Free Avenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels by Heather Killough-Walden

and seemed to fit him perfectly. Distractedly, she wondered how he’d gotten it on. His jeans were just as form-fitting as his shirt and called far too much attention to the long, lean power encased there.
    His dark brown hair was slightly damp from the cold November morning and curled against his forehead in thick waves that begged to be touched. She caught a whiff of him, like soap and cologne, and felt herself instantly flush. The scent of coffee came next, erasing what was left of her scowl.
    Suddenly she felt ridiculous standing there in front of the famous Christopher Daniels in nothing but pj’s and a nasty expression. Her gaze slipped from his impossibly green eyes to the coffee in his hands. Curls of steam rose lazily from the sip holes, beckoning her. She suppressed a moan and turned a slightly apologetic look on the actor.
    “Okay,” she said with a small shrug and a smile, “which one’s mine?”
    “This one,” he said, holding one of the cups out to her.
    Eleanore took it and her fingers brushed against his as she did. Sparks of energy thrummed through her fingertips, into her arms, and then raced across her chest. It was far more intense than it should have been and Ellie froze in place at the contact. Neither of them said anything; finally, she cleared her throat and turned the cup around in her hands. “How did you know what I like?”
    “I saw your drink on the desk at the bookstore,” he said softly. His voice sounded tighter than it had a moment ago. His green gaze had darkened and his attention had focused on her like a pinpointed laser beam. “I would be fine with just having coffee on the front doorstep, but I’m afraid that if you don’t let me in soon, we’ll have to contend with people coming up here to ask me for autographs.”
    Even as he said this, Eleanore caught the distant sounds of teenage girls giggling below in the courtyard. She stepped back through her doorway and invited him in. “Say nothing about my state of dress or my lack of furniture and I might let you stay longer than it takes me to down this coffee,” she warned him.
    Daniels stepped past the threshold and into Eleanore’s apartment. She watched him with some trepidation as he glanced around, taking in their surroundings. Ellie’s apartment wasn’t exactly cheap; it was in a better part of town and somewhat gated. Plus, hers was a corner suite with a fireplace, which not all of them had.
    But she never spent much on furniture. It seemed pointless to her to waste money on something she might have to leave behind at any given moment. There was always a chance that the people around her would begin to notice she was different. And then it would be time to pick up and go, so she was always ready.
    She wondered what Daniels, the famous and very wealthy movie star, would think of her minimalist decor. He probably had a mansion.
    “Have a seat in the living room and I’ll go change,” she told him.
    She walked into the kitchen and pulled a mug down from one of her shelves. Then she tried to steady her hands as she poured her coffee from the paper cup he’d handed her into the mug and popped it into the microwave. She took a deep breath and returned to the living room, where he was still standing beside the couch, taking it all in. She brushed nervously past him and made her way down the hall to her bedroom.
    Ellie shut the door behind her and hurriedly pulled off her pajamas. Then she pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and quickly ran a brush through her hair.
    When she returned to the living room, it was to find Daniels standing before a pair of plywood shelves she had put together and placed in one corner. One shelf held all of her CDs. The other contained hardback and paperback books.
    He was reading the titles of the books when he glanced up at her entrance.
    His head turned and his gaze instantly pivoted to her once more. Eleanore felt her face and ears grow hot.
    The hint of a smile began to curve