Warrior's Angel (The Lost Angels Book 4) by Heather Killough-Walden Page A

put up with you because I love you,” laughs that parents reserve for their impossible children. “You are always the last one you take care of,” he said softly.
    “That will never do,” came a third , deep, and magnetic voice.
    Rhiannon felt her employer’s grip on her arm loosen. Time slowed a little. She glanced down to see his hand slide away as he stepped back, and then she was turning toward the source of the new voice.
    A tall, broad shouldered man with very light blond, shoulder-length hair stood before her in a rich nineteenth century suit of luxe gray materials, replete with a pocket watch of pure gold. His face was hidden by an equally gray mask, simple but expensive, but his chin was strong, and his lips, sensuous and smooth, were turned up ever so slightly at the corners.
    Cruel , she thought, not knowing why.
    Her gaze traveled upward, her body frozen in some stripped fragment of time, until she came to his eyes. They were as dark gray as an impending storm, one threatening lightning at any given moment.
    No mask could have hidden the stranger’s inherent beauty, and the small gray garment seemed almost more an emphasis to his attractiveness rather than a concealment. And yet, as she stood there trapped in the sway of his gaze, she wanted him to take it off.
    Without looking away, the masked stranger lifted a small porcelain plate from the table beside them and held it out to her. “Crème cake?” he asked, his smooth voice rolling over her like a velvet wave.
    Tall, gorgeous, and he’s handing me chocolate.
    The thought went whizzing through her brain like cannon fire, and suddenly she felt giddy. She couldn’t help it when she returned his smile, and absolutely could not help it when she took the plate from him. It was the chocolate crème cake she’d been wanting anyway.
    “Miss Dante, ” said Verdigri from behind her as he moved in a little closer, “may I introduce you to Mr. Lambent, our newest client. Mr. Lambent, this is Rhiannon Dante, the heart, soul, and brains of our operation.”
    Rhian non digested the introduction as the man before her bowed slightly, his smile broadening to flash straight, white teeth. She raised her hand, and he took it, kissing the back of it very lightly.
    A tingling sensation rode across her hand a t the touch of his very soft lips. That sensation climbed her arm and zip-zapped across her chest before it finally disappeared, leaving her just a touch more breathless than she’d been before.
    She swallowed hard and lowered her hand.
    “If you’ll excuse me,” said Verdigri suddenly. She glanced at him, but his attention was on something across the room. “I am suddenly needed elsewhere.” He waved at someone Rhiannon couldn’t quite see and then placed a hand on her arm. “I will return shortly.” His eyes met hers as he stepped back once more. His unspoken request was, Be nice and charm his pants off – or at least charm the wallet out of them.
    She gave him a slight nod, and her employer disappeared in the crowd. Then she turned back to the stranger. He was watching her intently. She caught the faintest whiff of his cologne; it was wonderful, heady, masculine and expensive.
    Rhiannon cleared her throat when her pulse quickened. “Then, Mr. Lambent,” she hedged, hastily adjusting to the situation to put her best face forward, hidden by a mask though it was. “I’m to understand you’ve already decided on Swallowtail for your needs?”
    “How could I not?” he responded easily. “The service provided by the Swallowtail Foundation is something the planet has been in sore need of for countless generations.”
    Rhiannon felt her forehead furrow, and she forced it flat again. His words gave her pause. Or maybe it was the way he said them.
    Normally, Mr. Verdigri provided a front operation to attract benefactors. These “benefactors” were not known as such to the benefactors themselves. They simply thought of themselves as customers. Because to