the camera at the last second when his voice erupted behind her.
“I usually do this alone for a reason,” she replied, choosing to ignore the compliment even though hearing it warmed a place deep in her stomach.
If she was being honest with herself—which she really wasn’t—she would have admitted that everything Evan had said in the car scared the crap out of her. That he could bring such heartache out of her with just a simple touch would have been bad enough, but he was so nonchalant about following people around that it worried her about what he might have seen, or more specifically what she might have done in front of him.
It wasn’t just the nighttime wandering of her hands that concerned her either; although she wasn’t sure how she felt about the possibility he might have seen that even if his cock didn’t work. It was the little things that might have slipped while she thought she was home alone, her terrible singing or appalling dancing. Worse, she was too embarrassed to ask him about it. “So, while you were silently watching me, did I fart in front of you?” wasn’t exactly a subject she wanted to broach.
“How’d you get into this anyway?” he asked as she pressed the shutter—causing her to jump once more and no doubt ruin another frame.
Although she’d decided that if he was going to hang around her, regardless of her awareness of him, she’d much rather be aware of it. However, his sporadic chatter while she was trying to concentrate was beginning to grate on her.
“How does that cloaking thing work again?” she asked.
“I just need to want to be unseen enough and then I am, why?”
“Does it work for your voice too?” She raised an eyebrow at him. One hand rested on her hip and her camera was balanced in the other.
“Is that a subtle request for me to be quiet?”
She laughed. “I didn’t think it was all that subtle.”
Clearly realizing his little comments were unwelcome, at least for the time being, he pretended to zip and lock his lips before throwing away the imaginary key.
Becca worked with no plan, happy to wander aimlessly around the cemetery, but as she often seemed to do, she drifted ever closer to her family plot. Usually when she found herself doing that, she would go and talk to her mother or to her grandmother, but she didn’t want to do that with her visitor by her side. Even though it was possible that he might have been there when she’d last visited and had seen her talking with them, her choosing to have a one-sided conversation with the dead while someone else watched on was entirely different. Worse, he might even try to engage her in conversation about her family and then she’d cry in front of him for the second time in as many hours.
Regardless, she moved through the space until she could see the headstones which she knew bore their names. Four members of her family were buried close together in one section of the landscaped gardens—her parents. who’d died in a car crash when she was still young; her nana, who’d passed on and left Becca the small house she called home; and one other. The first one of her family to be buried in the cemetery—her nana’s sister. She’d passed away a long time before Becca was even born, so Becca knew very little about her—only that the two of them bore a striking resemblance to each other. At least, that’s what her nana had told her.
Ignoring the call of family which usually drew her to sit between her mother’s and nana’s graves, Becca was able to finish off the rest of her roll without further interruption from Evan. She’d even managed to snap a candid photo of him while he was looking in another direction. The heartbreaking sorrow on his face as he stared at something close by had captured her interest, but she wouldn’t admit that to him or anyone else. If she’d been asked, she would have justified that she’d taken the photo because she might need it to give to the police as evidence if things went badly.
“Are you ready to go?” she asked, drawing his attention away from the statue.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” he stammered. He looked at her for a moment, his gaze staring through her, before turning away again. He took a step away from her as a frown overtook his features. Unlike the blinding, dimple-laden smile he’d worn earlier, this expression looked so out of place on his face. “Actually, you know what, you go ahead.”
&
nbsp; “You do realize I’m the one with the car, don’t you. Vroom, vroom? Surely you’re not going to walk to—” She cut herself off when she realized she was practically encouraging him to return to her house. It was a long way from being oddly okay with his presence to actively inviting him to go home with her.
She couldn’t explain it other than that he felt like a pair of comfortable old slippers—although she would never admit it to anyone else, for some reason he just seemed to fit perfectly at her side.
Why do I feel so comfortable around him?
I should have run screaming in the opposite direction by now, she admonished herself silently. Maybe this is my chance to run?
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll, um, catch you round I guess.”
Maybe, she added in her mind. She hoped that he realized that if she had any hint of him creeping around her house while invisible again, she’d kick his ass—or at least beat him with her shoes again.
He didn’t even say goodbye as she walked away and she wondered whether he’d found something—someone—more fascinating to follow. She felt a little hollow at the thought.
It’s just because he’s the most interesting thing that’s happened to you all year, the practical side of her brain decided, to which her raging libido added, And he’s more than a little cute, especially with that dimple.
Evan was beyond realizing how rude he’d been to Becca as she’d left the cemetery. Instead, he was focused on a headstone that he hadn’t ever expected to see—especially not here, where his latest assignment was. He couldn’t even say what had drawn him to look in that direction, but once he’d seen it he couldn’t un-see it. The dates were right; the date of death exactly one year before his own.
Despite the years that had passed since, the name on the plaque was one that was dear to him, Rose Heron. It was the maiden name of his love, but he probably shouldn’t have been surprised at its use. It would have been an insult to her life if the surname of the man who’d killed her was carried with her through death.
