A pensive frown drew Jericho's brows together. «I had one assignment that didn't pan out.»
«I don't even want to imagine what that means.» A sick feeling hollowed out the pit of her belly. She told herself the feeling stemmed from the notion of going through that herself rather than the thought of Jericho coming so close to disappearing the way the angel he'd replaced here had been.
He sighed, shaking his head. He swallowed audibly, his voice hoarse. «The soul mate committed suicide. I had to hand my client over to a grief angel.»
«Damn.» I'm sorry. The words hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back. Offering sympathy, reaching out, would only make this situation worse for everyone concerned. Her heart twisted at the very idea of passing off a client that way, of having them hurt like that on her watch. For better or for worse, she came to care about all her people. In that, she knew she was lucky in her job. She got to help people find love-how the Guardians who dealt with ugly emotions like despair, depression, loss and suicide made it through the day was beyond her.
A shudder went through her. She was happy to keep her job, thanks so much. Failure was not an option. Mason and Celia were going to fall in love and they were going to be happy, even if she had to hog-tie their stubborn asses together for eternity. She stabbed her fork viciously into an innocent piece of broccoli.
«I don't know what you're thinking, but I know I don't like the look on your face.» Lazy amusement curled through Jericho's voice, and he settled back against the smooth wood of the booth.
She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, wrinkling her nose. «Just thinking we may have to hog-tie our clients together or something to make this work.»
«You always did have a fondness for being tied up.» The amusement was still in his deep tone, but laced with rough desire, with hot memories she'd tried to scrub from her mind long ago.
How he'd snuck into her brother's encampment, bound her and gagged her, stealing her away in the middle of the night to hold as a hostage. How he'd removed the gag when he'd gotten her back to his camp, and she'd challenged him, hurled every insult she'd ever heard at him, cursing him in four different languages. How she'd still been bound when he'd kissed her, stroked her, made love to her the first time. How she'd moaned and sobbed and begged him for more.
Her nipples hardened and wetness slicked her sex as the erotic parade marched behind her eyes. Goose bumps rippled down her skin, and her blood rushed hot through her veins. She barely managed to swallow the bite of food in her mouth without choking. Pain and lust twisted like wild things inside her, shredding her until she wanted to howl with the awfulness of it. Please, God, make it stop. Please. She couldn't bear this. Not now. Not again. Not with him.
«No response, huh? Tori.» He said the nickname slowly, as though savoring the taste of it on his tongue. «I like that. It suits you, darlin'.»
«Don't call me that. I'm not your darling. I never was.» She could have bitten her tongue off trying to snap her mouth shut. Too late. The words were out there, falling like heavy stones between them. She should have ignored his goading, shouldn't have mentioned the past at all, shouldn't even have acknowledged they had one. The very last thing she wanted was to rehash old times with him. The past was, by very definition, done and over with. It should stay that way.
His silver eyes zeroed in on her, made her want to squirm in discomfort. A flash of what almost looked like hurt flickered in his gaze. She repressed a snort. Right. She'd have to matter to him to hurt his feelings, and she knew she never had.
That was how they'd ended up in this mess. In life, they'd been soul mates, destined for one another, even though they were wary and untrusting, on opposite sides of a war. Then she'd risked everything to warn him about a surprise raid Enrique had planned…only to find her beloved in bed with another woman.
A stray shot fired during the raid had taken her life, but she'd already been shattered beyond repair.
She hadn't known it then, but their own Guardians had failed them, and when Tori and Jericho had died because of that failure, they'd been recruited to replace their angels. That was how it worked. Failure meant another angel replaced you. Failure resulting in the death of a client meant the client replaced you. It was just Tori and Jericho's misfortune that both of them had died that day. And it was just Tori's luck that a man she never wanted to see again, a man who should have croaked at a ripe old age before the turn of the last century, had followed her into unwilling immortality.
Fuck.
CHAPTER 3
Tori grabbed her bag, tossed more than enough cash to cover their meal onto the table, shot out of her seat, and ran like hell. She couldn't do this. She could not do this.
He caught her on the street, of course. Jericho had never been one to let anything go. His fingers wrapped tight around her upper arm, pulling her to a stop and forcing her to face him. She kept her gaze pinned to his chest, grating out as few words as possible. «I need to go home.»
She felt his gaze move over her, studying her-her face, her eyes, her breasts beneath the serviceable top she wore, her white-knuckled grip on the handle of her purse. «Fine. I'll walk you.»
Shifting his inexorable grip, he steered her toward the small bed and breakfast inn she owned-or, at least, the angelic woo-woo of her cover identity meant people thought she owned it and had owned it for years and years. Thankfully, it was close to the town square, which the diner faced. They didn't have far to go. Still, she was painfully aware of his hand on her skin as they walked through the square. She hated herself for being unable to squelch her reaction. She wanted to run screaming, she wanted to tackle him to the ground and do filthy things to his body. She wanted to beat him to a pulp for hurting her and ruining her one chance at happiness. She did none of those things-the town gossip didn't make gossip for other people to spread around.
His hand on her elbow would look like nothing more than polite and solicitous assistance to an elderly lady, but the rough calluses on his fingertips rubbed in slow circles against her arm. Goose bumps raced over her limbs again and she shivered, her nipples tightening to painful points. She hadn't been this turned on in over a century. Not since the last time he'd touched her.
She turned her head to meet his gaze squarely, unflinching. «While we walk, let's discuss Mason and Celia. Then I'd like us to have as little contact as possible until this is over.»
Again, she felt him study her, but she refused to be discomfited by him. He faced forward. «We should definitely talk about the assignment.»
«Okay. Good.» Relief that he didn't push the subject of their interactions, past or future, made the air squeeze out of her lungs.
«You've done a great job of steering Mason in the right direction, but it's obvious to anyone-including Celia-he's just looking to score. And get rid of what has to be a serious case of blue balls.»
She choked, and a laugh exploded out of her. Wrapping her arm around herself, she tried to hold in the shrieks of laughter and not drop her purse. Hilarity made her voice shake. «I cannot believe you said that.»
A rich chuckle answered her, and she watched the lines crinkle around his eyes as his white teeth flashed in a wide smile. «The truth hurts.»
«Much like blue balls.»
His broad shoulder lifted in a casual shrug. «It's hard on a guy.»
«So I've heard.» She snorted on another chuckle. «I'll take your word on it.»
«They both have trust issues. They're wary. It's understandable, given their pasts.» His dark brows drew together, his focus turning inward for a moment. Then he sighed and his lips quirked in a small grin. «Which is pretty much the same old story for what we do.»