All That Falls (13 page)

She sighed, not sure she should go along with anything that would put her in his iron-hard arms.

“The best partner I’ve ever had, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

She bit her lip. “All right. Show me.”

He rose and held a hand out to her. She took it and returned with him to the apartment.

“You still have to shed some clothes. Your arms must be bare.”

She appraised him. She accepted that her clothes were too restrictive to dance in, but she wasn’t particularly comfortable with stripping in front of the poster boy for physical perfection, even if he had seen her naked in the past. So though it made her annoyed with herself for falling prey to old insecurities, she stalled.

“First put the music on and show me what a great dancer you are.”

The corners of his mouth turned up, but he didn’t protest. Instead, he executed a flawless combination of leaps, rising so high and spinning so fast that it was like he’d bounced off a trampoline or been shot from a cannon. And despite all that power, his arms and feet were perfectly positioned. He landed noiselessly.

Fucking hell. Does everything have to be so beautiful? Considering he’s fallen, it hardly seems fair. And as a dancer, how am I supposed to walk away from someone who can move like that? Not possible.

Without a word, she drew her blouse off and tossed it aside, and the pants joined it.

She walked to him. “Start the music.”

He smiled and did. When he returned from the stereo, she didn’t hesitate. They launched into the choreography they both knew inside and out. And from the first moment that he lifted her, so completely solid and confident, she let herself go. Eventually classical music gave way to modern, but they didn’t stop dancing. Without choreography, they found their own moves.

It might have been two hours. It might have been four. When
she finally sat on his bed, glowing with perspiration, she watched him with a bemused expression.

“You didn’t lie.”

“I rarely do.” He sat next to her, more it seemed to be companionable than from fatigue. “As I said, I don’t have the way of it. You’re a very talented dancer, but your greatest talent is singing. When you sang the Christina Aguilera song, I realized how impressive your voice is.”

“It’s the muse magic. There’s a vibration that enters our voice. It stimulates the human brain, inspiring creativity and activating a lot of usually dormant parts.”

“Hmm. I’m not able to fall under its sway, but almost wish I could. Your voice…the way you sing and dance…” He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “It reminds me of home.”

So that was why he’d been so determined to get her to perform. That her dancing brought heaven to mind for him was flattering. Really flattering. “You miss it.”

“Of course. As was intended.”

“Why did you rise up? Was it really ambition?”

“I didn’t rise up. I wasn’t part of the insurrection.”

“But you’re fallen.”

“Yes,” he said bitterly. “I broke a law of heaven, but never with the intention of turning against God or a brother angel. I’m fallen, but I’m not damned.”

“The difference being that you live on earth rather than in hell?”

He nodded and added, “The difference being that redemption is possible for me.”

“How will you redeem yourself?”

He opened his mouth, but closed it before answering. The pause stretched on until he finally said, “When the critical moment comes, I’ll do whatever heaven requires.”

She glanced at him.

“As you saw earlier tonight, Merrick and your friend are in danger,” he said. “They may need my help again soon, but they won’t need yours. So if only one of us can stay, it should be me. Go home. Having you here complicates the situation.”

She frowned, irritated at having been dismissed again, especially after what they’d just shared. “So sorry to complicate things.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I don’t think you’re sorry. Alissa works hard to keep the peace, but I don’t believe you’re inclined that way.”

“No,” she said and smiled. “Peacekeeping isn’t my job. I’ll tell you what though. I’ll go home and leave you alone if you give me back Griffin Lane’s songbook.”

“It’s amusing the way you think you can bend me to your will.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll just hang around and be as disruptive as possible.”

She didn’t anticipate the movement. One moment, they were lying side by side, the next he’d rolled so that he lay right next to her, his torso above hers, skin touching skin. Her breath caught, her body warming. He lowered his mouth to just above hers, and she inhaled his cool breath, which held traces of mint and spice. It tantalized her.

“Cerise, I am fallen, but I’m an angel still. You’re no match for me. I can kiss your lips until you’ll want nothing to touch them but my flesh. I can bring you to your knees with a word or a look. I warn you one last time. You’re a distraction I can’t afford. Please go home. I like you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She clenched her jaws. She wasn’t as weak-willed as all that. She was a muse. One of the four most powerful in the world. She’d been given a divine gift just like he had. He might be an archangel, but he was still only flesh and blood. Beautiful flesh, but not tempting enough to make her lose her mind. No one was
that
beautiful.

“You think you could break me?” she scoffed. “With your fists, sure. But with a kiss? No. Never.” She caught a lock of his hair and closed her fist on it, tugging hard, drawing him until their lips brushed each other. “Go ahead and try.”

“You challenge me?” he demanded. “You’re a fool,” he said and, exhaling, he added in a whisper. “And so am I.”

A cool hand descended to her belly, and, against her will, her muscles clenched in anticipation. His gaze lowered to where her breasts threatened to spill out of the plum cups of her bra.

“It’s not an accident that women’s bodies are round,” he whispered, his hand sliding up along her ribs, his thumb skimming the undersurface of her breast. “Round and soft like the
curves of a cloud. Bursting and ripe like fruit. Breasts. Hips. Buttocks.” His hand slid down, raising gooseflesh. He squeezed the curve of her hip, and her heart thumped in her chest.

“Even between your legs,” he whispered. “Plump and succulent.” He licked his lips as if tasting her. “At first, women were conceived as companionship and comfort for men.” He looked through his lashes into her eyes. “But then we were carried away by the dream of you. With exertion, your skin tastes like the sea. With lust, your bodies grow juicy with arousal.” A slow smile curved his lips. “Nothing was accidental.”

On the last word, he bent his head and sucked her lower lip into his mouth as if to consume her.

“You were made in the image of what we most want to devour.”

A touch, a lick, and then a tangle of mouths and limbs. His breath was cool, and she drew it in like the morning mist. Her heart hammered, her muscles contracted, and she twisted her fingers through his hair and held tight.

She’d never tasted his like and very quickly, she wanted to consume him, too. Her arms locked around him, pulling him closer until they were pressed together. It was the dance all over again, but with less control.

He sprung the clasp on her bra and pushed it aside. The stroke of his tongue pebbled her nipple. His fingertips hooked the lace of her panties and dipped inside as the strands of his hair trailed over her, a silky caress against aroused skin. It all drove her onward with a pounding heart.

He sucked and teased with his teeth until she writhed, until her body was desperate and hungry. Then he slid down, dragging her panties off, and pushed her thighs to the sides of his broad shoulders, spreading her open.

True to his word, his intent was to devour her. And he did.

Her body clamped around his thick tongue as it thrust into her. The rake of teeth and thumb between her legs was excruciating. And exquisite.

An orgasm wracked her body, and he continued until the sensations became so raw, the rest of reality fell away.

When he rose above her and she felt the smooth head of his cock seeking entry, she gasped, “God, yes.”

He shoved forward, stretching her pulsing flesh around him.
The aching hunger built, her womb cramping in anticipation, beating like a second heart.

He closed his eyes. “Warm and wet and welcoming,” he whispered. “I can taste heaven in your heat.” He pulled back and thrust forward, making her body a conquest. Hungry to be claimed, she met him, joining a frenzied rhythm.

Then without warning, he withdrew. She cried out, her body screaming a protest.

In an instant, he was off the bed and backing away.

Her voice was deep, melodic, and sensual. Infused with passion and magic, she said, “I want you.”

He paused, rigid and still. “I know.” He clenched his jaws, straining to resist his own need. “And I want you with a force that rivals hurricanes, but I…” The intensity of his gaze seared her skin.

She held out a hand.

“Don’t,” he whispered hoarsely and then swallowed. “I almost didn’t stop. Almost couldn’t.”

Still burning for him, her voice was laden with seductive promise. In that moment, she would’ve done anything he asked to have him. “Come back to me.”

He took a half step forward, but then shook his head. “I’m sorry. I did warn you.”

She realized too late. By the time she lurched up to grab him, he was out of reach. With inhuman speed, he burst out the balcony doors, wings erupting from his back and, in a flutter of turbulent air, he was gone.

Lysander sat on the stone ledge at the southwest corner of Merrick’s building, cursing and battling the urge to return to her.

The girl was remarkable. He’d sensed it from the first. Fierceness of will. Strength and softness of body. He twisted, restless in his skin. Being inside her, being pressed against that warm, radiant flesh, he’d nearly lost himself. He’d never meant to get so carried away. He’d left her aching and confused, and there was no excuse for that. Consummating their relationship could’ve put her in danger and could’ve compromised his chance for redemption. He’d had no business sitting next to her
on that bed. He
knew
better. He should’ve enjoyed the dance and let her go.

Especially considering that the release from sex would’ve created only temporary warmth and satisfaction. Still, he’d wanted it. So badly. To meet someone whose company he wanted to bask in was rare. He hadn’t wanted to leave. Of course he hadn’t. Being exiled from heaven meant an endless aching chill. It meant he could never get warm or be truly at peace. The demons likened it to a drug being withdrawn, and they should know. They’d created the chemicals that could simulate the feeling of lightness of soul and which when withheld created a gnawing desire for their return. Demons suffered their banishment from heaven and visited that same kind of suffering upon mankind. Spite. It was a term, an idea, that had not existed among angels before the uprising and the fall.

Lysander licked his lips, wanting a lingering taste of her. He swallowed, knowing that he needed to stay away from her, but he was already nostalgic about their time together. He ran a hand through his unruly hair, thinking of the soft, very dark waves that had framed her face like a dusky halo. He shook his head with regret. A great and dangerous beauty. Better never to have met her.

He rubbed his arms against the chill that seemed worse than usual. Then he felt a sharp pang in his chest that he recognized. He looked to the sky. Dark. Silent. Still. He glanced around and down, not really seeing, focused instead on the quiet. He felt a vibration, a wave of malignant energy, then another sharp cramp in his heart.

Demons.

Some fool had opened a gate.

The ache lingered. Longing had never been so intense. Using muse magic on herself wasn’t strictly legal, but Cerise couldn’t move, couldn’t focus. She had to try to use her gift to overcome the effects of his. With a slow exhalation of breath, she gathered strength.

“You don’t need or want anything. Or anyone. You’re content.” The magic washed over her. She drew in a fresh breath and exhaled trouble. Angels were so addictive. She hadn’t known. Now she did. The way she wanted him was unnatural and should have made her want him less, but didn’t.

The longing faded, muscles unfurling, mind spooling away from the orgasm she’d had and the one she hadn’t. She forced herself up and she dressed, all the while recalling the slide of his body over hers. She shuddered, then clenched her teeth, awash in emptiness.

Time ticked by, and gradually she remembered why she’d originally come to his apartment. Her gaze slid to the duffel. She wouldn’t have admitted to Jersey or Hayden that if given the choice she would’ve chosen Lysander’s body over the opportunity to get the songbook, but lying to herself wasn’t an option. Some people were good at it, but she’d never been that lucky.

Cerise pulled on the bag’s strap, and it dropped with a thump on the pillow. She unzipped the duffel and removed the book from where it had been tucked next to his violin. She glanced at the shelf, empty now, a lonely shadow stretching from it.

She rose and glanced at the middle of the bed where the open duffel rested, big and black like a giant beetle against the sheets. If it wasn’t the first thing he saw when he walked in, she’d be surprised.

He’d open the bag and know she’d taken the book back, that she’d gotten at least one of the things she’d wanted from him—a thing he hadn’t wanted to give up.

Good.

As she left, a feeling of restlessness kept her company.

Retrieving the book is enough,
she told herself.
Because it has to be.

Strange company,
Cerise thought upon entering Alissa’s apartment. Merrick had returned from fighting the rival ventala, and he and Richard played poker in the low light to the hum of their murmured mock barbs and chuckles. Their rapport was as easy as if they’d been friends for a lifetime. She glanced at Richard’s mountain of chips, then to Merrick’s sharp eyes. Richard was taking Merrick for all he was worth?
Not likely.
Amusement curled through Cerise at the thought of Merrick letting Richard win at cards.
He’s very good with my dad,
Alissa had said. Apparently so. Merrick, ruthless to a fault by reputation, indulged his father-in-law for his wife’s sake. Cerise felt envy’s kiss. Griffin had loved her, but not that much. Not enough to tell the world. Not enough to stay with her. And Lysander…well, he was quicksilver through her fingers, too. She couldn’t hold on to him.