All Amity Allows (Fall for You Book 2)

by Irwin, Michelle

  He was ready to rush to her place just thinking about it. Only the whole idea felt wrong. The concept of her taking him back felt foreign and inconceivable in the back of his mind. He shook his head to clear the feeling, but it only grew stronger. The closer he got to Becca’s house, the more concentrated the feeling became, until he almost wanted to vomit from the pressure of it. The more he thought about it, the more intense the ache of wrongness grew.

  Maybe going to Becca’s isn’t the best thing to do after all, he decided. The relief that flooded him at the thought was palpable and instant.

  He was back at his car in no time, but still couldn’t decide what to do next. Say a prayer and hope for a safe drive, or wait for assistance in a place where Becca could easily spot him if she looked outside her house. That thought sealed the decision for him. There was no way he’d hang around and make an even bigger fool of himself than she’d already made him.

  He reached for the car door, almost ripping off the handle when it didn’t budge.

  What the hell? It’s locked?

  He tried the handle again. Why’s it locked?

  He looked through the window to the steering column where his key ring was still dangling from the key stuck in the ignition.

  How is it locked?

  It was supposed to be one of those foolproof locks that meant you couldn’t lock the keys in the car. He frowned at the car, as if his burning stare alone would force the locks to pop open and allow him entrance. Instead, the car sat still and silent as Drew decided what to do next.

  He recalled a little cocktail bar just a short walk away—he and Becca had shared a few drinks there one night when they were still dating. As soon as the thought popped into his mind, his decision was made.

  Nothing like a night out to clear my head. I’ll deal with this crap tomorrow.

  Amity watched as Drew dug his hands into his pockets and shrugged his jacket further around him before heading down the street. She wasn’t sure where exactly he was going, but his anger had burned away to disappointment, and she didn’t think he posed a threat to Becca or Evan any longer.

  She felt a little guilty about forcing Drew off the road the way she had and then for locking him out of his car. There was little else she could have done though. He’d had murder in his tone when he’d muttered to himself about going over to Becca’s. Although Amity didn’t detect in him any specific capacity to cause injury, she couldn’t risk making the same mistake twice. She couldn’t do that to Evan and Becca—and she couldn’t do it to herself.

  If yanking Drew’s car off the road kept everyone safe, she’d do it over and over.

  Besides, Michael said that Evan and Becca had their own story, she added internally. She couldn’t let Drew interfere with that, not if she could help it.

  Not that she was entirely sure why she was taking Michael’s words into account all of a sudden. She put it down to the fact that he was just one of those people—angels—that others couldn’t help but listen to. One afternoon in his company, and Amity was practically toeing the company line again. Not that she was about to give up her Jimmys anytime soon. No, Heaven would have to send the whole hoard to pry them from her feet, but everything else was practically by the letter.

  Well, everything except for the way she’d tried to heal Drew. She wasn’t supposed to try for miraculous changes of mind. It wasn’t natural, and human souls tended to get a little scarred in the process. She’d prepared him so he would be better able to see the truth she wanted to implant, but because of the surprise she’d received, she hadn’t been able to finish the task. Now it was too late.

  It hadn’t taken her long to realize that her forceful touch had torn open his humanity, and opened his soul up. Internally, he was on display for her—for any passing angel in fact—begging for her grace to heal the damage she’d caused when she’d tried to force the truth into him. He might not have felt anything, but his soul had a giant wound rent through it. A wound that was weeping his pain, and all of his truths into the world. She would have been surprised if he’d been able to lie since she’d torn him open—even a small, white one to spare someone’s feelings.

  His already partially healing soul was too fragile to force another miracle onto just yet. She could try, but she worried it might kill him. There were only so many forcible jolts of energy a human soul could take before failing after all. If that happened, it would be another human life on her hands.

  The link she’d created when she’d tried to meddle in his mind was still open and her grace willingly wrapped around his soul to help soothe the worst parts of the damage she’d caused. In truth, it was closer than she’d allowed herself to get to anyone else in at least a century and a half. There was a comfort to it that she was surprised to feel. It fed the need to nurture that was a natural part of her make-up, but that she’d kept buried deep inside for countless years. Despite his obvious heartbreak and the echo of the same, which reverberated through her body, it was almost a relief knowing she could help him at least a little.

  If she could help him heal himself, before he’d lost all hope, then there was a chance he would escape from a life of torment. He’d have no lingering issues which would see him sad and alone for the rest of his days. She owed him that much for inflicting the damage on him in the first place. If nothing else, it would give her the opportunity to assess any possible risk he might pose—to himself or to Becca.

  Instead of leaving the car in the middle of the road—Becca’s street—where Drew would have to return to it, Amity concentrated on moving herself, and it, to Drew’s driveway. She’d have to get him home the same way. Then she’d have to alter his memory, which was always risky. If an angel went back too far, there was always the chance the person would forget vital information, an especially dangerous issue when that person was a doctor. One evening would be safe though; she was sure of it.

  Once the car was safe in his driveway, Amity popped back to Drew’s side.

  She caught sight of him just as he entered into a cocktail bar. Waiting a couple of minutes to give him time to settle in, she followed behind. She didn’t worry about cloaking herself, not yet at least. It wouldn’t matter if people could see her, or even if Drew could see her. After all, once he had a drink or two in him, she’d be able to start talking to him. Then she’d be able to try to dig into the truth within him the old-fashioned way.

  She watched as he took his drink from the bartender. He tipped it back, drinking the double in one large gulp and allowing the liquid to rush down his throat. As if that small quantity of alcohol was enough to start the process of relaxation, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his business shirt. Then he rolled his head from side to side, stretching out his neck muscles.

  From her vantage point, Amity took a moment to admire just how well put together Drew was. It wasn’t just the obvious parts of him that guided her eye to roam over his body—like his classically handsome face, his chestnut hair, or his soulful brown eyes. It was the smaller things too. Like the sinewy muscles that ran down his forearms, which twisted around his bone to form delicate shapes beneath his sun-kissed skin. It was his firm chest and strong back, which stretched his business shirt just so. It was the way the white shirt revealed his body—lean but muscled, and screaming of power, strength, and protection.

  Amity was struck with a sudden desire to trace her fingertips along his muscles and admire every inch of the perfect specimen that he was. The way she had been able to with men in ancient Rome. It had been so long since she’d experienced having the sensation of powerful human muscles twitching under the soft ministrations of her palms. It was an impossibility, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t admire him and imagine it. After all, despite Heaven putting the kibosh on relationships, it wasn’t really wrong to have admiring thoughts about Drew. As an angel from Heaven, it was her job to appreciate the finer details that were present in all of Heaven’s creations—and concentrated more in men like Drew. At l
east that was the justification she made in her mind as her gaze trailed over his body once more.

  Putting out the best “keep away” vibes she could to deter the other men in the bar from approaching her, she watched as Drew finished his second drink and then had another two in rapid succession. At his current rate, he was going to drink himself into oblivion before too long—and then she wouldn’t even need to use any special ability to wipe his mind after their chat.

  Deciding it was time to approach him before he’d drunk too much to be able to talk to her, she sidled up to the bar and slid onto the stool.

  “Hi.” She dropped the act that made her unapproachable and smiled warmly at him.

  He glanced at her, before doing an almost comical double-take and sitting up straighter. He cleared his throat. “Um, hi.”

  “I saw you at the hospital today, right? Do you work there?” She figured that her best angle to worm her way under his skin was appealing to the baser parts of his personality—his lust and his pride.

  He puffed his chest out and his smile widened. “Yeah, I’m a doctor.”

  She moved her fingers as close to his arm as she dared without actually touching him. She couldn’t risk making that physical contact or else the pain that she could feel from his soul would shoot through her as an acute and sharp agony deep in her grace. The sort of wounds she’d caused with her meddling would echo through her angelic self. Her entire body fought against that possibility.

  She cursed her impatience—the need for a speedy resolution that had seen her try to push him so hard so fast. She cursed Michael—if she’d known what touching Drew would reveal, she might have taken a different method. She cursed her sudden caring attitude—why the hell did it suddenly matter to her that he wasn’t ready for a new miracle. Why wasn’t she willing to try her luck anyway? True, she didn’t want another human death on her hands, but she wasn’t the only angel with blood on her hands. Some had even directly destroyed humanity in the name of vengeance, with little or no remorse for their actions.

  Her smile had faltered as the thoughts assaulted her, so she plastered it back on her face again. “I’m Amity.”

  “Drew.”

  “So, Drew, what sorrows are you here to drown?”

  He frowned at her question before looking around, as if checking the bar for traitors or spies. When he spoke, his voice was demanding. “How did—”

  Amity cut him off with a trill of laughter, infusing her voice with as much melody as she could. “A man doesn’t drink as much as you have as quickly as you did unless he’s trying to forget something.”

  “Have you been watching me?” He raised an eyebrow at her and grinned, as if he’d caught her and discovered her dirty secret.

  His question made her realize what she’d just unwittingly admitted. But then she decided to use that to her own advantage. “Maybe. Would it be a problem if I was?”

  He shrugged. “Depends.”

  “On?”

  He leaned closer to her, whispering into the ever-closing gap between them. “On why you’ve been watching me.”

  She bit her lip in a way that she knew human men found attractive. Then she glanced over her shoulder, feigning a need to check for onlookers. “You intrigue me.”

  He chuckled. “Well, I’ve certainly been told worse.”

  She shifted in her seat, not needing to feign interest as she leaned closer. “Tell me all about it,” she purred.

  Chapter Seven

  The whizzing sound of his curtains being drawn and hastily thrown to one side of the window pulled Drew from his sleep. His head throbbed and his body protested—unwilling to be awake after the alcoholic punishing from the night before.

  “Get up!” A female voice he didn’t recognize commanded.

  Drew groaned and threw an arm over his eyes to stop the sun from burning through his eyelids and into his precious brain beyond.

  Don’t tell me I’ve brought a one-nighter home, he thought as he considered why there was a woman in his house. A woman who definitely wasn’t Becca—the voice was far too sultry and low to belong to her.

  He hadn’t wanted to do anything like that now he was back in Flint. The gossip was too intrusive, especially when everyone in a fifteen-mile radius seemed to know his father. That was part of the reason he’d been so happy when he realized Becca, the girl who’d been the subject of many teenaged fantasies of his, was apparently head-over-heels for him. He hadn’t had to worry about one-night stands, and embarrassing his father, the well-respected doctor.

  Drew sighed into the crook of his elbow. How had he screwed this one up? It was just supposed to be a few drinks to help him relax and forget Becca, but instead, he had almost no memory of the night and apparently a stranger in his house. He hadn’t obliterated himself so thoroughly in a long time. If ever.

  When he heard the quiet footfalls of the other person in his room, he wondered if she would excuse herself if he ignored her long enough. As if his need for her to be gone had instead been a siren call to her, he felt two petite hands close around his forearm. Her grip was like a vice, which was surprising considering how frail the long, thin, glove-encased fingers had seemed when she’d first touched him.

  “Did you hear me Andrew Graham Petersen?” the voice snapped.

  He groaned in protest. No one ever used his full name except his mother but that wasn’t his mother’s voice. His head ached too much to give it too much thought though—all he wanted to do was crawl back into the blissful sleep he’d enjoyed just a few moments earlier.

  “It is time for you to pull your ass out of that bed and into the shower. That’s enough feeling sorry for yourself. It’s time to get up.”

  “Give me one good reason why I should.” His throat was dry, parched from too much alcohol the night before, and the words stuck to his cheeks and coated his tongue in unpleasant ways.

  Gloved hands lifted his arm away from where it covered his face and pinned it against the bed.

  Holy hell she’s strong!

  His mind raced with what that strength could do in the bedroom. It was one thing for him to be able to hold up a woman and twist her into whatever position he wanted her in, but for her to have the strength to hold herself in awkward poses . . . his morning wood grew harder at the thought.

  Surely he’d experienced a taste of that last night?

  Inching one eye open, he was blinded by the sun still flooding through the window, and making his eyes and brain throb. Trying to ignore the ache, he worked on recalling any details of the previous evening, but the last thing he remembered was sitting at the bar.

  A vague recollection of a blonde woman suddenly appearing at the stool beside him at the bar sprung to his mind. It hadn’t been just any blonde though. No, it was the one he’d spotted at the hospital—the one with the perfect tits and fuckable pout. She’d walked back into his life exactly when he’d needed someone to talk to. He recalled her starting a conversation with him and then . . .

  Nothing.

  Had he managed to score with her?

  The excitement that coursed through him waned as he realized that if he had, he couldn’t remember one single second of it. It was a damned waste. Then again, if they’d done the deed the night before, and she was still in his house, there wasn’t really any reason why he couldn’t try for an encore. What better way to sweep all thoughts of Becca out of his system than to allow the blonde to blow his . . . mind.

  Blinking to try to clear away the agony the sunlight caused each time he opened his eyes, he focused on the place he imagined the woman to be, based on her hand holding his arm securely by his side.

  What he saw in the moments before his eyes adjusted to the light was nothing short of miraculous. The woman—what was her name again?—leaned over him. She was even more beautiful up close than he remembered. Breathtakingly so. Literally—he had to remind himself that breathing was a required part of living.

  In fact, she was so stunning that it made his heart po
und, sending blood rushing through his body and down to his cock.

  Her pale hair seemed whiter than ever, pristine like falling snow, and the sun streaming in from the window formed a halo around her head, giving her the appearance of one of those pictures on the stained-glass windows of the church his mom used to drag him to years ago. She looked like nothing short of an angel. A wry smile lifted her lip and she watched him with clear amusement in her eyes.

  “Welcome to the world of the living, Sleeping Beauty,” she said. Her voice was more melodic than he remembered it, but the bell-like quality rang through his pounding head and a fresh throbbing began just behind his temples. Without thinking, he moved to bring his arm to his head as he sat upright, but with her hand holding his arm in place he couldn’t. Instead, he ended up doing an awkward half sit-up and smashed his head against her chin.

  She pulled away from the bed as a string of curse words far too filthy to come from a mouth so pretty streamed from her lips. Her hands clutched at the place his forehead had struck her.

  Drew fell back to the bed, with his now-free hands clutched around his head as a fresh wave of nausea rolled through him. Eventually, he was able to focus on the fact that he wasn’t the only one who would have been hurt by the movement.

  “God, I’m sorry, I”—he rolled onto his side and then pushed himself into a sitting position—“I didn’t mean to . . .” He waved his hand in her direction.

  With a great effort, and miraculously without vomiting, he pushed himself upright and covered the distance to the blonde. He felt he owed it to her to check that she was okay.

  When she pulled her hand away from her face, he’d half expected to see blood. Or at least a red spot which would later develop into a bruise. The way his head continued to ring from the force of the impact, he knew it hadn’t been a gentle tap. Instead, there was nothing, not a single mark. He moved to inspect the injury anyway.