Johnny Angel (2 page)

             
“First, clean the vomit off my boots. Then maybe brush your teeth?”

             
Heat flooded her cheeks. “Sorry. My bad.”

             
“No big deal. Choking to death is messy.”

             
Thank heaven for small things. She tried to imagine his reaction if she’d asked for sex right out. With her breath stinking like gingerbread and a ball of the partially digested stuff on his boot. Definitely not sexy, but par for the course in her life.

             
Her face flamed even hotter and she was sure she was the color of Santa’s suit when she bent over the angel’s boots. Sofia may have been a virgin, but that didn’t mean she had no experience with men. She’d been in this position before, on her knees. She’d been told she could suck-start a John Deere. So of course, her healthy imagination took over and flooded her awareness with images of doing just that to this angel.

             
There was no doubt about it. Sofia was going to Hell.

Chapter Two 

The Road to Hell is Paved with Chocolate

             
Johnny Gallo knew he wasn’t angel material. He’d been a bad seed from day one. Here he was trying to earn his redemption and all he could think about was seducing his charge. He was a first class bastard.

             
He didn’t think angels were supposed to be concerned with earthly desires. Yet, the fires of his earthly desire were about to consume him whole.

             
Sofia Willoughby was more beautiful in the creamy, rounded flesh than she’d been in the viewing mirror. She was perfect. From his vantage point, with her bent over his boots, the view was incredible. The deep vee neck of her t-shirt gaped and the swells of her breasts bounced with every motion.

             
His mouth went dry and arousal slammed into him hard and fast. Johnny hoped she didn’t look up at him with those big, dark eyes. If she did, Johnny didn’t know what he’d do.

             
But it wouldn’t be good for her or for him.

             
Well, it would be really damn good, at least until it was over and they both had to pay the price.

             
“I think they’re clean.” He almost choked on the words.

             
“You did say you just had them shined.”  She continued to work and her braless  breasts continued to bounce, tempting him further. 

             
“Good enough. Places to be. People to see. Memories to dredge up. Let’s move it along. And, uh, you should get dressed. You don’t want to find your Fate in your pajamas.”

             
Or not find it, because your Clarence can’t keep his dick on a leash
.

             
She stood up, but that made it worse. The way that damned shirt clung to her breasts. A draft of cold air whipped through the room and her nipples tightened to hard points. Heaven was just fucking with him now.

             
Bunch of assholes.

             
“I’m going to regret this,” she said, hands on her hips.

             
“You and me both, sister.”

             
“You’re not very angelic.”

             
“I keep telling you, I’m not an angel.” Most definitely not an angel.

             
“I
know
that. But you should dress for the job you want.”

             
“So, you’re saying if I want the angel gig, I should start thinking like an angel?”

             
“Yeah.” She nodded.

             
“I see. How come you haven’t taken your own advice?”

             
Her mouth snapped tight like a rubber band and she lifted her chin in obvious defiance. “That would be a little creepy, don’t you think? Sitting around playing house by myself, talking to kids I don’t have and the perfect man who doesn’t exist?”

             
She didn’t wait for him to answer her, but stomped off to the bedroom.

             
He was never going to make it through a whole night of this. Let alone a week. Maybe, just maybe, he’d take her back to a good memory in the past and it would spark something to life and they could both go on about their business?

             
Yeah, he knew he had his head firmly buried in cotton candy clouds, but he had to believe this was all going to work out. He’d help her live her life with Christmas and love in her heart, and be on about his business.

             
Of course, when she emerged from the bedroom, his hopes melted just like that same spun sugar did in the rain.

             
She was still wearing that damned t-shirt, but she’d put on a bra which had enhanced her cleavage and hourglass figure. Her jeans had to have been painted on with only a brush and prayer.  But this time, it was her mouth that he was sure had to be a sin. Her lips had been painted the color of Red Hots, the little candy used for buttons on gingerbread men. Which made him think about her undoing
his
buttons with her teeth.

             
She immediately noticed his scrutiny. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

             
He was quick to shake his head. Maybe that would rattle this foolishness out of his belfry. “Nothing. You ready?”

             
“I guess. How do we do this? Do I hold your hand?”

             
You could hold something. Damn it. Stop it, Gallo. Get a grip on yourself. Yeah, a grip on yourself… 
Who was the dumbass who’d trusted him with this woman’s Fate?

             
Her question was actually a valid one. This was his first time out of Purgatory. He’d done the flight simulations, but he’d never actually moved through the stream of time.

             
She answered the question for him by wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her delicious body tight against him. “I don’t want you to drop me.”

             
“Close your eyes,” he advised.

             
Then, finally, something went right. The magick ignited instantly and the world around them was smeared away by unseen hands. Colors flowed like spinning too fast on the Merry Go Round.

             
But when the strains of Burl Ives’
Have A Holly Jolly Christmas
echoed in his ears, they were unceremoniously ejected from the stream and hurled to the snow-covered ground.

             
It would figure he’d land right on top of her and conveniently, or not so conveniently, between her thighs. He was still very much aroused by her previous, albeit unwitting, display.

             
She smelled of cinnamon and gingerbread. Scents he hated, yet somehow on her, they made his mouth water.

             
Sofia was so soft beneath him; her curves making him wish he wasn’t supposed to be the good guy. But as a self-admitted bastard, he wondered how far he could push the line before he crossed it.

             
Her crimson lips parted and she drew in a shaky breath. Her sooty lashes fluttered closed and that was all the invitation he needed.

             
Nothing in the world could have kept him from those velvety red lips in that moment.
              Except the familiar slam of a screen door and a woman’s voice calling his name. Those sounds echoed into the afterlife with him and not a day passed that he hadn’t heard them clanging in his consciousness like a gong.

             
“Damn it,” he grumbled and untangled himself.

             
“What happened? This doesn’t look like my life.” She brushed herself off and got to her feet.

             
“No, it’s mine. Look, I’ll have it fixed in just a minute.” Hopefully before—nope, too late.

             
The woman screamed his name, but the roar of his motorcycle drowned out her cries and he left her standing in the cold. Alone.

             
“Looks like you have some unresolved issues yourself, Johnny.”

             
“Yeah, well, it’s not like I can wake up Christmas morning and change everything, now can I?” he said softly.

             
“What happened?”

             
“This isn’t about me. It’s about you and how you don’t have to end up like me, right? That’s the gig.” He yanked her close and waiting for the spark of magick to transport them back into the stream, but it wasn’t forthcoming.

             
That holly jolly bastard, Burl Ives started over again the scene rewound, playing again like a scratched record. Every time Carla screamed his name, it was another cold knife of regret and his concentration shattered like a fallen icicle.

             
“Not that this isn’t nice, you smell like candy canes and hot chocolate. But we both know how this holiday magick works. At least, from what I’ve seen in the movies. We’re stuck here until you say something or do something. So, if you want to help me, maybe you have to help yourself first?”

             
“That’s cute. Real cute.” He growled up at the heavens.

             
“Just tell me what happened,” Sofia prodded.

             
“Her name was Carla. She was my girl. And on Christmas Even in 1965, I asked her to marry me.” He was silent as he looked for the words to recount the events of that night.

             
“So, it didn’t go well?”

             
“She said no. I left. She waited for me to come back. I, uh…” he paused and took a few deep breaths before continuing. “I had this body shop on Sixth in the city. It was on a piece of property Nicholas Civella wanted. It wasn’t worth much. I’d scraped and clawed to have my own shop and he wanted me to sell it to him for half what it was worth. I told him no. He sent guys to the house to change my mind. And they killed her. If I hadn’t left, she’d still be alive. So, that’s my regret.”

             
Her face softened and empathy shone in her eyes. “Even if you would’ve been there, they still would have come for you,” she offered.

             
“Maybe. But Carla wouldn’t have paid the price.” It was the first time he’d said that out loud.

             
The world around them shimmered and suddenly they were back in Sofia’s apartment.

             
“Well, this escalated quickly,” Sofia said with a nervous half-laugh.

             
“Things tend to this time of year,” Johnny agreed. “Tomorrow will be better. I’m still a little new at this.”

             
“Tomorrow? Clarence did all his work in one night.”

             
“I’m not Clarence. I’m Johnny, remember?” He looked at her pointedly.

             
“Okay, smarty pants.” She shoved a plate of gingerbread men at him. “Well, have one for the road. I certainly won’t be eating them.”

             
“Why? Because of what you said about your ass being dueling cantaloupes?” He wouldn’t mind judging that for her again. If she needed a second opinion.

             
She scowled. “No. Because I will forever associate the taste of them with choking to death.”

             
“I get it. I can’t stand the taste of Jim Beam.”

             
“Why?”

             
“That’s what I was drinking when I drove my bike off the bridge.”

             
“I can see where that would be an unpleasant memory.”

             
“Not so much. The dying didn’t hurt. My neck broke on impact. It was more about what came after.”

             
“What
did
come after?” She put the plate of gingerbread men down, her attention rapt on him.

             
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

             
“Lame.” She stuffed a peanut butter ball in her mouth, her tongue swiping the last of the chocolate from her fingers. Even after what had just happened, every swipe of her tongue sent sensation straight to his cock.

             
“Jesus, do you have to do that?” he muttered in a strangled voice.

             
“Do what?” She licked more of the chocolate.