Janelle Denison: Heaven's Gift aka Kiss of an Angel

"Don't turn around," he warned, reaching for his briefs, "unless you care to get another eyeful."

"No, thanks."

While J.T. changed Caitlan fetched a can of stew from the pantry, casting a surreptitious glance his way, even though she'd just declined his invitation to look. She wanted to make sure he was okay, really okay, and could dress himself on his own. Reassured that he seemed to be steady on his feet, she told herself to get back to preparing his meal, but a strange feminine instinct kept her gaze riveted to his backside.

She caught a glimpse of firm, muscled buttocks before he pulled on his briefs, and a feathery warmth settled in her stomach. True, last night she'd seen every bare inch of him, but she'd been too concerned about his health to truly appreciate the magnificence of his body. In the light of day, with the late-morning sun streaming through the only window in the shack, his nudity took on a different perspective. He was powerfully built, the muscles across his shoulders, down his back, and in his legs honed to athletic perfection. He picked up his shirt and pushed his arms through the sleeves, and she finally forced her attention back to her task.

Grabbing the stew, a can of peaches, and a manual can opener, she set the items on the table and began opening the cans. She didn't normally respond to mortals so strongly-her emotions were calculated and doled out in accordance to the given situation-but from the first moment she'd landed on earth and rescued him, she'd felt an odd connection to him that perplexed her. Ignoring the feeling for more pressing matters, she'd quickly transported him to the line shack with the help of Christopher's powers and had begun the process to save his life, starting with healing his massive head injury, then warming him and keeping his body from slipping into a dangerous state of shock.

However, with the crises over and him awake, she noticed things about him that had nothing whatsoever to do with her mission, a curiosity she was certain her Superiors wouldn't encourage. And when he'd kissed her and touched her and called her another woman's name she'd felt a surreal harmony with this man that transcended anything in her station as a guardian angel.

Retrieving two metal cups and plates from the pantry, she sneaked another peek at him. He was sitting on the bed, head bent, as he pulled wool socks on his feet. His sable hair was a tousled mess from rain, wind, and general abuse from his hands. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw. The disheveled, morning-after look only made him appear more masculine and sexy.

He was a pleasant enough assignment, she mused, dishing out the peaches and stew onto their plates. But a part of her feared the forces of evil she was up against would be hard to dissuade, not to mention making J.T. believe the outrageous excuses the Superiors had seen fit to give her for this mission. She had the medallion for assistance, but as a guardian angel her powers were limited, to be used only in extreme situations. As a rule, she didn't contact the Superiors unless an emergency occurred.

She poured the steaming coffee into each of their tin cups. "Lunch is ready. It's nothing fancy, but you need to eat something to keep up your strength."

He sauntered toward the table, dragging the bedside chair with him. His stomach grumbled. "It looks like a feast to me," he commented, seating himself in front of a plate heaped with food.

She pushed aside the damp clothes on the table to make more room for them. "You must have gotten knocked harder on the head than I thought."

"No. Considering I haven't eaten since…" He frowned as he thought about it, "I guess it would be breakfast yesterday morning, I'm hungry enough to devour a whole cow."

"It's a good sign that you have a healthy appetite."

He nodded, observing her intently as she sat in the chair across from him. "I'm sorry for what happened earlier, Caitlan."

The way he said her name, his voice warm and husky, made her fully, femininely aware of him. "It's okay."

He slowly ran his index finger around the rim of his cup. "I didn't mean to get rough with you on the bed. I obviously didn't know what I was doing."

She lowered her lashes and stabbed a wedge of peach with her fork, trying to forget the warm, silky feelings he'd evoked in her when she'd been pinned beneath his lean body. Reminding herself that he'd thought her another woman in his delirious state, she replied, "I understand, really."

"Weren't you afraid of what I might do to you?"

"You were dreaming," she said, distinctly uneasy with his bold speculation.

He leaned toward her, his green-gold gaze lowering to her mouth as her lips closed around the peach on her fork. "Still, I could have made love to you."

She nearly choked on the fruit. Images of his hands sliding over her body sent a frisson of heat spiraling to her belly. Good Lord, what was wrong with her that she was entertaining such shameless thoughts about this man? Shifting in her chair, she forced the peach down her throat with a deliberate swallow. She concentrated on her food, clearing her plate in record time. Standing, she took her plate and utensils to a bucket of soapy water she'd filled earlier with some bottled water.

She washed and rinsed her dishes, then began drying them with a terry towel. She turned to him with every intention of getting back to business. "I think I should check your head injury."

"I'm fine." He ate the last of his stew and pushed his plate away.

"You can't even see it," she reasoned, cleaning up his dishes as well.

He reached for the coffeepot she'd set on the table and poured himself another cup, then filled hers too. "I can feel it, and even though it hurts like the devil, it doesn't appear to be an open wound."

That's because I mended the deep laceration , she thought. Wiping her hands on the towel, she circled the table to stand next to him. "You just sit there and drink your coffee. It'll only take a minute to check it."

"Who appointed you my guardian?" he growled, batting her hands away from the back of his head. "I'm a grown man-"

"With a thick head?" she interrupted, jamming her hands on her hips and giving him a fierce look.

He had the grace to look a little contrite for his impolite behavior. "Yeah, that's probably why the blow didn't split my head wide open."

Her lips tightened in disgust. "Yes, well, someone definitely wanted to do away with you." But who had been the culprit? she wondered with a little frown. Moving closer, she wove her fingers gently through his hair, searching for the site of his injury.

"How do you know?" He took a swallow of coffee, then balanced the cup on his thigh.

"What? That someone wanted to kill you?" she asked, luxuriating in the velvety feel of his hair sifting over her hand.

"Yes." He finished off his coffee and put the cup on the table. "A bullet would have been more effective."

"You're right, of course," she countered, trying to concentrate on her task and not the peculiar sensations swirling deep inside her. "But what if someone wanted this to look like an accident?"

"I would have come around eventually."

She pulled away to look into his eyes, remembering how close to dying he'd been when she'd reached him. Without the aid of her Superiors, he wouldn't be sitting in front of her, looking so strong and healthy. "It wasn't likely you would have 'come around.' Not only were you unconscious from the blow, and your body freezing, but your head was near the creek. By the time I found you the water had risen to your forehead."

The implications of her statement registered in his eyes, then was replaced by something more watchful and searching. "Which brings me around to an intriguing question I'd like answered," he said, his gaze laser-intense. "How, exactly, did you stumble upon me? I hate to be skeptical, but I don't believe in miracles."