True Intentions (20 page)

probably unstoppable."

"I can't even control my own emotions, much less someone else's." I complain, the tears remaining.

He smirks. "You have more control and even greater power than you realize.

You just don't know how to fully utilize it yet. Don't worry. Someday you will."

"Whatever. And even if I did, it doesn't work when it comes to you. I lose all control and power."

Sam moves his hand from my hairline and gently brushes my cheek once again, but this time there are no tears to brush away. His touch feels warm against my skin and is instantly relaxing.

"What does this gift have to do with you rejecting me?" I ask, still hurt from his negative response to my desires.

"Well, right now you're pure . . . a virgin. If we were to . . . be intimate, that would change. Sin is exactly what Lucifer wants
, especially from you
. You see, as long as you're pure, Lucifer can't directly kill you, nor can his servants.
Only
another human can kill you. That's precisely why Matthew influenced Walter. He needed Walter to do the deed—
to destroy you.
Once you lose your purity, any one of us can kill you. You'll lose that protection. In every respect, I have hell of a better chance to protect you from a human than one of my own kind. Another dark angel would have the same powers as me and maybe thousands of years more experience of how to use them.

"So, I have to stay a virgin forever?" I grimace. The tears reappear and trickle down my cheeks. I bow my head in disgrace.

He puts his hand under my chin and lifts my head up. I see his charming smile through my tears.

"Not forever . . . . But you have to do it in a non-sinful way," he reassures me.

"A non-sinful way?" I say, becoming more anxious.

Is the non-sinful way in Sam's eyes the same as in mine?

"Marriage," is all he says, answering my question.

My eyes widen in disbelief. I have to get married in order to ever have sex and stay protected. Panic comes over me. My heart rate and breathing increase rapidly. I distinctly remember back to our conversation earlier this week. I had asked him if dark angels and humans ever got married. The answer was
no
. I will never be able to be with Sam.

Anxiety hits the back of my throat, like a wave smashes the beach. My heart sinks, perhaps all the way to the ocean floor.

Sam picks up on my panic.

He grabs me, pulling me tightly into his chest. His hands start rubbing the back of my head as he slowly plants a kiss on my brow.

"I know," he says, his chest tensing up against me. "Don't worry, we will figure it out."

He lifts his chin and glances up at the silver clock on the wall directly across from the bed. It is late—2:00 a.m. to be exact.

"You need to try and sleep. We will be heading to the airport in a few hours.

We'll talk more about this later. I promise. I love you . . . You mean everything to me. I'll figure out a way to be together forever."

"Ditto," I manage to spit out, using all my physical strength to hold back the rest of the tears.

He leans down until our eyes met. His lips part slightly, and I feel their softness press against me. I close my eyes, feeling his breathe against my mouth. Within seconds, I feel him slipping away. Our kiss is too brief. I open my eyes to stop him, to beg him to stay,
but he is, once again, already gone.

Chapter Twenty-Six – A Couple

I wake Sunday morning feeling exhausted. Sam and I had said goodbye to Mallory and her family and headed home Saturday. I'll miss my BFF, but this time it's a little different. I'm glad to be home. Truth be told, I've really missed Mom—
more than I
ever could have anticipated.

She picked me up at the San Bernardino airport, ecstatic to take me to our new home. She was exaggeratedly proud of her accomplishment. I couldn't remember a time in my life she resembled an eager child more than yesterday. The entire car ride home she talked about the house, everything she'd achieved last week, and all her future plans to remodel the upstairs bathroom and kitchen. She absolutely loves the historic look of this place. I guess she always wanted a historic home in Chicago, but my dad was partial to a more modern look. He trumped her, in
that
category at least.

Our Chicago home was decorated in a traditional mix with eccentric style. She has decorating freedom beyond her wildest dreams in this new place. Everything has been her decision. She is acting like a kid in a toy store, seeing endless possibilities ahead. I'm happy for her. She needs this.

It was difficult for me to get off the plane and pretend I didn't know Sam. I knew I couldn't bring attention to him, especially if I introduce him to my family one day. My mom has an amazing memory. What if she remembered him? I'd end up having some explaining to do. Instead of getting caught in a spider web of trouble, I managed to avoid eye contact with Sam once we exited the aircraft.

As I look back now, I wish I would have asked Sam when I would see him again.

As I think about it, I realize I never even told him our new address. How will he know where to find me?

I assume he won't stay far away for long. But then again, I didn't ask.

So much for learning not to assume.

I went to bed Saturday night and woke up this morning with no contact from Sam.

Should I be worried?

What if Satan finds him?

The most practical way to get to me:
destroy my protection.

I miss him when he is not around. His absence leaves me with a void in my heart, reminding me of Aiden and how I've felt since his death. It brings me constant sorrow to know I will never see Aiden's face again. Well, at least not in real life, only through memories and photographs.

I feel my stomach turn as I imagine the worst. How will I cope if something happens to Sam? It's too horrifying to even consider.

After a brief stretch, I climb out of bed and tiptoe across the cold, hardwood floors. The coldness on my skin reminds me the first thing I need to do is put some rugs down. That way, my feet won't feel like they are frostbitten every time I move across the bare floor.

I grab my small box of girl necessities like soap, shampoo, and my toothbrush, and then head down the small hall to the bathroom. At least now I have a shower on the upstairs level. No more carrying my supplies up and down the stairs each day.

That's not a pleasant memory.

My new bathroom is old-fashioned and entirely outdated, but one of a kind—
like
me.

Small, black and white tiles cover the bathroom floor. The tub/shower combo is an olive green like it was last updated in the 1970s. There's a matching toilet close to the window.

Interesting . . . . Now everyone can watch me use the restroom.

The pedestal sink is white, and looks like it might be the original. There is a small closet in the corner where I can store my bathroom supplies. The sink isn't going to offer me any storage, that's for sure.

I hurry through my shower since I need to get to work on my bedroom. I dry off and throw on a pair of clean underwear, pink short-shorts, my bra, and a plain, white, V-neck T-shirt. I pin my hair up in a towel and open the bathroom door, releasing all the built-up steam. I wipe my hand across the fogged mirror, so I can see enough to brush my teeth. I finish and then head back to my bedroom, leaving my box of supplies in the bathroom. My lavender body lotion is the only thing I'm taking with me.

I open my bedroom door and gasp, dropping the lotion. The bottle makes a large thud as it hits the floor. I stare in disbelief. Sam is lying across my bed, his legs crossed, reading my diary. I've written thousands of personal thoughts in that stupid book from describing fights with friends, to starting my period. Hell, I even have pages about obsessing over him. The small book is compiled of thoughts I've transferred on to paper—
including personal thoughts about him.

"What are you doing?" I growl, grabbing the book out of his hand. I hold the book tightly to my chest and add, "How did you get in here?"

A playful smile sweeps across his attractive face.

"The book was on the corner of the bed under the pillow," he explains.

I know that, since I had written an entry last night when I lay down for bed.

How much had he read?

"What are you doing here, and how did you get in?" I repeat, my cheeks still flush from embarrassment. I can't believe Sam read my personal thoughts. He'll probably think I'm crazy from my descriptions of him over the past few months.

My journal has been my personal escape for as long as I can remember. I write about my feelings, my experiences, and, most importantly, I write to Aiden. I'd never let anyone read those entries. I'd feel transparent. I don't want anyone looking through me—directly into my soul.

"I came to see you," he pauses, awaiting my response.

When I don't change my expression, he adds, "Through that window. You have the most perfect climbing tree right outside." He points toward my north window.

"What if my mom found you here?"

"Well, she left you a note . . . . She went to church without you. She thought you might need to catch up on some sleep. But I had a great plan. Just in case she discovered me, I'd tell her I'm here to attack you," he jokes, grabbing my arm and flinging me on top of him.

His scent is strong against my skin. I want to bury my face into his chest and stay there for eternity. I feel his muscles underneath his tight, cotton T-shirt. He is way more amazing than any girl could ever dream up. I feel guilty for hogging him all for myself.

Someone this beautiful should be shared with the whole world. Too bad I'm selfish and want him only for myself . . .
now and for always.

"What's going through that mischievous mind of yours?" he asks, pulling my attention back to the fact he was reading my journal moments ago.

"Nothing you probably haven't already read out of my book." I growl, then I smile innocently.

"I think you have our roles confused. I'm supposed to be tempting you, not the other way around."

He plants a kiss on the center of my neck. His lips cause me to break out in goose bumps. Samuel Perry has such an effect over my mood. I hate how he can easily influence my feelings but love the exhilaration he brings out of me.

"You
are
a demon," I say, lightly smacking him on his chest.

He laughs at my gesture and raises one eyebrow.

"Now that I know for certain how you really feel about me, I have one question,"

says, grinning. I know he got the information about my feelings from my stinking journal.

Darn him . . . .

"Go ahead and ask," I say, rolling my eyes. I then add, "Of course your answer may still lie in the parts of the book you didn't get to."

"Oh, don't worry . . . I'm a fast reader. Another benefit of being immortal."

That comment doesn't ease my anxiety. I suddenly have a strong desire to burn the stupid book.

He stays quiet.

"Are you going to ask, or what?" I demand, wanting to get any embarrassing questions over with.

"I read your entry last night talking about Chicago and our trip. You mentioned you met some hot college guys at the game. Should I be concerned now that I have competition?" he asks, smiling.

"Very."

"Well then, I better claim you quickly."

He swiftly moves, changing positions until he is lying on top of me. It takes my breath away as I anticipate what he may be instigating.

He gently leans forward, bringing our lips together softly. After an intense moment, he pulls back, leaving me aching for more of his touch.

"Have you given any thought to what I said on the plane?" he asks, running his hand down the middle of my chest until it moves past my stomach and rests on my inner thigh, slightly above the knee.

I had committed our discussion during the plane ride home yesterday to memory. Sam thought it would be a good idea to announce we were dating. That way, my family would expect him to be around all the time. I agreed; it made the most sense, but I'm still bothered by one detail in his plan. Why don't I get to meet his family?

His answer: "It isn't a good idea
."
That's a lame response in my opinion. I want to know why?

"I am willing to go there when you are," I reply, repeating my answer from yesterday.

"Of course I'm ready to meet your family and friends,
officially
," he says, smiling.

He moves his finger so it grazes the outer part of my thigh—just above my knee.

"That's not what I mean."

"And what exactly do you mean, per se?"

I feel his warm breath against my cheek. I know he's trying to play dumb, but I'm not about to fall for it.

"I want to meet
your
family. Kate, Stephen, and Susan."

"And if I comply?"

"I'll give you whatever you want," I respond, fighting back a giggle

"Ava O'Brian, you will be the death of me! I won't have to worry about Lucifer, I'll explode," he says, shaking his head.

"Explode?"

"Yes, explode . . . . From some type of sexual frustration!" He moves his hand from my leg to my rump and gives it a light squeeze.

I smile and give him a quick peck on the lips. Then I wiggle from underneath him, separating my body from his. I leap off my bed—completely satisfied.

Although he hasn't said the words, I can tell by his expression—I won. I'll be meeting the Perry's.

* * * * *

Sam suggests we meet at the end of my driveway at 5pm then head to his house.

Finally, I get the chance to be introduced to his family. I told my mother I wanted to check out the Home Depot down the mountain and look for a new rug and lamp for my bedroom. She was thrilled at the idea and offered to go with me.

"No, that's okay, Mom. I want to do this by myself. Plus, I may ask Sara to go, so I can get her opinion.

"That sounds fun. What color rug are you thinking?"

I'm clueless on what colors will look good in my new room. She painted the walls a deep periwinkle. It looks really good with the hardwood floor and white trim, but I'm indecisive on accent colors.