Free Angel Wings by Suzanne Stengl Page B

think—”
    “You’re plenty passionate, just not with Rodney.”
    She wasn’t sure about that, about the passionate part. Her life was subdued, not passionate. At least, it had been before Gabe had crashed through her window on Monday night.
    And on Tuesday night, she’d been so angry about Rodney. A burning, consuming anger. Then Wednesday morning, she’d been sad. A stormy, heart aching sad, more sad than she ever remembered. And later on Wednesday, just last night, when she’d danced with Gabe?
    She’d felt light and carefree and happy. And romantic, and even a little crazy. Could she actually feel passion? Maybe not with Rodney, but with someone else?
    Standing so close to Gabe, she could see the pattern in his black shirt, the crosshatch of the threads. And on the ends of his collar, the tiny white motif—his logo of Angel Wings.
    Did the Angel Wings mean something? Did they represent something she’d been searching for? Could the wings mean freedom?
    That was another thing she felt around Gabe. She felt free and powerful and uninhibited. And maybe, even passionate.
    He still held her by her shoulders. He hadn’t let go. She didn’t want him to ever let go. Even if it was not allowed.
    Don’t think about that. She put her hands on his chest. “Take me flying?” Her words were out before she’d had a chance to consider what she was saying.
    He hesitated an instant, a question in his glance. “You mean without an airplane?”
    She sighed, amazed at her boldness. And then, “You said you had wings.”
    “Of course I do.” He smiled. “I’m an angel.”
    She was certain now. She knew what she wanted. “I want you to take me flying.”
    He nodded, slowly, gripping her shoulders. “All right,” he said. “We’ll do that. But first,” he released her, taking a step back, “we have to eat.”
    Once again, she felt the loss of his touch. But she couldn’t think about that. Not allowed, he’d said.
    Focus, she told herself. “I have to eat. You don’t.”
    “I want to eat,” he said, pausing as he seemed to study her. “And I want to look at you.” He stepped close again, took hold of her shoulders again. “Wear your dress for me.”
    Surprise flickered over her. “Why?”
    “Because you look like—” He took a moment to think about it. “A winsome nymph,” he decided. “And I love looking at you.”
    A warm blaze spread through her body, even though she knew he only meant he loved looking at pretty things. It had nothing to do with loving her. She was simply a feast for his angel eyes. “Is that you feeling your senses?”
    “Feeling my . . . ?”
    “You experience your senses, more than most humans.”
    “I love my senses,” he admitted. “I love the way everything looks and smells and sounds and tastes.” He rubbed his hands slowly down her arms. “And feels.” He was savoring the feel of her. “I’ve missed this.”
    She put her hands on his chest again. She could feel his heart beating. “Do you remember being human?”
    “Oh yes.”
    “Do you remember how you—” She wanted to say died, but she couldn’t. “Do you remember what you were doing right before you became an angel?”
    He thought a moment. “I remember slipping . . .” Then his thoughts seemed far away. “Mostly, I remember the things I left behind. At the time, they seemed important. More important than anything. But now, from this distance, they’re not important. Almost like . . .”
    “Like what?”
    “Like coming here to help you, has helped me, too.”
    He looked up at the ceiling, considering his own words. And then he forgot them. “Get dressed,” he said. “I’ll make dinner.”
     
    · · · · ·
     
    She showered, then blew her hair partly dry, letting it fall in random curls around her shoulders. Pulling open a drawer, she found the silk panties that matched the dress. And then, sitting in front of the mirror in her bedroom, wearing only the red lace panties, she applied a