Wounded Wings (Cupid Chronicles) Page 13

  He flushed and gazed down at the toe of his boots. “No, ma’am. I’m not.”

  “Oh, now—” Vi started to argue, but Naomi jumped up and started pacing, her nervous energy interrupting her. The room just felt so darned small.

  Eli glanced up, actually appearing relieved. “Is there anything you’ll need before you go home, Miss Vi? Anything Sharla or I can do for you?”

  Naomi felt about ready to jump out of her skin with him this close. She couldn’t pinpoint it exactly—they’d been around each other several times before. They’d been out to dinner. Heck, she’d locked lips with him twice now. But . . .

  “. . . since she’s doing better and now you have the added stress with Vi in the hospital?”

  Naomi focused her attention back on Eli. “What? I’m sorry.”

  His brows furrowed, making his dark eyes thunder. “I was suggesting we postpone the benefit since Emma is well now and you have Vi to take care of.”

  But even as he said the words, Vi was shaking her head emphatically. “No, sir. I’ll not hear of it. The benefit must go on. Little Emma and Maura need that money. Besides, it’ll be fun for the whole community. You have to do it.”

  They both glanced to her and Sam sitting silently by her side. He shrugged. “I’d listen to the lady.”

  “Anyway,” Vi continued, “I’ll be outta rehab by then. I may not be one hundred percent, but I can definitely go to the benefit and toss a pie or something. I’m not dead yet.”

  Naomi’s heart lurched and she felt the blood drain from her face.

  Eli reached for her arm, his warm fingers a stark reminder of what he was doing to her heart. How had that happened?

  She peered into his eyes, silently begging him to let go. Of her arm, of her heart.

  Instead, he leaned in so his devastating words whispered across her cheek. “Don’t push me away.” She tried to pull away, but couldn’t move fast enough. “Have dinner with me, Naomi. Please.”

  Naomi had no idea when she’d become a masochist, but she couldn’t say no to Eli. Not when he looked at her like that. Not even when her heart threatened to spill itself at his feet in a thousand tiny, throbbing pieces.

  It was ridiculous. She hardly knew him. He was strange, acted like he was from a different time and planet, and had given her no indication that he was anything but a drifter.

  A very hot drifter.

  “It’s just dinner,” she reassured herself as she eyed his garage apartment behind Sharla’s house. Just one more meal with him—no big deal. She’d done it before, she could do it again. He had the manners of a caveman, so it should be easy to keep it short and sweet and emotionally detached.

  She sucked in a quick breath and got out of the car. Yanking her sleeves down her arms, she made her way to the door and knocked.

  He answered promptly and . . . whoa . . . um, whoa.

  For the span of a nearly painful heartbeat, he seemed to glow, then she realized it was the caress of the candlelight he had in the apartment behind him gilding his features. His hair was wet from the shower and slicked back with a few stray curls clinging lovingly to his nape just above a tight white T-shirt.

  Breathe, she admonished herself as her gaze traveled down to low-slung faded jeans and bare feet.

  “Hi.”

  She glanced back up and caught him smiling as if he realized she was checking him out. “Hi.”

  He stepped back and opened the door wider. “Please come in. I’m so glad you came.”

  She brushed by him, inhaling the scent of freshly showered male. Her female parts quivered in response. “Thanks for inviting me.” She peeked around as she set down her purse on an oak entry table. “Cute little place. I never knew Sharla had this.”

  She spun to face him. His dark eyes studied her as if he were memorizing her. He simply nodded.

  She swallowed. “So . . .”

  He seemed to snap out of it, stepping toward the mini-kitchen with a half-smile. “Would you like something to drink? I have wine, sodas, water.”

  “Wine would be nice.”

  He grinned. “Okay.” He picked up a bottle of red wine and showed it to her. “Michael helped me pick it out.” He glanced up sheepishly. “I’m no good at that kind of thing.”

  A chef that couldn’t select wine? Hmmm . . . she smiled, confused. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  He fumbled a bit with opening the bottle and pouring before finally handing her a glass and she sipped. Nice. “Michael did good.”

  Her words made him grin. “I’m glad.” He dashed back to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Please have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

  She settled herself onto a barstool overlooking the kitchen/dining area, puzzling over this new Eli. Had he read Miss Manners’ book since their last dinner or something?

  He appeared a moment later with a platter of sliced veggies, cheese cubes, and crackers. “Would you care for a little snack before dinner?”

  She glanced up from the tiny, perfect cherry tomatoes and cucumber slices to his face. “Where is Eli, and what have you done with him?”

  He furrowed his brows, obviously confused, and glanced at his hors d’oeuvres as if to make sure they weren’t contaminated. “What do you mean? Aren’t you hungry?”

  Naomi sighed. “Nothing. Thank you.” She accepted a plate and filled it with goodies, still eyeing him with suspicion.

  He sat there watching her as if waiting to see if she’d choke or keel over from poisoning. Finally, the old Eli was back.

  She washed down a bite of cheese and cracker with wine. “Aren’t you having any?”

  He studied the tray as if seeing it for the first time, then picked up a carrot stick and began nibbling the end.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, an unseen clock ticking restlessly in the background. Naomi began to regret this little dinner date.

  “Eli?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Why did you invite me over here?”

  He set his half-eaten carrot down and gazed at her intently. “I want to be with you, and today at the hospital I felt like you shouldn’t be alone.” He glanced away. “But sometimes I don’t know what to do with my feelings for you, Naomi.” The admission seemed painful for him.

  She swallowed. “What feelings?”

  His dark gaze shot back to her. “It’s confusing. Too much.”

  Her stomach plummeted. “Are we back to the ‘I’m a sin’ thing again? Because, honestly, that’s about the worst ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ line I’ve ever heard.”

  He tilted his head as if he didn’t understand. “It’s not a line.”

  “Then I don’t get it.”

  He moved away from her. “I don’t either, so perhaps it’s best if we don’t discuss it any more tonight.”

  She studied his face and stormy eyes. “Okay.” She hadn’t come over here for that anyway. Trouble was, she wasn’t sure what she’d come over for.

  “How about dinner?” he asked.

  Right. She’d come for dinner. “Great. What’s for dinner?”

  That immediately lightened him up. His whole body relaxed as he grinned like the cat that got the whole dang cage of canaries. “Chicken Kiev. And I thought we’d have your first cooking lesson.”

  Her mouth sagged open. Huh? “Cooking lesson?”

  “Yes. Don’t you remember?” His face fell. “Have you changed your mind?”

  A distant memory niggled her brain. Somehow, she’d hoped that her little confession of not being able to cook had all been a dream. Not to mention their little bargain of cooking lessons in exchange for—gulp—swimming lessons. Oh. Crap.

  He tucked his hands into his front pockets. “That’s all right. I’ll cook. Forget it.”<
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  Now he looked like she’d kicked his puppy. “No. I’d just forgotten.” She mentally pulled up her big girl panties. Or her big girl swimsuit, as the case may be. “I’m game.” She stood. “Teach me the ways of Chicken Kiev, Chef. Though I can’t promise I won’t burn it.”

  He held out his hand and melted her with a devastating grin. “I won’t let that happen.”

  She gripped his hand like a lifeline and let him lead the way into the closet-sized kitchen, where he handed her an apron that was embroidered with the name of some French restaurant.

  “Where I used to work,” he explained when he caught her studying the letters.

  “Ah.” But she was distracted from further questioning when he opened the fridge and bent to gather up the ingredients for their dinner. If the front view of him was drool-worthy this evening, the rear view was enough to induce cardiac arrest. She averted her eyes and studied the multitude of pots, pans, cooking utensils, and spices he had already lined up. What he lacked in decoration throughout his apartment, he certainly made up for in the kitchen.

  “All right, here we go,” he said, placing a package of fresh, organic chicken breast strips, eggs, and butter in front of her.

  Here we go, indeed.

  She forced a benign smile and eyed the ingredients. What had she gotten herself into? She reached over and grabbed her wine for a big chug of liquid courage.

  Eli got right to work, obviously at home in the kitchen. She relaxed some watching his hands as he moved. Strong, supple, very sexy.

  He peered up at her as he began to set the chicken out in a neat row. “You know, you’re supposed to be learning.” He smiled. “That means doing something besides hiding behind your glass of wine. Though I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” He tilted his head a fraction to indicate the spices. “Come on. Let’s start simple. We’ll make herb butter with the salt, pepper, parsley, and garlic. Think you can do that?”

  She set her glass down and wiped her hands on her jeans. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

  His dark eyes sparked with a grin.

  Soon, heat was piping through his tiny kitchen and she had to remove her light sweater and work in just the purple top she wore underneath. It wasn’t heavy, but at least it had sleeves.

  She stepped back from the stove and yanked her hair back in a hasty ponytail. “Phew, it gets toasty in here.” But, she was feeling a tiny sense of accomplishment. Maybe it had something to do with him letting her beat up the chicken breasts with a mallet to flatten them before they filled them with the herbed butter and dipped them in batter. But, either way, they were browning up beautifully in the oil and the herbs smelled heavenly.

  He turned the heat down a notch. “Yes, I’m sorry.”

  She flicked a glance to his hand as he expertly flipped the breasts in the pan. “How’s your burn?” It certainly looked nearly healed. She could hardly see any remnants of the pinkened skin anymore.

  He glanced at her. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

  Something unspoken passed between them before he turned back to the chicken. After a moment, she shook it off. It had to be nothing. They were friends, nothing more. She inched her way back toward the stove, determined to finish helping him with dinner and complete this lesson. Heck, now she’d know how to make Chicken Kiev. Wouldn’t Vi be impressed!

  “So,” she hedged, “should I start something else to go with the meat?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve already got a green salad made up in the fridge and there’s fresh French bread in the cabinet.”

  French bread. Of course. She smiled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  He finished up the chicken and served them while she set the table and then they ate. She moaned in appreciation at her first bite.

  He grinned. “Good?”

  She took another bite and nodded. “I’d say my first lesson was a success. Good job, Eli.”

  He laughed. “I’m glad you’re happy. It really did turn out delicious. The best batch I’ve had it a long time.”

  She took another large bite and closed her eyes in ecstasy. “Mmmm. Wow. We have to do this again. I think I’m in love.”

  Suddenly the silence was deafening.

  She opened her eyes again and her heart slammed into her throat at the expression on Eli’s face. It was as if he’d seen a ghost—her—and she was there to rip the very soul from his body.

  Chapter 17

  Michael grinned like a fool and pressed the phone closer to his ear. As much as he was relishing this opportunity to work on his own and prove himself, he missed the camaraderie of his brothers and sisters and the news from home.

  “Really, Gabriel?” He laughed. His eyes darted to the clock on the wall of his sparse apartment. He didn’t want to be late to work at the diner.

  Gabriel’s voice floated across the line. “Yes, I kid you not, Brother. Uriel was knee-deep in it again. But at least he made his match.”

  Michael could imagine his leader shaking his head good-naturedly. He sat on his sofa. “And Ariel?” His ex-protégé was just taking on her first solo assignment. “How is she?”

  “She’s doing fine. Still a bit, um, colorful and enthusiastic, but her joy is contagious and just what we needed around here in your absence.” He paused as if thinking through is next words. “She went back to work at Gentry’s, you know.”

  Michael swallowed. “She did?”

  “Yes. Father gave her an assignment next door at the daycare. This way her cover isn’t blown. Plus, she loves visiting with the children when she gets the chance.”

  Michael’s heart started beating double-time as he envisioned the humans he’d come to know and love on his past two assignments. Should he ask? Could he? Would it be too much to presume? He opened his mouth, closed it.

  Gabriel must’ve read his mind. “Your humans are doing wonderful, Brother. I know you must be curious. Ariel can’t help but keep me updated, though our Love Detail work there is done.”

  “Thank you, Gabriel.”

  “And,” he continued, “she’s seen fit to keep up with their goings on, so you might as well know, too. If you want to, that is.”

  Michael’s heart sang. “Sure. I mean, yes. I would love to know.”

  He could just hear the smile in Gabriel’s voice, even though he knew Ariel had earned herself a talking-to over this. He’d have to thank her. “Well, Noble and Braelyn are doing very well in the Hill Country. Noble’s business is thriving and Tristan is very happy in the new school. They’ve also welcomed a new daughter, Autumn Rose, I believe.”

  Michael beamed. Another perfect, Heavenly ending.

  “And,” Gabriel continued, “Jed and Kyle continue on with business-as-usual at Gentry’s. Little Codi is blossoming into quite a lovely young lady. Very intelligent.” Michael stifled a joyous laugh. Of course, he expected no less. “And they are discussing expanding their family to keep up with Noble. Kyle would like a son, I think.”

  Michael wiped at the tears in his eyes. “Thank you, Gabriel. This has been quite an unexpected gift.”

  “You’re welcome, Brother. You deserve it.”

  Silence descended on the line for a moment. Michael wasn’t sure he deserved it, but he was honored.

  “Well, Gabriel, I hate to cut this short, but I must go. I have to get to work.”

  “I understand. Is everything going well on your assignment? I’ve been thinking a lot about you and how you’ve been coping with one of our own kind. How is that?”

  Difficult. Impossible. “Strange.”

  “And you’re sure he doesn’t recognize you?”

  “I’m sure. He seems to have lost that ability when he fell. Sad case. He’s such a special soul. Tough job, but I’m working on it. Pray for me, Brother.”

>   “I will. Stay strong.”

  “Always.”

  Michael strolled into the diner smiling at the window box of petunias Sharla had planted—he loved spring—and was immediately bombarded by the scents of whatever Elijah was preparing for the day. Something savory. Chili, perhaps?

  Then he was bombarded by slender arms around his knees. “Mr. Michael!”

  He looked down at the head of soft, gingersnap-brown curls. “Well, Miss Emma. How’s the little princess today?”

  She peered up at him with huge eyes that were thankfully full of health and life. “Good. My mommy’s gonna get married to Mr. Scott. I get to wear a pretty dress and be a flower girl.”

  He glanced across the diner and caught Maura’s eye. She gave him a shy smile and lifted her left hand to wiggle her ring finger, which was sporting a shiny new bauble. “Well, how exciting,” Michael said loud enough for both of them to hear. “Congratulations.”

  Emma giggled and stepped back. “He said I can call him Daddy now.”

  “Well, isn’t that special? I’ll bet you’re proud as a peacock. Mr. Scott is a wonderful man and he’s going to be the perfect daddy for you.”

  “Emma, honey,” Maura called out. “Come on, leave Mr. Michael alone. He needs to get to work.”

  Emma skipped back with a smile, seeming to take him in, as she often did. But she didn’t say more. She hadn’t since that first time she called him out on his glow.

  He smiled and wiggled his fingers in a bye-bye motion. “See you later, sweetie.”

  “’Kay.”

  He moved to the back room and donned his apron and grabbed his tub to begin cleaning the dirty tables that had already begun to accumulate. He called out greetings to the few people he was beginning to get to know.

  The Sheriff sitting in a corner booth with Delaney from the hair salon in town, sharing a plate of pancakes.

  A group of teenagers he recognized from church, huddled over their cell phones texting.