All Amity Allows (Fall for You Book 2) (8 page)

Instead of leaving the car in the middle of the road—Becca’s street—where Drew would have to return to it, Amity concentrated on moving herself, and it, to Drew’s driveway. She’d have to get him home the same way. Then she’d have to alter his memory, which was always risky. If an angel went back too far, there was always the chance the person would forget vital information, an especially dangerous issue when that person was a doctor. One evening would be safe though; she was sure of it.

Once the car was safe in his driveway, Amity popped back to Drew’s side.

She caught sight of him just as he entered into a cocktail bar. Waiting a couple of minutes to give him time to settle in, she followed behind. She didn’t worry about cloaking herself, not yet at least. It wouldn’t matter if people could see her, or even if Drew could see her. After all, once he had a drink or two in him, she’d be able to start talking to him. Then she’d be able to try to dig into the truth within him the old-fashioned way.

She watched as he took his drink from the bartender. He tipped it back, drinking the double in one large gulp and allowing the liquid to rush down his throat. As if that small quantity of alcohol was enough to start the process of relaxation, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his business shirt. Then he rolled his head from side to side, stretching out his neck muscles.

From her vantage point, Amity took a moment to admire just how well put together Drew was. It wasn’t just the obvious parts of him that guided her eye to roam over his body—like his classically handsome face, his chestnut hair, or his soulful brown eyes. It was the smaller things too. Like the sinewy muscles that ran down his forearms, which twisted around his bone to form delicate shapes beneath his sun-kissed skin. It was his firm chest and strong back, which stretched his business shirt just so. It was the way the white shirt revealed his body—lean but muscled, and screaming of power, strength, and protection.

Amity was struck with a sudden desire to trace her fingertips along his muscles and admire every inch of the perfect specimen that he was. The way she had been able to with men in ancient Rome. It had been so long since she’d experienced having the sensation of powerful human muscles twitching under the soft ministrations of her palms. It was an impossibility, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t admire him and imagine it. After all, despite Heaven putting the kibosh on relationships, it wasn’t really wrong to have admiring thoughts about Drew. As an angel from Heaven, it was her job to appreciate the finer details that were present in all of Heaven’s creations—and concentrated more in men like Drew. At least that was the justification she made in her mind as her gaze trailed over his body once more.

Putting out the best “keep away” vibes she could to deter the other men in the bar from approaching her, she watched as Drew finished his second drink and then had another two in rapid succession. At his current rate, he was going to drink himself into oblivion before too long—and then she wouldn’t even need to use any special ability to wipe his mind after their chat.

Deciding it was time to approach him before he’d drunk too much to be able to talk to her, she sidled up to the bar and slid onto the stool.

“Hi.” She dropped the act that made her unapproachable and smiled warmly at him.

He glanced at her, before doing an almost comical double-take and sitting up straighter. He cleared his throat. “Um, hi.”

“I saw you at the hospital today, right? Do you work there?” She figured that her best angle to worm her way under his skin was appealing to the baser parts of his personality—his lust and his pride.

He puffed his chest out and his smile widened. “Yeah, I’m a doctor.”

She moved her fingers as close to his arm as she dared without actually touching him. She couldn’t risk making that physical contact or else the pain that she could feel from his soul would shoot through her as an acute and sharp agony deep in her grace. The sort of wounds she’d caused with her meddling would echo through her angelic self. Her entire body fought against that possibility.

She cursed her impatience—the need for a speedy resolution that had seen her try to push him so hard so fast. She cursed Michael—if she’d known what touching Drew would reveal, she might have taken a different method. She cursed her sudden caring attitude—why the hell did it suddenly matter to her that he wasn’t ready for a new miracle. Why wasn’t she willing to try her luck anyway? True, she didn’t want another human death on her hands, but she wasn’t the only angel with blood on her hands. Some had even directly destroyed humanity in the name of vengeance, with little or no remorse for their actions.

Her smile had faltered as the thoughts assaulted her, so she plastered it back on her face again. “I’m Amity.”

“Drew.”

“So, Drew, what sorrows are you here to drown?”

He frowned at her question before looking around, as if checking the bar for traitors or spies. When he spoke, his voice was demanding. “How did—”

Amity cut him off with a trill of laughter, infusing her voice with as much melody as she could. “A man doesn’t drink as much as you have as quickly as you did unless he’s trying to forget something.”

“Have you been watching me?” He raised an eyebrow at her and grinned, as if he’d caught her and discovered her dirty secret.

His question made her realize what she’d just unwittingly admitted. But then she decided to use that to her own advantage. “Maybe. Would it be a problem if I was?”

He shrugged. “Depends.”

“On?”

He leaned closer to her, whispering into the ever-closing gap between them. “On why you’ve been watching me.”

She bit her lip in a way that she knew human men found attractive. Then she glanced over her shoulder, feigning a need to check for onlookers. “You intrigue me.”

He chuckled. “Well, I’ve certainly been told worse.”

She shifted in her seat, not needing to feign interest as she leaned closer. “Tell me all about it,” she purred.

Chapter Seven

The whizzing sound
of his curtains being drawn and hastily thrown to one side of the window pulled Drew from his sleep. His head throbbed and his body protested—unwilling to be awake after the alcoholic punishing from the night before.

“Get up!” A female voice he didn’t recognize commanded.

Drew groaned and threw an arm over his eyes to stop the sun from burning through his eyelids and into his precious brain beyond.

Don’t tell me I’ve brought a one-nighter home, he thought as he considered why there was a woman in his house. A woman who definitely wasn’t Becca—the voice was far too sultry and low to belong to her.

He hadn’t wanted to do anything like that now he was back in Flint. The gossip was too intrusive, especially when everyone in a fifteen-mile radius seemed to know his father. That was part of the reason he’d been so happy when he realized Becca, the girl who’d been the subject of many teenaged fantasies of his, was apparently head-over-heels for him. He hadn’t had to worry about one-night stands, and embarrassing his father, the well-respected doctor.

Drew sighed into the crook of his elbow. How had he screwed this one up? It was just supposed to be a few drinks to help him relax and forget Becca, but instead, he had almost no memory of the night and apparently a stranger in his house. He hadn’t obliterated himself so thoroughly in a long time. If ever.

When he heard the quiet footfalls of the other person in his room, he wondered if she would excuse herself if he ignored her long enough. As if his need for her to be gone had instead been a siren call to her, he felt two petite hands close around his forearm. Her grip was like a vice, which was surprising considering how frail the long, thin, glove-encased fingers had seemed when she’d first touched him.

“Did you hear me Andrew Graham Petersen?” the voice snapped.

He groaned in protest. No one ever used his full name except his mother but that wasn’t his mother’s voice. His head ached too much to give it too much thought though—all he wanted to do was crawl back into the blissful sleep he’d enjoyed just a few moments earlier.

“It is time for you to pull your ass out of that bed and into the shower. That’s enough feeling sorry for yourself. It’s time to get up.”

“Give me one good reason why I should.” His throat was dry, parched from too much alcohol the night before, and the words stuck to his cheeks and coated his tongue in unpleasant ways.

Gloved hands lifted his arm away from where it covered his face and pinned it against the bed.

Holy hell she’s strong
!

His mind raced with what that strength could do in the bedroom. It was one thing for him to be able to hold up a woman and twist her into whatever position he wanted her in, but for her to have the strength to hold herself in awkward poses . . . his morning wood grew harder at the thought.

Surely he’d experienced a taste of that last night?

Inching one eye open, he was blinded by the sun still flooding through the window, and making his eyes and brain throb. Trying to ignore the ache, he worked on recalling any details of the previous evening, but the last thing he remembered was sitting at the bar.

A vague recollection of a blonde woman suddenly appearing at the stool beside him at the bar sprung to his mind. It hadn’t been just any blonde though. No, it was the one he’d spotted at the hospital—the one with the perfect tits and fuckable pout. She’d walked back into his life exactly when he’d needed someone to talk to. He recalled her starting a conversation with him and then . . .

Nothing.

Had he managed to score with her?

The excitement that coursed through him waned as he realized that if he had, he couldn’t remember one single second of it. It was a damned waste. Then again, if they’d done the deed the night before, and she was still in his house, there wasn’t really any reason why he couldn’t try for an encore. What better way to sweep all thoughts of Becca out of his system than to allow the blonde to blow his . . . mind.

Blinking to try to clear away the agony the sunlight caused each time he opened his eyes, he focused on the place he imagined the woman to be, based on her hand holding his arm securely by his side.

What he saw in the moments before his eyes adjusted to the light was nothing short of miraculous. The woman—
what was her name again
?—leaned over him. She was even more beautiful up close than he remembered. Breathtakingly so. Literally—he had to remind himself that breathing was a required part of living.

In fact, she was so stunning that it made his heart pound, sending blood rushing through his body and down to his cock.

Her pale hair seemed whiter than ever, pristine like falling snow, and the sun streaming in from the window formed a halo around her head, giving her the appearance of one of those pictures on the stained-glass windows of the church his mom used to drag him to years ago. She looked like nothing short of an angel. A wry smile lifted her lip and she watched him with clear amusement in her eyes.

“Welcome to the world of the living, Sleeping Beauty,” she said. Her voice was more melodic than he remembered it, but the bell-like quality rang through his pounding head and a fresh throbbing began just behind his temples. Without thinking, he moved to bring his arm to his head as he sat upright, but with her hand holding his arm in place he couldn’t. Instead, he ended up doing an awkward half sit-up and smashed his head against her chin.

She pulled away from the bed as a string of curse words far too filthy to come from a mouth so pretty streamed from her lips. Her hands clutched at the place his forehead had struck her.

Drew fell back to the bed, with his now-free hands clutched around his head as a fresh wave of nausea rolled through him. Eventually, he was able to focus on the fact that he wasn’t the only one who would have been hurt by the movement.

“God, I’m sorry, I”—he rolled onto his side and then pushed himself into a sitting position—“I didn’t mean to . . .” He waved his hand in her direction.

With a great effort, and miraculously without vomiting, he pushed himself upright and covered the distance to the blonde. He felt he owed it to her to check that she was okay.

When she pulled her hand away from her face, he’d half expected to see blood. Or at least a red spot which would later develop into a bruise. The way his head continued to ring from the force of the impact, he knew it hadn’t been a gentle tap. Instead, there was nothing, not a single mark. He moved to inspect the injury anyway.

She held up her hand to stop him from coming any closer.

He took another step.

“Stop,” she demanded.

There was something about her voice that almost compelled him to follow the direction. It didn’t stop him from protesting though. “I just want to check you’re okay.”

“I’m fine. Just . . . don’t come any closer.”

He frowned.
Why won’t she let me help her
? “I really should—”

“No.” Her tone was firm and it brokered no further argument from Drew.

Upon seeing
the kicked-puppy look that crossed Drew’s features, Amity almost felt like she owed him an apology. Only she couldn’t say what she needed to in order to sweep away his confusion. How could she? She couldn’t exactly explain that it hadn’t been the force of the impact of Drew’s forehead that had left her hurt and stunned—she’d endured way worse than that over the years and physical pain meant little to her if she didn’t allow it to.

No, it was simply the fact that Drew had touched her, which had hurt. Just as she’d known it would. Ever since she’d forced him off the road—and away from a confrontation with Becca and Evan—Amity had been walking a fine balance trying not to touch Drew. When she’d had to, she’d taken every precaution to ensure no skin to skin contact. She’d almost succeeded except for a couple of incidents.

Drew stood with his head cocked slightly off-center and his arms crossed over his firm, bare chest. He was watching her with a careful, assessing gaze—as if he could see through all of the layers of fake humanity which she’d cloaked herself in and right down to the very core of her. To her grace.

Amity dropped her gaze from his, before realizing that she was inadvertently staring at his semi-aroused cock pressing against the stripy cotton of his boxers.

“I am sorry,” he said again. The words were almost petulant, as though her refusing to let him help her was the worst slight she could have made against him. He took a backward step and sat back on the edge of his bed.

“I know. But it’s really fine.” She tried out a smile. “See.”

“Okay.” He nodded before turning back to look at his bed. Amity could almost see his mind ticking over. His hangover. The rumpled sheets. Her presence.

She started to realize why knocking him out, scrambling his memories, and bringing him home might not have been the best idea. Or maybe that part was fine, but choosing to stay until the morning was the part that was going to cause her grief.

“So . . .” he turned back toward her with a coy smirk on his lips. “Last night—”

“Nothing happened!” Amity practically shouted the words to cut off his question. It was a little bit of a lie, but the truth was something she couldn’t admit to. Or at least, wasn’t willing to examine in any more depth than she already had.

He’d been drunk by the time she used her charm to convince him to leave the bar, and they’d barely taken three steps outside the door before she’d pulled him against her, ready to zap his ass back to his house. He’d obviously thought she was making a pass though, and his lips had caressed hers before she’d had the sense to pull away. The sensation of his lips brushing across her mouth had caught her off guard. Mostly because it hadn’t caused the pain she’d been expecting. In fact, it had been different. Almost . . . pleasant.

Regardless of whether or not she’d enjoyed it, it had been the cue she needed that it was time to return him home. An instant later, she’d lowered him onto his bed, removed the memories of their conversation—where he’d spilled his heart to her, telling her his every feeling for Becca—and then left him to sleep off the effects of two different types of brain-scrambling. Only one self-imposed.

She should have left then and there. Should have gone back to Heaven and planned how best to help him with her newfound knowledge, but she couldn’t. The truth was Drew intrigued her. He was a bit of an enigma. An alpha male who wasn’t afraid to tell everyone around him of his opinions, but who also owned his emotions and loved completely, even when that left him hurt. If his drunken ramblings about the reasons Becca might have left him were to be believed, he clearly didn’t back down about voicing his thoughts, yet he was nothing but sweet when describing his love. It had made Amity more resolute in her decision to show him how to heal himself rather than try to force him to understand again by use of another miracle.

“Oh.” Drew’s disappointed exclamation pulled her from the memory.

It took her a second to realize that it was her admission that caused that little sound of regret.

“Why not?” he added, sounding as though he was concerned about his virility—or maybe his reputation.

Amity’s lip twitched as she wondered whether she’d accidentally wounded his pride. She could have kicked him while he was down, the set-up was almost too easy, but she didn’t. “Do I look like that kind of girl?”

His eyes swept over her body, drinking her in as desperately as he’d downed the alcohol the previous evening. When his gaze lifted back to meet hers, his eyes screamed, “Yes,” even as his lips formed the word, “No.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, I don’t know what kind of girl you mean.”

She could see through to the heart of him. He was an open book. He’d had easy women in his bed before, but he didn’t want to offend her. She chuckled as her little way of calling “bullshit,” but let his statement fall mostly unchallenged.

“Why are you here then?”

“Don’t you remember?” she asked.

His lips twisted into a grimace. “Sorry, last night . . .” He scraped his fingers across his scalp. “Well, to be honest, it's a bit of a blur.”

She took a small step closer to him now she was certain he wouldn’t try to reach for her again. “Last night I told you what I am and you asked for my help.”

“What you are?” He blinked in confusion. “What
are
you?”

“A personal trainer.” She grinned at him, hoping her confidence would sell the lie. As the angel of truth, her whole body and personality bucked away from untruths, so it was much more difficult for her to be deceitful than was fair. She just hoped she could avoid looking like a complete idiot by skirting around the truth rather than coming out with a blatant lie. She lifted her cheeks just a little higher, trying to force her lips into a winning smile. “And life coach.”

“And why exactly would I want a life coach?” He sounded more like he was talking to himself, but Amity was ready with an answer anyway.

“You said something about needing to get your life back in order after Becca.”

The name hung in the air between them as Drew’s gaze shot back to meet hers.

“I told you about that?” He pushed himself up off the bed and raked his hands through his hair. “Why would I tell you about her? You’re a complete stranger.”