a moonless night made the spectacle of bioluminescence even more stunning. But as they approached the silhouette of the hotel’s guest rooms, Bryony thought she and Michael could have used a bit more light. Rows of identical sliding glass doors and private patios greeted them. Bryony murmured, “Which one is ours?”
“I . . . can’t tell.”
“We’ll have to go all the way around and walk in through the front.”
Michael shook his head. “We’re not presentable.”
“Just a little wet. We’re on our honeymoon, aren’t we? People do all kinds of crazy things on their honeymoons.”
“I didn’t mention a honeymoon to them.”
“But they think we’re married. You can just slip it into conversation that we’re meant to be on our honeymoon. Then they have to forgive us for spontaneity. It’s a rule.”
He let out a low, husky laugh as they turned to walk along the beach. “Is it?”
“Absolutely, it is.” She kicked up the sand and continually glanced at the glowing surf. “Newly married couples aren’t acting like themselves. That’s why they say the honeymoon is over when you start acting like yourselves again.”
He chuckled. “I don’t think that’s what that means.” He may have gotten her joke, but by the sudden warming of his hand, she could tell it was more than a joke to him. She was certain, if she could see him now, he would be blushing furiously. Was the idea of marriage actually turning him on?
She decided to test her hypothesis, a little proud she even remembered the word hypothesis, let alone what it meant. “So we have to act like a married couple from now on, don’t we? How do you say my husband in Spanish?”
“Mi esposo,” he answered, his skin growing warmer.
“I can remember that.” She grinned. “And how do you say I love you?”
Warmer. “Te amo.”
They passed the end of the hotel where the landscape rose into a magnificent cliffside. She made a play of practicing her Spanish. “Te amo, mi esposo.”
He stopped walking. He was positively radiating heat. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
She just smiled.
Michael returned her smile with a look that bored a hole all the way through her. “I can’t wait another minute, let alone ten.” He lifted her and laid her down in the sand before joining her. She shrieked in delighted surprise. “You’ve no one to blame but yourself.” He nuzzled into her, and Bryony was thrilled. She’d been afraid the beach had become a sacred place to him, like a church. But he seemed more than willing to turn it into a bedroom. He planted one knee between her legs and slipped a hand under the hem of her shirt.
“Te amo . . .” she whispered into his ear. “Mi esposo.”
He kissed her mouth and settled himself against her thigh. His hand found the buttons on her jeans and made quick work of them. But when his fingers slid lower, she caught his wrist and stopped him. He immediately drew back. “What’s wrong?”
She bit her lip and agonized over how to put her worries into words when she herself didn’t know exactly what they were. “It’s just . . . I’ve never been on the receiving end of . . . this sort of thing.” Her heart pounded and her body was sweating under his. The heat rolling off him felt like sitting too close to the fireplace on a cold winter’s day—the slightest discomfort mingled with enough pleasure that she knew she would never move away.
“Do you want me to stop?” He repeated her own question back to her.
She shook her head. “I just wanted you to know before you started. I’ve heard . . .” God this was hard, talking so openly, but she supposed she would have to get used to it. “I’ve heard some things can be painful at first.”
“Oh, that.” He grinned. His being simultaneously less experienced and more knowledgeable than she was made for an interesting dynamic. “This shouldn’t hurt at all.” He paused, and a look of concern crossed his face. “You’d tell me if it did, wouldn’t you?”
“Should I?”
His eyes went wide. “Yes! You should.”
“Okay.” She let go of his hand. “Show me.”
“With pleasure.” He settled back against her, bringing his forehead to hers, letting his breath warm her before he kissed her again. He slid his hand back under her waistband. “And I’ll go slowly.” He kissed along her jaw and made his way down to her neck. His tongue barely grazed her skin as his hand inched lower. “So slowly.”
He rose to her mouth again and kissed her, tasted her, consumed her. His fingers tenderly massaged her until she couldn’t even think anymore. She was lost in the world he created. He made his own desire evident in the way he pressed himself, hard and heavy, into her thigh. He wanted her so badly she doubted he could help himself anymore. If she was honest, neither could she. Her back arched involuntarily. Sand clung to her sea-soaked clothes, and she felt the grit of it against her bared skin. It reminded her of the day he’d saved her life. She vaguely realized how vulnerable she was now, half naked on the beach. But Michael’s body, vaulted over her, felt like shelter.
Her breath came quick and ragged. Each sweet trespass of his tongue and the beckoning motion of his fingers followed the beat of the same silent drum. Soon, the undulation of his entire body against hers became an overwhelming pulse. She could almost hear it. Every inch of her skin came to bright, electric life as her heart beat in time with the rhythm he made.
And then she smelled incense.
Immediately, Michael withdrew his right hand and covered her eyes with his left. “Don’t look.” His voice was pinched and panting. “It’s happening again.” He trembled, this time with fear rather than desire. When the smoke cleared, he lifted off her, and she felt the chill night air on her overheated skin. He groaned in frustration, and she thought he could not have more perfectly expressed how she herself was feeling.
So it hadn’t been a fluke after all, and it hadn’t been the alcohol. Now the seraph surfaced without the sword. Every time Bryony saw it, she would be stunned, paralyzed, and it seemed to make an appearance whenever she and Michael reached a certain level of intimacy. Damn.
He sat beside her, his knees tucked to his chest, his head in his hands. She tried to suppress her own fears and comfort him. “It’s okay,” she said. “You caught it in time.”
He turned his face to her in the dark. “It’s not okay. We can’t keep doing this. If anyone saw that . . . If they find out what I am . . .”
“They won’t.”
“Bryony, they’ll kill me.”
Bryony lay awake most of the night agonizing over why she hadn’t worried for Michael’s safety when she definitely should have. Angels were feared and hated all over the world, and she didn’t think people would make much of a distinction between an angel and a half angel. In fact, she had little doubt most would relish the thought of a mortal angel—one who could suffer, one who could die. She’d been so used to thinking of Michael as the massive, serpentine beast who wielded the death sword. She’d forgotten he was also human, a pacifist, and far too trusting.
She went to work early that afternoon, chopping, prepping, and setting up tables. She was glad for the rush when it came. The more she had to do, the less time she had to chat with her boss, who couldn’t stop going on about the mysterious light he’d seen last night. “You think it was an angel?” he’d asked. “I hope not.” Others had seen the light, too, but no one seemed to have any idea of its origin.
After three weeks, Bryony began to smile more at the customers. She started to wait tables, her Spanish improving by the day. The tourists became less loathsome to her now that she saw them through Michael’s eyes. She even managed to take the same question that had so enraged her the first time she’d heard it without blushing or throttling the person who asked. “Eso es privado,” she’d answered with a good-natured smile. That’s private.
Apparently, Gloria was telling every tourist the story of how a giant had turned up on her doorstep with nothing, and how her hotel had saved him and his wife. Michael refused to take donations, so people brought their money to Bryony instead, and she was happy to pocket whatever they were willing to give. Her experience as a healing god made taking gifts from strangers an easy routine. Sometimes it was the only way to survive. That the gawkers thought to give Michael anything at all warmed her heart. And it gave her something pleasant to dwell on when she lay next to him at night with her legs tucked between his knees, completely, agonizingly chaste.
The day Bryony and Michael left, the hotel gave them a beautiful send-off. There were trays of little cakes and plenty of beer on the house. They were gifted travel kits and toiletries. Gloria even gave Bryony a pink sundress, which Michael could have told her was not his wife’s style. But Bryony had been so excited to finally go home, she wore it gladly, and it looked beautiful on her.
The first leg of the trip was pleasant enough. Even as a child, Michael had been fond of train stations. They were a safe place to shelter in a pinch. If anyone asked, he would explain that his mother was on her way—he’d just been too excited and arrived too early. Sometimes, a kind person would offer to bring him a sandwich while he waited, and he always accepted gratefully, as he was always, always hungry. Even now, the station looked like a cathedral to him, but without the rows of pews and candles, and sadly, without the pipe organ.
Bryony returned from collecting their tickets and sat on the bench beside him. “We have a few minutes. Do you want to get lunch?”
They ate at the platform, Bryony’s expression becoming more mischievous with every bite she took. Eventually, Michael couldn’t stand it anymore. “Okay, you have to tell me what you keep grinning about before I lose my mind over it.”
“Don’t joke about losing your mind.” She pointed the corner of her sandwich at him and then bit it off. “I’m just excited to show you the present I got you.”
He couldn’t help but smile back. “My love, what have you done?”
She held up a finger while she chewed and swallowed. “If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise. Oh, fine.” She didn’t even wait for him to protest. She wanted to spill her secret so badly. “I upgraded our tickets and got us a sleeper cabin.”
Michael tried not to choke on his last bite. She really didn’t know. He was going to have to break it to her. “Bryony, I’m not sure you realize how small those cabins are.”
She cocked her head and continued to look like a kid who’d just blatantly cheated at cards and was certain she’d get away with it. “Ooh, but I just upgraded because they had one left. I doubt they’ll let us change back now.” She pulled two lollypops from her pocket. “Strawberry or pineapple?”
Michael pushed a hand through his hair. This was not going to be a pleasant trip at all. “None, thank you.”
Bryony unwrapped the pineapple and shoved the strawberry back into her pocket. “Well, if you don’t like the cabin, you can just sleep in the observation car.” She popped the candy into her mouth, and the sound of it knocking against her teeth sent shivers of the very best kind down Michael’s spine. How could he ever say no to her? He would find a way to fit into a sleeper cabin if it killed him. He would fold himself into thirds and stay that way for the full two-day trip.
As soon as he stepped aboard the train, Michael was anxious to sit down. He had to bend over almost double to make his way to the cabin. This was going to be hell. At least it was hell in good company. But when Bryony opened the door to their cabin, he had to eat his own words. The space was so much more than he’d imagined. There was a long bench on one side that would unfold into a double bed in the evenings, and beyond it, floor space for days. “What is this?”
She grinned around the stem of her lollypop. “Special access cabin.” She quoted what he was certain had been written on the brochure. “For people with mobility challenges and special needs.” She shrugged. “I told them I was traveling with you, and they told me this cabin hadn’t been booked yet, so I upgraded. Check out the bathroom. It actually has a shower in it.”
Now her excitement was infectious. Now he understood what it was about. He sat on the bench and let his legs stretch out across the cabin. Instant relief. People didn’t tend to realize how much of one’s height was in the legs. Bryony, for example, came up to his stomach when standing, but if they both sat, her head rose to his shoulders. He almost always preferred to sit when he could, especially if the ceiling was shorter than he was. This was nothing short of a miracle. He took Bryony by the hand and tugged her down beside him. “You”—he reached into the pocket of her pink dress and snagged the strawberry lollypop—“are a gift.”
She could not stop smiling. “Luckily, we have no luggage to take up space.”
“A gift,” he repeated, his voice low and honeyed. He leaned in, kissed behind her ear, and murmured, “And I want to unwrap you right now.”
She laughed, and her throat moving under his lips was exquisite. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she said. “We have to get home first.”
God she had no idea how much she tortured him. “I can kiss you at least.” He pulled the candy from her mouth and kissed her. She tasted like saccharine pineapple, and he was certain he would never taste the flavor again without remembering this moment. The frustration of the last three weeks coalesced, and heat rose to his cheeks. She must have felt it, too, because she quickly pushed him away.
“Not here,” she whispered.
He groaned. “Then you’re going to have to be much crueler from now on because kindness is . . . Honestly, it’s a bit of a turn on for me.” Her eyebrows shot up. He didn’t usually speak so candidly, but he was quickly becoming comfortable with her. And to hell if it wasn’t the absolute, albeit embarrassing, truth.
“Really?” she said, incredulous.
“Fair warning.”
“Oh, you aren’t kidding, are you?” She took her lollypop back and stared at the ceiling in thought. “So matrimony and kindness.”
He grimaced. “And hard candy.”
She burst out laughing and drew her legs onto the bench to kick him playfully. “Wow.” She turned the lollypop in her mouth, letting it drag against the back of her teeth. “So now that I know what your buttons are . . .”
“You’ll be careful not to push them?”
She curled her toes into his side. “Not at all what I was going to say.”
Michael grinned and stared out the window as the train lurched to life.
“We’ll be home in two days.” She stretched and her legs were suddenly in his lap, her skirt pushed up past her knees. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that our stupid, public honeymoon is almost over.”
The word honeymoon found him and ate away at his resolve a little.
She went on teasing. “I do hope, once we get there, we can finally live like a normal husband and wife. I mean do you think we should even have a ceremony, or do we just consider ourselves married already?”
He brought his knees up and tried to breathe. “So you intend to use all the information you’ve gained—which I freely gave you in a show of good faith—against me.”
She spun the candy in her mouth one more time. “You told me to be cruel.”
He knew the broad smile he wore now gave him away completely. She was merciless, and he loved it. But what he loved about her teasing wasn’t the way it drove his need so much as the way it drove her confidence—the way she sat a little straighter, touched him a little more freely. She felt powerful, and he wouldn’t have taken it from her for the world. No, he wanted to watch her shyness fall away. Now that they were away from the crowds, she was like another person entirely. He loved both versions of her. But this version he saw so seldom, he would give anything to capture it in a mason jar and watch it glow all night before releasing it back into the wild.