Free Dream Angel : Heaven Waits by Patricia Garber

fear quickly escalated as I strained to hear every sound in the night — a sparse rose bush rustling here, a dead leaf grazing the cement there — while also considering if I shouldn’t just make a run for it, grabbing my friend along the way. And the moment I shifted my weight forward, ready to flee, the smell of a sweet cigar floated lazily over the wall. That was no security guard on break. I knew exactly who smoked that very cigar.
    “Y’all realize you’re trespassin’.” His familiar drawl sent a chill down my spine.
    I took one self-controlled step in the direction of his voice, and then stopped, briefly reconsidering his tone. His words sounded scolding but not heated.
    “Beggin’ your pardon sir but the owner of the house will gladly make our excuses I’m sure,” I said, adding an extra twang to my already southern bell tone.
    “That’s unlikely, ma’am .” He mocked and I smiled wider.
    Even when he was annoyed, I believed him to be adorable. And though I couldn’t see him, he sounded so close that my stomach quivered, and Goosebumps broke out over my arms as I anticipated being in this handsome man’s presence.
    I forced myself to meander along the wall, listening to the sound of my downed jacket rustling against its rough surface. And when I finally reached the end, I peeked around the corner, and found Elvis, at the far end of the gazebo, leaning against one of the four Ionic columns of the pergola. Even in the shadows of the night, his majestically famous outline was unmistakable. And as he stood there, with the tip of a cigar glowing red in his hand, he had an extra measure of ease about him.
    “Old habit,” Elvis said while turning the cigar around to inspect it before lifting his foot, and extinguishing its embers against the hard soul of his boot.
    A golden radiance of back lighting filtered through the stained-glass window behind him, caressing his face while also highlighting something new. Was that facial hair?
    “You’re as spirited as ever, I see.” He pushed away from the stone column, and that minuscule challenging grin of his was almost lost when in direct competition with the twinkle in his eyes.
    In the dimly lit night, I forgot myself, and allowed my gaze linger down his dark slacks. And because he never missed a thing, he cleared his throat, and my attention quickly returned to his smirking face.
    “I simply trust you to keep me safe, sire.” I crossed my legs and politely curtsied hoping Elvis’ humor would over shadow his displeasure.
    “Smart-al-lick.” His eyes narrowed in a playful retort.
    He strode my way in smooth elongated steps that continued to captivate me. And as I held my breath, he glided into the light, drawing nearer, and finally standing so close he was but a kiss away.
    “Has anyone ever told you, you’re mulish?” His lips molded around the word, pursing forward, and closer to my own.
    Without rebuttal, I laid a hand against his scratchy two-day growth of a beard, enjoying the feel of his skin, so warm, and most importantly, so alive under my touch. And I was busy caressing his cheek while he placed his hand over mine, and pressed my touch deeper against his skin.
    “ You were late.” I sighed rather dramatically.
    “ You brought company,” he returned, and that animated left eyebrow of his rose.
    Still holding my gaze, he slowly turned into my hand and kissed the inside of my palm. My heart fluttered as his warm lips lingered, and the stirring of emotion I saw in his eyes told me he could feel the throbbing of my pulse that gave away my excitement. I have no idea how long this moment lasted, and I truly could have stood in that very spot held only by his gaze, but I was jarred back to the present by a clattering nearby, on the gazebo’s cement floor.
    “Y’all are like bulls in a china cabinet,” Elvis dropped my hand.
    I had forgotten all about Heather, and when I turned, she was regaining her composure from tripping up the gazebo step.