Jerking his gaze up to her face, he found her studying him with a mocking frown. “You really do want to get your arse kicked, don’t you?”
Scratching at the hair on the back of his head, he gave her an apologetic grimace. “I apologize, Ms. Sheridan. I’m not used to being in the company of a bona fide celebrity. Especially one wearing so few clothes. My boss warned me you would break my—”
Her phone rang again.
“Don’t move,” she instructed, connecting the call. “What’s up, Riccardo?”
Riccardo said something. For a moment, Nathanial considered allowing himself to hear what the personal assistant was saying but thought better of it. Being here already was dangerous. Drawing attention to where he was…it wasn’t a smart move. And using the abilities still afforded to him after being cast out would more than draw attention to his location. There were other forces moving about in the world of man, malevolent forces of unending power and bottomless hate that would cherish the opportunity to destroy one of God’s soldiers, even a fallen one.
“No no, hon,” Billie said, watching Nathanial from her position beside the console table. “Honestly, I’m fine. No, I don’t need you here. I’m good. Promise.”
Whatever Riccardo said made her laugh.
Nathanial bit back a groan at the exquisite sound. An angel was not meant to be drawn to sinful sensations, and yet everything about Billie Sheridan’s laugh suggested that very thing: sin of the pleasurable variety.
He was screwed. In every metaphorical sense there was.
“As if I’m going to do that,” she said to Riccardo, something close to devilment playing with her lips. “Now bugger off with you.”
She ended the call with a jab of her thumb.
He waited on the other side of the threshold. If his wings had been present, they would have been fanned wide and poised.
Thank God Billie couldn’t see them.
Thank God? Huh. When is that ever going to get old?
“Okay,” she said, giving her head a little jerk. “You can come in.”
Nathanial steeled himself against the impact on every molecule in his body caused by the simple, innocent invitation.
That impact came: a rush of desire, of need, of power, of hunger. The one living soul he’d been waiting on for over three hundred years, the reason he’d been cast out of Heaven.
Billie Sheridan had invited him into her home.
He stepped across the threshold.
Instantly, her scent filled his being. He didn’t just breathe her in—angels, even fallen ones, had no real need for breath, drawing it was an assumed affectation to avoid detection amongst man. He filled himself with her presence. The delicate perfume of her natural scent, the lingering kiss of the soap she’d used to bathe, the fruity sweetness of her shampoo, her femininity…
A rush of hot longing smashed through him at the unexpected but unmistakable scent of her arousal.
She was turned on by him.
His nostrils flared and he brought himself to a halt a few steps into her home. He feared what he’d do if he stepped closer to her.
She watched him. He didn’t miss the quick swipe of her tongue over her lips.
What would she do if he destroyed the distance between them, hauled her to his body and crushed her lips with his?
Would she kiss him back? Would she surrender to that which her body wanted? Or would she, to use her own words, beat the shit out of him?
“So, Mr. Knight.” She scratched at the side of her nose in a relaxed action he recognized as belonging to her television character. “Do you know about this stalker of mine?”
“I do.”
“Tell me about him. Is his name really Gilbert? Gilbert what?”
Nathanial turned his head, letting his gaze roam over her living room and its dark windows. “Gilbert Sanders.”
“And what does Gilbert Sanders do when he’s not stalking me?”
Her blasé attitude was an act. He didn’t need to be one of God’s soldiers to see that. She was an incredible actress, but right at that point, she was stiffer than a board. Trying to hide it, of course, but stiff. On edge.
He didn’t blame her.
“Gilbert,” he said, making his way into her living room even, as he kept as much distance from her as possible without looking like he was, “is a high school geography teacher.”
She burst out laughing.
It took him completely by surprise. His feet faltered beneath him and he would have tripped if not for his wings. Not present in this realm, but still connected to him, they were invisible to everyone. Except Nathanial. He’d been amongst man for centuries now, and whenever he glimpsed his wings in the reflection of a mirror or window or shiny surface, he still experienced a split second of panic his true form had been exposed.
His wings—not so white as they once were—were still something to behold.
“A geography teacher?”
Billie’s laughter danced in her question. Nathanial knew it was wrong to be happy for that laughter, given her situation, and yet he couldn’t help but smile.
Lowering himself into a simple white-leather armchair he suspected cost an obscene amount of money, he rested his ankle on his bent knee and watched her join him in the living room.
He appreciated the natural grace with which she lowered herself into the armchair opposite him—this one round and vivid orange with a lime-green pillow featuring a portrait of Yoda from Star Wars.
“Tell me about him,” she instructed, curling her legs beneath her. Should he suggest she put on more clothes?
It was the decent thing to do.
But he was a fallen angel. Didn’t that allow him to forget decent?
Doing everything he could to keep his gaze on hers, he uncrossed his leg, leaned forward in the armchair and rested his elbows on his knees. “Gilbert Sanders believes you and him are meant to be together forever, and he’s proven he will stop at nothing to make that happ—”
A sharp buzzing filled the room, cutting Nathanial short.
Uncertainty and confusion flickered over Billie’s face. A frown pulled at her straight eyebrows. She stared at him hard for a second before flicking the front door to her home a quick look. No, not the front door, the security control panel next to it.
Nathanial bit back a curse, fighting to keep his expression calm. He hadn’t planned on them being interrupted so quickly. What the hell was Kade doing? The vampire was supposed to keep the authorities from—
“I’m just going to see who’s at the gate,” he said, straightening from the armchair.
“No no.” Billie unfurled from her seat. Tension radiated from her. “I’ll get it. It’s probably the LAPD and they’ll want to hear from me first. Don’t want them getting antsy, do we.”
Nathanial ground his teeth as she began walking toward the control panel. How did he take charge of this without making her suspicious?
“Goddamn it,” he muttered, throwing the ceiling a harried look.
Was the blasphemous exclamation noted? Did it even matter anymore?
“Billie,” he called, striding toward her.
Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.
She didn’t slow down. “Ms. Sheridan,” she corrected without looking at him.
Two paces. She was a mere two paces from the control panel. Two paces from discovering the police—
“Screw it,” he said under his breath, as he traversed the distant between them in a heartbeat.
It was a heartbeat too long.
As he reformed directly behind her, the moment every molecule in his body knitted together with agonizing power and speed, Billie pressed her finger to the control panel’s intercom button. “Who’s this?”
“Ms. Sheridan?” a gravelly male voice sounded through the panel’s speaker. “This is Detective Rhames from LAPD. I’m sorry for disturbing you at such an hour, but there’s something I need to talk to you about. Your agent, Adelaide Williams, informed you I was coming, yes?”
“Yes. Along with someone from a security agency.”
“Yeah, Gary Rosetti from Guard-U Protection. He’s about five minutes away, I think.”
“Fuck,” Nathanial sighed, balling his fists. His wings flexed.
Billie startled and spun around, her stare locking on his, realization dawning in her eyes.
And then, without warning, she slammed her fist into his jaw.
He rolled his head with the punch, the shock of her knuckles crunching against his skin and bone dulled by his admiration for her ferocity.
When she tried to follow up that punch with another, however, he acted.
Fast.
Faster than she could see.
Faster than any human could track.
Without a word, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist before her second punch could land, spun her around until her back was mashed against his chest, his other hand covering her mouth, and whispered in her ear, “Time to get the hell out of here, Ms. Sheridan.”
Chapter 2
Shock froze Billie.
Her blood roared in her ears, her head spun. She stood stock-still in Knight’s imprisoning arms, her heart the only thing moving.
It smashed up into her throat, wild and fast and frenzied.
What the hell was going on? What the hell—
She jerked up her knee and drove her heel into the top of his foot.
Her heel encountered what felt like solid granite.
Instant pain exploded in her foot, up her leg, into her hip. She cried out against his palm, hot tears stinging her eyes. It was only the fact that Knight grunted at the contact that told her she hadn’t heeled the floor. What the hell were the guy’s shoes made from?
“Billie,” he groaned in her ear, his arms drawing her harder to his chest. There was no pain in his voice, only exasperation, and—of all things—an apology. “I will explain everything later, I promise. But I swear, I’m not here to hurt you.”
“Yeah, right,” she mumbled against his palm.
“If I remove my hand from your mouth, you have to promise me not to scream, okay?”
A dry laugh tore at Billie’s chest. Sure. As if she was going to promise him anything.
She dragged in a breath through her nostrils—and whimpered as the most delicious, intoxicating smell she’d ever experienced flowed into her nose. Her whole body reacted. Her. Whole. Body. Her pulse leaped into crazy flight, her stomach fluttered and flip-flopped, and her sex…whoa.
Who the hell was this guy?
The buzzer of her security intercom split the silence.
Billie flinched. Knight muttered something in a language she didn’t understand.
Yeah, be worried, jerk, she thought.
“Promise me, Billie,” he repeated, his lips grazing her temple.
A sudden and compelling urge to turn her head, to lift her face until those lips of his grazed her own flooded through her. She could already feel his tongue touching hers, could feel his palm as it cupped her breast. Could feel the thick, long pole of his erection as it ground to her—
Icy confusion and shock lashed at her. What the fuck was she thinking? What the fuck was she doing?
She thrashed in his arms, wild and crazy. She knew all the techniques for escaping a hold such as this one, but at that very second, all the techniques meant diddly-squat. A hot-as-hell stranger who smelled like heaven and filled her with an aching hunger for sinful sex was holding her captive. Rational thought and years of training were no match for that kind of assault.
“Billie,” Knight growled, refusing to release her. The bastard. And she was flailing and thrashing so hard as well. “Stop it.”
Her security buzzer sounded again, the perfect soundtrack to the scene.
She bucked in his arms. God, if her stunt director could see her now…
“Enough,” the towering, sexy-as-sin and equally scary man snarled, hauling her completely off her feet. “We don’t have time for this. He’s coming. And he’s stronger than I—”
Billie jack-knifed her legs upward with such abrupt force, Knight staggered backward. A splintering creek told her he’d slammed into the console table a fraction of a second before his arms loosened around her.
It was all she needed.
Turning her body to a limp noodle, she slipped downward. Out of his grasp.
Her knees connected with the floor with a clunk. Pain erupted, sharp and cold.
She didn’t take the time to acknowledge it. Launching herself to her feet, she struck her right heel into Knight’s gut in a brutal back-kick her old tae kwon do instructor would have been proud of, driving Knight backward into the console table again.
The sound of breaking glass filled the room as her People’s Choice Award tumbled off the table and shattered on the floor.
Billie didn’t wait for Knight’s reaction. Channeling all her repressed anger at failing her black belt grading all those years ago, she threw herself into a jumping spinning kick, her heel crunching against his cheekbone with beautiful force and precision.
He went down.
Hard.
For a moment, just a moment, as Billie landed on the balls of her feet, her pulse and heart crazy, her stare locked on him, she could have sworn the air behind his back shimmered with white pearlescent energy.
“What the…” she whispered, as what looked like two massive wings of white feathers seemed to form.
He groaned, planting a palm on the floor beside his shoulder.
Her security buzzer sounded again.
Billie blinked, and the space at his back was just that—space.
She turned and fled, running for the front door.
“Billie!”
She didn’t stop, falter or turn at his shout. Instead, she smacked her palm against the control panel, unlocking the security gate as she yanked open the door.
The hot summer night wrapped around her with greedy passion as she ran from her home. Her bare feet slapped on the slate entry stairs. Her hair whipped around her shoulders.
“Ms. Sheridan?” a male voice—high with startled confusion—called from the blackness of her front yard before her. “Ms. Sheridan, is everything—”
A vise captured her wrist, jerking her off her feet.
She squealed. An honest-to-goodness squeal. When was the last time she’d squealed?
Knight covered her mouth with a hard palm, smothering the sound.
She bit him. Sank her teeth into his flesh as hard as she could.
“Hey!” he exclaimed, his other arm clamping around her waist. He didn’t remove his hand from her mouth.
“Ms. Sheridan?” the other male voice called, growing closer. Detective Rhames? Was her savior about to save her from her savior?
“I’m sorry, Billie,” Knight rasped against her temple. “I didn’t want you to see this.”
She bucked and kicked. And then grew motionless as a man roughly the size of an office block wearing an ill-fitting blue suit ran out of the shadows of the night directly in front of them on the path.
He skidded to a halt when his stare fell on them. With impressive speed, his service pistol was in his hand, pointed at Knight’s head. “Let her go,” he demanded, the authority in his voice absolute.
Detective Rhames was an intimidating individual.
“Can’t do that, Rhames,” Knight replied, clearly intimidated to a point of deluded stupidity.
Confusion flickered in Rhames’s steely stare. There and gone just as quick. Replaced by steely resolve. “I don’t know who you are, bud, but you need to release Ms. Sheridan now before I—”
“I’m Nathanial Knight,” Knight said with relaxed calm, his grip on her body not even remotely slackening. “And you’re going to lower your gun.”
The faintest of frowns played with Rhames’s eyebrows—and then he let out a soft laugh. “Of course I am.” He tucked his gun back into its holster and gave it a happy pat. “See?”
Billie blinked. She would have ga
ped if Knight’s hand wasn’t still covering her mouth.
Behind her, Knight nodded, his chin tapping the top of her head a few times. “Excellent. Now tell me, Rhames, who else is here? Is your partner with you? A squad car on the way?”
A loose smile stretched Rhames’s lips. “No, sir, it’s just me right now, but a squad car is on the way. And Gary from Guard-U won’t be that far behind.”
Once again, Knight muttered something in that peculiar language Billie couldn’t understand. A shiver rippled up her spine. Her nipples pebbled.
She growled in exasperated frustration against Knight’s palm. What the hell was she doing getting turned on by some words she didn’t know, uttered by a guy who was equally unfamiliar? Surely the fact he was doing some freaky Jedi mind thing to Detective Rhames was enough to destroy any misguided attraction she’d felt for him when he first entered her home? That, and the fact he seemed hell bent on abducting her.
Her scalp prickled at the surreal thought and, ridiculously, a silent, shaky chuckle bubbled up in her chest. Being turned on and scared at the same time; she’d need to draw on this moment the next time she was filming a scene with Wraif. The real Wraif. Well, the actor who played the real Wraif. Not the stalker Gilbert who thought he was the real Wraif.
Oh God, she was going to start freaking out soon if she didn’t get away.
Then get away. Now.
The second the thought drilled through her head, she began to fight Knight’s hold.
She thrashed about, screaming against his palm, bucking and kicking, staring at Rhames the whole time.
The detective watched her with a relaxed smile. He didn’t react to the sight of her struggling to be free. Knight continued to hold her, having no difficulty doing so, she was dismayed to note.
“Can you do me a favor, Rhames?” he asked, raising his voice a little when she increased her protests behind his palm.
“Absolutely,” Rhames replied with puppy-dog exuberance. “Name it.”
“Can you radio in that Ms. Sheridan is fine, safe, and you’ve set up a detail on her, please?”
A giddy wave washed over Billie at the unspoken implication in Knight’s request. Her knees wobbled.
Destiny's Knight: A Fallen Angel Protector Paranormal Romantic Suspense Book (Guarded Souls 1) Page 3
