“He’s right.” Raphael flung an arm around her shoulders. “One room makes it easier to watch over you.” His expression turned endearingly earnest. “And I vow to you, you have no reason to fear for your virtue.”
Gah! He was so sweet, deluded, but sweet.
“All right.” She wasn’t going to be stubborn when her life could be at risk. “But I pick the movie, and we raid the minibar.”
Chuckling, Raphael walked them after Lucifer. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Lucifer could have warned Bianca that Raphael was a lightweight, but where was the fun in that? Two mini bottles of vodka, and the archangel was passed out on one of the two queen beds. No way Lucifer was sleeping on the uncomfortably looking, hideously green velour upholstered couch, so he’d have to move him before he and Bianca went to sleep.
At the moment though, he was deriving too much enjoyment from a tipsy Bianca.
She’d washed her makeup off and was dressed in black leggings and an oversize black T-shirt with elemental symbols on it. With her elegant shape, he’d love to drape her in silks and velvets. She had a timeless beauty that would age gracefully.
She wriggled beside him and giggled. “This is my favorite part. Watch this, Rafe.”
“He’s sleeping.” They were propped side by side against the headboard watching some movie Bianca had insisted on downloading. About witches—imagine that!
Before Raphael had nodded off, the two of them had been providing a running commentary through the movie and the one before. Also featuring...wait for it…witches.
She wrinkled her nose. “Oh.”
“What’s your favorite part?” Lucifer missed her smile and wanted it back. He hadn’t been watching the movie, more watching Bianca watch the movie.
She shrugged and flushed. “It’s silly.”
“Tell me.” Without her prickly edges, she was enchanting.
Her lovely face lit up. “Really?”
“Really.” Her unfettered joy tugged at some part of him and made him want to share it with her.
She took a deep breath and her eyes sparkled. “Well, they make these margaritas and dance.” She giggled. “It’s happy. Rafe would like it.”
“He would.” He smiled at her.
Her eyes were the most compelling shade of indigo. He could drown in them. “This is your favorite movie?”
“One of them.” She wriggled. “But I know you don’t like it.”
“No?”
She leaned closer, almost overbalancing, and whispered, “It’s about witches.”
“Witches?” He pretended to shudder. “Terrible things.”
“Hey!” She bumped his shoulder with hers. “Not all of them.”
“No.” He tapped his chin. “Emma is very sweet.”
“There ya go.” She raised her glass in a toast. “To Emma.”
He raised his and clinked. “To Emma.”
“And.” She waggled her forefinger at him and canted close enough that her nose nearly bumped his. “To you not really hating witches.”
He was about to tell her that would never happen, but then he stopped. He didn’t hate all witches. Time hung suspended between the laughter in her eyes and the tilt of her full mouth. One particular witch came to mind who he didn’t hate at all.
He might have forgotten to breathe.
The thing that had been jabbing at him since she’d summoned him floated to the surface. She was human and a witch, but she drew him to her. Her siren song lay in her indomitable spirit, her fearlessness, her sharp tongue, and her keen wit. Here was a woman worthy of a partner to match her strength.
She stilled, and her eyes widened. Her breath caught, and a delicate flush rose on her petal-white skin.
He had to taste her, draw her essence and light into the cold, dead parts of him.
“Lucifer?” she whispered.
Seeking the connection, he dipped his head to hers. “Hmm?”
“You look like you want to kiss me.”
“Because I do.”
Her lips parted. “Oh.”
“Is that an oh yes or an oh no?” His entire being hinged on her answer.
